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Empire and religion: religious change in Greek cities under Roman rule
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Empire and Religion

Impact of Empire Roman Empire, c. 200 B.C.–A.D. 476

Edited by Olivier Hekster (Radboud University, Nijmegen, The Netherlands) Editorial Board Angelos Chaniotis Ségolène Demougin Lien Foubert Anne Kolb Luuk de Ligt Elio Lo Cascio Bernhard Palme Michael Peachin Christian Witschel Greg Woolf


The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/imem

Empire and Religion Religious Change in Greek Cities under Roman Rule Edited by

Elena Muñiz Grijalvo Juan Manuel Cortés Copete Fernando Lozano Gómez


Cover illustration: Sacrifice to Apollo. Arch of Constantine, Rome. Photograph by Olga Burgos García. Reproduced with kind permission. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Muñiz Grijalvo, Elena, editor. | Cortés Copete, Juan Manuel, editor. | Lozano, Fernando (Lozano Gómez), editor. Title: Empire and religion : religious change in Greek cities under Roman rule / edited by Elena Muñiz Grijalvo, Juan Manuel Cortés Copete, Fernando Lozano Gómez. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, 2017. | Series: Impact of empire : Roman Empire, c. 200 B.C.–A.D. 476, ISSN 1572-0500 ; volume 25 | Includes bibliographical references and indexes. Identifiers: LCCN 2017017147 (print) | LCCN 2017029624 (ebook) | ISBN 9789004347113 (E-book) | ISBN 9789004347106 (hardback : acid-free paper) Subjects: LCSH: Rome—Religious life and customs. | Greeks—Rome—Religion—History. | City and town life—Rome—History. | Social change—Rome—History. | Imperialism—Rome—Religious aspects—History. | Religion and politics—Rome—History. | Ritual—Rome—History. | Rome—Religion | Rome—Politics and government. | Rome—Civilization—Greek influences. Classification: LCC BL805 (ebook) | LCC BL805 .E56 2017 (print) | DDC 292.08—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017017147

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 1572-0500 isbn 978-90-04-34710-6 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-34711-3 (e-book) Copyright 2017 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Introduction vii 1 Priesthoods and Civic Ideology: Honorific Titles for Hiereis and Archiereis in Roman Asia Minor 1 Anna Heller 2 Public Sacrifice in Roman Athens 21 Elena Muñiz Grijalvo 3 Cultic and Social Dynamics in the Eleusinian Sanctuary Under the Empire 45 Francesco Camia 4 Communication Between Sanctuaries and Rulers: An Analysis of Religious Resistance to Roman Abuses in the Greek East During the Roman Republic 67 Cristina Rosillo-López 5 Trajan and Hadrian’s Reorganization of the Agonistic Associations in Rome 84 Rocío Gordillo Hervás 6 P.Oxy. 471: Hadrian, Alexandria, and the Antinous Cult 98 Alessandro Galimberti 7 Hadrian Among the Gods 112 Juan Manuel Cortés Copete 8 Some Thoughts on the Cult of the Pantheon (‘All the Gods’?) in the Cities and Sanctuaries of Roman Greece 137 Milena Melfi 9 Emperor Worship and Greek Leagues: The Organization of Supra-Civic Imperial Cult in the Roman East 149 Fernando Lozano




Le paysage culturel de la colonie romaine de Philippes en Macédoine : cosmopolitisme religieux et différentiation sociale 177 Athanasios D. Rizakis Index Geographicus 213 Index Nominum 215 Index Rerum Sacrorum 217 Index Rerum Memorabilium 220

Introduction When peace is brought about, we do all those things which are not only most pleasant for mortals but also tokens of happiness: we bedeck ourselves with garlands, offer sacrifice, and hold high festival. Dio Chrysostom, To the Nicomedians on concord with the Nicaeans, 19

∵ All the studies in this volume, which expounds the nature and extent of religious continuity and change in the Greek-speaking cities of the Roman Empire as a consequence of their integration in the imperial framework, were presented and comprehensively discussed at a workshop held in Seville in November 2014. In addition to the stimulating and pleasant atmosphere of those days, the workshop seemed to the organizers, from its inception, an auspicious initiative that brought together a lively group of scholars eager to engage in two somewhat disregarded subjects: Greek civic religion in Roman times and the impact of the Roman Empire on traditional religions. This book seeks to lend weight to the assertion that, as Susan Alcock put it at the beginning of the 1990s when speaking about research on Greece under Roman domination, ‘times are changing.’1 The fact that Greek traditional religion remained apparently immutable in Roman times (already a reality since the Hellenistic period) is the reason behind the lack of interest shown by modern scholars in the subject. Up until the last decades of the 20th century, civic religion was interpreted as zombie of sorts, a living corpse whose meaning was anything but religious. It is ironic that scholars living in a religious environment as insusceptible to change as the Christian milieu seemed happy to conclude that ritual continuity should simply be interpreted as a lack of religious momentum.2 However, continuity is never mere survival: faced with a new context, it ought to be analysed as change. Those participating in apparently archaic rites in the Greek cities of the Roman era were immersed in an essentially new framework of meaning. Hence, the study of post-classical 1  A lcock 1993, xvii. 2  Fortunately, in Greg Woolf’s words, ‘It now looks much less plausible that civic rituals did not engage the enthusiasm of citizens, indeed civic festivals enjoyed a surge of popularity in the Roman period,’ see Woolf 2014, 74.



Greek religion ought to be worth the effort because, seen from this quite underestimated perspective, it begs an almost endless range of questions. To give just one example, religious continuity included such interesting developments as the instrumentalization of traditional religion by the elites as a means of maintaining civic control and accessing central government. From this point of view, the performance of evidently ancient rites in allegedly the same way as they had been done for ages probably meant different things to the various social groups taking part in them. Thus, this book offers a wealth of suggestions about how ritual continuity might be analysed to obtain a clearer picture of religious life in the Greek world under Roman sway. But, needless to say, there is more to it than the mere continuity of seemingly old-fashioned rituals. The integration of the Greek cities in the wider context of the Roman Empire contributed to produce countless alterations in their religious life as a whole. On the basis of epigraphic sources, recent studies have shown deep shifts in the actual practice of rituals, in the management of cults, and even in religious feelings.3 In this book, we will be dealing with changes relating, in one way or another, to the Roman presence in the Greek cities, which have somehow been overlooked until only recently.4 Particularly thought-provoking are those transformations which were not caused by the direct intervention of Rome in the religious affairs of the Greek provinces, either as arbitrator or as the ultimate authority. There are extraordinarily interesting examples of such changes, including, for instance, those analysed by A. Chaniotis in a recent volume of the series Impact of Empire.5 Certainly, there was indeed one outstanding change directly related to Roman rule: the introduction of imperial cult. Its profound impact altered the religious life of all the inhabitants of the Empire once and for all. However, our main interest here is to highlight those changes in which the hand of Rome was not so visible, such as the transformations within Roman cults (including imperial cult) as a consequence of their contact with traditional Greek religion. The approach to imperial cult studies may serve as a good example of the kind of perspective taken in this book. Some recent developments in what has 3  See, for instance, Horster and Klöckner’s volumes on religious authority in Athens, Asia Minor, and the Aegean islands (2012 and 2013); also on religious authority, see Dignas, Trampedach 2008. On Athenian religious reforms in Augustan times, see Aleshire, Lambert, 2011. On internal transformations in traditional religion, see Deshours 2011. On the management of temple states, see Dignas 2002. On religious (and other kinds of) emotions, mainly in Hellenistic times, see Chaniotis’s series Unveiling emotions. 4  H ahn 2006. 5  C haniotis 2009.



been referred to as the ‘Romanization debate’ offer us interesting insights into cultural transformations in Roman times. Instead of addressing the subject in terms of imperialism, colonialism, or related topics, and setting aside centreperiphery models, emphasis is now put on those ‘homogenising elements’ which are ‘differentially incorporated into local cultures,’ and on the simultaneous universalization of local developments.6 From this angle, it is easier to understand how imperial cult in the provinces was not merely an imperial undertaking or even an initiative of the provincial elites, but a far more complex issue which included among other things the establishment of essentially different imperial cults in the cities, depending on essentially different outsets. ‘Imperial cult’ may be understood, as the rest of the cultural processes comprising Romanization, as a wider phenomenon which included, for instance, the influence of local interpretations of the ruler cult on imperial designs, the integration of the new cult into the network of pre-existing civic rituals, or even profound internal mutations within traditional religions.7 To our mind, the presence of Rome in the provinces might explain a number of developments which can hardly be understood otherwise, even though it was not apparently the driving force behind them. The proliferation of supracivic networks as by-products of imperial logic is perhaps the most obvious and significant one, as it fostered the exchange of religious ideas all over the Roman Empire. Other processes were more specifically related to the Greek-speaking cities and their elites. Two of these processes, widely known as ‘oligarchization’ and ‘Hellenization’, have already been interpreted in recent works. Let us now dwell briefly on the first of these. Generally speaking, Rome concentrated more and more power—also religious power—in the hands of the elites.8 Rather than producing radical shifts in the development of traditional Greek rituals, oligarchization led to, among other things, an intensification of the dynamics of religious euergetism, as had been the case in Rome, especially since Augustus closed ranks in the promotion of (his own interpretation of) classical Roman religion. Apart from the material consequences of euergetism, one of the religious repercussions of oligarchization might have been the growing divide between traditional religion, increasingly dominated by the elites, and the people at large.

6  Versluys 2014; see also Whitmarsh 2010. 7  H ekster 2015; Lozano 2011. 8  This is a far-reaching and controversial issue which has been the object of some recent studies, focusing above all on the Hellenistic period. For Roman times, see the interesting Zuiderhoek 2008, esp. 429–431, and the brief but very well-balanced Schuler 2015.



To a certain degree, the so-called ‘Hellenization’ helped to create a similar effect.9 ‘Hellenization’ could be defined here as the (political, literary, artistic, and also religious) process of elaboration of an unequivocally Greek identity in Roman times, which encompassed archaic and traditional implications intersected with Roman concerns.10 The extent to which Rome played an active role in the construction of Greek identity is open to debate. In any case, it is interesting to note that, as pointed out by S. Lambert, rather than ‘archaizing’, it might be better understood as ‘modernizing’, given that it had to do mainly with modern (i.e. Roman) times.11 From a religious point of view, it is also important to underline wholly artificial aspects. In an attempt to emphasize the conservative and pious image of the Greek part of the Empire, as well as its ‘Greekness’, Greek cities applied themselves to the task of displaying their (genuinely Greek) mythical origins, of resurrecting long forgotten rites, and even of inventing supposedly archaic traditions. Always open to the introduction of the ‘Roman factor’ (emperors and other Roman gods), this version of Greek traditional religion consolidated the position of Greek elites as champions of the established order. So far, so good, though one question still remains: to what extent was the reinvented religious life resulting from this process shared by members of the different social strata existing in the cities. The real scope of religious change is just one of so many questions that still remain unanswered. Religious continuity and transformation in the Greek cities of Roman times were the result of oligarchization, Hellenization, and a vast number of related processes. Through the analysis of different case studies, this volume aims to underline some specific factors which also contributed to transform the overall picture: firstly, the enhancement of local features of religious life in the cities, somehow paradoxically related to Roman rule (Heller, Muñiz, amd Camia); secondly, the active role of Hellenism (in the new, ‘Hellenized’ version typical of Roman times) in the design of imperial religious policies which were implemented in other provinces (Rosillo-López, Gordillo, and Galimberti); and, thirdly, the different local consequences of central religious initiatives and their influence in other imperial contexts (Cortés, Melfi, Lozano, and Rizakis).

9 ‘Hellenization’ is the term chosen by Spawforth 2012. 10  See, for instance, Woolf 1994; Swain 1996; Goldhill 2001; Follet 2004. 11  More on this in Aleshire, Lambert, 2011.



The Enhancement of Local Aspects of Religious Life

In a detailed analysis of honorific titles in Roman Asia Minor, Anna Heller concludes that local priorities seemed to have been first and foremost in the minds of the people distinguished in inscriptions. The impact of Rome can be glimpsed in the increasingly widespread custom of displaying honorific titles in inscriptions and, indubitably, in the proliferation of titles such as philosebastos, philokaisar, or philoromaios. However, on the strength of an examination of over 20,000 Greek inscriptions from Asia Minor, dated from Hellenistic and Roman times, a number of unexpected conclusions can be reached. The most documented offices were archiereus and hiereus, both ranking at the top of the pecking order of title-holders. But the honorific titles most frequently attached to them emphasized their links to their home cities: philopatris and son (of the city, the people, the council, and so on) are more frequently attested than other titles relating to the emperor. Some interesting local peculiarities in the overall picture further invite us to consider that the city and its ideology remained the main focus for most of the notables. The presence of Rome is also central to understand an apparently minor change in the Athenian ‘prytany decrees’, a series of 200 inscriptions of the Hellenistic and Roman periods honouring prytaneis in general, and their tamias in particular, for having successfully performed their duties. From the 1st century BC, the decrees increasingly emphasized the importance of the tamias and his funding of public sacrifices, to the detriment of other public institutions, such as the demos. Quite a time ago, Oliver put forward an explanation for the changes in the decrees grounded on strictly local factors, focusing on the widespread economic crisis in Athens and the general reluctance to assume religious duties. In her paper, Elena Muñiz offers a different explanation by linking epigraphic developments to a more general change in the dynamics of euergetism, ultimately related to Roman influence and to the construction of the image of the local elites. On the one hand, the growing importance of religious offices and honours had to do with Roman standards; on the other, the instrumentalization of sacrifice by the elites which may be deduced from the prytany decrees was an idiosyncratically Athenian phenomenon, which brought with it some highly local consequences, such as a fundamental shift in the meaning of public sacrifice in Athens. An extremely well-balanced equilibrium between religious continuity and change, and also between Roman intervention and local interests, could be seen at the sanctuary of Eleusis. Francesco Camia provides an updated panorama of the activities of Roman emperors at Eleusis: personal initiation; appointment to Eleusinian offices; and numerous euergetic activities, i­ncluding



the promotion of imperial cult and other related imperial undertakings. Imperial initiatives at Eleusis, though, may not be properly understood unless they are measured against the parallel instrumentalization of the sanctuary by the Greek elites. Eleusis had always been, and was increasingly so in Roman times, an exclusive stage on which the elites flaunted their social status. Under Roman rule, some local peculiarities, such as the annual election of children as hearth-initiates, became increasingly popular among the principal Athenian families. Local religious life, once more, was reinforced as a consequence of imperial dynamics.

The Promotion of Hellenism Under the Imperial Aegis

A close study of the relationship between Rome and the Greek sanctuaries affected by the abuses of Roman magistrates is the subject of Cristina RosilloLópez’s contribution to this book. Both extortion and spoliation by Roman magistrates and disputes with tax collectors over levies constituted the basis of the assiduous communications between Roman masters and Greek subjects. As a rule, the importance of Greek sanctuaries in Roman communication strategies regarding the Greek world, as well as the avowedly common historical and religious origins of Greeks and Romans, guaranteed better results for the Greeks than for the rest of the provincials. However, in the 1st century BC a standard procedure for dealing with Roman abuses was devised, thus signalling the end of the privileges the Greeks had enjoyed (at least theoretically), since they were subject, thenceforth, to a legal procedure that they themselves had decisively contributed to shape. In ancient times, few things were perceived by the people as more ‘Hellenic’ than the agonistic rituals. Nevertheless, this characteristically Greek reality was intellectually colonized by the Romans in a similar fashion. Through an analysis of a series of imperial measures related to the management of the agones, Rocío Gordillo sheds light on the ambiguous relationship between Hellenism and Roman culture. At first sight, it was the agonistic imagery that had invaded Roman life, rather than vice versa. From the time of the Republic onwards, agonistic rituals were absorbed into very traditional Roman festivals, such as the triumphus, or were performed in Rome within the context of imperial cult. However, when the emperors undertook the reorganization of the agonistic associations, or granted privileges to the agones at the expense of other games, or regulated the calendar of the different agones that took place in the Empire, they were not merely integrating Greek elements into Roman public spectacles, but also creating an essentially different ritual which was not only Greek



but Roman as well or, more concisely, ‘imperial’. No doubt imperial support contributed to expand and reinforce the world of the agones and, therefore, Hellenism. But the imperial version of Hellenism, as represented by the agones which had been reorganized by Trajan and Hadrian, was a new Graeco-Roman product. Hellenism was also a substantial element of a well-known imperial device: the cult of Antinous. On the basis of a report on the trial of a Roman governor, probably a prefect of Egypt, conventionally known as Acta Maximi I and II, in which a certain Maximus is charged with, among other things, corrupting young boys, Alessandro Galimberti shows that the memory of Antinous was widespread enough to constitute one of the factors that might explain such texts, be they historical or not. The echoes of Antinous’ affaire had reached every corner of the Roman Empire by way of his cult. Exclusively designed under Hadrian’s auspices, it included several deeply Hellenic factors: it might be understood as a new heroic cult; the foundation of the city of Antinoupolis in Egypt followed the parameters of any Greek city, the name of its demoi recalling, among other things, the initiation of Hadrian at Eleusis; games in honour of Antinous were established all over the Empire; and the pais was assimilated to several Greek gods and maybe also the recipient of some sort of mystery rite. When the Greek cities (and the cities of the Empire at large) embraced the new cult of Antinous, therefore, they believed that they were receiving a high measure of Hellenism in return. However, what they were in fact receiving was a Roman selection of some specific features of traditional Greek religion.

Local Versions of Central Religious Initiatives … and Back

As we have seen, imperial dynamics may have been behind the dissemination of Roman versions of Greek religion. The following papers also use imperial logic as a key to analyse different local reactions to central initiatives and the spreading of these local ‘products’ across the Empire. Juan Manuel Cortés Copete focuses on the kind of homage paid to the Emperor Hadrian by his Greek subjects, which may be a good example of the above. His frequent travels and sojourns in the cities all over the Empire were an unprecedented way of ruling, which made a deep impression on his people. In the Greek world, Hadrian’s generally beneficial presence gave rise to a characteristically Greek way of honouring him. The emperor was assimilated to several Greek gods particularly well-disposed towards humankind, all-­ powerful, and, at the same time, close and attentive to men. Asklepius, the



Dioscouri, and Heracles represented that kind of god, dispensers of gifts to humanity and themselves initiated, as Hadrian, in the Eleusinian Mysteries. The homage paid to the emperor in the Greek cities included this characteristically Greek way of understanding his power, which fitted in perfectly with his own choice of the title of Olympian in 129 AD. The cult of theos Hadrian was fully integrated into the structures of Greek civic religion and included different local initiatives, such as the worship of ‘Hadrian among the gods’ endorsed by the Spartan Theophrastus, whose impact on the construction of an imperial theology ought not to be overlooked. The integration of this new cult into the Greek ‘pantheion’ constitutes a further example of essentially different responses to central devices. Milena Melfi analyses a series of altars in the sanctuary of Asclepius at Epidauros, two of which were dedicated to the ‘pantheion’. She interprets these unusual dedications as a Greek way of integrating Hadrian’s initiatives around the idea of the pantheon, varyingly developed in Rome and Athens. While in Greece the new cult was never related to imperial cult, in the western part of the Empire it probably was closely linked to that of the Augusti, as suggested by the dedication Pantheo Augusto or by the fact that some dedicants were seviri augustales. Melfi concludes that the new ‘pantheon’ promoted by Hadrian might have meant ‘all things to all men’. The way of organizing imperial cult in the Empire also differed from place to place. After a historiographical review of the customarily accepted equation ‘koinon = province’, Fernando Lozano concludes that local and regional traits were taken into account and willingly accepted by the emperors. As a consequence, a much more complex reality emerges: for instance, provinces with more than one koinon; cities from different provinces joining the same koinon; or twin provinces where at least two different koina coexisted. This complex situation was not only accepted, but also cultivated by the emperors, who also acknowledged the higher status of certain cities within the leagues. Thus, local idiosyncrasies did not only form part of the organization of imperial cult in the provinces, but were also reformulated in Roman terms. The emperors fostered a particular territorial hierarchy, leading to an uneven distribution of power among and within the different koina which was aimed to serve Roman interests. Pre-existing local situations helped to shape imperial innovation, while at the same time being transformed in accordance with supra-civic dynamics. Lastly, Athanasios Rizakis deals with the specifically local development of a wholly Roman initiative: the religious evolution of the Roman colony of Philippi, in Macedonia. As to the customary reorganization of the cults that followed the foundation of any Roman colony, Philippi did not resort to the federal divinities that had usually acted as ‘bridges’ between the previous local



situation and the new Roman status. Thus, at first, Philippi was more Roman in aspect than any other colony in the area. From then on, however, Philippi followed a path entirely of its own design. Both topographically and chronologically, the Macedonian colony’s heterogeneous religious aspects followed an increasingly more indigenous pattern that, nonetheless, had been deeply influenced by its Roman history.

From some changes brilliantly disguised as continuity in the religious life of the Greek cities, to the decisive role of some features of traditional Greek religion in imperial initiatives, through the continuous exchange of cultural inputs at central, regional, and civic levels, all of these papers try to convey the impression that the religion of the Greek cities of the Roman Empire was both conservative and innovative at the same time, and that many (but not all) changes need the ‘Roman factor’ to be properly accounted for. The time has now come to express our gratitude to all those people and institutions without whose help both the workshop ‘Imperial dynamics and religion in the Greek cities of the Empire’ and this volume would have been impossible. First and foremost, our thanks go to the participants in the workshop, whose devotion to the subject made the time spent together in Seville an enjoyable experience, as well as confirming without a shadow of doubt that Greek religion in Roman times is far from being a dead issue. We are greatly indebted to Henk Versnel for his enlightening participation in the debates and his afterthoughts, and to Carmen Alarcón, Víctor Sánchez, Manuel Alejandro González and especially Joaquín López for participating in the workshop and for their invaluable support. Thanks are also due to the board of Impact of Empire, who decided to include this volume in the series, and to Brill’s editors for their kindness and patience. The workshop was generously funded by the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Finance, and by the European Regional Development Fund, through the research project ‘Hadrian and the integration of regional diversity’ (HAR201565451-C2-1-P MINECO/FEDER), and by Pablo de Olavide University, through the project ‘Civic elites and religion in the Roman Empire’. The Editors Sevilla, January 2017



Bibliography Alcock, S.E. 1993: Graecia Capta. The landscapes of Roman Greece, Cambridge. Aleshire, S., Lambert, St. 2011: “The Attic gene and the Athenian religious reform of 21 BC”, in J.H. Richardson, F. Santangelo (eds.), Priests and state in the Roman world, Stuttgart, 553–575. Chaniotis, A. (ed.) 2009: “The dynamics of rituals in the Roman Empire”, in O. Hekster, S. Schmidt-Hofner, Ch. Witschel (eds.), Ritual dynamics and religious change in the Roman Empire, Leiden-Boston, 3–29. Chaniotis, A. (ed.) 2012: Unveiling emotions: Sources and methods for the study of emotions in the Greek world, Stuttgart. Chaniotis, A., Ducrey, P (eds.) 2013: Unveiling emotions II. Emotions in Greece and Rome: Texts, images, material culture, Stuttgart. Deshours, N. 2011: L’été indien de la religion civique, Bordeux. Dignas, B. 2002: Economy of the sacred in Hellenistic and Roman Asia Minor, Oxford. Dignas, B., Trampedach, K. (eds.) 2008: Practitioners of the divine, Cambridge (Mass.). Follet, S. (ed.) 2004: L’hellénisme d’époque romaine: nouveaux documents, nouvelles approches, Ier s. a. C-IIIe s. p. C., Paris. Goldhill, S. (ed.) 2001: Being Greek under Rome, Cambridge. Hahn, J. 2006: “Römische Herrschaft und Religion—Aspekte und Fragestellungen”, in L. de Blois, P. Funke, J. Hahn (eds.), The impact of Imperial Rome on religions and religious life in the Roman Empire, Leiden, 1–10. Hekster, O. 2015: Emperors and ancestors. Roman rulers and the constraints of tradition, Oxford. Horster, M., Klöckner, A. 2012: Civic priests. Cult personnel in Athens from the Hellenistic period to Late Antiquity, Berlin-Boston. Horster, M., Klöckner, A. 2013: Cities and priests. Cult personnel in Asia Minor and the Aegean islands from the Hellenistic to the Imperial period, Berlin-Boston. Lozano, F. 2011: “The creation of Imperial gods: not only imposition versus spontaneity”, in P.P. Iossif, A.S. Chankowski, C. Lorber (eds.), More than men, less than gods: studies on royal cult and imperial worship, Leuven, 475–519. Schuler, Ch. 2015: “Local elites in the Greek East”, The Oxford Handbook of Roman Epigraphy, Oxford-New York, 250–273. Spawforth, A.J.S. 2012: Greece and the Augustan cultural revolution, Cambridge. Swain, S. 1996: Hellenism and Empire, Oxford. Versluys, M.J. 2014: “Understanding objects in motion. An archaeological dialogue on Romanization”, Archaeological Dialogues 21, 1–20. Whitmarsh, T. (ed.) 2010: Local knowledge and microidentities in the Roman Greek world, Cambridge.



Woolf, G. 1994: “Becoming Roman, staying Greek”, PCPS 40, 116–143. Woolf, G. 2014: “Isis and the evolution of religions”, L. Bricault, M.J. Versluys (eds.), Power, politics and the cults of Isis, Leiden-Boston, 62–92. Zuiderhoek, A. 2008: “On the political sociology of the imperial Greek city”, GRBS 48, 417–455.


Priesthoods and Civic Ideology: Honorific Titles for Hiereis and Archiereis in Roman Asia Minor Anna Heller The habit of awarding honorific titles to local notables and then displaying them in inscriptions was typical of the Greek world under Roman rule, and more specifically of the imperial period. It has its roots in Hellenistic and even Classical times: some of the words used as titles (for instance, euergetes or soter) went back a long way and were used in many different contexts (including the dynastic context of Hellenistic kingdoms). But from the 1st century BC onwards, they begin to be more frequently attested in honorific inscriptions, engraved on statue bases, thus directly qualifying the individual honoured by the community. In this context, they became a sort of permanent attribute1 of the men and women who were so distinguished by the people and tended to define their identity and social position. In the period of the civil wars, some new words or expressions, which came to enrich the honorific vocabulary, also began to be used as titles: philopatris, ‘son of the people’ (later ‘son of the city’), ‘first of the city’, etc. In the reign of Augustus, the word philosebastos appears directly in a civic context, whereas its older forms, philoromaios and philokaisar, were first used by the client-kings of Rome.2 This title is of special interest in studies of the impact of empire on civic religious identities, as it expresses loyalty towards the emperor and the imperial regime. It has been argued that it has close ties with the imperial institution and that the individuals designated as philosebastoi were engaged, in one way or another, in the celebration of the imperial cult.3 As I will try to demonstrate, this view does not stand up to the test of a systematic and quantitative study of the titles of priests and high-priests attested in the epigraphic sources from Roman Asia Minor. In addition to the set of ‘official’ titles that have a clear institutional value (philosebastos, philopatris, son of the city, benefactor, saviour, founder, 1  G authier 1985, 52 (about the Hellenistic kings honoured as benefactors and saviours, but the remark is also valid for notables who began to be honoured in a similar way in the Roman period). 2  S uspène 2009. 3  Veligianni 2001; Giannakopoulos 2008.

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etc.), I will address more current laudatory terms, such as kalos kai agathos, eusebes, endoxos, etc., when they are used in a similar context and tend to be assimilated to official titles. The results I will present here are drawn from a database recording honorific titles in a sample of over 20,000 Greek inscriptions from Asia Minor, dated to the Hellenistic and imperial periods.4 Individuals attested with titles are sometimes designated only by their names, with no further information. But in more than half of the cases, the inscriptions also mention the public offices they performed. Among the many different offices recorded in my database, those of priests and high-priests (hiereus and archiereus) are by far the most numerous. All together, they represent 18% of all the offices mentioned. The term ‘high priest’, first used in the context of the imperial cult at a federal level, gradually became the normal way of designating the same religious office at a civic level, whereas ‘priest’ tended to be used mainly in relation with the cult of the traditional gods.5 A special case is that of Didyma, where the offices of prophetes and hydrophoros can be assimilated to priesthoods. Accordingly, I have taken them into account in this study, but as a specific category, as I have also dealt with the office of asiarches, which has been much discussed in recent scholarship; the general opinion being that it should be understood as another way of designating high priests of Asia.6 The system of honorific titles was aimed at defining the role and position of good citizens in their community. So, how were those responsible for cultic activities in the cities of Asia Minor described? Were they styled in the same way as all devoted citizens? Or did the titles they held refer more specifically to their religious role and, if so, in what way? What qualities, what values were displayed? To answer these questions, I will first present the distribution of the evidence in terms of typology, geography, gender, and status, before examining the titles of priests and high-priests attested in inscriptions. 4  In this sample, which I have reviewed systematically, I have found 1635 inscriptions mentioning titles. Each database record corresponds to an individual or institution with one or more titles (as some titles awarded to individuals, and especially philosebastos, can also be used to describe civic institutions). Some inscriptions accord titles to several individuals and/or institutions, and some individuals display titles in different inscriptions. So, out of a total of 1930 records, 1782 are for individuals and concern 1342 different persons. For a general study using this database, see Heller forthcoming. 5  F rija 2012, 57–65. 6  See Campanile 2004.


Priesthoods and Civic Ideology


The Distribution of the Evidence

A search of my database for priests, high-priests, prophetai, hydrophoroi, and asiarchai yielded a total of 403 records of individuals holding titles and performing such religious offices. As some of them appear in several inscriptions, this total corresponds to 317 ‘real’ persons. At a first level, I have distinguished between priesthoods of traditional gods and those of the imperial cult (regardless of whether they are styled as high-priesthoods or priesthoods of the emperors), to which I have added priesthoods of Rome (Table 1.1). The most important group is that of




























Table 1.1 Typological and geographical distribution of religious office-holders with titles



high priest 2 36 13 16 24 28 6 1 7 5 11 1 2 152 38% civic 2 19 13 9 9 6 4 5 10 1 2 80 20% federal 11 7 10 10 1 4 43 11% priest of 5 3 10 18 4% emperors priest of 1 2 2 2 2 1 1 11 3% Rome asiarch 2 24 4 30 7% priest & high 1 25 2 3 1 2 4 6 1 7 52 13% priest office at 53 53 13% Didyma prophetes 38 38 9% hydrophoros 15 15 4% other 5 2 7 2% Total 15 114 19 22 115 42 15 3 21 7 27 1 2 403 100% % 4% 28% 5% 5% 29% 10% 4% 1% 5% 2% 7% 0% 0% 100%



individuals responsible for the cult of the emperors or of Rome (38%), whereas the holders of one or several priesthoods in honour of traditional gods represent little more than a quarter of the cases (27%). But a notable can also be attested as both a priest and high-priest (13% of cases). I have addressed the asiarchai (7%), as well as the prophetai and hydrophoroi (13%) separately because, as we shall see, they held quite specific titles. A last, small group (2%) is formed by the prophetai and hydrophoroi who, as they also performed other religious offices (priest, high-priest, or asiarches), do not easily fit into any of the other categories. The geographical distribution of these religious office-holders is primarily a reflection of the data used in this study: they are more numerous in Caria and Ionia, which are the regions providing the largest number of inscriptions in my sample. They are well represented in Lycia, too, and are recorded more sporadically in almost all the other regions. Their total absence, or very low presence, in a few regions has two possible explanations: either these regions are poorly represented in my sample (because the epigraphic habit was not widespread, as in Cappadocia, or due to the lack of comprehensive and easily available epigraphic publications, as in the case of Aeolis or Pontus), or provide a large number of inscriptions, but without titles (as in the Thracian part of the Straits, specifically in the cities of Byzantion and Sestos, whose corpuses contain mainly epitaphs). There is one interesting exception: in Mysia, and especially in the city of Pergamon, we have a large number of honorific and dedicatory inscriptions from the imperial period, but very few mentioning priests or high-priests with titles. As my general study of titles has demonstrated, this underlines the real specificity of Pergamon, where the Council and the people were not in the habit of honouring citizens pursuing public careers with titles, reserving this dignity mainly for representatives of Rome (emperors and magistrates), who were called ‘benefactors’, ‘saviours’, or ‘founders’.7 To my mind, this might be an indirect consequence of the role played by the Attalid monarchy in the history of the city: having replaced the kings, Roman emperors and magistrates inherited the exclusive nature of the honours bestowed upon them. The different kinds of religious offices examined here are not distributed equally in space. Priests of traditional gods are over-represented in Caria, as are priests who had also been high-priests, due to the wealth of d­ ocuments discovered in the sanctuaries of Panamara and Lagina.8 The prophetai and 7  See Heller forthcoming. 8 On the civic role of the priests of Panamara and Lagina, see Williamson 2013.

Priesthoods and Civic Ideology


hydrophoroi are concentrated at Didyma, whereas almost all the asiarchai are recorded at Ephesus. On the contrary, the number of civic high-priests with titles is very low in the capital of Asia: out of the 24 persons known to have performed this office at Ephesus, only one holds a title.9 The proportion is much higher (and quite stable) in some other cities where civic highpriests have been identified: 15 with titles out of 66 at Aphrodisias; 13 out of 55 at Stratonikeia; and 6 out of 26 at Magnesia in Ionia—viz. around 23% of high-priests with titles in each case. At Miletus, the proportion is slightly lower (4 out of 25 or 16%), though still higher than at Ephesus.10 In the capital of the Roman province of Asia, asiarchai were much more likely to hold a title than civic high-priests, and the latter are less frequently attested with titles than elsewhere. An explanation could be precisely the special status of the city and the specific social profile of its population, where provincial elites were much better represented than in other cities: civic archiereis, who could belong to the local upper classes in smaller cities, would be ‘downgraded’ at Ephesus, overshadowed by the notables pursuing a provincial career (who usually came from different circles than civic high-priests).11 This could be interpreted as an impact of empire: the implementation of permanent provincial structures resulted in the development of a provincial aristocracy and affected the civic social hierarchy as expressed through public office-holding. Before approaching more specifically the social status of the priests and high-priests, I wish to make a brief digression to discuss the presence of women in this context. As this issue would call for a comprehensive and complex treatment that goes far beyond the topic of titles, let us just examine the proportion of title-holding women in the categories I have selected (Tables 1.2a and 1.2b).

9 Vedius Gaius Sabinianus, attested as philosebastos in an honorific inscription for his grand-daughter (IEphesos VII, 1, 3072). 10  For the number of high-priests identified in each of these cities, see the appendix in Frija 2012, 223–273. 11  F rija 2012, 215–216.



Table 1.2a Gender distribution of religious office-holders with titles (raw data)

priest high priest

civic federal priest of emperors priest of Rome



19 24 14 5 5

90 122 63 38 10 11 30 41 38 38

asiarch priest & high priest office at Didyma

11 15

other Total

15 1 70

prophetes hydrophoros


6 327


109 152 80 43 18 11 30 52 53 38 15 7 403

6 3 3


Table 1.2b Gender distribution of religious office-holders with titles (%) f

priest high priest

civic federal priest of emperors priest of Rome

asiarch priest & high priest office at Didyma

other Total

prophetes hydrophoros

17% 16% 18% 12% 28% 0% 0% 21% 28% 0% 100% 14% 17%


83% 80% 79% 88% 56% 100% 100% 79% 72% 100% 0% 86% 81%



0% 4% 4% 0% 17% 0% 0% 0% 0% 0% 0% 0% 1%

100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100%

Priesthoods and Civic Ideology


In the study sample, the general proportion is of 17% of women for 81% of men, while a little more than 1% concern people mentioned in an anonymous and collective way (as someone’s ancestors or parents) who could be a mixture of both. This general proportion is a little higher than in the overall population of title-holders (where women represent 12% of the total), but the difference is not significant. Nor does it vary much from one category to another when we consider priests (of whom 17% are women), high-priests (16%), and those individuals performing both offices (21%). At Didyma, women are slightly more numerous (28% of hydrophoroi), but the most striking feature is their total absence among asiarchai (an exclusively male office, whereas we know of a lykiarchissa in Lycia12) and priests of Rome. The provisional conclusion I have reached in my overall study of honorific titles (based on a comparison between the proportion of women with titles and the proportion of women epigraphically attested in some selected corpuses) is that women were discriminated against before being awarded titles. This gender discrimination hindered their access to public affairs and thus to the epigraphic record, where they are under-represented in comparison with their real presence in the population. But for those women who participated in the public sphere, the award of titles does not seem to be less frequent than for men in the same situation. Women’s access to public offices depended heavily on their social status. For a general definition of the social profile of priests and high-priests, I have used two criteria that are, in themselves, not easy to interpret, as the results observed for the categories I have chosen to examine should be compared with those observed for the population as a whole. In the absence of such a general background, internal comparisons still have something to offer. The first criterion is the spread of Roman citizenship (Tables 1.3a and 1.3b). A little over 60% of the priests and high-priests with titles are Roman citizens, nearly 30% are only citizens of a Greek city, and around 9% are of indeterminate status, because their names are lost in a lacuna. These percentages are very close to those observed in the overall population of titleholders, once the Roman magistrates and emperors have been excluded (55% of Roman citizens, 31% of Greek citizens, and 13% of indeterminate status). Thus, in this respect, religious office-holders do not stand out from other notables attested with titles. In the group of priests and high-priests, however,

12 TAM II, 188–189.



Table 1.3a The spread of Roman citizenship among religious office-holders with titles (raw data) citizen

priest high priest

civic federal priest of emperors priest of Rome

asiarch priest & high priest office at Didyma

other Total

prophetes hydrophoros

36 46 27 5 10 4 15 20 17 3 1 118

Roman citizen



60 92 44 37 6 5 30 36 25 16 9 6 249

13 14 9 1 2 2

109 152 80 43 18 11 30 52 53 38 15 7 403

1 8 5 3 36

Table 1.3b The spread of Roman citizenship among religious office-holders with titles (%)

priest high priest

civic federal priest of emperors priest of Rome

asiarch priest & high priest office at Didyma

other Total

prophetes hydrophoros


Roman citizen



33% 30% 34% 12% 56% 36% 0% 29% 38% 45% 20% 14% 29%

55% 61% 55% 86% 33% 45% 100% 69% 47% 42% 60% 86% 62%

12% 9% 11% 2% 11% 18% 0% 2% 15% 13% 20% 0% 9%

100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100% 100%

Priesthoods and Civic Ideology


those active at a federal level are far more numerous as regards the possession of Roman citizenship than those responsible for a civic cult: in the sample, 86% of high-priests of a koinon and all the asiarchai are Roman citizens. This certainly reflects a social hierarchy between civic and federal officeholders, the latter coming from higher circles, having earlier and easier access to the civitas. The second criterion that can be useful to define the social position of these individuals is the number of offices mentioned in addition to that of priest or high-priest. It is a common opinion that in Greek cities during the imperial era public offices were monopolized by a small clique of families, and that the same people often assumed a large number of different offices. My general study of honorific titles suggests that this opinion is somewhat exaggerated and gives too much weight to striking, but isolated, examples. Indeed, a plurality of offices is rare among individuals attested with titles—who are, nonetheless, supposed to have been devoted, politically active citizens. When there is some information about their public career, a single office is mentioned in more than half of the cases (Figure 1.1a). In around 20% of all cases, the person is credited with two offices, and in around 10%, with three. The cases in which the title-holder is mentioned as having performed four offices or more thus represent less than 20% of the total. And multiple office-holding (7, 8, and up to 18 offices in one case) appears as the exception rather than the rule. As can be seen in Figure 1.1b, the number of offices held by priests and highpriests with titles differs significantly. First of all, they are far less numerous (36% versus 52%) than the overall population of title-holders performing only one office (namely, their priesthood or high-priesthood). The proportion of those mentioned with three or four offices, or multiple offices, is a little higher, although this last situation is still negligible. Nonetheless, the fact that almost two thirds of the religious ­office-holders assumed at least two offices tends to suggest that they were among the wealthier and more-upper class title-holders. This begs the following question: do they possess a higher than average number of titles? As for the number of offices mentioned, the case of priests and high-priests has to be compared with that of all the title-holders attested in the epigraphic record (Figure 1.2a). As to priests and high-priests, as well as in the case of all the title-holders, the majority of them are in possession of only one title (Figure 1.2b). In both cases, multiple titles are rare and the general profile of the two graphs is very similar. Nonetheless, religious office-holders are a little more frequently attested with three, four, or five titles than the average. Although the difference is not huge, it points to the same conclusion as the number of offices: priests



Figure 1.1a

Number of offices attested for title-holders who have assumed at least one office.

Figure 1.1b

Number of offices attested for religious office-holders with titles.

Priesthoods and Civic Ideology

Figure 1.2a

Number of titles attested in the overall population of title-holders.

Figure 1.2b

Number of titles attested for religious office-holders.


and high-priests occupied a rather higher position in the social hierarchy than the average title-holder. 2

Titles for Priests and High-Priests Attested in the Epigraphic Record

To draw up a list of the most frequent titles, the frequency of occurrence of each title, rather than the records of individuals bearing titles, has to be d­ etermined,



as some individuals have several. If we first consider the group of priests and high-priests as a whole, all categories included, this gives us 403 records of individuals for 699 occurrences of titles, which have the following distribution. Table 1.4a Typological distribution of titles among religious office-holders Title




philopatris son eusebes philosebastos benefactor ktistes primacy philokaisar philotimos agathos kalos-agathos moral quality (=personality) first megalophron moral quality (=distinction) … Total

115 87 65 52 49 35 29 27 27 22 20 20 16 11 10  … 699

16% 12% 9% 7% 7% 5% 4% 4% 4% 3% 3% 3% 2% 2% 1% …

16% 29% 38% 46% 53% 58% 62% 66% 70% 73% 76% 78% 81% 82% 84% 100%

The two most frequent titles are philopatris and ‘son’ (of the city, the people, or, more rarely, of the Council, the tribe, the province), two titles with strong affective connotations, equating devotion towards the city with love ­towards one’s parents through the notion of fatherland. They also suggest the strength of the bond existing between the citizen and the city, presented as both natural and binding.13 The first of these titles (philopatris) also tops the list for the overall population of title-holders only in possession of local citizenship, while occupying second place on the list for those who also possess Roman 13  For the connotations of these titles, see Heller 2009, 366–367; van Nijf 2013, 361–365.

Priesthoods and Civic Ideology


­citizenship.14 Love for the fatherland appears as a shared value for all citizens who have deserved a title, including priests and high-priests. The use of the family metaphor, by qualifying an individual as a ‘son’, is in turn more frequent than average for religious office-holders: in the general list of all title-holders, this title only comes in ninth place (with 5% of all occurrences of titles) for simple citizens, and in the fourth place (6% of occurrences) for Roman citizens. As priests and high-priests seem to be at the top of the group of titleholders, socially speaking, they received this very symbolic title more easily. The reason for this may also be that their specific action on behalf of the community (honouring the gods and the emperor as a god) was considered to be particularly important and to exemplify the model of the good citizen. The next most frequently attested title for priests and high-priests regarded as a group is the current adjective eusebes, consistent with the nature of the offices performed and hence not very surprising in this context. Some other general laudatory terms or phrases can also be used to define priests or highpriests. They can be described as ‘first in everything’ or ‘occupying the first place in their fatherland’—such informal praise of their primacy differing from the more institutionalized and rare title ‘first of the city / of the province’. They can be praised for their moral qualities, defined in terms of personality (aidemon, alethes, kosmios, pistos, praos, semnos, etc.) or social distinction (asynkritos, diasemos, episemos, exochos, etc.). Some of the adjectives that used to appear in the motivation clause of honorific decrees from the Hellenistic period, such as philotimos, agathos, and kalos kai agathos, now qualify directly the honorand in honorific inscriptions in such a way as to make them look like titles. Nevertheless, this use of laudatory epithets is less frequent than that of more ‘official’ ones, such as philosebastos (better and later attested than philokaisar), euergetes, or ktistes. Despite being official titles, other terms for priests and high-priests are very poorly attested in the epigraphic record, occurring in less than 10 instances. Such is the case of soter (only five occurrences, representing less than 1% of the total), which was, in general, quite rare for local notables during the imperial period, since it tended to be reserved for ­emperors and, to a lesser extent, Roman magistrates. For different reasons, the titles ‘mother’ or ‘father’ of the city are also very unusual, both in general and for priests and high-priests in particular (three occurrences in each case). While using the family metaphor to honour individuals, civic institutions clearly ­favoured the

14  These general results are drawn from the database to which I have already referred above (see note 4).



image of citizens as devoted and obedient sons, rather than protective fathers and mothers.15 These are the results obtained when taking into account all the occurrences of titles. But some can be duplicated in several inscriptions; for instance when a person is honoured by several statues, each of them engraved with the same text. Among other examples, reference can be made to the case of Ti. Iulius Iustus Iunianus, honoured by the tribes of Ancyra in the middle of the 2nd century AD, who has been high-priest three times, has been generous and made distributions, paid for some beautiful buildings, including a bath house, and furnished oil all day long. He is styled as κτίστην τῆς μητροπόλεως, […] φιλόπατριν in five identical inscriptions.16 Thus, the titles ktistes and philopatris appear five times, although they have been awarded only once to a single individual. This mode of reckoning could result in an over-representation of the titles that are more frequently attested by such multiple occurrences. Hence, I have drawn up an alternative list of the most frequent titles that excludes these multiple occurrences (e.g. the titles of Ti. Iulius Iustus Iunianus are counted just once). Using this new method, the records of title-holders amount to 330 (instead of 403), and the occurrences of titles, to 571 (instead of 699). The changes are in fact minor (Tables 1.4A and 1.4B): the three most common titles are still philopatris, ‘son’, and eusebes, ‘benefactor’ and philosebastos having changed places in the list, but still being quite frequent, with all the other titles occupying more or less the same position. The only one that drops significantly—from sixth to eleventh place—is ktistes. This means that it was seldom awarded, but often to people honoured by several inscriptions, suggesting that it had more value or was more prestigious than those attested more frequently. This is the typological distribution of titles among all the religious officeholders examined in this study. But can the same be said for the different categories I have defined within this large group? Let us first compare the lists of titles for priests of traditional gods (excluding the prophetai and hydrophoroi) and for high-priests, to which I have added priests of the emperors or of Rome (Tables 1.5a and 1.5b). The first two titles (philopatris and ‘son’) are the same for each of these categories, as for the whole group. I will not comment these lists in detail, but will 15  Hence the ‘paternalistic’ view of the relationship between the elite and the people, assimilated to that of parents and children, should not be given too much weight (see, for instance, Zuiderhoek 2008, 175–177), as it appears to be fairly negligible. 16   IAnkara 91–95.


Priesthoods and Civic Ideology Table 1.4b Typological distribution of titles among religious office-holders (without multiple occurrences) Title




philopatris son eusebes benefactor philosebastos primacy philotimos agathos philokaisar kalos-agathos ktistes moral quality (=personality) first moral quality (=distinction) philopolis … Total

86 59 57 45 36 28 23 22 20 20 19 19 13 10 9  … 571

15% 10% 10% 8% 6% 5% 4% 4% 4% 4% 3% 3% 2% 2% 2% …

15% 25% 35% 43% 50% 54% 58% 62% 66% 69% 73% 76% 78% 80% 82% 100%

focus on the title philosebastos, which has been generally understood as a sign of commitment to the imperial cult. However, the quantitative study of the occurrences of this title shows that it was more commonplace among priests of the traditional gods than among priests or high-priests of the emperors. In this last category, it is in fact rather uncommon, representing only 4% of title occurrences. The same goes for philokaisar: 10 occurrences for priests (5% of the total) and only four for high-priests (1%). When we eliminate duplicates, philosebastos drops from fourth to fifth place for priests, but still represents 7% of all occurrences, whereas it climbs from eighth to seventh place for highpriests and from 4% to 5% of the total number of occurrences. This does not change the fact that, in this last category, it is surpassed by several other titles expressing loyalty towards the city, rather than to the imperial regime. Philokaisar and, to a lesser extent, philosebastos are more prevalent for those individuals who had been both priests and high-priests: for this



Table 1.5a Typological distribution of titles among priests Title




philopatris son eusebes philosebastos agathos benefactor philokaisar ktistes philotimos kalos-agathos moral quality (=personality) philopolis philopator eugenes panaretos …

44 32 16 14 12 10 10 8 6 6 6 4 3 3 3  …

22% 16% 8% 7% 6% 5% 5% 4% 3% 3% 3% 2% 1% 1% 1% …

22% 38% 46% 53% 59% 64% 69% 73% 76% 79% 82% 84% 85% 87% 88% 100%



­category, philokaisar comes third in the list after philopatris and ‘son’, with 12 occurrences out of a total of 114 (11%), while philosebastos comes in fourth place, but with only six occurrences (5%). This peculiarity is not to be explained by the nature of the offices performed (the combination of a priesthood and a high-priesthood), but rather by the fact that this combination of religious offices is primarily attested at Stratonikeia, where the titles philokaisar (or more seldom philosebastos), philopatris, and ‘son of the city’ form a recurring sequence and seem to have been a sort of honorific ‘package’ awarded to local notables active at the sanctuaries of Panamara and Lagina. A similar geographical explanation accounts for the specific title list of asiarchs, which is as follows (Table 1.6). For these federal office-holders, the title philosebastos is indeed by far the most common one. But bearing in mind that, on the one hand, 80% of all the occurrences of this title in Asia Minor come from Ephesus and, on the other hand, 80% of the asiarchs with titles are also documented here, this


Priesthoods and Civic Ideology Table 1.5b Typological distribution of titles among high-priests Title




philopatris son primacy ktistes benefactor philotimos kalos-agathos philosebastos moral quality (=personality) megalophron agathos first moral quality (=distinction) moral quality (=reputation) panaretos … Total

35 30 23 23 22 17 13 12 11 9 8 8 6 6 5  … 275

13% 11% 8% 8% 8% 6% 5% 4% 4% 3% 3% 3% 2% 2% 2% …

13% 24% 32% 40% 48% 55% 59% 64% 68% 71% 74% 77% 79% 81% 83% 100%

Table 1.6

Typological distribution of titles among asiarchs





philosebastos benefactor first philotimos philopatris ktistes aristos prostates oikistes Total

20 5 3 2 1 1 1 1 1 35

57% 14% 9% 6% 3% 3% 3% 3% 3%

57% 71% 80% 86% 89% 91% 94% 97% 100%



over-­representation of philosebastos among asiarchs appears as the result of a specific local tradition, rather than a characteristic of the office itself. In other words, the causal link is between title and city rather than between title and office. The same interpretation may account for the title list of prophetai and hydrophoroi, which differs, in turn, from both the general list and the asiarchs’ list (Table 1.7). Table 1.7

Typological distribution of titles among prophetai and hydrophoroi





eusebes philopatris philagathos benefactor philodoxos philokaisar agathos eugenes founder family Total

42 5 4 4 3 1 1 1 1 62

68% 8% 6% 6% 5% 2% 2% 2% 2%

68% 76% 82% 89% 94% 95% 97% 98% 100%

At Didyma, the most frequent title, representing almost 70% of all occurrences, is the laudatory epithet eusebes. It is worth underlining, at this juncture, that most of the epigraphic evidence from the sanctuary of Didyma, as well as from the extra-urban sanctuaries of Stratonikeia, is derived from the so-called ‘commemorative inscriptions’, quite different in nature from public honorific inscriptions. These are private texts, inscribed by the office-holder after completing his year in office, to record his actions on behalf of the community. In this context, the prophetai and hydrophoroi from Didyma developed the habit of designating themselves as eusebeis, juxtaposing this epithet and their name, as if it were part of their self-definition. This choice of word is, of course, relevant for priests in general, but those active at Didyma made a particularly intensive use of it. It had become a local tradition, certainly under the effect of a kind of peer pressure and imitation phenomenon.

Priesthoods and Civic Ideology


3 Conclusion The study of honorific titles attested for priests and high-priests thus leads me to a kind of paradoxical conclusion. The integration of the Greek world into the Roman Empire gave rise to new ways of honouring and defining an individual’s position in the community; to the habit of awarding honorific titles. However, these titles, when possessed by religious office-holders, expressed loyalty and commitment towards the city much more frequently than towards the emperor. Love of the fatherland is still the main value highlighted in inscriptions and the qualities expressed through titles are often in line with the traditional rhetoric of praise used in honorific decrees throughout the Hellenistic period. Devotion to the emperor had indeed been added to the set of values exemplifying the image of the good citizen, but as a secondary or complementary quality that could not in any way challenge devotion to the community. Surprisingly, the title philosebastos was more common for priests of the traditional gods than for high-priests or priests of the emperors, the reason for which might be that the role of the latter in promoting the imperial cult was sufficient to demonstrate their support for Rome. The only exception is the asiarchai, who were both involved in the imperial cult and frequently styled as philosebastoi, but this is an Ephesian peculiarity. On the whole, the variations in the titles possessed by the different categories of religious officeholders appear to have stemmed from local traditions, rather than from the specificity of the office itself. In this global and integrated world, the city and its ideology remained the main focus for most of the notables, including priests and high-priests. Bibliography Campanile, M.D. 2004: “Asiarchi e archiereis d’Asia: titolatura, condizione giuridica e posizione sociale dei supremi dignitari del culto imperiale”, in G. Labarre (ed.), Les cultes locaux dans les mondes grec et romain, Lyon, 69–79. Frija, G. 2012: Les prêtres des empereurs. Le culte impérial civique dans la province romaine d’Asie, Rennes. Gauthier, Ph. 1985: Les cités grecques et leurs bienfaiteurs (IVe–Ier siècle avant J.-C.). Contribution à l’histoire des institutions, Athènes-Paris. Giannakopoulos, N. 2008: “Remarks on the honorific titles υἱὸς βουλῆς, υἱὸς δήμου and υἱὸς πόλεως in Roman Asia Minor”, in A. Rizakis and F. Camia (eds.), Pathways to power. Civic elites in the Eastern part of the Roman Empire, Athens, 251–310.



Heller, A. 2009: “La cité grecque d’époque impériale: vers une société d’ordres?”, Annales HSS, 64.2, 341–373. Heller, A. forthcoming: L’âge d’or des bienfaiteurs. Titres honorifiques et sociétés civiques dans l’Asie Mineure d’époque romaine. Suspène, A. 2009: “Les rois amis et alliés face au principat: rapports personnels, ­représentations du pouvoir et nouvelles stratégies diplomatiques dans l’Orient méditerranéen”, in M. Christol, M. Darde (eds.), L’expression du pouvoir au début de l’Empire, Paris, 45–51. van Nijf, O. 2013: “Affective politics. The emotional regime in the imperial Greek city”, in A. Chaniotis, P. Ducrey (eds.), Unveiling emotions II. Emotions in Greece and Rome: Texts, images, material culture, Stuttgart, 351–368. Veligianni, Chr. 2001: “Philos und philos-Komposita in den griechischen Inschriften der Kaiserzeit”, in M. Peachin (ed.), Aspects of friendship in the Graeco-roman world ( JRA Suppl. 43), Portsmouth, 63–79. Williamson, Chr. 2013: “Civic producers at Stratonikeia. The priesthoods of Hekate at Lagina and Zeus at Panamara”, in M. Horster, A. Klöckner (eds.), Cities and Priests. Cult personnel in Asia Minor and the Aegean islands from the Hellenistic to the Imperial period, Berlin-Boston, 209–245. Zuiderhoek, A. 2008: “Feeding the citizens. Municipal grain funds and civic benefactors in the Roman East”, in R. Alston, O. van Nijf (eds.), Feeding the ancient Greek city, Leuven, 159–180.


Public Sacrifice in Roman Athens* Elena Muñiz Grijalvo These are exciting times for scholars interested in sacrifice. Several fascinating studies have been published over the past few years questioning the models that had been current for over four decades. Most of the widely accepted theories about the origins of sacrifice, its meaning, or its social functions are being challenged. Most of the traditional certainties about how it ‘worked’, who actually took an active part in both the sacrifice itself and the banquet afterwards, who benefited most, and even the attitude of the victims, are being thoroughly reviewed.1 The new consensus casts doubt on the centrality of sacrifice within GraecoRoman ritual and takes for granted that it should no longer be thought of as a single, undifferentiated category. It also tries to historicise the practice2 in such a way that sacrifice is best thought of as a ‘vacant sign’, capable of assuming different meanings in different contexts, especially over time.3 Some brilliant studies along these lines have already been produced, for example on the evolution of the theology of sacrifice in Late Antiquity and on its place within early Christianity.4 This exciting panorama, however, does not include the fate of public sacrifice in the Greek world during the Roman era.5 The highly stereotyped n ­ ature * This paper has been written with the support of the research project ‘Adriano y la integración de la diversidad regional / Hadrian and the integration of regional diversity’ (HAR201565451-C2-1-P, MINECO/FEDER). I would like to thank Richard Gordon for his clever remarks on my text. I have also enjoyed Henry Heitmann-Gordon’s generous and beneficial help in matters related to Hellenistic political definitions. Any infelicities that remain are, of course, mine alone. 1  General revisions of scholarship on sacrifice: Georgoudi, Koch Piettre & Schmidt (eds.) 2005; Mehl & Brulé (eds.) 2008; Wright Knust & Várhelyi (eds.) 2012; Naiden 2013; Rutherford & Hitch (eds.) 2017 (non vidi). 2  R ives 2011, 187–202. 3  G ordon 1990, 206. 4  S troumsa 2005; Heyman 2007; Ullucci 2012. 5  In my view, ‘public’ rites were those performed by a public officer on behalf of the dêmos or some of its sub-units. Different definitions of ‘public’: Dasen, Piérart (eds.) 2005; Georgoudi 1998; Lambert 2010. For the sake of clarity, I should also point out that, when

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004347113_003


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of the sources, and a marked tendency to ignore public religion after the Classical and early Hellenistic periods, may explain this almost complete void. Admittedly, the evidence is ostensibly rather unappealing: as usual the best examples come from Athens, where sacrifices by public officials on behalf of the dêmos apparently continued to be performed as usual in the early Roman period. The sources, almost exclusively epigraphic, do not include as many descriptions and details as before; but, at first sight, the same things continued to be done and the only noticeable change was the omission of the age-old verbose formulae. Continuity, however, also needs to be explained, especially when it takes place in such a drastically new context as the (long) Roman Empire. Roman rule brought with it a completely new political framework which must have affected the development and the meaning of public sacrifice. This paper will try to show that some apparently minor changes in the epigraphic record of sacrifice may be a sign of deeper shifts within the management of public religion in Roman Athens and, consequently, imply variations in the very meaning of sacrifice in that context. As a point of departure, I will use one of the best preserved epigraphic series in the history of Athens, namely the prytany decrees, an extraordinarily rich record of the activities of the prytaneis, beginning with the overthrow of Demetrios of Phaleron in 307/6 BC and lasting well into the 2nd century AD.6 More than 200 rather formulaic decrees of this type, best exemplified by the long inscription Agora XV.194 of 178/7 BC (see Appendix 1), survive from the period up to the sack of Athens by Sulla in 86 BC. At that time, it was usual for two different decrees to be inscribed, one by the dêmos and the other by the boulê.7 Both praise the prytaneis and their officers for having done their duty in making the customary sacrifices before the meetings of the dêmos, and the tamias (treasurer of each tribe), and the rest of the officers for having performed all the proper sacrifices on behalf of the boulê and the dêmos and handled all other relevant matters.

I refer here to ‘Roman times’, I mean the period starting at the beginning of the 2nd century BC. On sacrifice in the Greek cities of the Roman Empire: Petropoulou 2008. 6  The prytany decrees have been the subject of Dow 1937; Geagan 1967, 92–116; Meritt & Traill 1974. 7  As explained by Meritt & Traill 1974, 5, ‘[…] there is no way of telling a priori in any given text which of these two decrees will turn out in actual point of time to be first and which the second.’ The decree of the boulé was differentiated from that of the dêmos around 257/6 BC or perhaps a little earlier.

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To begin with, let us take a closer look at the contents of both types of decree in the Hellenistic period (see Appendix 1). After the usual formulae, the ‘first’ decree (by the dêmos) states that the prytaneis as a group have reported the successful offering of sacrifices to certain gods ‘to whom it was traditional’ (οἷς πάτριον ἦν) to do so before the meetings of the ekklêsia, almost always Apollo Prostatêrios, Artemis Boulaia, and ‘the rest of the gods’.8 Consequently, the dêmos decides to ‘accept the good things that occurred’ (τὰ μὲν ἀγαθὰ δέχεσθαι τὰ γεγονότα) in the rites for the health and preservation of the council and the people, women and children, friends and allies. Thereupon, it decrees that the prytaneis are to be praised and crowned with a golden crown, and that the decree itself is to be inscribed and set up in the prytanikon. The payments for the stela are to be made by the principal administrative officer (ὁ ἐπὶ τεῖ διοικήσει), the treasurer of the military funds (ταμίας τῶν στρατιωτικῶν), or an entire administrative body (οἱ ἐπὶ τεῖ διοικήσει).9 In the decree of the boulê, the prytaneis and the aeisitoi (those privileged permanently to enjoy meals in the prytaneion) have already informed the boulê that their tamias has performed the sacrifices and the rest of religious duties ‘well and with love of honour.’ The boulê then praises the tamias and awards him an olive crown; and likewise with a long list of officers. As in the case of the dêmos’ decree, this too was inscribed and placed in the prytanikon and the same administrative officers defrayed the cost. For obvious reasons, this unusually rich series of decrees has interested scholars since Sterling Dow published the first comprehensive study on the subject in 1937. To my mind, several remarks can be made about the decrees prior to the Sullan sack. Firstly, they focus on sacrifices made by public officials for and on behalf of the boulê and the dêmos (women, children, and so on). The fact that the formulae are so stereotyped does not mean that the sacrifices were not performed regularly or that they were disregarded by contemporary Athenians: for otherwise it would be difficult to account for newcomers on the list of the gods to whom the offerings were made. To the usual Apollo Prostatêrios and Artemis Boulaia, significant additions are found from time to time: Artemis Phôsphoros, Athena Archêgetis, Zeus Ktêsios, the Mother of the Gods, Theseus, Apollo Patrôos, and even Antigonos and Demetrios, and the dêmos of the Romans.10 Secondly, we cannot say for sure what kind of 8 In the 3rd century BC, there were also exceptional records of sacrifices at the Stenia, the Chalkeia, and the Kronia: Meritt & Traill 1974, 70, 81. 9 On the officer of administration, see Dow 1937, 11–13. 10   Phôsphoros and Athena Archêgetis: 183 (182/1 BC); Phôsphoros: 184 (182/1 BC), 197 (177/6 BC); 199 (175/4 BC); 240 (140/39 BC); Antigonos and Demetrios: 111 (240 BC), 115 (235/4 BC);


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s­ acrifices were performed and when. Some of them were probably related to the eisitêtería of the prytaneis, while others were also performed before the meetings of the ekklêsía. It remains impossible to know whether there were further sacrificial occasions, although Geagan takes for granted that the prytaneis were responsible for all public ritual. Nothing can be said with certainty about the number and the kind of victims offered or about the actual performance of the rites. Thirdly, it is highly probable that sacrifices were at least partly financed by the tamias of the prytaneis11 and that the decrees were inter alia a means of thanking him for the gesture; but, as we shall see, at least up to the second half of the 2nd century BC, the decrees provided no explicit indication of who actually paid for the sacrifices. Fourthly, readers of the decrees get the impression that the award of honours for a successful sacrifice (expressions of thanks [‘praise’], crowns, stelai, and the decrees themselves) was a public ­affair.12 The formulae emphasise the authority of the dêmos and the boulê: they issue the orders and approve every decision; each of them occupies the most prominent place in the relevant inscription; and each specifies who is actually to see to the cutting of the inscription and who is to pay for it. The 1st century BC brought with it some radical changes in the decrees.13 Virtually all the items I have just listed above were altered in one way or another. To begin with the last of them, the honours ceased to be managed by both the dêmos and the boulê. The decree of the former simply disappears from the epigraphic record and the boulê itself becomes less important in its decree (which is henceforth the only decree). The council continues to approve all the decisions, but now the prytaneis seem to play a more central role. It is still the boulê that thanks the treasurer and decrees a crown for him; but now there is a new type of recognition for him, a painted portrait to be placed in the bouleuterion, with an inscription reading: ‘The prytaneis of the tribe so and so and the aeisitoi set up this statue of the tamias so and so.’14 Visually speaking, the most prominent place on the stela is now occupied by the prytaneis, who assume the place formerly occupied by the dêmos and the boulê.15 Last but not Zeus Ktêsios: 171 (190/89 BC); Theseus and Apollo Patrôos: 240 (140/39 BC); the Dêmos of the Romans: 180 (184/3 BC). 11  D ow 1937, 15, even mentions three examples where the tamias is stated to have borne them all (113, 119 and 120 in his catalogue). 12  Even though, as will be suggested infra, private initiative was also probably behind the decision of issuing a decree. 13  A typical example of the new kind of prytany decrees: Meritt & Traill 1974, 264 (see Appendix 2). 14  Idem. 264, 265, 268, 277, 281, 289a, 295, 301, 304. 15  See Meritt & Traill’s design of a developed Hellenistic inscription in the Appendix 3.

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least, the actual cutting of the decree is now entrusted to the grammateus (secretary) of the prytaneis, and there is no indication of who is to defray the costs. Sacrifice performed on behalf of the boulê and the dêmos continued to be the raison d’être of the honours awarded to the tamias. A second important change, however, is that the space devoted to it is progressively reduced, especially when compared to the number of words which extol the tamias’ virtues and the honours awarded him. Only the brief phrase τὰς θυσίας τεθυκέναι ἁπάσας τὰς καθηκούσας τοῖς πρυτάνεσι ὑπὲρ τῆς βουλῆς καὶ τοῦ δήμου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων now alludes to sacrifice. Moreover, the very names of the gods, to say nothing of the type of sacrifices performed, have disappeared. The third and most interesting change has to do with payment for the sacrifices. Prior to the 1st century BC, as we have seen, almost no reference was made to the financing of the rites, even though it is quite probable that the tamias assumed at least part of the cost. From the second half of the 2nd century BC, however, slight variations in the formulae suggest that the issue of who was actually paying for the sacrifices had become more important. In 131/0 BC, for example, the decree of the boulê includes for the first time a phrase about the propriety of praising those ‘who took care of the liturgies.’16 The formulae become much more explicit in later years. Thus, in 64/3 BC, we encounter for the first time the unequivocal formula ‘sacrifices performed from his personal resources,’ which thenceforth became a standard feature of the decrees.17 Around the same time, the formulae relating to performance become less expansive: the decrees praise the tamias for having carried out the sacrifices, but cease to mention that they were the appropriate ones for each new prytany, or even that they were performed on behalf of the boulê and the dêmos. Instead, a brief phrase expresses the idea that the tamias has acted with great generosity, using the adverbs μεγαλοπρεπῶς (316), πολυτελῶς (304), μ̣ εγαλομερῶς (292, 293). The decrees of the boulê continue to record the generosity of the tamias at least until around 138 AD. However, already from the 1st century BC it becomes more usual to find records only of the honours paid by the prytaneis to different officials or even merely lists of the prytaneis. By the second half of the 2nd century AD, this is the only kind of prytany inscription still being put up. The issue of payment has often seemed to previous scholars to be of major significance. In keeping with Oliver’s interpretation of the changes in the

16  M eritt & Traill 1974, 246, 254, 260, 261. 17  Idem. 266 (64/3): τάς τε θ[υσίας τεθυκέναι τὰς καθηκούσας ἐν τῆι πρυτα]νείαι ἐκ τῶν ἰδίω[ν ὑπέρ τε τῆς βουλῆς καὶ τοῦ δήμου καὶ] παίδων καὶ γυναικῶν [— — — — —].


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­prytany decrees,18 the explicit allusion to the fact that it is the tamias who pays for the sacrifices has invariably been linked to the assumption of a general economic crisis in Athens after the sack by Sulla. Oliver identified four different stages in the patronage of the tribes of Roman Athens. For my purpose here, it seems pertinent to cite Oliver’s own words on this, so as better to catch his tone: In the period from Sulla to Hadrian the tribes still counted upon finding one rich man in the tribe’s contingent of Councillors who were chosen by lot […]. In the second period Hadrian, who did so much for Athens, gave no help here because in his day there was no problem, thanks to Claudius Atticus. Endowments set up by Claudius Atticus defrayed expenses for the prytanizing tribes, but after the death of Claudius Atticus the endowments were recovered by his heir, and the Athenians were once again in an embarrassing position. The third period had already started by the latter part of 138 AD and it continued through the reign of Commodus. Unable to return to the old system and to rely on treasurers elected out of the prytaneis themselves, the Athenians appealed to the tribal loyalty of any rich phyletes whether he happened to be a prytanis or not. The treasurer no longer appears, and the patron, even when a prytanis himself, is called an eponymus […]. In the fourth stage, that of the Severan period, Athenian tribes looked for men who would contribute half or part of the necessary expenses, while the treasury of Athena Polias contributed the rest. Funds were harder to raise. So, in Oliver’s view, the epigraphic changes were a consequence of actual transformations in the way in which the sacrifices were financed and in the organisation of the responsibilities of the prytaneis. Oliver assumed that from the time of Sulla the city of Athens had entered an acute economic crisis which deteriorated further over the following centuries. In such circumstances, only the altruism of individual benefactors helped to save the day: first, the tamiai of the prytaneis and then, once it became impossible to find tamiai rich enough to finance the sacrifices, other benefactors called eponymoi, who did not necessarily have any connection with the tribes they were helping. Tib. Claudius Atticus’ endowment provided but momentary relief to the ‘recurrent embarrassment’ of finding benefactors to pay for sacrifices and other public duties. At least from 120 to about 138 AD, a period when, in Oliver’s words, the 18  O liver 1949: as far as I am aware, Oliver’s views about those changes have never been challenged.

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Athenians became ‘poorer than ever,’ they had no need to cast about desperately for wealthy and public-minded patrons. To the best of my knowledge, Oliver’s thesis has been widely accepted without further discussion.19 Only one minor adjustment has been made regarding how long the Athenians enjoyed Claudius Atticus’ endowment: Anna Benjamin suggested that when Herodes Atticus recovered his father’s endowment, the Emperor Hadrian took charge of the prytany expenses and was thanked accordingly in several inscriptions that have survived.20 But the general impression remains that Athens was suffering from an almost chronic economic condition, which brought with it a general reluctance on the part of the better-off to assume cultic responsibilities. It was on account of the financial crisis that the performance of the traditional sacrifices steadily became less important. In scholarly circles, there was a general consensus that it was this crisis that led to the decay of the civic rites and that, in Dow’s words, ‘the mention of sacrifices, especially after Sulla, became a mere form.’21 Before going any further, we should perhaps question Oliver’s major assumption, namely that from Sulla’s time Athens was ‘an exceedingly poor and wretched city.’ This view was widely held well before Oliver’s time, and no doubt had its roots in those ancient literary sources that offer a rather pessimistic view of Athens and of Greece as a whole in the Roman period. Neither is this the place to analyse these sources, which have been brilliantly discussed by John Day in his economic history of Athens, nor to go into detail about the economic conditions in Greece after Sulla. I offer here just a few remarks in the light of recent research to challenge the picture of economic collapse at Athens in Roman times. On the one hand, although the studies devoted to the financial situation of Athens come to somewhat different conclusions, almost all agree that there was a general improvement during the late 1st century BC, and definitely so in the time of Augustus, who contributed to the welfare of Athens in different ways.22 As for the Principate proper, some authors believe that the 1st century AD saw hard times for Athens, while others prefer to postpone the crisis until the Herulian sack in 267 AD.23 In general, all concur on two basic points, viz.

19  R aubitschek 1953, 242–255; Guarducci 1969, 8; Geagan 1967, 98–100. 20  B enjamin 1963, 73–74. 21  D ow 1937, 26. 22   Giornate di studio su Atene Romana. Cortona 1993, Ostraka 4.1, 1995; Baldassarri 1998; Burden 1999; Spawforth 2012. 23  Larsen 1933; Day 1973, 177–185; Geagan 1967, 67; Alcock 2007, 671–697.


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that the economic crisis after Sulla did not last forever and that the Athenian finances had their ups and downs over the years, as was only normal. On the other hand, Oliver overlooked another obvious fact. No matter how hard times might have been for the city of Athens, the economic crisis did not affect all its citizens to the same degree and at the same time. This is a basic fact of life that we in the 21st century are extremely well aware of. Returning to Roman Athens, it would be better to clarify the degree to which the people who actually footed the bill for public sacrifices were affected by the changing economic conditions of their city.24 Some well-known Athenian families probably never experienced any difficulty at all,25 while many rich people benefited immensely from the new situation brought about by Roman rule in the Mediterranean, as it allowed individuals to accumulate property and to conduct economic affairs in different territories, and also to distribute benefactions beyond their home cities. Some simply rich people became ‘super-rich’ under the Romans.26 We are even aware of some controversies between wellknown aristocratic families in Athens, regarding who was to take up certain famous priesthoods: for example, the Claudii of Melite tried to gain control of various priesthoods at Eleusis.27 If Athens was not permanently impoverished after Sulla, and if there were enough wealthy people (Athenian and non-Athenian) to take charge of rituals, the question remains: what prompted Oliver to think it must have become difficult to find funds for continuing public sacrifices? The only reason seems to be the fact that the tamiai were now explicitly paying for them and Oliver read this to mean that it was becoming increasingly more difficult for them to do so. But this is to ignore another basic fact: public funding had never covered the total expenses of public ritual. The elites had always paid for at least part of public rituals, often to make them more attractive and always to make room for themselves in public life.28 The introduction of epigraphic formulae explicitly stating that the tamiai were paying for sacrifices was just that: an epigraphic change and not evidence for a change in the real or actual funding of the rites. What needs to be explained, in my opinion, is why the tamiai, who had probably been paying for the sacrifices much earlier, started to show an interest in leaving a written record of their generosity in those precise years. In other 24  H abicht 1997, 338–365; Hoff 1997; Aleshire & Lambert 2011, 553–575; Santangelo 2007. 25  See, for example, Woloch 1973; more generally, Quass 1993. 26  A lcock 1996, 218; Woolf 1997; Alcock 2007. 27  Concerning Eleusinian priesthoods, see Clinton 1974 (on these quarrels see esp. 60 ff.). 28  D ow 1937, 15; Bradbury 1995; Parker 1996, 256–281.

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words, what needs to be accounted for is a shift in the way the elites publicly manifested their power. In my view, this kind of minor modification in the epigraphic conventions should be read against more general trends in the euergetic activities of the elites. Long ago, Philippe Gauthier showed that the Roman presence in the Greek world from the 2nd century BC onwards brought about radical changes in the euergetic system. An ever narrower circle of wealthy citizens took charge of a growing number of civic responsibilities and, consequently, received an increasing number of honours. They actually seemed to demand more and more public recognition of their benefactions. From the 3rd century BC, honours voted by the boulê and the dêmos had probably been requested beforehand by the honorands.29 Such express recognition was obviously the most important element in the construction of the public image of the civic elites. The increasing oligarchisation of civic life in Roman times also meant that family honours might be inherited and transmitted from one generation to the next.30 It may also explain why the possible utility of public decrees even when the honorand was already dead: younger members of the family might benefit from the prestige of their ancestors in generations to come.31 The prytany decrees provide a nice example of all this. In one notable case, a treasurer of the prytaneis, whose name is lost, is honoured for having fulfilled the duties of tamias four times in his life, each time having acted with extraordinary generosity.32 The decree explains that he was elected tamias for the fourth time πρὸς τὴν τελευτὴν τοῦ βίου, which means that he was already dead when the decree was issued and inscribed. It is highly probable that his son(s) or relatives took the necessary steps to guarantee that their ancestor’s public merit did not go unnoticed. At the same time, the activities of the elite point to a growing interest in religious affairs. This too is a huge issue that I can only resume here. Imperial dynamics are again one of the keys to understanding the process. On the one hand, the elites were probably mirroring the characteristically Roman ‘associations between wealth, public office, beneficence and the religious system,’33 above all from the reign of Augustus, which fostered an even closer relation

29  G authier 1985, 54–73. 30  On the oligarchisation of Greek public life in Roman times: Briscoe 1967; de Ste. Croix 1981, 523–529; Grieb 2008; Carlsson 2010; Spawforth 2012, 36–55. 31  L ambert 2011, 193–214. 32  M eritt & Traill 1974, 295. 33  G ordon 1990, 225.


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between elites and religion.34 On the other hand, Athenian elites themselves played a leading role in the reappraisal of civic religion. As always, the management of religious traditions allowed them to keep a firm hold on civic power in their own poleis. But religion was also a crucial factor in the establishment of Greek excellence in Roman eyes and, therefore, in the position of Greek elites within the Empire.35 Perpetuating civic rites and keeping a strong grip on them was thus in accordance with both Roman policies and elite strategies. In this general context, it may be easier to understand why the assumption of religious duties may not have been so ‘embarrassing’ after all. On the contrary, taking on religious roles and financing traditional religious rites became central to the construction of the image of the elites.36 This helps to explain why religious roles actually tend to multiply from the 2nd century BC. A good example may be the appearance of the ergastinai in the epigraphic record at the end of the 2nd century BC: young women from the most prominent Athenian families who were honoured for their service in the cult of Athena Polias.37 Another example would be the proliferation of religious offices in popular cults such as that of Asclepius or Isis.38 It is not only a question of the extent to which the polis depended on the financial engagement of the elites, but also of how the latter instrumentalised their financial contribution to public religious rites as an argument to round off their prestige.39 All these general transformations in the management of public life in the Greek cities of the Roman Empire constitute one of the keys to understanding the apparently insignificant changes in the prytany decrees. There is little doubt that the tamiai had been helping to pay for sacrifices already before Roman times. That they only make this fact explicit from the end of the 2nd century BC is, in my opinion, a splendid illustration of the growing importance of religious euergetism and its expected social and political return. The decrees included more and more allusions to the generosity of the tamiai in funding the rites. Not only were the sacrifices conducted ἐκ τῶν ἰδίων, but were also put on lavishly (μ̣ εγαλομερῶς), sumptuously (μεγαλοπρεπῶς), with no expense spared (πολυτελῶς). To judge from some of the changes in the physical location of the honours decreed, such extraordinary generosity expected a high return. The locations 34  H otz 2006; Nicols 2006; Wallace-Hadrill 2008; Spawforth 2012. 35  M uñiz Grijalvo 2015, 27–42. 36  L ambert 2012; Perrin-Saminadayar 2012; Spawforth 2012, Chapter 4; Camia 2014. 37  B rulé 1987, 100–105; Mikalson 1998, 256–258. 38  On Asclepius: Aleshire 1991; on Isis: Muñiz Grijalvo 2009. 39  L ambert 2012; van der Hoff 2008.

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of the stelae honouring the tamiai had normally been the bouleuterion and the prytanikon. After 130 BC, however, special sites were selected for the inscriptions and painted portraits, evidently because they offered the honorands greater visibility, namely the Stoa of Attalos (265), the Gymnasium of Ptolemy (304), and especially the sanctuary of Asclepius (295, 301), which was a particularly popular place that, from the 1st century BC onwards, became a favourite stage for all kind of honorific displays.40 Interestingly enough, it might also have been allowed to erect the stela ‘wherever it is convenient.’41 The inclusion in the decrees of explicit reference to those who defrayed the cost of the sacrifices was undoubtedly a mark of gratitude towards the people who were lending a hand in difficult times. But it was more than that: it meant that the rites continued to be sufficiently important to constitute a good investment and that, for the reasons already given above, it had become attractive to record such information explicitly. However, none of these elements would make sense without a final and central one, namely a change in the meaning of sacrifice under the pressure of elite instrumentalisation. I will therefore conclude with some remarks on the new role of public sacrifice in Roman Athens. Let us first look at the situation in the Hellenistic period. The prytany decrees suggest that the sacrifices performed by the prytaneis, probably already funded by their tamiai, were basically a public affair and a central expression of Athens’ identity as a polis. Not only was the actual performance of these sacrifices important for the community, but the public record was managed and controlled by the community itself, proposing honours and issuing decrees through its two most representative organs of power: the dêmos and the boulê. It seemed to be irrelevant that the sacrifices were not actually paid for out of public funds, but out of the tamias’ own pocket. Prytany sacrifices and the decrees honouring the prytaneis for having performed them were nevertheless an important expression of Athenian institutions. Thus, the rituals and all the attendant business, including the record of the honours decreed for those who had taken part in their performance, were all staged within this communita­ rian frame. It is ironic that, as I have already stressed, we cannot gain a precise idea about the kind of rituals performed by the prytaneis. Purely generic expressions are employed, such as ‘the sacrifices before the (meeting of the) ekklesia’ (240), ‘the proper sacrifices’ (187), or ‘the sacrifices prescribed by tradition’ (187).42 No doubt their very familiarity made further details unnecessary: 40  M elfi 2007. 41  M eritt & Traill 1974, 246, 258, 261. 42  Idem. passim.


Muñiz Grijalvo

e­ veryone was aware that these traditional sacrifices had been taking place in Athens for centuries. The meaning(s) attached to the rites by the different groups—or ­individuals—who took part in them is a very complex question that will probably never be satisfactorily answered.43 Nonetheless, it may be worth dwelling for a moment on the continuing discussion about the ‘general’ meaning of sacrifice. As mentioned at the beginning of this paper, current views emphasise the need to abandon the notion of sacrifice as a unitary category. Once we accept the diversity of sacrifice as a practice, it becomes difficult to subscribe to either of the post-Maussian views on the subject as a means of binding a group together through guilt (Burkert, Girard) or through joy (the ‘Paris School’)—a choice that has been wittily described by Fred Naiden as ‘Teutonic guilt and Gallic delectation’.44 It may also be useful to recall recent studies on the real reach of public sacrifices,45 which emphasise that most of them were not at all intended to include the whole group on whose behalf the sacrifice was being made. As in so many other cases,46 the prytany sacrifices were made only ‘on behalf of the boulê and the dêmos’, and ‘for the health and preservation of the boulê, the dêmos, children, women, friends and allies’. Consequently, neither were they designed as a general meat supplement to a vegetarian diet, nor could they have functioned to strengthen social bonds through physical participation at the banquets, since ‘communal banquets’, though of course not quite unknown in the Hellenistic period, are themselves part of the falsifying modern myth.47 Even though the mass of the population did not take part in sacrificial banquets and was assuredly not present at the sacrifices performed by the prytaneis, such rites and, above all, their public commemoration were major factors in the idea of civic community. Public sacrifices were avowedly performed on behalf of the Athenian community; or, to put it the other way round, one possible definition of ‘the Athenian community’ might be ‘those people whose continued well-being was sustained, at least indirectly, by the performance of certain sacrifices, such as those offered by the prytaneis on behalf of the dêmos 43  U llucci 2011; Veyne 2000, 3–42: ‘Les débats deja anciens sur la vraie signification du sacrifice vont se poursuivre sans fin et sans objet.’ 44  N aiden 2013, 4. 45  Resumed also by Naiden 2013, Chapter 6. 46  IG II2, 950 (165/4), IG II2, 974 = SEG 18, 26 (137/6), IG II2, 975 + 1061 = SEG 18, 27 (112/111), IG II2, 990 (mid 2nd c. BC), IG II2, 991, IG II2, 992 (II BC), IG II2, 1000, IG II2, 1019 + SEG 18, 25 (138/7), IG II2, 1054 (125/100 BC), IG II2, 1061 = SEG 18, 27 (end of 2nd-beginning 1st c. BC), IG II2, 1224 (c. 166). 47  On this subject see, above all, Schmitt Pantel 1992; for a survey of truly communal sacrifices at the very beginning of the Hellenistic period, see Rosivach 1994.

Public Sacrifice in Roman Athens


and the boulê.’ The decrees clearly specify the membership of this ­community by listing the groups who received the beneficial effects (τὰ ἀγαθά) of the sacrifices: the boulê, the dêmos, the women and children, together with the ‘friends and allies’ of the Athenians, who however clearly fall outside the limits of the civic community. By the same token, the decrees attest that the sacrifices have been successfully performed (i.e. that the omens were favourable) and that the community accepts the favourable reports conveyed by their representatives (the prytaneis), thus unequivocally legitimating their activities. The enunciative character of the decrees thus establishes close ties between the performance of sacrifice, the concept of community, and the beneficial action of their legitimate representatives. Sceptics might argue that the effective reach of the decrees was very limited. After all, only those who could read and had the time and inclination to do so would be aware of the triangular relationship thus constructed. We should not, however, forget that the contents of the decrees were proclaimed orally, which provided a direct channel of communication. Moreover, it is probable that the recognition decreed by the dêmos and the boulê on these and other occasions was not always memorialised epigraphically.48 Besides, many decrees were inscribed on stelae only because their beneficiaries increasingly saw to it themselves. The usual honorific procedure merely included an oral resolution on the occasion of a public festival.49 Special honours, including the vote of crowns and statues, were probably announced at major festivals such as the Haloa, the City Dionysia, the Apatouria, the festival of Artemis Agrotera, and so on.50 So, it would not be unreasonable to hold that those who took part on all these occasions, even as mere spectators, had a chance to witness the oral proclamation of honours and register the link being established between sacrifice, community, and the elite. In Hellenistic Athens, therefore, the ‘meaning’ of public sacrifice focused upon its beneficial effects for a specific group of people, who anyway (if we set the ‘friends and allies’ to one side) conceived themselves as part of an ­identifiable community. The fact that the dêmos was said to be defraying the costs of the sacrifices must have played an important role here. For, at least in theory, this 48  L ambert 2011; Beard 1991. 49  In Chaniotis words, ‘[…] financial contributions for the city were visible, transparent, and above all loud,’ see Chaniotis 2010, 23. 50  For example, IG II2, 1227, ll. 30–32: καὶ ἀνειπεῖν τὸν στέφανον τοῦτον Διονυσίων τῶν ἐν Σαλαμῖνι τραγωδοῖς, ὅταν πρῶτον γίνηται v καὶ Αἰαντείοις τῶι γυμνικῶι ἀγῶνι; IG II2 1299: ἀνειπεῖν δὲ τὸν στέφαν[ον κα]ὶ τὴν ἀνάθεσιν τῆς εἰκόνος Ἁλώιων τε τῶι πατρίωι ἀγῶνι καὶ ἐμ Πανάκτω [ι Ἀπατο]υρίων τῆι θυσίαι καὶ ἐπὶ Φυλεῖ ὅταν γίνηται ἡ θυσία τῆι Ἀρτέμιδι τῆι [Ἀγροτέρα]ι καὶ Διονυσίων τῶν ἐν ἄστει τραγωιδῶν τῶι καινῶι ἀγῶνι ὅταν πρῶτο[ν ὁ δῆμοςσυ]ντελεῖ τὰ Διονύσια.


Muñiz Grijalvo

was one of the core responsibilities of the democratic state. In the unstable ­situation after the end of the Peloponnesian War, the speaker of Lysias’ Against Nicomachus lists three criteria for public sacrifices: that they should correspond to ancestral usage (κατὰ τὰ πάτρια); that they should further the interests of the city; and that they shall be decreed by a vote of the dêmos and be paid for out of the public revenues (ἐκ τῶν προσιόντων χρημάτων).51 Although Aristotle in the Athenaiôn Politeia is noncommittal about who paid for public sacrifices, alluding merely to the two types of hieropoioi (Commissioners of Sacrifices), the 10 hieropoioi for expiatory sacrifices, and the 10 ‘annual’ hieropoioi ‘who perform certain sacrifices and make the arrangements for all those religious festivals which are celebrated every fifth year’ (54.6–7), in his Politics he is much more specific: ‘[…] the expenses connected with religion are the common concern of the whole state’ (7.10, 1330a8). The critics of democracy probed deeper into the issue. The ‘Old Oligarch’, for example, arguing that the Athenian dêmos mismanaged and wasted public money, has this to say about religion: As for sacrifices and sacrificial victims and festivals and sacred lands, the dêmos, knowing that it is not possible for each of the poor to sacrifice and feast and banquet and live in a great and beautiful city, has found a way for these things to be. And so the polis sacrifices many victims at public expense, and it is the members of the dêmos who feast and share the victims among themselves (2.9).52 In the late 4th century BC, Theopompos of Chios likewise criticises the excessive number of sacrifices paid for by the dêmos: ‘[…] the dêmos as a whole spends more on its common banquets and distributions of meat than it does on the administration of the polis’ (FGrH 115 F 213).53 The Hellenistic prytany decrees suggest that public sacrifices, and especially their oral and epigraphic records, played a role in the configuration of a specific idea of community in that period. The prominent position of the dêmos in the decrees, and the fact that the funding was not explicitly attributed to a source and could therefore continue to be vaguely identified as ‘public’, had to do with that idea of community. That in Roman times the dêmos ceased to approve the honours decreed for the prytaneis and the funding of sacrifices 51  30, 19. The speaker is accusing Nicomachos of having introduced too many new sacrifices; he himself states his desire to revert to those prescribed by the laws of Solon. 52  Tr. Marchant (Loeb Classical Library), with one slight correction in italics. On this passage, see Schmitt Pantel 1992, 231–232. 53  For this entire discourse, which is also found in Aristophanes and Thucydides, see again Schmitt Pantel 1992, 203–206.

Public Sacrifice in Roman Athens


began to be overtly linked to individual tamiai should not therefore be dismissed as minor changes in the epigraphic habit. This development is rather to be read as an indicator of more fundamental shifts, not just in relation to the developing power of the elites and the euergetism that went along with it, but also the new meaning that at least some public sacrifices had for Athenian citizens. From the 1st century BC, people started to discover that the prytany sacrifices were performed thanks to the generosity of the individual currently serving as tamias. The message communicated by these events thus shifted away from a communitarian one to one about the indispensability of the elite and its benefactions. Public sacrifice thus became an instrument in the construction of the image of beneficial socio-political elites who discharged the duties formerly considered a collective obligation. However, public sacrifice did not completely lose its character as a central prop in the idea of community. Perhaps we should put the matter somewhat differently: what had actually changed was the nature of the community to which the communication was addressed. A non-Athenian example may serve to illustrate this point. As is now well-established, during the Hellenistic, but more particularly the Roman, period wealthy benefactors increasingly assumed the organisation of public festivals and rites at their own expense. A certain Cleanax from Cyme in the Aeolid, for example, on entering upon his office as prytanis, ‘performed the sacrifices to the gods according to custom, distributed sweet wine to all the inhabitants of the city (without category restrictions), […] entertained many citizens and Romans for several days in the prytaneion […] offered sacrifices […] with which he entertained in the marketplace the Greeks, the Romans, the paroikoi and the foreigners.’54 The sacrifices performed and paid for by people like Cleanax, and likewise the recognition and honours awarded them, communicated a different notion of community that was no longer integrated by citizens only.55 As I see it, such sacrifices continued to be public, inasmuch as they belonged to the traditionally public domain. And it was precisely this public character that made them especially attractive for benefactors. However, the notion of ‘public’ had shifted, since the implied community included non-citizens, first and foremost the Romans, but also other inhabitants of the city who could not claim citizen rights, and even communities physically remote from the city and its chôra. In conclusion, the usurpation56 of the public domain by benefactors conferred a new sense upon public sacrifice in early Roman Athens. Sacrifice and the honours attached to its performance and funding were increasingly 54  An analysis of the inscription in Gordon 1990, 226–228. 55  G authier 1985, 72–3; Parker 1996, 266–7. 56  The notion of ‘usurpation’ in Gordon 1990, 227.


Muñiz Grijalvo

i­ nstrumentalised as an element in the construction of the public image of the elites. Besides, the increasing participation of non-Athenians in the public sacrifices financed by the elites helped to blur the traditional notion of community at Athens. The central message transmitted by the Hellenistic prytany decrees that the beneficiaries of prytany sacrifices are members of the political dêmos and their families was gradually replaced by another: in the Roman period, the prytany decrees began to be used as a means of communicating, first, the euergetism of the tamiai of the prytaneis, and then that of those eponymoi who guaranteed the performance of the sacrifices. The changes to the formulae are not to be understood as a consequence of a general economic crisis, as Oliver supposed, let alone of the decay of traditional religion, but as an indicator of the creation of a new religious framework within a new political order. 1 5 10

Appendix 1. Example of a Hellenistic Prytany Decree: Meritt & Traill 1974, 194 (178/7 BC) [ἐπὶ Φίλω]νος ἄρχοντος τοῦ μετὰ Μενέδημον ἐπὶ τῆς Ἱπποθωντίδος τετάρτης πρυτανείας, ἧι Φιλιστί[ων Φιλ]ιστίωνος Ποτάμιος ἐγραμμάτευεν v Πυανοψιῶνος ἐνάτει μετ’ εἰκάδας, τριακοστεῖ τῆς πρυ[τανε]ίας· ἐκκλησία ἐν τῶι θεάτρωι· τῶν προέδρων ἐπεψήφιζεν Ἡρακλείδης Τηλεμάχου ἐκ Κεραμέ[ων κ]αὶ συμπρόεδροι v ἔδοξεν τῶι δήμωι v Καλλιάδης Παυσιμάχου Λακιάδης εἶπεν· ὑπὲρ ὧν ἀπαγ[γέλ]λουσιν οἱ πρυτάνεις τῆς Ἱπποθωντίδος ὑπὲρ τῶν θυσιῶν ὧν ἔθυον τὰ πρὸ τῶν ἐκκλησιῶν τῶι [τε] Ἀπόλλωνι τῶι Προστατηρίωι καὶ τεῖ Ἀρτέμιδι τεῖ Βουλαίαι καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις θεοῖς οἷς πάτριον ἦν v [ἀγ]αθεῖ τύχει δεδόχθαι τῶι δήμωι, τὰ μὲν ἀγαθὰ δέχεσθαι τὰ γεγονότα ἐν τοῖς ἱεροῖς οἷς ἔθυον vv [ἐ]φ’ ὑγιείαι vvvvvv καὶ σωτηρίαι τῆς τε βουλῆς καὶ τοῦ δήμου καὶ τῶν συμμάχων, ἐπειδὴ δὲ οἱ πρυ[τ]ά̣νεις τάς τε θυσίας ἔθυσαν ἁπάσας ὅσαι καθῆκον ἐν τεῖ πρυτανείαι καλῶς καὶ φιλοτίμως, ἐπεμε[λ]ήθησαν δὲ καὶ τῆς συλλογῆς τῆς τε βουλῆς καὶ τοῦ δήμου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων ὧν αὐτοῖς προσ̣ έταττον οἵ τε νόμοι καὶ τὰ ψηφίσματα τοῦ δήμου, ἐπαινέσαι τοὺς πρυτάνεις τῆς Ἱπποθωντίδος


Public Sacrifice in Roman Athens 15

καὶ στεφανῶσαι χρυσῶι στεφάνωι κατὰ τὸν νόμον εὐσεβείας ἕνεκεν τῆς πρὸς τοὺς θεοὺς καὶ φιλοτιμίας τῆς εἰς [τὴ]ν βουλὴν καὶ τὸν δῆμον τὸν Ἀθηναίων· ἀναγράψαι δὲ τόδε τὸ ψήφισμα τὸγ γραμματέ̣α τὸν κατὰ πρυτανείαν ἐν στήλει λιθίνει καὶ στῆσαι ἐν τῶι πρυτανικῶι· εἰς δὲ τὴν ἀναγραφὴν τῆς v στ[ή]λης καὶ τὴν ἀνάθεσιν μερ̣[ί]σ̣ αι τὸν ἐπὶ τεῖ διοικήσει τὸ γενόμενον ἀνάλωμα. vacat col. I ἡ βουλή τὸν ταμίαν Θεόδοτον ἐκ Κοίλης

27 30


col. II ὁ δῆμος τοὺς πρυτάνεις

col. III ἡ βουλή τὸγ γραμματέα 25 Ἀρχέστρατον Ἐλευσίνιον vacat

ἐ̣π̣ὶ [Φ]ί̣λ̣ωνος ἄρχοντος τοῦ [μετ]ὰ Μενέδημον ἐπὶ τῆς [Ἀ]κ̣ α̣[μ]αντίδος πέμπτης πρυτανείας, ἧι Φιλ[ι][στ]ίων [Φιλ]ιστ[ί]ωνος Ποτάμιο[ς] ἐγραμμάτευεν· Μαιμακτηριῶνος ἕκτει ἱσταμένου, δεκάτει τῆς πρ[υ]τ[α]νείας· βουλὴ ἐμ βουλευτηρίωι· τῶν προέδρων [ἐπ]εψήφιζεν Πυθέας Πυθοκλέους Ἀχαρνεὺς καὶ συμπρόεδροι v ἔδοξεν τεῖ βουλεῖ v Προ[κλ]ῆς Προκ̣ [λ]έους Θυμαιτάδης εἶπεν· ἐπειδὴ οἱ πρυτάνεις τῆς Ἱπποθων̣τίδος καὶ οἱ ἀ[είσιτ]οι [ἐ]παιν[έσαν]τ[ες καὶ στεφα]νώσαν[τες] ἀποφαίνουσιν τεῖ βουλεῖ τὸν ταμίαν ὃν εἵλοντο ἐ̣ξ̣ ἑαυτῶν Θεόδοτον Θεοδότου ἐκ Κοίλ[ης] τάς τε θυσίας τεθυκέναι πάσας τὰς καθηκούσας [ἐν] τεῖ πρυτανείαι [ὑ]πὲρ τῆς βουλῆς καὶ τοῦ δήμου, ἐπιμεμελῆσθαι δὲ καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἁπάντων καλῶς κα[ὶ φι]λοτίμως ̣ v ἀγαθεῖ τύχει δεδόχθαι τεῖ βουλεῖ v ἐπαινέσαι τὸν ταμίαν Θεόδοτον Θεοδότου ἐκ Κοίλης κα[ὶ] [σ]τεφανῶσαι θαλλοῦ στεφάνωι v ἐπαι[νέσ]αι δὲ καὶ τὸγ γραμματέα Ἀρχέστρατον Φανίου Ἐλευσίνιον vv καὶ τὸν ἱερέα τοῦ [ἐ]πωνύμου Θρά̣σιππον Καλλίου Γαργήττιον καὶ τὸγ γραμματέα τῆς βουλῆς καὶ v τοῦ δήμου Πρωτόμ̣ α̣χον Πρωτομ̣ άχου Παιανιέα καὶ τὸν ὑπογραμματέα Δημοκράτην Διφίλου Χο-

38 40

Muñiz Grijalvo λαργέα καὶ τὸν κήρυκα τῆς βουλῆς καὶ τοῦ δήμου Ε̣ ὐκ[λ]ῆ̣ν Εὐκλέους Βερενικίδην καὶ τὸν αὐλητὴν Καλλικράτην Θορίκιον καὶ τὸν ταμίαν [τ]ῆς βουλῆς Κάλλιππον Λέοντος Αἰξωνέα καὶ στεφαν[ῶ]σ̣ αι {σ̣ αι} τούτων ἕκαστον θαλλοῦ στεφάνωι v ἀναγράψαι δὲ τόδε τὸ ψήφισμα τὸγ vacat [γ]ραμματέα τὸν κατὰ πρυτανείαν ἐν στήλει λιθίνει καὶ στῆσαι ἐν τῶι πρυτανικῶι· εἰς δὲ τὴν ἀνα[γ]ραφὴν τῆς στήλης καὶ τὴν ἀνάθεσ̣ ιν μερίσ̣ αι τὸν ἐπὶ τεῖ διοικήσει τὸ γενόμενον ἀνάλωμα. vacat

col. I ἐκ Κοίλης Θεόδοτος Θεοδότου 45 Πα[ρά]μ̣ ονος Εὐμοίρου Σημ̣ [ω]νίδης Κλέων Ἐλευ̣σίνιοι Ἀρχέστρατος 50 Κ̣ λεόφαντος Θέωρος Τιμοκράτης Ἁγνόθεος Εὐφ̣[ά]ντου Σωσικράτης 55 Ἁμαξαντεῖς Διόδοτος Ἡράκλειος Ἀπολλώνιος Νικόδημος col. IV Κειριάδαι Πολύων Ἀζηνιεῖς Σωγένης 95 Νουμήνιος

col. II 60 Σ̣ ιμύλος Ἀχερδούσιοι Εὔνικος Εὐθύκριτος Δημήτριος Μενεκλέ 65 Σιμίας Λεοντομ̣ ένης Μενίσκος Ἀμύντας Ἀριστοκλῆς 70 Δεκελεεῖς Ἱεροκλῆς Πειραιεῖς Θεόβουλος Θεόδωρος 75 Θεόδοτος

Αὐρίδαι Ἐπίνικος Φιλωνίδης Αἰσχίνης 100 Πρώταρχος Ἀνακαιεῖς

col. III Πολύμνηστος Νίκων Νικοκλῆς Πατροκλῆς 80 Σώφιλος Θυμαιτάδαι Ἀνδρέας Προκλῆς Φιλόθεος 85 Ἐλαιούσιοι Φιλωνίδης Χαιρίων Ἄτταλος Καλλίστρατος 90 Ἡρακλείδης Μήνιδ

Λαμψικράτης Ἐροιάδαι Νικοκράτης 105 Κόπρειοι Ὀνησίκριτος vacat


Public Sacrifice in Roman Athens col. I ἡ βουλή Θράσιππον Γαργήττιον

col. II.110 ἡ βουλή Πρωτόμαχον Παιανιέα

col. I–II.119 [ἡ] βουλή [Καλλι]κράτην [Θορίκιον]

col. III.113 ἡ βουλή Δημοκράτην Χολαργέα

col. IV.116 ἡ βουλή Εὐκλῆν Βερενικίδην vacat

col. II–III.122 ἡ βουλή Κάλλιππον Αἰξωνέα vacat

Appendix 2. Example of a Post-Sullan Prytany Decree: Meritt & Traill 1974, 264 (80/79 BC)

1 [ἐπειδὴ οἱ πρυ]τάνεις [τῆς Πανδιονίδος φυλῆς καὶ οἱ ἀίσιτοι οἱ ἐπὶ — — —] [— — — — — — ἄρχο]ντος ἀποφαίν[ουσιν τῆι βουλῆι τὸν ταμίαν ὃν εἵλοντο ἐξ ἑ] [αὐτῶν Οἰνό]φιλον [Σ]υνδρόμο[υ Στειριέα τὰς θυσίας τεθυκέναι ἁπάσας τὰς] [καθηκούσας] τοῖς πρυτάνεσι [ὑπὲρ τῆς βουλῆς καὶ τοῦ δήμου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιμε]5 [μελῆσθαι κα]λῶς καὶ φιλαγά[θως καὶ διὰ ταῦτα παρακαλοῦσι τὴν βουλὴν ἐπιχωρῆ] [σαι ἑαυτοῖς] ποιήσασθαι αὐτοῦ γ[ραπτῆς εἰκόνος ἀνάθεσιν ἐν ὅπλωι ἐπιχρύ] [σωι ἐν τῶι β]ουλευτηρίῳ· τύχῃ ἀ[γαθῇ δεδόχθαι τῇ βουλῇ, ὅπως ἂν φαίνωνται] [οἱ πρυτάνεις] τειμῶντες πάν[τας ἀγαθοὺς ἄνδρας ἐπαινέσαι Οἰνόφιλον Στειριέα] [καὶ στεφανῶσα]ι αὐτὸν θ[αλλ]οῦ στεφ[άνωι ὧι πάτριόν ἐστιν στεφανοῦν τοὺς] 10 [ἀγαθοὺς τῶν ἀ]νδρῶν· ἐπικεχωρῆσθ[αι δὲ καὶ τοῖς πρυτάνεσιν καὶ τοῖς ἀισί] [τοις ποιήσασθ]αι αὐτοῦ τὴν τῆς εἰκόν[ος ἀνάθεσιν ἐν τῷ βουλευτηρίῳ ἔχου] [σαν τὴν ἐπιγρ]αφὴν τήνδε· οἱ πρυτάνε[ις τῆς Πανδιονίδος καὶ οἱ ἀΐσιτοι οἱ ἐπὶ] [— — — — — ἄρ]χοντ[ος] τὸν ἑατῶν τ[αμίαν Οἰνόφιλον Συνδρόμου Στειριέα] [εὐσεβείας ἕνε]κεν καὶ φιλοτ[ιμ]ίας τ[ῆς εἰς ἑαυτοὺς καὶ τὴν βουλὴν ἀνέθηκαν· ἀνα]15 [γράψαι δὲ τὸ] ψήφισμα τόδε [τὸν γραμματέα τὸν κατὰ πρυτανείαν ἐν στήληι] [λιθίνηι καὶ] ἀναθεῖναι ἐν τῷ [β]ο[υλευτηρίῳ, ἵνα τούτων συντελουμένων] [φαίνηται ἡ β]ουλὴ τειμῶσα το[ὺς — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —] [Καλλίσ?]τρατος col. I.18 [— c.7 —]ς [vvvv Στει]ριεῖς [— c.6 —]λῆς [Οἰνόφιλος] 25 [— c.7 —]ος 20 [— 7–8 —] [— c.7 —]ος [— 7–8 —]ς



Muñiz Grijalvo 35

[— 6–7 —]ης [— 6–7 —]ικος [— c.6 —]άτης [— 6–7 —]ο̣[ς] col. II.31 [— — —] Διο[— —] Α[— — —] [— — — —] about one line missing

Σ[— — — —] ․[— — —] etc.

col. III.36a missing col. II.36b missing

Appendix 3. Design of a Typical Hellenistic Prytany Decree: Meritt and Traill 1974, 10 DESIGN OF A DEVELOPED INSCRIPTION: No. 194 OF 178/7 b.c. Acroteria Pediment Moulding

First Decree Passed by the Demos Awarding a gold crown to the prytaneis as a group Special citation 1. Crown awarded by the Boule to the Treasurer of the Prytaneis

General citation. Crown awarded by the Demos to the Prytaneis

Special citation 2. Crown awarded by the Boule to the Secretary of the Prytaneis

Second Decree Passed by the Boule Awarding an olive crown especially to the

1. Treasurer of the Prytaoeis, then to the 2. Secretary of the Prytaneis, 3. The Priest of the Eponymos, 4. The Secretary of the Boule and the Demos,

5. The Undersecretary, 6. The Herald of the Boule and the Demos, 7. The Flutist, and 8. The Treasurer of the Boole

Register of the Fifty Prytaneis arranged in columns under demotics

General scheme: A. The demotic of the Treasurer of the Prytaneis B. The Treasurer’s name C. The other prytaneis from the Treasurer’s deme D. The demotic of the Secretary of the Prytaneis Special citation 3. Crown awarded by the Boule to the Priest of the Eponymos

Special citation 4. Crown awarded by the Boule to the Secretary of the Boule and Demos

Special citation 7. Crown awarded by the Boule to the Flutist

E. The Secretary’s name F. The other prytaneis from the Secretary’s deme G. The panels for the larger demes H. The panels for the smaller demes Special citation 5. Crown awarded by the Boule to the Undersecretary

Special citation 6. Crown awarded by the Boule to the Herald of the Boule and Demos

Special citation 8. Crown awarded by the Boule to the Treasurer of the Boule Setting line Part of stele which was set into base

Public Sacrifice in Roman Athens


Bibliography Alcock, S.E. 1996: Graecia Capta, Cambridge. Alcock, S.E. 2007: “The eastern Mediterranean”, in W. Scheidel, I. Morris and R.P. Saller (eds.), Cambridge Economic History of the Greco-Roman world, Cambridge, 671–697. Aleshire, S.B. 1991: Asklepios at Athens: Epigraphic and prosopographic essays on the Athenian healing cults, Amsterdam. Aleshire, S.B. & Lambert, S. 2011: “The Attic gene and the Athenian religious reform of 21 BC”, in J.H. Richardson-F. Santangelo (eds.), Priests and state in the Roman world, Stuttgart, 553–575. Baldassarri, P. 1998: Sebastoi Sôteroi. Edilizia monumentale at Atene durante il Saeculum Augustum, Roma. Beard, M. 1991: “Writing and religion: Ancient literacy and the function of the written word in Roman religion”, in M. Beard (ed.), Literacy in the Roman world, JRA Suppl. 3, 35–58. Benjamin, A.S. 1963: “The altars of Hadrian in Athens”, Hesperia 32, 73–74. Bradbury, S. 1995: “Julian’s pagan revival and the decline of blood sacrifice”, Phoenix 49.4, 331–356. Briscoe, J. 1967: “Rome and the class-struggle in the Greek states 200–146 BC”, Past and Present 36, 3–20. Brulé, P. 1987: La fille d’Athènes, Paris. Burden, J.C. 1999: Athens remade in the age of Augustus: A study of the architects and craftmen at work, (Diss.) Berkeley. Camia, F. 2014: “Political elite and priestly posts in Athens during the Roman Imperial period: some considerations”, ZPE 188, 139–148. Carlsson, S. 2010: Hellenistic democracies: Freedom, independence and political procedure in some East Greek city-states, Stuttgart. Chaniotis, A. 2010: “Illusions of democracy in the Hellenistic world”, Athens Dialogues, 1–58. Clinton, K. 1974: The sacred officials of the Eleusinian mysteries, Philadelphia. Dasen, V. & Piérart, M. (eds.), 2005: Idia kai dêmosia: les cadres “privés” et “publics” de la religion grecque antique, Liège. Day, J. 1973: An economic history of Athens under Roman domination, New York. de Ste. Croix, G.E.M. 1981: The class struggle in the Ancient Greek world: From the Archaic Age to the Arab conquests, London. Dow, S. 1937: Prytaneis: a study of the inscriptions honoring the Athenian councillors, Athens. Faraone, CH. & Naiden, F.S. 2012: Greek and Roman animal sacrifice, Cambridge. Gauthier, Ph. 1985: Les cités grecques et leurs bienfaiteurs, Paris. Geagan, D.J. 1967: The Athenian constitution after Sulla, Princeton.


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Georgoudi, S. 1998: “Sacrifices dans le monde grec: de la cité aux particuliers. Quelques remarques”, Ktema 23, 325–334. Georgoudi, S., Koch Piettre, R. & Schmidt, F. (eds.), 2005: La cuisine et l’autel. Les sacrifices en questions dans les sociétés de la Méditerranée ancienne, Turnhout. Gordon, R.L. 1990: “The veil of power. Emperors, sacrificers and benefactors”, in M. Beard & J. North (eds.), Pagan priests: Religion and power in the Ancient World, Ithaca (NY), 201–231. Grieb, V. 2008: Hellenistische Demokratie: politische Organisation und Struktur in freien griechischen Poleis nach Alexander dem Grossen, Stuttgart. Guarducci, M. 1969: Epigrafia Greca II, Roma. Habicht, Ch. 1997: Athens from Alexander to Antony, Cambridge (Ma.)-London. Heyman, G. 2007: The power of sacrifice: Roman and Christian discourses in conflict, Washington, D.C. Hoff, M.C. 1997: “Laceratae Athenae: Sulla’s siege of Athens in 87/6 BC and its aftermath”, in M.C. Hoff & S. Rotroff (eds.), The romanization of Athens, Oxford, 33–51. Hotz, St. 2006: “Ritual traditions in the discourse of the imperial period”, in E. Stavrianopoulou (ed.), Ritual and communication in the Graeco-Roman world, Kernos Suppl. 16, 283–296. Knust, J.W. & Várhelyi, Z. (eds.) 2011: Ancient Mediterranean sacrifice, Oxford. Lambert, S.D. 2010: “A polis and its priests: Athenian priesthoods before and after Pericles’ citizenship law”, Historia 59.2, 143–175. Lambert, S.D. 2011: “What was the point of inscribed honorific decrees in classical Athens?”, in S.D. Lambert (ed.), Sociable man: Essays on Ancient Greek social behaviour in honour of Nick Fisher, Swansea, 193–214. Lambert, S.D. 2012: “The social construction of priests and priestesses in Athenian hono­rific decrees from the fourth century BC to the Augustan period”, in M. Horster & A. Klöckner (eds.), Civic priests. Cult personnel in Athens from the Hellenistic period to Late Antiquity, Berlin, 67–133. Larsen, J.A.O. 1933: “Roman Greece”, in T. Frank, (ed.), An economic survey of ancient Rome IV, Baltimore, 302–303. Mehl, V. & Brulé, P. (eds.) 2008: Le sacrifice antique. Vestiges, procédures et stratégies, Rennes. Melfi, M. 2007: “Asclepio, tôn en paideia en promethés (Ael. Fr. 99 Hercher): rituale ed evergetismo negli Asklepieia del II sec. D.C.”, in O.D. Cordovana & M. Galli (eds.), Arte e memoria culturale nella Seconda Sofistica, Catania, 241–254. Meritt, B.D. & Traill, J.S. 1974: The Athenian Agora XV. Inscriptions: The Athenian councillors, Princeton. Mikalson, J.D. 1998: Religion in Hellenistic Athens, Berkeley-Los Angeles-London.

Public Sacrifice in Roman Athens


Muñiz Grijalvo, E. 2009: “The Egyptian cults in Roman Athens”, in C. Bonnet & V. Pirenne-Delforge–D. Praet (eds.), Les “religions orientales” dans le monde grec et romain: cent ans après Cumont (1906–2006), Brussels-Rome, 325–341. Muñiz Grijalvo, E. 2015: “Greek religion as a feature of Greek identity”, in J.M. Cortés, E. Muñiz & F. Lozano (eds.), Ruling the Greek world. Approaches to the Roman Empire in the East, Stuttgart, 27–42. Naiden, F.S. 2013: Smoke signals for the gods. Ancient Greek sacrifice from the archaic through Roman periods, Oxford. Nicols, J. 2006: “The civic religion and civic patronage”, in L. de Blois, P. Funke & J. Hahn (eds.), The impact of Imperial Rome on religions, ritual and religious life in the Roman Empire, Leiden-Boston, 36–48. Oliver, J.H. 1949: “Patrons providing financial aid to the tribes of Roman Athens”, AJPh 70.3, 299–308. Parker, R. 1996: Athenian religion: a history, Oxford. Perrin-Saminadayar, E. 2012: “Prêtres et prêtresses d’Athènes et de Délos à travers les décrets honorifiques athéniens”, in M. Horster & A. Klöckner (eds.), Civic priests. Cult personnel in Athens from the Hellenistic period to Late Antiquity, Berlin, 135–159. Petropoulou, M.Z. 2008: Animal sacrifice in ancient Greek religion, Judaism, and Christianity, 100 BC-AD 200, Oxford. Quass, F. 1993: Die Honoratiorenschicht in den Städten des griechischen Ostens, Stuttgart. Raubitschek, A.E. 1953: “Note on the post-Hadrianic Boule”, Γἐρας Ἀντωνἰου Κεραμοπούλλου, Athens, 242–255; Rives, J.B. 2011: “The theology of animal sacrifice in the ancient Greek world”, in J.W. Knust & Z. Várhelyi (eds.), Ancient Mediterranean sacrifice, Oxford, 187–202. Rosivach, V.J. 1994: The system of public sacrifice in fourth-century Athens, Atlanta. Rutherford, I.C. & Hitch, S. (eds.) (2017), Animal sacrifice in the ancient Greek world, Cambridge. Santangelo, F. 2007: Sulla, the elites and the Empire, Leiden-Boston. Schmitt Pantel, P. 1992: La cité au banquet. Histoire des repas publics dans les cités grecques, Rome. Spawforth, A.J.S. 2012: Greece and the Augustan cultural revolution, Cambridge-New York. Stroumsa, G. 2005: La fin du sacrifice: Mutations religieuses de l’antiquité tardive, Paris. Ullucci, D. 2011: “Contesting the meaning of animal sacrifice”, in J.W. Knust & Z. Várhelyi (eds.), Ancient Mediterranean sacrifice, Oxford, 57–74. Ullucci, D. 2012: The Christian rejection of animal sacrifice, London-New York.


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van der Hoff, R. 2008: “Images of cult personnel in Athens between the sixth and first centuries BC”, in B. Dignas-K. Trampedach (eds.), Practitioners of the divine, Cambridge (Ma.)-London, 107–141. Veyne, P. 2000: “Inviter les dieux, sacrifier, banqueter. Quelques nuances de la religiosité gréco-romaine”, Annales, 3–42. Wallace-Hadrill, A. 2008: Rome’s cultural revolution, Cambridge. Woloch, M. 1973: Roman citizenship and the Athenian elite A.D. 96–161. Two prosopographical catalogues, Amsterdam. Woolf, G. 1997: “The Roman urbanization of the East”, in S.E. Alcock (ed.), The Early Roman Empire in the East, Oxford, 1–14.


Cultic and Social Dynamics in the Eleusinian Sanctuary Under the Empire* Francesco Camia Introduction Under Roman rule the Eleusinian cult flourished anew. Although not a direct consequence of Greece’s integration in the imperial framework, this ‘intensification’ was indeed favoured by it. The Empire’s contribution to this process is detectable on two different levels. One is more evident and consists in the very integration of the emperors in the Eleusinian cult through emperor worship. The other is not so evident (at least at first sight), yet its influence is no less profound for this. The Hellenophone world in Roman times came to be characterized by the creation of a strong, new, ideologically connoted Greek identity that, although displaying traditional Greek features, was also intended to ‘please’ Roman power. In the religious realm, Eleusis was in a good position to play a very important role in this ‘Hellenization process’, given the Panhellenic scope of its mysteries, a gift of the Athenians to all the Greeks. Eleusis’ Panhellenic role was further fostered by the interest of the emperors, which was expressed through their initiation into the mysteries and (building) initiatives in the sanctuary. In this context, Hadrian’s foundation of a ‘universal’ league of the Greeks (Panhellenion), which had its centre in Athens, contributed to placing Eleusis at the core of the Panhellenic religious experience; not by chance the Panhellenes must have played a role in the administration of the sanctuary. At the same time, the new centrality of the Eleusinian cult in the Greek religious identity of imperial times also determined the greater use of the sanctuary of the Two Goddesses as an ‘instrument’ used by elite Athenian families to flaunt and further their social status, as shown by the assumption of priestly offices by Athenian notables and by the numerous dedications for both priests and hearth-initiates. Specifically, in the case of the latter, the epigraphic evidence shows how a traditional practice, known since the 5th century BC, was * My thanks go to Deni Savvidou for revising the English text.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004347113_004



continued and revitalized thanks to the new leading role Eleusis went on to play in the religious landscape of the Greek world under the Roman Empire. 1

Roman Emperors at Eleusis

The sanctuary consecrated to Demeter and Kore, as well as the mystery it accommodated, attracted the attention of Romans as far back as the 2nd century BC. In 109 BC, the Roman orator L. Licinius Crassus, on his journey back to Rome from Asia, where he had served as quaestor, stopped off in Eleusis to take part in the mysteries.1 The sanctuary held particular interest even for emperors; some of them were initiated into the mysteries and/or were responsible for building works in Eleusis.2 The first emperor to be initiated was Augustus, who travelled to Eleusis for the first time in 31 BC, shortly after the battle of Actium.3 On a return journey in 19 BC, he is said to have participated in the mysteries, according to Cassius Dio, who narrates an episode that took place in the emperor’s presence.4 Cassius reports that before reaching Athens, Augustus had received a delegation of Indians on the island of Samos. One of their number, named Zarmaros, took part in the Eleusinian Mysteries, during which he burnt himself alive, perhaps because he wanted to offer a spectacle to Augustus and the Athenians. Therefore, the emperor must have been present at this epideixis and taken part in the mysteries (for the second time), evidently receiving the second grade of initiation (epopteia). This is further confirmed by Cassius’ mention that the mysteries were celebrated at a different time from the canonical ones ‘because of Augustus, who himself was initiated.’5 After Augustus, no other emperor was initiated until the reign of Hadrian, who was indeed among the emperors who showed the greatest interest in Eleusis and its sanctuary.6 This is evident from the fact that on his three official visits to Athens, he went to Eleusis in order to take part in the ­mysteries.7 1 From Cic. De or. 3, 75, we learn that Crassus (Broughton 1951–1952, 546) arrived in Athens two days after the celebration of the mysteries and that the Athenians did not allow him to take part in the ritual. 2  See Clinton, 1989a. 3  D io Cass. 51, 4, 1. 4  Idem. 54, 9, 10. 5  Ibid.; cf. Clinton, 1989a, 1507–1509 (with previous Bibliography). 6  Cf. Clinton, 1989a, 1516–1525; Clinton, 1989b. 7  Sha. Hadr. 13, 1; Dio Cass. 69, 11, 1; cf. Follet 1976, 108–116; Halfmann 1986, 201–209; Birley 1997, 175–177, 215, 262–263.

Cultic and Social Dynamics in the Eleusinian Sanctuary


Most probably, he had already been initiated before his first official visit in 124 AD. This can be inferred from an Eleusinian honorary inscription for the altar-priest L. Memmius of Thorikos. As the text of the dedication reads, while Memmius initiated both Lucius Verus (in 162 AD) and Marcus Aurelius and Commodus (in 176 AD), he merely officiated at the mysteries in Hadrian’s ­presence.8 By the time this inscription was set up (177–180 AD), Memmius had already served as an altar-priest for 56 years;9 it can be deduced, therefore, that he was already in office in 124 AD at the latest, when Hadrian officially visited Athens (and Eleusis) for the first time. This also implies that the emperor had already been initiated, otherwise the text of the inscription would have mentioned that Memmius ‘had initiated Hadrian’, as it does for Lucius Verus, Marcus Aurelius, and Commodus. As Clinton has noted, it is plausible to believe that this initiation took place in 111/2 AD, when, at the age of 36—that is, well after entering adulthood—Hadrian went to Athens still as a privatus to assume the office of eponymous archon. Even though there is no consensus on this matter, he might also have obtained the second (and highest) degree of initiation (epopteia) before 124 AD.10 To celebrate Hadrian’s visit in 124 AD, the Attic year was made to begin in the month of Boedromion, when the mysteries were celebrated.11 While a direct involvement of Augustus in building activities at Eleusis can only be conjectured from the well-known Athenian epigraphic document on the restoration of Attic sanctuaries, amongst which Eleusis is also mentioned,12 more information, albeit inconclusive, is available in the case of Hadrian.13 The construction of the nymphaeum, conceivably from the Hadrianic period, on the eastern side of the outer court of the sanctuary is probably to be put in connection with an aqueduct, the remains of which are still visible, usually assigned to Hadrian too. A fragmentary dedicatory inscription on an architectural block, in which Clinton has tentatively restored the name of Hadrian as the dedicator of a fountain house and an aqueduct, belonged in all likelihood to the same building.14 The fountain house and aqueduct must be seen in the 8  IEleusis 503. 9 Ibid. l. 17. 10  C linton 1989a, 1516–1518 (and note 22); Clinton 1989b, 56–57; see also Camia 2011, 62, note 202. 11  Cf. Graindor 1934, 14–17. 12  IG II–III2, 1035 (l. 22) with Culley 1975 and 1977; see Schmalz 2009, 10–11, no. 2 (with further Bibliography). Though its chronology has long been debated, this document is usually assigned to the Augustan period. 13  See most recently Lippolis 2013. 14   IEleusis 449; cf. Clinton 1999, 99; Baldassarri 2007, 222.



context of the Hadrianic reorganization of the catchment basin of the plain of Eleusis, with the regimentation of the river Cephisus and the reconstruction of the bridge on the via sacra.15 It can be suggested that the outer square near the entrance of the sanctuary was remodelled on Hadrian’s initiative, as part of a comprehensive programme only completed in the Antonine period. In addition to the nymphaeum, this programme also included the Greater Propylaea, the so-called twin arches of the Panhellenes, the Temple of Artemis Propylaia (and Poseidon), and the paving of the square.16 The two identical arches, copies of Hadrian’s ‘gate’ in Athens, flanking the main entrance of the sanctuary were dedicated by the Panhellenes to the goddesses Demeter and Kore and an emperor (autokrator), presumably Hadrian, as Clinton suggests.17 A statue of theos Hadrianos Panhellenios was probably set up on each arch (only after Hadrian’s death?),18 while further statues of Marcus Aurelius and other members of his family adorned the arches.19 Also in the Hadrianic period, work probably began on the Greater Propylaea, which was completed later, perhaps only after Marcus’ death. According to Clinton, commemorative inscriptions engraved on both sides of the epistyle of the Propylaea, each accompanied by an imago clipeata, recorded the involvement of Hadrian and Marcus Aurelius in the construction of this monument.20 Finally, the Temple of Artemis in the outer court, in front of the Greater Propylaea, may be of Hadrianic date.21 On the basis of an honorary inscription for Claudia Philossena, hierophantis of the neotera theos,22 Mylonas tentatively assigned a temple-like structure 15  Cf. Mylonas 1961, 165–166, 183–185. 16  L ippolis 2006, 267; Lippolis 2013, 250–254. 17   IEleusis 448. 18  Idem. 453. The presence of the epithet theos would point to the period following Hadrian’s death for the dedication of this statue, although it must be said that in the Greek world theos is also assigned in inscriptions to living emperors. 19  Idem. 505–510. The identification of the emperor to whom the twin arches were dedicated, as well as the chronology of these arches and, above all, of the setting up of the imperial statues, are still a matter of debate; cf. Clinton 1989b, 58–63; Willers 1996, 184–189; Cortés Copete 1998, 264–266; Fittschen 1999, 122–126; Baldassarri 2007, 224–226; see also Lippolis 2013, 254–255, no. 21, who thinks that the imperial statues usually assigned to the arches ‘could have been erected in other buildings on the square, such as the nymphaeum itself or the stoai.’ 20  C linton 1989a, 1519–1520, 1526–1527, 1533; Clinton 1989b, 58–68; cf. Zirò 1991 (esp. 131– 276); Cortés Copete 1998, 261–264; Baldassarri 2007. 21  Paus. 1, 38, 6; cf. Mylonas 1961, 167–168; Zirò 1991, 126; Baldassarri 2007, 224. 22   IEleusis 371; cf. Byrne 2003, Claudii (178).

Cultic and Social Dynamics in the Eleusinian Sanctuary


(the so-called ‘Temple F’), located immediately north of the Telesterion, to the cult of Sabina; Hadrian’s spouse would be worshipped in the Eleusinian sanctuary as ‘new Demeter’ or ‘Kore’.23 Yet there is no reason to identify the goddess, whose cult was served by Philossena, be she Demeter or (more plausibly) Kore, with Hadrian’s wife, whose assimilation with Demeter at Megara and in other parts of the Greek world24 is by no means sufficient evidence to prove that she was worshipped at Eleusis; not to mention the fact that the dedication for Philossena may be earlier than the reign of Hadrian, as stated by Clinton.25 As a matter of fact, the identification of Temple F with a temple dedicated to Sabina is not backed by any substantial evidence, and the same can be said of the other temple nearby (L10), which Mylonas assigned to the worship of Antoninus Pius’ wife, Faustina Maior.26 There is documentary evidence that three of Hadrian’s successors, namely Lucius Verus (in 162 AD), Marcus Aurelius and Commodus (in 176 AD), were initiated into the mysteries.27 These three emperors were also adlecti into the genos of the Eumolpidai, from whose members the hierophants were chosen. Commodus was appointed archon of the Eumolpidai and he must have helped the sanctuary financially,28 while Marcus Aurelius restored the damage caused by Costobocs’ sack in 170–171 AD.29 After Marcus Aurelius and Commodus, evidence of emperors being involved in the mysteries is by no means conclusive. A passage relating to the life of Septimius Severus in the Historia Augusta, which refers to his stay in Athens ‘studiorum sacrorumque causa’, may indicate that the latter emperor was initiated into the mysteries.30 Finally, a reference to Emperor Gallienus—included in his life in the Historia Augusta—has led to 23  M ylonas 1961, 175–181. 24  IG VII, 73–74; cf. Hahn 1994, 278–281, 367–368. 25   IEleusis II, p. 333: ‘ca. 90–ca. 105’. 26  M ylonas 1961, 177–181; Cortés Copete 1998, 266–269, claims that Temple L10 was consecrated to the cult of Marcus Aurelius’ spouse, Faustina Minor. Cf. Baldassarri 1998, 227, note 69; Lippolis 2006, 199–205, 221–222, 279, 285; Camia 2011, 63–65. Hadrian’s beloved Antinous was also initiated in AD 128, when he visited Eleusis with the emperor. After his death, a festival was established in his honour, the Ἀντινόεια ἐν Ἐλευσῖνι; cf. Graindor 1934, 100–101. 27   IEleusis 483; 502 (ll. 18–20); 503; 516 (l. 7); Philostr. VS. 562–563 and 588; Dio Cass. 72, 31, 3; SHA. Aur. 27, 1. Cf. Clinton 1989a, 1529–1534. 28   IEleusis 513. Commodus also held the office of panegyriarch, which implied expenses for the panegyris of the mysteries (IEleusis 514, l. 3). 29  Schol. Aristid. Panath. 183, 2–3 (ed. Dindorf, III, 308–309); cf. Cortés Copete 1998 (esp. 257–261). 30   S HA. Sev. 3, 7; Clinton 1989a, 1534.



the suggestion that he may have been initiated as well: the passage in q­ uestion refers to the emperor’s desire to ‘sacris omnibus interesse’ in the year he was eponymous archon in Athens (264/5 AD). Moreover, coins minted during Gallienus’ reign bear on the obverse his head crowned with a wreath of reeds (grain?), which may also indicate his involvement in the mysteries.31 2

Emperor Worship in the Eleusinian Sanctuary

At Eleusis, Roman emperors were not only initiated into the mysteries, but also worshipped alongside the Eleusinian goddesses. As is the case in other sacred contexts of the Greek world, the emperors at Eleusis were integrated into the traditional pantheon. In addition to several statues of the emperors and members of the imperial family, the sanctuary of the Two Goddesses included at least one major structure for the imperial cult. This is mentioned in an honorary inscription for a benefactor, who is designated as ‘first archiereus of the Sebastoi’; at his own expense, he dedicated agalmata of the Sebastoi inside a building.32 The honorand is most probably the Athenian notable Ti. Claudius Novius of Oion, active in the middle of the 1st century AD, general of the hoplites eight times, and first holder of the new civic high-priesthood of the imperial cult in Athens.33 According to Clinton, the structure in which Novius presumably dedicated the imperial images could be the colonnaded building in front of the sanctuary precinct’s southern tower (K7). In the ruins of this building, two statues have been found: one of Tiberius, and the other of a female figure, perhaps Livia (identified with Demeter).34 Moreover, a dedication to Iulia Agrippina Augusta, Claudius’ wife and Nero’s mother, set up by her archiereus Ti. Claudius Eukles, was discovered a few metres away from Tower K7; it might have belonged

31   S HA. Gall. 11, 3–5. Coins: RIC V.1, p. 136–137, 141, 162; on some of these specimens, the obverse legend reads GALLIENAE AUGUSTAE, which has been interpreted not only as an allusion to Gallienus’ association with the cult of the feminine patron goddess of the Eleusinian sanctuary (Demeter), but also as an incorrect spelling of the masculine vocative (Kent 1973; Carson 1990, 100–101). Cf. Alföldy 1979, 590–606; Follet 1976, 142–143; Armstrong 1987, esp. 244–245; Clinton 1989a, 1535. Gallienus sent a letter to the Athenians concerning Eleusinian matters (IEleusis 655). 32   IEleusis 361. 33   S pawforth 1997, 189–190; Byrne 2003, Claudii (213); Kantiréa 2007, 175–178; Lozano 2007, 185–203; Schmalz 2009, 290–292. 34  AA 42 (1927), Beiblatt, 349; Kourouniotes 1936, 95–96.

Cultic and Social Dynamics in the Eleusinian Sanctuary


to the same building, possibly a sort of Sebasteion.35 Furthermore, another ­building probably used for emperor worship can be identified on the basis of an inscribed Ionic entablature decorated with cultic symbols, which bears the initial part of an imperial titulature in the genitive and mentions an archiereus of the Sebastoi in the nominative.36 The identity of the dedicant cannot be ascertained as the chronology of the entablature remains quite vague (1st– 2nd century AD). Probable candidates are the above-mentioned Novius, Ti. Claudius Atticus or his son Herodes, both of whom were high-priests of the imperial cult in Athens in the 2nd century AD. Eleusis, therefore, emerged as an important centre for emperor worship.37 This role was confirmed and further strengthened by the foundation of the Panhellenion, in which the sanctuary of the Two Goddesses retained an important position. 3

Eleusis and the Panhellenion

One of Hadrian’s most famous initiatives in the Greek-speaking part of the Empire had an important impact on the Eleusinian sanctuary. I am referring to none other than the foundation of the Panhellenic League. This ‘universal’ confederation of Greek cities and ethne was conceived and officially established by Hadrian himself, with the consent of the Senate, in 131/2 AD during a solemn ceremony in Athens. The latter polis also constituted the religious and administrative centre of this league, and in all probability hosted the sanctuary of Zeus Panhellenios. The sanctuary, still not identified with certainty, was at the same time a sekos for the cult of Hadrian himself, as stated by Cassius Dio.38 Hadrian’s ‘dream’ thus seems to have been to unite the Greek-speaking regions of the Empire, based on their common Hellenic background, in a league whose common denominator was the cultural ‘Greekness’ of its members and one of whose main functions and raisons d’être was the worship of the emperor.

35   IEleusis 354. Cf. Clinton 1997, 170–172. 36   IEleusis 363. 37   C linton 1999, 94: ‘Eleusis was a major center of imperial cult at Athens, and the Eleusinian clans which supervised the Mysteries, viz. the Eumolpidai and the Kerykes, were largely responsible for the establishment of the imperial cult at Athens.’ 38   D io Cass. 69, 16, 2.



Indeed, as has already been noted, the Panhellenion was ‘devoted above all to the cult of Hadrian and later emperors.’39 The centrality of emperor worship in the Panhellenion, together with the fact that Athens was its religious and administrative focal point, implies that the Eleusinian sanctuary played an important role in the new league. Eleusis represented one of the fundamental constituents of Athenian religious life. As noted above, during the Roman period the sanctuary of the Two Goddesses flourished to become a major centre of Athenian imperial cult. Moreover, the Eleusinian Mysteries made the sanctuary of Demeter and Kore an appealing destination for pilgrims from all over the ancient world.40 As Isocrates highlights in his Panegyricus, along with grain, the Eleusinian Mysteries were the ‘gifts’ that Athens had donated to all Greeks,41 that is, that the cult was perceived as a constituent part of the Panhellenic religious experience. The same concept is expressed in a decree of the Lydian city of Thyateira, voted on the occasion of its admission into the new league, in which there is mention of Hadrian’s benefactions to this city. Here, the emperor is presented as the one who gathered all the Greeks into the Panhellenion at Athens, the benefactress (euergetis) who donates to everyone the fruit of the mysteries.42 Thanks to its Panhellenic scope, therefore, Eleusis was bound to play a major role in the enterprises of the Philhellene emperor, who aimed at unifying all the ‘Greek’ subjects of the Empire around the worship of his person. The pivotal role of Eleusis, which has also led some scholars to suggest that the Panhellenion (i.e. the sanctuary of Zeus Panhellenios) may have been located in the sanctuary of Demeter and Kore,43 seems to have also had a practical purpose. Indeed, it is now commonly assumed that the Panhellenes had an important function in the administration of the Eleusinian sanctuary, especially in terms of financial ‘management’. This can be inferred from two pieces of evidence. One is the practice of the aparche, attested for the first time in the 5th century BC, which consisted in the offering of a tithe of the annual grain harvest by the Attic demes, the allied cites, and anyone else who wished to follow suit. 39   J ones 1996, 43. On the Panhellenion cf. Graindor 1934, 102–111; Oliver 1970, 90–138; Spawforth & Walker 1985, 1986; Jones 1996; Spawforth 1999; Camia 2011, 43–48; Gordillo 2012. 40   A ristid. Eleus. 2, calls Eleusis ‘a sort of common temenos of the earth’; cf. Philostr. VA 4, 17. 41   I soc. Paneg. 28–29; cf. Clinton 1994, 161–172. 42  IG II–III2 1088, with Follet & Delmousou 1997, 296, ll. 13–16. 43   J ones 1996, 36 (but a different opinion is expressed in Jones 1999, 15–16, where it is argued that the Panhellenion might have been located on the Athenian Acropolis); Spawforth 1999, 347.

Cultic and Social Dynamics in the Eleusinian Sanctuary


Administered by sacred functionaries (hieropoioi and epistatai), the revenues and the surplus were used to fund sacrifices to the Eleusinian goddesses, as well as dedications.44 While commonplace in the Classical Age, after the end of the 4th century BC this practice is first attested by a brief epigraphic reference in the Augustan age.45 It can be suggested that the Panhellenes, who are known to have made two dedications from the aparchai revenues,46 recovered this ancient practice in the 2nd century AD. Given that in this period all reference to hieropoioi or epistatai disappears from the sources, it is quite plausible that the Panhellenes had assumed the function previously performed by these sacred functionaries in managing the aparche. Furthermore, as hieropoioi and epistatai were also responsible for the general administration of the Eleusinian sanctuary, it can be further argued that the Panhellenes dealt with other aspects of the sanctuary’s administration too.47 That the Panhellenion ‘was in charge of the financial administration of the Eleusinian sanctuary,’ as stated by Clinton,48 is confirmed by an important epigraphic document datable to the period of Marcus Aurelius and Lucius Verus’ reign (169/70 AD?).49 This text concerns an endowment instituted by a certain Xenion, most likely to be identified with T. Flavius Xenion of Marathon, archon of the Panhellenion probably in 165–169 AD, who was honoured by the Panhellenes with a portrait-herm in the sanctuary.50 The beneficiary of this endowment was the sanctuary of Eleusis. The capital was to be managed by the hierophant and the dadouch, the two highest priestly functionaries of the Eleusinian cult. The interests yielded were to be used to fund rituals and feast celebrations. The connection with the Panhellenion is provided by the fact that the document, probably a decree, feasibly emanated from the synedrion of the Panhellenes. As indicated by the reference in the inscription to a previous surplus, the endowment must have pre-existed this document, which concerns more specifically the use of the surplus for money distributions to the members of the Athenian boule and to the Eleusinian cult functionaries, who are listed at the end of the inscription.51 44   IEleusis II, pp. 5–7. 45  IG II–III2 1035 (SEG 36, 121), l. 23; for the date, see Habicht 1996, 84–86. 46   IEleusis 504, 532. 47   C linton 1989a, 1520–1522; Clinton 1989b, 57; IEleusis, II, p. 7; cf. Patera 2011, 126–128. 48   C linton 1999, 99. 49   IEleusis 489. 50  Idem. 491. Xenion also established by will an endowment to fund birthday celebrations for his family and the members of the imperial domus at Gortyna (IC IV 300; ca. 180–182 AD). 51  Idem. 489, ll. 43 ff.

54 4


Vying for Prestige Through the Eleusinian Priesthoods

The first section of this paper has shown how the Eleusinian cult survived under the Empire, and how the sanctuary continued to be visited by Athenians and foreigners who wanted to take part in the most celebrated mysteries of the time. In fact, the Eleusinian Mysteries not only remained active and alive under the Romans, but also thrived during this period thanks to (and as a consequence of) the interest shown by several emperors in the cult and sanctuary of the Two Goddesses. By the same token, the prosperity and ‘popularity’ of Eleusis converted the sanctuary into a very popular stage on which elite Athenian families proclaimed their status and vied for power and prestige. A way of expressing their social pre-eminence was through priestly offices. In the Roman period, the sanctuary of Eleusis came to be filled with honorary statues: besides those of the emperors (and hearth-initiates, to whom I will return below), many were dedicated to the holders of the Eleusinian priesthoods. The latter, especially the four main posts of hierophant, dadouch, sacred-herald, and altar-priest, were among the most prestigious priestly offices to which an Athenian male could aspire during his life and public career. It should, therefore, come as no surprise that some of the most prominent Athenian notables of the imperial period were among the holders of these religious offices. About one third of the Eleusinian priests (hierophantai, dadouchoi, sacred-heralds, and altarpriests) attested during the first three centuries of the Empire (numbering over 30) held at least one of the three highest Athenian state offices (eponymous archon, hoplite general, and herald of the Areopagus), the eponymous archonship having the lion’s share. Moreover, if among the Athenian ruling elite of the imperial period—namely, the ca. 130 Athenians who are known to have assumed the three highest offices in the period between the mid-1st and the mid-3rd century AD—those who also held at least one religious office are taken into account, it can be seen that the Eleusinian priesthoods are the most recurrent religious offices, along with that of the imperial cult (archiereus of the Sebastoi).52 Priests of the Eleusinian cult were preeminent, wealthy individuals who belonged to important Athenian families, as can be deduced from their social ‘profile’ and public cursus. Let us now take a look at some examples from the rich Athenian epigraphic evidence. The dadouch Themistokles, son of Theophrastos of Hagnous, most probably officiated at Augustus’ second initiation (epopteia) in 19 BC. He ‘inherited’ his priestly office from his father and 52   C amia 2014, 142–144.

Cultic and Social Dynamics in the Eleusinian Sanctuary


grandfather, both dadouchs. Themistokles’ social prestige is substantiated by the long honorary decree voted for him, which was recorded at Eleusis: a delegation of about 30 people, both priests and other members of the genos of the Kerykes, listed after the text of the decree proper, testified before the demos in favour of Themistokles, who had contributed to raising the dignity and solemnity of Eleusis.53 Another case is that of the hierophant Ti. Claudius Oinophilus of Trykorinthos, who obtained (the first in his family) Roman citizenship probably under Nero, and was one of the first Athenians to become a member of the equestrian order, although he never advanced beyond the post of praefectus cohortis (II Hispanorum). In Athens, he held an impressive series of magistracies and charges: in addition to holding the three highest state offices of eponymous archon, hoplite general, and herald of the Areopagus (one of the very few Athenians of the Roman imperial period known to have done so), he was also epimeletes of the city, herald of the boule and demos, agonothetes, and gymnasiarch.54 Thirdly, the altar-priest L. Memmius of Thorikos was one of the most distinguished members of the Athenian elite of the 2nd century AD. His ancestors included archons, generals of the hoplites, dadouchs, highpriests, and agonothetai, all of which indicates that he certainly belonged to an important family, other members of which, however, remain unknown to us. Like Oinophilus, Memmius too assumed the highest Athenian offices, namely eponymous archon, general of the hoplites, epimeletes of the gymnasiarchic endowment established by Hadrian, and agonothetes (three times), which reveals that he must have also been considerably wealthy. Memmius served as altar-priest for an impressively long term of more than 50 years, during which he had the opportunity and honour to initiate three emperors (Lucius Verus, Marcus Aurelius, and Commodus), while in 124 AD he had performed the mysteries in the presence of the already initiated Hadrian.55 Another eminent Athenian, the hierophant T. Flavius of Paiania, also initiated Lucius Verus in 162 AD, in addition to presiding over the emperor’s adlectio into the genos of the Eumolpidai. An honorary inscription from Eleusis states that Flavius received his strophion (the insignia of the office of hierophant) directly from the Emperor Antoninus Pius in Rome, perhaps during one of his embassies to the imperial capital.56 Moreover, the hierophant held one of the Athenian archonships (maybe that of eponymous), and was also gymnasiarch 53   IEleusis 300 (20–19 BC); on the individual, see Clinton 1974, 56–57, no. 16; Schmalz 2009, 307–308. 54   C linton 1974, 29–30, no. 18; Byrne 2003, Claudii (51); Schmalz 2009, 294–296. 55   IEleusis 503; cf. Clinton 1974, 83–85, no. 12; Byrne 2003, Memmii (6). 56   IEleusis 483, ll. 16–27.



and ­panegyriarch.57 Finally, another prestigious Eleusinian priest, active in the late 2nd century AD, was the dadouch Aelius Praxagoras of Melite. Despite his nomen gentile, Praxagoras belonged to the family of Claudii of Melite. In addition to the office of dadouch, he was eponymous archon, panegyriarch, agonothetes of the Panathenaia and of the Great Asklepieia.58 The individuals who held Eleusinian priesthoods shared the common denominator of belonging to illustrious families. As a matter of fact, some of the most eminent Athenian families held the Eleusinian priesthoods during the imperial period. In some cases, one family even succeeded in ‘monopolising’ a given priesthood for a given time. A good example is the case of Claudii of Melite, who controlled the priestly office of dadouch from around the mid1st to approximately the mid-2nd century AD. This family, whose members can be traced back to the end of the 3rd century BC, obtained Roman citizenship under the Emperor Claudius. The first member to assume the dadouchia was Ti. Claudius Leonides, who was then succeeded in the post by his son Ti. Claudius Lysiades and grandson Ti. Claudius Sospis.59 After a short interval, the Claudii of Melite acquired the dadouchia yet again with Aelius Praxagoras, who was related to this family, as has already been noted.60 Before, the office of dadouch had been the ‘preserve’ of a family of the deme of Hagnous, which included the above-mentioned Themistokles son of Theophrastos. An illustrious family, which claimed ancestry from Themistokles, the great Athenian general of the 5th century BC, by the beginning of the 2nd century BC it had ‘monopolised’ the Eleusinian office of dadouch occasionally rotating it with members of another family from the demos of Acharnai.61 Other prominent families whose members held priesthoods at Eleusis are known from the epigraphic evidence. In some cases, more members of the same family assumed Eleusinian priesthoods: for instance, T. Flavius Straton (I) of Paiania and his homonymous son, who served in the first part of the 57   IEleusis 483, l. 16. On the individual, cf. Clinton 1974, 36–38, no. 24. 58   C linton 1974, 61–63, no. 23 (with IEleusis II, p. 16, no. 23); Byrne 2003, Aelii (140). 59   C linton 1974, 57–59, no. 18–20; Byrne 2003, Claudii (154, 155, 158). 60  See supra, note 58. 61   C linton 1974, 55–58. Both Themistokles’ father Theophrastos and his homonymous grandfather, who had likely served as mint-magistrates in 75/4 BC, had been dadouchs before Themistokles (see IEleusis II, p. 310, comment on l. 32). Since Ti. Claudius Leonides of Melite, first dadouch of his family, named one of his sons Themistokles, it can be inferred that a marriage had taken place between a male member of the Claudii of Melite— probably Leonides’ father Ti. Claudius Lysiades (IV)—and a woman from the family of Hagnous; cf. Kapetanopoulos 1968, 495–496; Clinton 1974, 58, note 81; Byrne 2003, Claudii (153), iv (p. 154).

Cultic and Social Dynamics in the Eleusinian Sanctuary


2nd century AD as hierophant and altar-priest, respectively;62 or the dadouch C. (or P.) Fabius Thisbianus of Marathon, one of whose descendants was the dadouch Aerarius Sosipatrus.63 Eleusinian priesthoods could even become an ‘arena’ where Athenian families played out their rivalries. This is well illustrated by the case of the dadouch P. Aelius Dionysius.64 In 174/5 AD, Dionysius’ priestly post was challenged before the Emperor Marcus Aurelius by three fellow-citizens on the grounds that he had not resigned the priesthood (probably a lesser one) that he was holding when he was appointed as dadouch. Marcus ascertained that the election of Dionysius had been held in a regular way and that he could keep his post.65 Interestingly, one of the three appellants against Dionysius was the abovementioned Aelius Praxagoras, who would later succeed him in the post, likely around 182–185 AD.66 Praxagoras evidently tried to take advantage of a formal defect in the election procedure of Dionysius to replace him, but he apparently had to wait for the natural end of Dionysius’ term following his death to be able to succeed him. 5

Hearth-Initiates and Athenian Society

Honorary inscriptions for Eleusinian priests reveal that the sanctuary of the Two Goddesses was used in Roman times by upper-class Athenian families as a sort of ‘stage’ for flaunting their prestige and influence. In the Roman period, in addition to the Eleusinian priesthoods, the hearth-initiate tradition, which was another quasi-priestly institution connected with the cult and religious experience of Eleusis, functioned as a means of seeking status and aggrandizement that also left a visible mark on the sanctuary. The importance given to this practice, and its social implications, are reflected in the conspicuous number of honorary inscriptions for these ‘children initiated from hearth’ that were set up in the sanctuary: indeed, as noted by Clinton, ‘dedications to

62   C linton 1974, 30–31, no. 20 (with IEleusis II, p. 15, no. 20); 83, no. 11; Byrne 2003, Flavii (139, 140). 63   C linton 1974, 63–64, no. 26 (with IEleusis II, p. 16, no. 23) and 29; Byrne 2003, Fabii (2); Aerarii (1). 64   C linton 1974, 60–61, no. 22 (with IEleusis II, p. 16, no. 22); Follet 1976, 279; Byrne 2003, Aelii (50). 65  Cf. Ameling 1983, I, 184–185; Byrne 2003, 12–13; IEleusis II, pp. 395–396. 66  See supra, note 58.



hearth-­initiates were the most abundant form of dedication in the sanctuary at Eleusis.’67 Hearth-initiates were young children (usually about 10 or a little older) who performed sacrifices and prayers on behalf of other initiates into the mysteries, and perhaps of the city as well.68 These children therefore played a role in the mysteries’ ritual and assumed quasi-priestly functions without being priests per se.69 The meaning of the expression ὁ (ἡ) παῖς ἀφ’ ἑστίας μυηθεῖς has been long debated. As pointed out by Clinton, it must indicate that these children were initiated ‘from home’, that is to say, by their fathers.70 So, this practice could be seen as a kind of ‘pre-initiation’71 by which fathers introduced their son (or daughters) to the sanctuary and cult of the Two Goddesses and guided them towards their future formal initiation in adulthood. It is worth noting that the verb μυέω still appears with the original meaning of ‘pre-initiate’ in the earliest epigraphic reference of this practice in the middle of the 5th century BC.72 Furthermore, by introducing his offspring to the sanctuary a father, in a way, ‘paraded’ his own family at the same time. Although this practice is already attested in the 5th century BC, honorary monuments for hearth-initiates at Eleusis date from the end of the 2nd century BC until ca. the middle of the 3rd century AD. There are about 60 in all. Of these, about 40, almost equally divided between male and female hearthinitiates, date from the imperial period (from the end of the 1st century BC to the mid-3rd century AD73). In the following section, I will focus on these inscriptions. Except for dedications not fully preserved on stone or for texts in which no dedicant is specified, in most of the remaining cases (ca. 15) the dedicants 67   C linton 1974, 113. 68  Idem.  98–114; IEleusis II, pp. 19–20. 69  Their quasi-priestly status is indirectly suggested by the fact that hearth-initiates were included in the catalogue of the priestly functionaries who were beneficiaries of the endowment established by Xenion at Eleusis in ca. 170 AD (IEleusis 489, l. 47) and by the fact that Porph. De abst. 4, 5, 3–6 (ed. Patillon & Segonds 1995) mentions them in a discussion on priests. 70   IEleusis II, pp. 19–20. 71  I use this term here in a metaphoric sense. In the Eleusinian liturgy, there existed an official pre-initiation called myesis; cf. Clinton 1974, 99; Clinton 2003, 50–60; IEleusis II, pp. 8–11. 72   IEleusis 19, C, ll. 20–31, 43–46. 73  More precisely, the chronological distribution is as follows: ca. 10 between the end of the 1st century BC and the end of the 1st century AD; ca. 20 in the 2nd century AD; and ca. 10 in the 3rd century AD.

Cultic and Social Dynamics in the Eleusinian Sanctuary


are the hearth-initiate’s parents (or other relatives). In a few cases, it is the polis or, more frequently, its institutional bodies (Areopagus, boule, or demos) that dedicate the statue; the few extant dedications which do not specify the dedicant(s) might be assigned to the initiative of the state as well. As underlined by Clinton, the social status of the hearth-initiates attested by the Eleusinian honorary monuments was in most cases high.74 In point of fact, barring a few exceptions for which no further information is available neither for the honorand nor for his family, in all the other cases the boys and girls belonged to well-known, prominent families; for instance, descendants of members of the gene of the Eumolpidai and the Kerykes. Here are a couple of examples. Lamidion was the daughter of Apolexis of Oion, eponymous archon around 20 BC and member of the Kerykes; her maternal grandfather Lysandros of Peiraieus had also performed this office.75 The honorand of I.Eleusis 302 was a son of the dadouch Themistokles of Hagnous.76 [O?]knia was probably the daughter of the eponymous archon of the Augustan age Polycharmos of Azenia; moreover, her great-grandfather had been archon in addition to serving as hoplite general and epimeletes of Delos, while her grandfather had been a pythochrestos exegetes.77 Claudia Alcia, Elpinike, and Ti. Claudius Appius Atilius Bradua belonged to the family of the famous Herodes Atticus (the first was Herodes’ aunt and the other two his sons).78 Ti. Flavius Sophokles of Sounion hailed from a distinguished Athenian family, whose members are known to have held the eponymous archonship, the hoplite generalship, and the priesthood of Asklepios.79 D. Iunius Menneas of Berenikidai, whose sister was also a hearth-initiate, was the son of the eponymous archon D. Iunius Patron, who had also served as exegetes of the Eumolpidai; moreover, his maternal grandmother Flavia Laodameia of Phlya was priestess of Demeter and Kore.80 Praxagora, daughter of Demostratos of Melite, had dadouchs among 74   C linton 1974, 113: ‘This is the most discernible pattern in the prosopographical evidence.’ 75   IEleusis 299 (ca. 25 BC); cf. Clinton 1974, 101, no. 12; Schmalz 2009, 236–237, s.v. Apolexis (II) of Oion. 76   IEleusis 302 (end of the 1st c. BC); cf. Clinton 1974, 108, no. 16; Schmalz 2009, 307–308. 77   IEleusis 329 (reign of Augustus); cf. Clinton 1974, 101, no. 11; Schmalz 2009, 301–302. 78   IEleusis 364 (ca. 65 AD), 475 (ca. 155 AD), 477 (ca. 160–165 AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 108, no. 15; 110, no. 34–35. 79   IEleusis 365 (ca. 75 AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 108, no. 17. On the family, see Raubitschek 1948, 37–39; Aleshire 1991, 223–234. The hearth-initiate Sophokles may be identified with T. Flavius Sophokles, archon in 100/1–105/6 AD. 80   IEleusis 464 (ca. middle of the 2nd c. AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 109, no. 31. Patron: IG II–III2 3745; Schmalz 2009, 299–300; Laodameia: Clinton 1974, 74, no. 10; Byrne 2003, Flavii (161).



her grandparents, while her brother Claudius Philippus held this post as well.81 Claudia Themistokleia and her sister Claudia Menandra were the daughters of the dadouch Claudius Philippus.82 P. Aelia Herennia was the daughter of the eponymous archon P. Aelius Apollonius, who also held the offices of general of the hoplites, herald of the Areopagus, archon basileus, and epimeletes of the Hadrianic gymnasiarchy; additionally, Herennia’s homonymous mother became a hierophantis.83 Finally, Honoratiane Polycharmis belonged to a family that claimed descendence from Pericles and Konon and, on its Macedonian side, from Alexander the Great; moreover, her ancestors Claudius Praxagoras and Claudius Philippus had been dadouchs, while both her mother Claudia Themistoklea and her daughter Iunia Themistokleia were hearth-initiates too.84 As has emerged from some of the cases presented above, sometimes more members of the same family served as hearth-initiates in their childhood; a remarkable case is that of Claudia Themistokleia, her daughter Honoratiane Polycharmis, and her granddaughter Iunia Themistokleia.85 Moreover, some of the attested hearth-initiates are known to have gone on to become distinguished members of Athenian society and to have held political and religious offices. Ti. Claudius Demostratus of Sounion, for example, became a prominent figure in the second half of the 1st century AD, assuming the offices of hoplite general, gymnasiarch, herald of the Areopagus, agonothetes of the Panathenaia and Eleusinia, exegetes of the Eumolpidai, and priest of Poseidon Erechtheus.86 P. Fulvius Metrodorus of Sounion became eponymous archon around 120 AD.87 Iunia [- -] Melitine, daughter of the eponymous archon D. Iunius Patron of Berenikidai and related to the priestess of Demeter

81   IEleusis 511 (ca. 180–185 AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 111, no. 40. Claudius Philippus: Clinton 1974, 63, no. 24; Byrne 2003, Claudii (165). 82   IEleusis 520–521 (end of the 2nd c. AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 111, no. 46. See previous note for the dadouch Claudius Philippus. 83   IEleusis 621 (end of the 2nd/beginning of the 3rd c. AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 111, no. 43; Byrne 2003, Aelii (62). Apollonius: Byrne 2003, Aelii (61). Hierophantis Herennia: Clinton 1974, 88, no. 11; Byrne 2003, Aelii (201). 84   IEleusis 639 (ca. 220 AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 112, no. 50. 85   IEleusis 520 (end of the 2nd c. AD), 639 (ca. 220 AD), 648 (ca. 240 AD). 86   IEleusis 357 (middle of the 1st c. AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 108, no. 14; Schmalz 2003, 250–251. He might also have been eponymous archon (if he can be identified with the archon Demostratos of 64/5 AD). His father Ti. Claudius Neikoteles, who seems to have come from Epidaurus where he held various offices, probably received the civitas under Claudius. 87   IEleusis 370 (ca. 80–90 AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 108, no. 18.

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and Kore Flavia Laodameia, became hierophantis.88 (L. Gellius) Xenagoras became eponymous archon.89 Flavius Xenion of Marathon may be identified with T. Flavius Xenion, who belonged to a senatorial family from Crete and around 170 AD established the well-known endowment in favour of the Eleusinian sanctuary which I have mentioned above.90 Among the known hearth-­initiates honoured at Eleusis there is also a senator (synkletikos), a certain Fabius [- -], who held Roman military posts; his mother Flavia Prok[leiane] was high-priestess of the Mother of the Gods in Boiotia.91 Apparently, no particular qualification was required to perform as hearthinitiate. There was one per year and every Athenian could make a request for his own son by registering the latter’s name; the archon basileus would then select one child for that year from among the candidates. Wealth seems not to have been a prerequisite either, as the expenses linked to the service as hearthinitiate were covered by the state. Thus, every Athenian child could (in theory) aspire to perform once as hearth-initiate. On the other hand, judging from the available evidence, it seems that not every hearth-initiate usually had an honorary statue erected in the Eleusinian sanctuary commemorating his/her term of office. In the period under consideration (ca. late 1st century BC-middle 3rd century AD), honorary inscriptions for hearth-initiates at Eleusis record about 40 children, to wit, only a small proportion of the total number of those who must have served in the office during that time span. Almost all of these children belonged to distinguished Athenian families. Furthermore, as has already been noted, when specified, the dedicants of the statues for the hearth-­initiates are in most cases their parents (or other relatives). Hazard of discovery may (and will) have played a role in shaping this picture, yet a social interpretation can be drawn from these premises. In fact, the proportion between the number of extant honorary monuments for hearth-initiates and the effective number of children who must have served in the office during the period in question, along with the high social status of most of them and the fact that honorary statues for these children were dedicated mostly by their parents, suggests that it was usually well-known, prominent families that could defray the expense of setting up an honorary monument celebrating their son’s (or daughter’s) term as hearth-initiate.92 This cultic practice was evidently used 88   IEleusis 458 (ca. 145 AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 109, no. 28; Schmalz 2009, 299–300. 89   IEleusis 628 (first quarter of the 3rd c. AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 111, no. 44. 90   IEleusis 481 (ca. 160–170 AD?); cf. Clinton 1974, 109, no. 32. For the endowment, see supra, note 49. 91   IEleusis 640 (second quarter of the 3rd c. AD); cf. Clinton 1974, 112, no. 53. 92  Cf. Clinton 1974, 113.



by Athenian families as a way to flaunt their social status. It was somehow perceived as a means of seeking status: through the specification ‘from home’ (ἀφ’ ἑστίας) the dedicatory inscription on the statue pointed to the hearth-initiate’s father and more generally to his or her family, thus marking its presence in such an important context as the Eleusinian sanctuary. Although this is not to say that this quasi-sacred office reserved for children excluded those who were not members of the Athenian socio-economic elite, its celebration through an honorary monument in the context of the Eleusinian sanctuary was actually only possible for the more illustrious families, who seem to have used it in the Roman period as a means to maintain their ascendancy in Athenian society.93 As noted above, in a few cases the honorary monument for the hearth-­ initiate was dedicated by the polis or one of its institutional bodies (Areopagus, boule, or demos). These statues may have been paid for out of public funds (although we cannot exclude the possibility that the hearth-initiate’s family or someone else contributed to the expense). It is thus necessary to account for the possibility that sometimes less wealthy individuals could have a statue of their offspring, who had served as hearth-initiates, erected at public expense. With a few exceptions, however, the social status of those hearth-initiates who had a statue dedicated on the initiative (and at the expense?) of the polis did not differ from that of the other hearth-initiates, as they generally also belonged to distinguished families. In other words, the fact that in some cases the polis might have footed the bill can be seen as a further mark of distinction for the hearth-initiate’s family, as well as a fresh indication of its reputation and status. Therefore, even admitting—as it seems plausible to me—that statues publicly conferred upon the honorand were usually paid for by the state when no other source of funding is indicated in the attached honorary inscription,94 this does not invalidate the point I have made above: it was usually the hearthinitiates belonging to elite families who could have a commemorative statue set up in the Eleusinian sanctuary, these honorary monuments being used to stamp their presence on the sanctuary and to vaunt their prestige and influence within the Eleusinian context and Athenian society at large.

93  Cf. Spawforth 2012, 40 (speaking of aristocratizing tendencies in Greek cities starting from the late Hellenistic period onwards): ‘One manifestation was the way in which grandees started to associate their offspring with their civic role, as of to mark out the family as one destined for hereditary leadership’; and in note 166: ‘The erection of statues of children of elite families also links into these tendencies.’ 94  Cf. Camia forthcoming.

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Concluding Remarks: Roman Eleusis Between Continuity and Innovation

As shown by the epigraphic and archaeological evidence, the sanctuary of Eleusis flourished during the Roman period, a renaissance that was favoured both directly and indirectly by the emperors. The interest they showed in the Eleusinian cult encouraged them to visit the sanctuary, all of which increased its visibility, prestige, and importance. Furthermore, in addition to being initiated into the mysteries some emperors intervened directly in the affairs of the sanctuary and cult, either financing building projects or through other initiatives. Among the latter, the Hadrianic Panhellenion is particularly noteworthy. Eleusis seems to have played a prominent role in this new ‘league of all the Greeks’. Indeed, given its Panhellenic nature (its mysteries were among the gifts that the Athenians had given to all the Greeks), the Eleusinian cult retained a major role in Hadrian’s Panhellenic programme. The involvement of the Panhellenes in the administration of the sanctuary of the Two Goddesses is proof of this. Furthermore, the centrality of Eleusis in the religious experience of Athens, which was the administrative centre of the Panhellenion, was enough on its own to secure for the sanctuary a central role in the Hadrianic initiative; this holds true regardless of the validity of the hypothesis that the sanctuary of Zeus Panhellenios was located at Eleusis. The imperial presence came to exert a direct influence on the Eleusinian sanctuary, even as regards cultic matters following the establishment of emperor worship. Eleusis was an important centre of the Athenian imperial cult; around the mid-1st century AD, the first archiereus for life of the Sebastoi dedicated imperial statues (agalmata) in a building which might have been a Sebasteion. The emperor cult gained fresh impetus here following the foundation of the Panhellenion, one of whose main functions was emperor worship. The flourishing of the Eleusinian sanctuary during the Roman period, thanks to imperial initiatives, reinforced its role as a ‘stage’ on which the Athenian elites flaunted their social status, particularly through the holding of priestly offices. This was also expressed figuratively through the honorary statues set up for these individuals, which made them physically present in the sanctuary next to the emperors who were granted statues as well. An analogous ‘goal’ was also pursued through the hearth-initiate practice, which—starting from the 2nd century BC—is attested by numerous statues set up in the sanctuary of Eleusis, which represented the most widespread form of dedication there. Through this quasi-priestly office, boys and girls were ‘paraded before’ Athenian society by their families in preparation for their



future initiation. In this regard, it is worth noting that the expression παῖς ἀφ’ ἑστίας underlined that these children were initiated ‘from home’, i.e. by their father. Indeed, as in the case of the Eleusinian priestly posts, this practice was used by Athenian families as a means of blowing their own trumpet. This is shown by the relatively low number of honorary dedications for hearth-­ initiates compared to the total number of children who must have served as such during the imperial period, along with the fact that virtually all of the known hearth-­initiates belonged to prominent Athenian families and that the dedicants (when specified) were usually their parents. The Eleusinian sanctuary, therefore, came to function in the imperial period as a sort of ‘arena’ where the elites vied for prestige and local influence. In conclusion, the sanctuary of Eleusis continued to play an important role in the religious and social dynamics of Athens during the Roman period. In the cultic sphere, it still served as a basic constituent of the Athenian religious experience, between continuity with the past and adaptation to the new reality of imperial power following the introduction of emperor worship. It can therefore be said that, in the Roman period, Eleusis came to function as a social springboard, which reflected the increasing ‘aristocratization’ of Athenian society from the late Hellenistic period onwards. By a fruitful interaction with imperial power, Roman Eleusis provides an example of the evolution of the socio-religious dynamics of a Greek sanctuary during the imperial period, between continuity and innovation. Bibliography Aleshire, S.B. 1991: Asklepios at Athens, Amsterdam. Alföldy, A. 1979: “Redeunt Saturnia regna”, Chiron 9, 553–606. Ameling, W. 1983: Herodes Atticus, vols. I–II, Hildesheim-Zürich-New York. Armstrong, D. 1987: “Gallienus in Athens, 264”, ZPE 70, 235–258. Baldassarri, P. 1998: ΣEBAΣTΩI ΣΩTHPI. Edilizia monumentale ad Atene durante il saeculum augustum, Rome. Baldassarri, P. 2007: “Copia architettonica come memoria del passato. I Grandi Propilei di Eleusi e il santuario eleusino in età antonina”, in O.D. Cordovana & M. Galli (eds.), Arte e memoria culturale nell’età della Seconda Sofistica, Catania, 211–233. Birley, A.R. 1997: Hadrian. The restless emperor, London-New York. Broughton, T.R.S. 1951–1952: The magistrates of the Roman Republic, vol. I, New York. Byrne, S.G. 2003: Roman citizens of Athens, Leuven-Dudley, Ma. Camia, F. 2011: Theoi Sebastoi. Il culto degli imperatori romani in Grecia (provincia Achaia) nel secondo secolo d.C., Athens.

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Camia, F. 2014: “Political elite and priestly posts in Athens during the Roman Imperial period: some considerations”, ZPE 188, 139–148. Camia, F. Forthcoming: “The financing of public honours in Greece during the Roman imperial period. The case of honorary statues in the cities of the Greek mainland”. Carson, R.A.G. 1990: Coins of the Roman Empire, London-New York. Clinton, K. 1974: The sacred officials of the Eleusinian mysteries, Philadelphia. Clinton, K. 1989a: “The Eleusinian mysteries: Roman initiates and benefactors, second century B.C. to A.D. 267”, in ANRW II.18.2, Berlin-New York, 1499–1539. Clinton, K. 1989b: “Hadrian’s contribution to the renaissance of Eleusis”, in S. Walker & A. Cameron (eds.), The Greek Renaissance in the Roman Empire (BICS Suppl. 55), London, 56–68. Clinton, K. 1994: “The Eleusinian mysteries and panhellenism in democratic Athens”, in W.D.E. Coulson, O. Palagia, T.L. Shear Jr., H.A. Shapiro & F.J. Frost (eds.), The Archaeology of Athens and Attica under the democracy, Oxford, 161–172. Clinton, K. 1997: “Eleusis and the Romans: Late Republic to Marcus Aurelius”, in M.C. Hoff & S.I. Rotroff (eds.), The Romanization of Athens. Proceedings of an International Conference held at Lincoln, Nebraska (April 1996), Oxford, 161–181. Clinton, K. 1999: “Eleusis from Augustus to the Antonines: Progress and problems”, in Atti dell’XI Congresso Internazionale di Epigrafia Greca e Latina (Roma, 18–24 settembre 1997), vol. II, Roma, 93–102. Clinton, K. 2003: “Stages of initiation in the Eleusinian and Samothracian Mysteries”, in M.B. Comopoulos (ed.), Greek mysteries. The archaeology and ritual of ancient Greek secret cults, London-New York, 50–78. Cortés Copete, J.M. 1998: “Marco Aurelio, benefactor de Eleusis”, Gerion 16, 255–270. Culley, G.R. 1975: “The restoration of sanctuaries in Attica. IG II2, 1035”, Hesperia 44, 207–223. Culley, G.R. 1977: “The restoration of sanctuaries in Attica, 2. The structure of IG II2, 1035 and the topography of Salamis”, Hesperia 46, 282–298. Fittschen, K. 1999: Prinzenbildnisse Antoninischer Zeit, Mainz. Follet, S. 1976: Athènes au IIe et au IIIe siècle. Études chronologiques et prosopographiques, Paris. Follet, S. & Delmousou, D.P. 1997: “Le décret de Thyatira sur les bienfaits d’Hadrien et le « Panthéon » d’Hadrien à Athènes”, BCH 121, 291–309. Gordillo, R. 2012: La construcción religiosa de la Hélade imperial. El Panhelenion, Florence. Graindor, P. 1934: Athènes sous Hadrien, Cairo. Habicht, Ch. 1996: “Salamis in der Zeit nach Sulla”, ZPE 111, 79–87. Hahn, U. 1994: Die Frauen des römischen Kaiserhauses und ihre Ehrungen im griechischen Osten anhand epigraphischer und numismatischer Zeugnisse von Livia bis Sabina, Saarbrücken.



Halfmann, H. 1986: Itinera principum, Stuttgart. Jones, C.P. 1996: “The Panhellenion”, Chiron 26, 29–56. Jones, C.P. 1999: “A decree of Thyatira in Lidia”, Chiron 29, 1–21. Kantirea, M. 2007: Les dieux et les dieux Augustes. Le culte impérial en Grèce sous les Julio-claudiens et les Flaviens. Etudes épigraphiques et archéologiques, Athens. Kapetanopoulos, E. 1968: “Leonides VII of Melite and his Family”, BCH 92, 493–518. Kent, J.P.C. 1973: “Gallienae Augustae”, NC 13, 64–68. Kourouniotes, K. 1936: Eleusis. A guide to the excavations and the Museum, Athens. Lippolis, E. 2006: Mysteria: archeologia e culto del santuario di Demetra a Eleusi, Milan. Lippolis, E. 2013: “Eleusis. Sanctuary of the Empire”, in M. Galli (ed.), Roman power and Greek sanctuaries. Forms of interaction and communication, Athens, 245–264. Lozano, F. 2007: “La promoción social a través del culto a los emperadores: el caso de Tiberio Claudio Novio en Atenas”, Habis 38, 185–203. Mylonas, G.E. 1961: Eleusis and the Eleusinian mysteries, Princeton. Oliver, J.H. 1970: Marcus Aurelius: Aspects of civic and cultural policy in the East, Princeton. Patera, I. 2011: “Changes and arrangements in a traditional cult: The case of the Eleusinian rituals”, in A. Chaniotis (ed.), Ritual dynamics in the Ancient Mediterranean, Stuttgart, 119–137. Patillon, M. & Segonds, A.Ph. 1995: Porphyre. De l’abstinence. Tome III, Livre IV, Paris. Raubitschek, A.E. 1948: “Sophocles of Sounion”, JOAI 37, 35–40. Schmalz, G.C.R. 2009: Augustan and Julio-Claudian Athens. A new Epigraphy and Prosopography, Leiden-Boston. Spawforth, A.J.S. 1997: “The early reception of the Imperial Cult in Athens”, in M.C. Hoff & S.I. Rotroff (eds.), The Romanization of Athens. Proceedings of an International Conference held at Lincoln, Nebraska (April 1996), Oxford, 183–201. Spawforth, A.J.S. 1999: “The Panhellenion again”, Chiron 29, 339–352. Spawforth, A.J.S. & Walker, S. 1985: “The world of the Panhellenion: I. Athens and Eleusis”, JRS 75, 78–104. Spawforth, A.J.S. & Walker, S. 1986: “The world of the Panhellenion: II. Three Dorian cities”, JRS 76, 88–105. Spawforth, A.J.S. 2012: Greece and the Augustan cultural revolution, Cambridge. Willers, D. 1996: “Der Vorplatz des Heiligtums von Eleusis. Überlegungen zur Neugestaltung im 2. Jahrhundert n.Chr.”, in M. Flashar, H.J. Gehrke & E. Heinrich (eds.), Retrospektive: Konzepte von Vergangenheit in der griechisch-römischen Antike, München, 179–225. Zirò, D.G. 1991: Η κυρία είσoδoς τoυ ιερoύ της Eλευσίνoς, Athens.


Communication Between Sanctuaries and Rulers: An Analysis of Religious Resistance to Roman Abuses in the Greek East During the Roman Republic Cristina Rosillo-López1 The Roman policy towards sanctuaries of the Greek world was strongly positive from the outset. Religion was, of course, closely linked to politics. Multiple legends, transmitted by Roman historians since Fabius Pictor, tied Roman history in with Greek religious centres, creating a memory shared by Greece and Rome. The mythical origins of the Romans were linked to the siege of Troy; the Romans, as descendants of Aeneas, shared that prestigious past, rather than being regarded as barbarians disconnected from Greek traditions. In his offerings in Delphi, the general Flamininus described himself a descendant of Aeneas. Significantly, C. Livius Salinator and the Scipiones sacrificed to Athena Ilias.2 And for his part, Dionysius of Halicarnassus even remarked that Romans were actually Greeks.3 In this sense, Greek sanctuaries and their longstanding powerful and sometimes pan-Hellenic traditions were for the Romans fundamental tools in their communication strategy and interaction with the Greek world. They had what could be termed a ‘special relationship’. It allowed them to appear not as complete foreigners and barbarians, but rather as part of Greek religious culture. The Trojan origins of Rome allowed the new power to be subsumed into a wider and more prestigious religious and cultural world. In this context of religion as a key element in explaining and justifying Roman dominance over Greece, communication between temples and the Roman government was a pertinent issue. Victorious generals dedicated offerings to the gods in the main Greek sanctuaries, including Claudius Marcellus to Apollo in Delphi in 222, after his victory over the Celtic tribes that had invaded 1  This research has been conducted within the framework of the project ‘Opinión pública y comunicación política en la República Romana (siglos II–I a de C.)’ (2013-43496-P), financed by the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Finance. All dates are BCE unless otherwise stated. 2  P lut. Flam. 12, 11–12; Liv. 37, 9, 7; 37.37.2–3. Cf. Gabba 1974, 1976; Ferrary 1988, 223–229. 3  D.H. 1, 4, 2; 1, 5, 1–2; Ferrary 1988, 227–229. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004347113_005



Italy.4 He was just one of several Roman generals who paid their respects to Greek temples and tried to present themselves as civilised, cultured men.5 When Roman power and the Greek sanctuaries came into contact, they had to establish new ways of communicating with one another. Religion was included in the new strategies that the Greeks devised to communicate with the new power in the region, a component that the Roman Senate and magistrates had to take into account. So, what happened when temples felt abused and asked the Romans for redress? How did Greek sanctuaries communicate with the Roman government in cases of conflict (in this instance, those arising from abuses by Roman magistrates or tax collectors)? Did they devise new communication strategies or resort to whatever channels Greek cities usually employed? Did religion play an important factor? For the study of this issue, I have chosen two main areas of conflict: extortion and spoliation by Roman magistrates; and disputes with tax collectors over levies. Roman generals and the Roman government were determined to keep on good terms with the Greeks, provided that their loyalty was guaranteed. In comparison with other provinces, the eastern territories had a memorable past, a rich literature, a long-standing political tradition, and a prestigious language with which the Romans, especially those who could be termed ‘philhellenes’, wanted to be associated. Symbolic gestures from the new rulers demonstrated their respect for Greek culture, traditions, and government.6 The privileged status of Greek sanctuaries is reflected in treaty clauses and letters from Roman generals reassuring them that they would attend to their interests. In 191, the Roman general M. Acilius Glabrio wrote a letter to the Delphians, which was engraved on the base of an equestrian statue erected in his honour. Glabrio had delivered Delphi from the control of the Aetolian League. In his missive to the sanctuary, he promised to use his influence to protect the autonomy of the polis and the temple of Delphi: ‘I will try [in Rome] what I can to see to it that the ancestral conditions that have been yours from the beginning remain yours alone, and to protect the autonomy of the polis and the temple.’7 This was no empty or trivial promise. The second half of the letter featured a list of houses and properties that had been taken over

4  M iles 2008, 61–68. 5  On Philhellenism and Roman generals, cf. Gruen 1984, 250–272; Ferrary 1988, 505–530. On Aemilius Paullus, for instance: Ferrary 1988, 531–537, 547–572. 6  F errary 1988, 623. 7  Syll.3 609 = Sherk 1969, 37, l. 8–10. Translation: Snowdon 2010, 149. Cf. Bloy 2000 on Glabrio’s actions in Delphi; Galli 2013, 23–24.

Communication between Sanctuaries and Rulers


­ reviously by the Aetolians. The Delphians asked the Romans for their return p and Glabrio granted their request, despite the legal problems that it entailed.8 This document does not represent an isolated case. Immediately after the defeat of the Aetolian League, the Delphians sent an embassy to the Senate in order to determine the future status of the sanctuary. Spurius Postimius, praetor of 189, summoned the Senate in the absence of the consuls, who were on campaign in Asia and Aetolia. The final decision, determining the inviolability of the temple of Apollo and the free status of the Delphians, was communicated and inscribed on a marble stele: Know, therefore, that it was decreed by the Senate that the temple of Apollos Pythias is to be inviolate and that the city of Delphi and its territory, and the Delphians are to be autonomous, free and immune from taxation, living and governing themselves on their own, and having control of the sacred territory and the sacred harbour, as has been their ancestral right from the beginning.9 Owing to the fact that the members of the embassy were murdered on their way back to Delphi, the sanctuary sent a second embassy to Rome, which was received by the Senate and sent home with a copy of the documents.10 Furthermore, the Senate ordered the Aetolians to return to Delphi all the possessions that they had removed from the city, thus expressing its desire to protect the integrity even of the possessions of the sanctuary.11 1

Abuses by Roman Magistrates

The previous two cases concern Greek temples that had felt abused by other Greeks. What happened when the rulers were the ones who committed the abuse? Extortion and despoiling by Roman magistrates in the conquered territories are attested throughout the 2nd and 1st centuries. Provincials complained via embassies and some of them even managed to obtain redress. The circumstances of this redress depended of a number of factors: aberrant behaviour or solid evidence was not the only variable that was taken into c­ onsideration. The 8  Sherk 1969, doc. B. 9  Syll3 611 = Sherk 1969, 1, frg. B (= CID IV 104), l. 4–7 = Canali de Rossi 1997, no. 33. Translation: Snowdon 2010, 149. 10   S herk 1969, 38 (letter from C. Livius Salinator, consul of 188 BC, to the Delphians). 11  Idem. ll. 14–17.



influence of prospective allies in Rome was important, as well as the political sway that the accused might exercise, which would prevent his condemnation. The first step in the procedure involved sending ambassadors to Rome in order to bring their case before the Senate and offer their version of the facts. The trip could be dangerous, but the arduous part began in Rome itself. Upon arrival in the city, foreign envoys registered in the temple of Saturn; the quaestor, following the orders of the consuls (as stated in the senatus consultum de agro Pergameno), decided where ambassadors were to be lodged.12 They could be accommodated at the expense of the treasury, stay with guestfriends (proxenoi) with whom they had hospitia, or even reside with their ­patrons.13 Once in the city, they then tried to garner as much support as possible for their cause. The introduction of foreign embassies to the Senate was the prerogative of consuls or, in their absence, praetors.14 The first reception, prior to embassies being admitted into the Senate, took place in the Graecostasis, a lower platform where the consuls sat and foreign envoys requested an audience and then waited for their turn.15 They competed with one another to have their complaints heard as soon as possible; the consuls decided the order of admission. It was widely assumed in Rome that consuls and senators delayed the reception of embassies in order to increase the bribes that they were offered to obtain an audience in the Senate.16 The lex Gabinia in 67 reserved the month of February for the reception of embassies by the Senate, in order to avoid the

12   I GRR IV, 262 ll. 17–19; Sherk 1969, 68, dated 129 BC. Similar instructions in the senatus consultum et foedus cum Astypalaeensibus of 105 BC, ll. 10–11, IG XII, 3,173; IGRR IV, 1028; Sherk 1969, 94–99; Pina Polo 2011, 74–81). See Coudry 2004 on the procedures for the reception of ambassadors. On the role of the quaestor: Plut. Mor. 275c. If stipulated in the treaty of alliance, some ambassadors could claim expenses and free lodging. Failure to do so generated grave suspicions of espionage: Liv. 42, 26, 2–7; Ferrary 2007, 116–118. Allusions to the guests of Roman senators always referred to prestigious Greek philosophers and writers, or to foreign kings; sources only mentioned these kinds of people because they were considered worthy of attention. 13   L iv. 42, 1, 9–10; Coudry 2004, 534–535; on the difference between hospitium and patronage, see Nicols 2001; Eilers 2002, 111–112. 14  On praetors and foreign embassies, see Brennan 2000, 115–116; on consuls: Pina Polo 2011, 58–82, 261–269. 15   S touder 2009 on its possible construction in the 4th century BC, relating to the concession of the hospitium publicum to Massalia. 16   S chol. Bob. 158 Stangl; Cic. Planc. 33. On the procedure and customs of the Senate relating to the reception of foreign embassies, see Brennan 2009, 188–190.

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deliberate delaying of their admission in exchange for money.17 This practice was vox populi by the Late Republic; the lex Gabinia probably just concentrated these deals into a shorter space of time. Ambassadors from Greek temples had to deal with these difficulties in the same manner as any other embassy. However, during the 2nd century, Greek embassies enjoyed a clear advantage over envoys from other territories under Roman influence: in general, the Senate paid more attention to their requests for redress, and even chose favourable procedures. The case of the extortion and abuse denounced by Greek and Hispanic communities in 171–170 is telling. Addressing the complaints of the Hispanic communities, the Senate charged the praetor to designate recuperatores and to name patroni, Romans who could aid the provincials with the case and speak on their behalf.18 The first accused was absolved, and the following exiled before the end of the trial, but in Rome rumour had it that the patroni were hindering the prosecution of important politicians. This was confirmed when the praetor in charge of the case left suddenly for his province, in order to dodge the accusations.19 In two contemporary cases, this time denounced by Greek communities including temples, the procedures and outcome were very different. In 170, the extortions of A. Hortensius in Abdera were judged and condemned by the Senate.20 The same year, the abuses of C. Lucretius Gallus were denounced by several Greek cities. Among the complaints, the ambassador Micythion accused Lucretius of robbing the temples of Chalcis of their ornaments.21 The Roman commander was judged by an iudicium populi, and condemned to a fine of one million asses.22 Why such double standards? As we have seen, Greek communities and sanctuaries were perceived as entities whose goodwill Romans were willing to preserve by presenting themselves as moderate and attentive in their dealings with them.23 Furthermore, even though they were de facto under Roman domination, Greek cities were de iure independent communities.24 In ­comparison, 17   C ic. Fam. 1, 4, 1; Att. 1, 14, 5. See Bonnefond 1984, 71–73; Bonnefond-Coudry 1989, 295–346. Pina Polo 2011, 261–264 has argued that the law confirmed the habitual practice of receiving ambassadors at the beginning of the consular year. 18   L iv. 43, 2, 3. 19  Idem.  43.2.11. 20  Idem.  43.4.8–9. 21  Idem.  43.7.10. 22  Idem. 43.6–7; 8.9–10. Cf. Rosillo-López 2010 about provincial corruption and p. 102–103 on these specific cases. 23   F errary 1988, 527–545. 24   K allet-Marx 1995, 126ff; 286–287; 340–341. He also suggests that this situation changed with the campaigns of Sulla and Pompey in the East, when the Romans openly acknowledged their dominion over the region.



war was still being waged in the Hispanic provinces, which could not boast such a glorious past. This difference was not resolved until the promulgation in 149 of the lex Calpurnia de rebus repetundis, which established a fixed procedure to recover monies and goods extorted by Roman magistrates, with a permanent tribunal (quaestio perpetua) and a praetor elected each year to judge the resulting ­cases.25 The creation of such a tribunal reduced the possibility of special treatment for Greek communities and, especially, their temples: from the passing of the lex Calpurnia onwards, all complaints against Roman magistrates were submitted to the same procedure. Favouritism could still be shown in the support that such complaints found with the Roman elite, who would speed up the trial or create a climate of opinion favourable to condemnation. However, the procedure could not be altered. In his speech against Verres, Cicero hailed the laws against provincial extortion as the ‘citadel of the allies.’26 However, Greek communities, and especially their temples, which had such a special relationship with the Roman rulers, were treated the same way as any other. This relationship could only be reflected legally in how the Roman government dealt with abuses by the publicani. 2

Abuses by the Publicani

During the Republic, the Roman government charged individuals and companies (societates) with the collection of various taxes throughout its territories, a system that was common in Egypt, Greece, and Rome.27 The legal status of the publicani was a complicated issue that the Roman state never managed to settle during its entire existence. There were two possibilities: either the publicani had defrauded the state (and were thus considered civil servants); or they were merely thieves who had robbed individuals. The distinction was crucial, especially for the eventual options for punishing their abuses.28 25  On the lex Calpurnia and the quaestio de repetundis, cf. Binsberger 1906, 27ff; Ferguson 1921; Tibiletti 1953; Fontette 1954; Brunt 1961; Eder 1969; Lintott 1976; Ferrary 1979; Lintott 1981; Richardson 1987; Forsythe 1988; Mantovani 1989, 118ff; Ferrary 1998; Rosillo-López 2010, 119–123. 26   C ic. Div. Caec. 18. On public opinion against provincial corruption in Rome, which usually turned against the rapacious governors and in favour of the provincials, cf. RosilloLópez 2016. 27   Youtie 1967. 28  On this issue cf. Rosillo-López 2003. The senatorial elite felt strongly about such behaviour; even Cicero, despite his usual support of the publicani (Cic. Att. 1, 17, 9). On this

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As with abuses by Roman magistrates, the absence of procedure might be detrimental, in the sense that the Senate had to meet and discuss each case on an individual basis. At the same time, however, it could prove beneficial to those entities that enjoyed support in Rome or the goodwill of the Senate. In these cases, obtaining redress was occasionally easier. Temples in the Greek East had an advantage over the rest. They clashed with the tax collectors ­several times, above all regarding the question of whether or not certain plots of land and properties belonging to the sanctuaries were taxable.29 What procedures did Greek sanctuaries follow to communicate their concerns about abuse by tax collectors to the Roman government? Initial reactions in the province are not well attested. In the Ionian city of Priene, the sanctuary of Athena Polias, founded by Alexander the Great, came into conflict with the publicani in the early 1st century over salt-pans which, the temple argued, belonged to the sanctuary.30 The publicani resorted to violence against the temple. Krates, superintendent of Priene’s sacred property, travelled to Ephesus to argue the case before the governor and obtained a halt of the proceedings, an interdictum, until the decision of the Senate arrived. It was not a simple endeavour, since Krates had to deal with two governors and make multiple trips to Ephesus. Greek sanctuaries usually sent embassies to the Senate in order to obtain a senatusconsultum, a senatorial decision that would favour their interests and ensure that the publicani did not charge undue taxes. For this purpose, the temples not only sent illustrious envoys, but also ensured that they could back up their claims with expert advice. The sanctuary of Artemis in Ephesus was one of the most important temples to the goddess in Asia Minor and also one of the richest, due to its considerable possessions and to all the money deposited there by private citizens.31 The bone of contention between the sanctuary and the publicani involved lakes that the former alleged were the property of the goddess; this might have been an issue over fishing-rights. In 104, the temple sent a high-ranking embassy to Rome to plead its cause before the Senate. The embassy was led by the famous geographer Artemidoros,

affair, cf. Cic. Att. 2, 16, 2; Planc. 34ff; Dio Cass. 38, 7, 4; App. B Civ. 2, 47 ff.; Suet. Iul. 20, 3. Cf. Balsdon 1962, 135–137; Rosillo-López 2003, 59–63 on fraud during the bidding for public contracts. 29  Cf. Erhardt 2002. 30   I Priene, 111. Wallace 2014 suggests that it was not a question of whether the salt-pans had to be taxed, but of whether they belonged to the temple or to the Roman Republic, as ager publicus. 31  Cf. Magie 1950, 140–141, 166 for the possessions of the temple; Carlsen 2009, 375.



who was s­ uccessful in fulfilling his duty.32 The presence of such a celebrity has been considered as a strategy by the temple to impress the Romans. However, it also had a practical basis. Marzano has taken into account the difficulty of demarcating a boundary between the coastal lagoons (which belonged to the temple) and the sea. The need for the technical skills of a geographer in establishing such boundaries may explain the presence of Artemidoros in the embassy.33 Similarly, in the dispute between the publicani and Oropos (cf. infra), the temple sent Hermodoros, the priest of Amphiaraos. The presence of the priest, as in the case of the geographer Artemidoros of Ephesus, could be explained by several factors. First of all, the inscription notes several times that Hermodoros enjoyed a special status with the Romans, as he is named as their ally (amicus, in a probable translation into Latin). There is no more information about how Hermodoros might have obtained this status; Sherk has proposed that he might have acquired it through loyalty to Rome during the war against Mithridates.34 Secondly, the embassy needed to make a point regarding the divine status of Amphiaraos, which was the basis for their claims of exemption from taxation. Arguments presented by a close ally of Rome, who was furthermore a priest of the cult, could make a real difference to the result of the case. The whole procedure was subject to unequal outcomes and lopsided relationships. Being a Greek sanctuary was a bonus, but having highly placed patrons was the trump card. We will now review in detail two cases of Greek temples lodging complaints against publicani: both took place in the first half of the 1st century, but there are differences. In the first case (Ilion), the temple enjoyed the patronage of the most highly placed magistrate with responsibility for public contracts. In the second (Oropos), the absence of a relevant advocate for the Greeks and the support of important senators for the publicani may explain undue delays in the outcome. The city of Ilion quarrelled with the tax collectors over the sacred proprieties of the temple of Athena Ilias, probably in 89–87, though a date post-61 has also been proposed.35 The inscription states clearly that the situation was resolved in favour of the temple thanks to the censor: ‘The people (dedicated this statue of) Lucius Iulius, son of Lucius, Caesar, who became censor, restored the sacred territory to Athena Ilias and removed it from the revenue contract.’36 32   S trab. 14, 1, 26; ILS 3239 = Canali de Rossi 1997, no. 325. 33   M arzano 2013, 61–62. 34   S herk 1984, 71. 35   O GIS 440 = IGRR 4, 194 = ILS 8770 = I Ilion 71 = Canali de Rossi 1997, no. 338. 36  Trans. Sherk 1984, 70.

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Lucius Iulius Caesar, censor in 89 or 61, did not share any kinship relationship with the future general.37 The relationship between the gens Iulia and the city of Ilion, linked to the mythical ancestry of the family with Aeneas, was well established at the time.38 During the previous century, this relationship had extended from a single family to the Roman community as a whole, since Aeneas was the mythical father of them all. For this reason, Ilion acquired new territories in 189: ‘[…] to the people of Ilium they added Rhoeteum and Gergithus, less as a reward for recent services than in recognition of their descent.’39 The inscription does not enter into detail about the proceedings that the temple and the city followed to have their complaints heard in Rome. It is revealing, though, that they chose to honour the censor who modified the reve­ nue contract in order to exempt the sacred land of the temple from taxation. The censors were the magistrates who drafted and allocated the revenue contracts, taking into consideration the offers made by the individual tax collectors or the companies that bid for them. It is likely that censors were sufficiently independent in this matter to be able to resolve such a problem without a senatorial decree. In this case, the city of Ilion was lucky enough to have a Roman senator who took an interest in the city and, at the same time, was responsible for revenue contracts. In this specific case, the city of Ilion hit the jackpot. The temple of Athena Ilias benefited from the same privileged relationship with certain Romans that other sanctuaries had enjoyed in the previous century, through a direct and strong connection with a well-placed magistrate. In the case of Oropos, a similar situation was resolved through a senatus consultum.40 In 74, the city was at loggerheads with the publicani over what seemed to be a religious point of discussion, when it was in reality a strictly material issue: whether or not Amphiaraos was a god. If he was not a god, the lands and proprieties belonging to his temple would be taxed, whereas divine status would free the temple from this obligation.41 The temple argued that the land and properties had been exempted from payment since the time of Sulla, confirmed by an inscription from 80 that mentions the tax immunity

37   N icolet 1980, 111–125 proposed that he was censor in 61, a year when the names of the censors are unknown, cf. Broughton 1952, 178. In this case, according to Erskine 2001, 246–247, Iulius Caesar may have travelled to Ilion in 77, when he was quaestor in Asia. 38   E rskine 2001, 17–23. 39   L iv. 38, 39, 8. 40  On this case, cf. Mommsen 1885; Ehrhardt 2002. 41   Syll3 747= FIRA 1.36. Cf. Cic. Nat. Deor. 3, 49.



by ­senatusconsultum.42 An embassy arrived at Rome, composed of two envoys from Oropos (Alexidemos, son of Theodoros, and Demainetos, son of Theoteles) and the aforementioned priest of Amphiaraos. L. Domitius Ahenobarbus was among the senators who supported the publicani and voiced their arguments in the Senate.43 In this case, after the embassy was heard a consilium, formed by the two consuls and 15 senators, was set up to look into the matter, which in turn would report back to the Senate. Once a positive decision was reached in favour of the temple, the consuls wrote to the magistrates, boule, and people of Oropos, sending them the senatorial verdict. In order to avoid future disputes with the publicani over the matter, the temple ordered the erection of an inscribed white marble stele, which was found near the statue of Sulla, who had granted the tax immunity in the first place. Sherk has speculated about the length of the proceedings.44 The embassy arrived in 74, but the decree of the Senate is dated 16 October 73, two days after the advisory council had arrived at its decision. The (at least) 10-month delay for the decision might have been the reflection of a power struggle in Rome between the Senate and the publicani, since many senators had financial ­interests in such contracts. We do not know of those sanctuaries whose complaints never reached Rome or were rejected. In any case, we have seen that even though the proceedings were straightforward (embassy and senatorial decree), the communication strategies of the temples varied due to the absence of an established legal procedure (as in cases of repetundae). The case of Ilion is symptomatic of the possibilities for arbitrary decisions: its proximity to a censor, the ma­ gistrate in charge of allocating public contracts, gave the city a very substantial advantage. If they acted wisely by knocking on the right doors, had an ancient past, and a certain degree of luck, Greek temples could play to their strengths to obtain redress in cases of abuse. 3

The Problematic Issue of the Theft of Sacred Goods

Having reviewed the communication strategies of Greek temples in cases of abuse by Roman magistrates or tax collectors, it is clear that they had a special relationship with the Roman government which benefited them, especially at 42   Syll3 747 = Sherk 1969, 23 = Canali de Rossi 1997, no. 188. Cf. supra for Sulla’s decisions regarding temples in Greece and Asia Minor. 43   C arlsen 2006, 54, 44   S herk 1969, 136.

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moments when the procedure was more flexible. Notwithstanding this, once the case was to be judged and damages assessed, did Greek temples enjoy a different status because of the religious nature of the objects that were taken? In order to ascertain this, we will review two cases of theft in sanctuaries by Roman legates and how they were resolved. Both cases were special because they involved legates, who formed part of the Roman administration but were not magistrates. Not being elected officials, their juridical status was somewhat ambiguous in cases of abuse. A procedure against legati was not specifically included in the leges de repetundis; they could only be charged at a trial if their superiors were indicted. However, the permanent tribunal for embezzlement (quaestio perpetua de peculatu) did indeed bring to trial all kinds of subordinates.45 The first case involved A. Pleminius, legate of Scipio Africanus in the city of Locri, in southern Italy, in 205–204, during the Second Punic War. The Locrians sent an embassy to Rome to complain that the legate had robbed the temple of Persephone and murdered some military tribunes.46 The Senate set up a commission of investigation which ordered his capture: the legate was brought to Rome in chains. Pleminius was tried in an iudicium populi, but the trial did not reach a conclusion.47 This procedure before the people could be used in this case because there were Roman citizens (the military tribunes) involved. Wells has suggested that the prosecution, fuelled by Scipio’s enemies, accused Pleminius of impiety towards the gods.48 He was prosecuted for this and envoys were sent to perform expiatory rites in order to dispel the wrath of the gods from Rome.49 The Great Heraion, the temple of Hera in Samos, was also robbed by a Roman magistrate. In 80, Verres, who was a legate at the time, removed statues from the temple and shipped them to Rome, where they were exhibited as

45   R osillo-López 2010, 127–131. 46  An analysis of the Locrian speech before the Senate in Burck 1969, 307 ff. 47  Ancient historians did not concur on the end of Pleminius. Livy stated that he had died during the trial (Liv. 29.22); other asserted that he died while trying to burn down the city of Rome (Diod. 27.4; Val. Max. 1.1.21; App. Hann. 55; Dio Cass. fr. 57, 62). On this case, cf. Grosso 1952, 119–135; Wells 2010; Köster 2014. 48   Wells 2010. 49  Ibid.; Berchman 2013, 53–54.



works of art.50 In fact, during the trial against Verres, Cicero claimed that the statues could be seen in Verres’ house; thus, 10 years later, the grievances of the temple of Juno in Samos still had not been redressed.51 It was not for the lack of trying: the temple sent an embassy to the governor, who evaded responsibility by stating that a charge against a legate had to be dealt with in Rome.52 In this case, it is interesting to appreciate how a governor could undermine the possibilities of redress simply by inaction or sheer opposition, despite the prestigious status of the temple of Hera in Samos. Even so, the Samians did not let the matter rest. They brought to trial Charidemus of Chios, navarchus at the service of Dolabella, who had been present during the sack of the sanctuary at Samos. He laid the blame squarely on Verres and was acquitted by the tribunal of Chios.53 Roman extortion laws neither established a difference between regular and sacred goods, nor any special provisions for money or sacred statues taken from temples. When magistrates were involved, these were treated as criminal cases, rather than religious infractions that required expiation. Impiety was not a crime, since the gods would deliver retribution themselves. There was one sole exception: the actions of Pleminius in Locri in 204, who had allegedly disturbed the pax deorum. This categorisation of the abuse of religious institutions as impiety only occurred at the end of the 3rd century and in temples located in Sicily and southern Italy. Their juridical status might have provided a possible reason: both were territories under the aegis of Rome and were treated as provinces. Greek communities were de iure autonomous entities during the 2nd century, although de facto under Roman domination.54 However, this situation changed during Sulla’s dictatorship and particularly during Pompey’s

50   C ic. 2Verr. 1, 50; 1, 59. Canali de Rossi 1997, Nos. 361–362. On the trial, cf. Alexander 1990, no. 135. On transporting and managing illegal goods by members of the administration, cf. Rosillo-López 2010b. Miles 2008, who stresses that it was thanks to the behaviour of Verres that the habit of exhibiting plundered artworks in the public sphere was gradually discarded in favour of private displays. 51   C ic. 2Verr. 1, 50; 2, 55. Canali de Rossi 1997, 325 suggests that the grievances of the temple of Hera might have been addressed during the trial against Dolabella. In any case, the Samnians did not receive any redress in the matter of the statues. 52  Cases of legati who were judged in Rome: Pleminius, legate of Scipio Africanus in Locri, by an iudicium populi (cf. supra), and Aulus Hostilius Cato, legate of Lucius Scipio, in 187 (Liv. 38, 55, 4–5). Cf. Buckland 1937. 53   C ic. 2Verr. 1, 52. Canali de Rossi 1997, no. 369. Charidemus was brought to Rome to testify during the trial against Verres. 54   K allet–Marx 1995, 126 ff.; 190–192.

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campaigns in the East. At the time when Verres robbed the temple of Hera in Samos, the Romans recognised their imperium or hegemonia openly in this region, and Achaia and Asia Minor became provinces.55 4 Conclusions Cicero described the proceedings for extortion allegations in the leges de repetundis as a valuable asset for provincials. However, not all of them benefited from such proceedings. The eastern territories that were controlled (to various degrees) by Rome, and especially their religious institutions, had benefitted from a ‘special rapport’. Looking at their communication strategies in situations of abuse, it is evident that this lopsided relationship favoured them in a way in which other communities missed out. The establishment of equal proceedings for extortion deprived them of the opportunity of obtaining redress that satisfied their own needs and desires. Even though Greek temples had enjoyed special treatment in comparison with other communities, it was not necessarily easier for them to lodge complaints successfully and obtain redress. Obviously we are only aware of successful embassies, but there were probably many unsuccessful ones. In cases of extortion, Greek temples had to bypass the governor and send an embassy directly to Rome, expecting to find support among senators there in order to bring the matter to trial. If the magistrate involved in the abuse was closely linked to the governor, this complicated matters since the latter could try to deter such embassies. As regards problems with the publicani, a good reception in Rome was essential, and the ear of a sympathetic senator almost a must. Indeed, Eilers has highlighted the fact that the institution of Roman patronage of Greek cities was related to these problems of abuse.56 Interestingly, the absence of an established procedure to deal with extortion and abuse benefited the Greek temples, since this allowed for special measures, swift decisions, and ad hoc solutions. This situation coincided with a period in which Roman generals and politicians carved out a ‘special relationship’ with Greek temples, defending the latter in Rome in order to boost their own status as cultured and knowledgeable persons in Greece. It was a win-win situation for both parties, albeit temporary. In the 1st century, the Romans fought the Greeks and won, and a procedure to deal with Roman abuses was established: the permanent tribunals. In the case of extortion committed by magistrates, 55  Idem. 286–87; 340–341. 56   E ilers 2002, 142.



the goodwill of senators and magistrates was necessary to initiate the proceedings and to secure good orators for the accusers, but this did not really make a substantial difference to the final outcome. In the case of abuses by tax collectors, the situation was different. There was a procedure: the reception of the embassy by the Senate, an enquiry into the affair, and a senatorial decision on the matter. However, this procedure was more flexible, especially since there was no fixed timing for its different steps. The help of someone highly placed, such as a censor or even a consul, could facilitate matters and pave the way to a positive outcome for the temple. Furthermore, these embassies knew the language and customs of diplomacy, which made the task easier for them than it was for western communities. Leaving aside the first decades of the 2nd century, Greek sanctuaries did not seem to have enjoyed any further special treatment from Rome. Criminal law did not establish any specific proceedings or unique redress in the cases of abuses against religious institutions. Intriguingly, such abuses were not regarded as sins against the gods, but as secular matters, with the early exception of Locri. Roman religious law did not enter into that sphere. The theft of an image of a god or goddess was treated in the same way as the robbery of any other kind of goods or money. Notwithstanding this situation, Greek temples tried their best to play to their strengths in their struggle against the abuses perpetrated by their rulers and to make the most of their new inferior status in their relationship with the new power in the region. Bibliography Alexander, M.C. 1990: Trials in the Late Republic, 149 BC to 50 BC, Toronto. Balsdon, J.P.V.D. 1962: “Roman History, 65–50 BC: Five problems”, JRS 52, 134–41. Bernhardt, R. 1985: Polis und römische Herrschaft in der späten Republik 149–31 v. Chr., Berlin. Binsbergen, J.V. 1906: De Legibus Ablatae Pecuniae. Utrecht. Bloy, D. 2000: Roman cultural diplomacy at Panhellenic sanctuaries during the conquest of Greece, diss. Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr. Bonnefond, M. 1984: ‘La lex Gabinia sur les ambassades’, in C. Nicolet (ed.), Des ordres à Rome, 61–100, Paris. Bonnefond-Coudry, M. 1989: Le Sénat de la République romaine de la guerre d’Hannibal à Auguste, Rome. Brennan, T.C. 2000: The Praetorship in the Roman Republic, vols. I–II, Oxford.

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Ferrary, J.L. 1988: Philhellénisme et impérialisme: aspects idéologiques de la conquête romaine du monde hellénistique, de la seconde guerre de Macédoine à la guerre contre Mithridate, Rome. Ferrary, L. 2007: “Les ambassadeurs grecs au Sénat romain”, in J.-P. Caillet & M. Sot (eds.), L’audience. Rituel et cadres spatiaux dans l’Antiquité et le haut Moyen Age, Paris, 113–122. Fontette, F.P.D. 1954: Leges Repetundarum. Essai sur la répression des actes illicites commis par les magistrats romains au détriment de leurs administrés, Paris. Gabba, E. 1974: “Storiografia greca e imperialismo romano III–I sec. a. C:”, Rivista Storica Italiana, 625–642. Gabba, E. 1976: Republican Rome, the army and the allies, Berkeley. Galli, M. 2013: “Ritual dynamic in the Greek sanctuaries under the Roman domination”, in M. Galli (ed.), Roman power and Greek sanctuaries. Forms of interaction and communication, Athens, 9–43. Grosso, F. 1952: “Il caso di Pleminio”, Giornale Italiano di Filologia 5, 119–35, 234–53. Gruen E.S. 1984: The Hellenistic world and the coming of Rome, vols. I–II, Berkeley. Kallet-Marx, R. 1995: Hegemony to Empire: the development of the Roman Imperium in the East from 148 to 62 BC, Berkeley. Kendall, J. 2009: “Scipio Aemilianus, Lucius Memmius and the politics of plundered art in Italy and beyond in the 2nd Century BCE”, Etruscan Studies 12.1, 169–184. Köster, I. 2014: “How to kill a Roman villain: the deaths of Quintus Pleminius”, The Classical Journal 109.3, 309–332. Levene, D. 2012: “Defining the divine in Rome”, TAPA 142, 41–81. Lintott, A.W. 1976: “The procedure under the leges Calpurnia and Iunia de repetundis and the actio per sponsionem”, ZPE 22, 207–14. Lintott, A.W. 1981: “The Leges de Repetundis and associate measures under the Republic”, Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Recthgeschichte, Romanistiche Abteilung 98, 162–212. Magie, D. 1950: Roman Rule in Asia Minor to the end of the Third Century after Christ I–II, Princeton. Mantovani, D. 1989: Il problema d’origine dell’accusa popolare. Dalla “quaestio” unilaterale alla “quaestio” bilaterale, Padova. Marzano, A. 2013: Harvesting the sea: the exploitation of marine resources in the Roman Mediterranean, Oxford. Miles, M.M. 2008: Art as plunder: The ancient origins of debate about cultural property, Cambridge. Mommsen, Th. 1885: “Der Rechtsstreit Zwischen Oropos und den Römischen Steuerpächtern”, Hermes 20, 268–287. Nicols. J. 2001: “Hospitium and political friendship in the Late Republic”, in M. Peachin (ed.), Aspects of Friendship in the Graeco-Roman World, Portsmouth, 99–108.

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Pina Polo, F. 2011: The Consul at Rome: The civil functions of the consuls in the Roman Republic, Cambridge. Richardson, J.S. 1987: “The purpose of the lex Calpurnia de repetundis”, JRS 77, 1–12. Rosillo-López, C. 2003: “Fraude et contrôle des contrats publics à Rome”, in J.-J. Aubert (ed.), Tâches publiques et entreprise privée dans le monde romain, Genève, 57–94. Rosillo-López, C. 2010: La corruption à la fin de la République romaine IIe–Ier s. av. J.-C.: aspects politiques et financiers, Stuttgart. Rosillo-López, C. 2010b: “La gestion des profits illégaux par les magistrats pendant la République romaine IIe–Ier siècle av. J.-C.”, Latomus: revue d’études latines 69, 981–999. Rosillo-López, C. 2016: “The workings of public opinion in the Late Roman Republic: the case study of corruption”, Klio 98, 203–227. Schulz, R. 1997: Herrschaft und Regierung. Roms Regiment in den Provinzen in der Zeit der Republik, München. Sherk, R.K. 1969: Roman documents from the Greek East: Senatus Consulta and Epistulae to the age of Augustus, Baltimore. Sherk, R.K. 1984: Rome and the Greek East to the death of Augustus, Cambridge. Snowdon, M. 2010: Greek freedom and Roman hegemony. The transaction of Roman rule in the Greek East, diss. MacMasters University, Hamilton. Stouder, G. 2009: “Création de l’espace diplomatique à Rome à l’époque médio-républicaine”, Veleia 26, 173–185. Tibiletti, G. 1953: “Le leggi de iudicis repetundarum fino alla guerra sociale”, Athenaeum 41, 5–100. Wallace, C. 2014: “Ager Publicus in the Greek East: I. Priene 111 and other examples of resistance to the Publicani”, Historia 63.1, 38–73. Wells, J. 2010: “Impiety in the Middle Republic: The Roman response to temple plundering in Southern Italy”, The Classical Journal 105.3, 229–243. Youtie H.C. 1967: “Publicans and sinners”, ZPE 1, 1–20.


Trajan and Hadrian’s Reorganization of the Agonistic Associations in Rome* Rocío Gordillo Hervás The reorganization of the agonistic associations in Rome during the 2nd century AD has not, surprisingly, aroused much scholarly interest, despite their growing importance during Trajan’s, and especially Hadrian’s, time. This article aims to underline the efforts made by the two emperors to exercise imperial control over the integration of those Greek elements forming part of the rapidly spreading agones. This was achieved through the reorganization of the associations of technitai and athletes that were created in Rome, with the aim of serving as an instrument of control over the main aspects of the agonistic events held across the Empire. The agonistic rituals which were held in the Greek territories since the 6th century BC would be slowly absorbed during the Roman era, leading to the creation of a new festival in Rome itself at imperial behest. The first step in this direction was taken when agonistic events were included in triumphal celebrations held in Rome for the victories in the Greek territories, thus propagandistically underlining the submission of Greece to Rome. According to Livy, both the victory celebrations held by M. Fulvius Nobilior after the capture of the city of Ambracia in 186 BC1 and the 167 BC triumph of L. Anicius Gallus against the Illyrians2 featured athletic contests. In 80 BC, Sulla introduced a change in triumphal celebrations, since, instead of organizing games from scratch, he had the 175th Olympic Games held in Rome in order to celebrate his triumph over Mithridates.3 The second step in the gradual introduction of the Greek agones in Rome involved their incorporation into Roman funeral rituals, such as those organized by M. Aemilius Scaurus in 58 BC or those by G. Curio Scribonius’ father in 53 BC.4 The third step was taken by Pompey, who * This paper has been written with support of the Research Project ‘Adriano y la integración de la diversidad regional / Hadrian and the integration of regional diversity’ (HAR2015-65451C2-1-P, MINECO/FEDER). 1  Liv. 39, 22.1–2. Mann 2014, 163–168. 2  Polyb. 30, 22 (Ath. XIV 615); Suet. Iul. 39; Plut. Caes. 45; Dio Cass. 43, 22. 3  A pp. B Civ. 1, 463. 4  P lin. ΗΝ. 36, 24, 120; Val. Max. 2, 4, 7. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004347113_006

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in 52 BC ‘organized athletic and musical contests’5 to mark the inauguration of his theatre: unlike the musical contests, which could be held in the theatre, the athletic contests had to be staged in the Circus Maximus, since at the time Rome still lacked dedicated facilities. Finally, Augustus introduced new celebrations for his victory and the advent of the new regime, such as the Actian Games in Nicopolis.6 In the year 2 AD, the city of Neapolis established a series of agonistic contests modelled on the Olympic Games (namely, ‘isolympic’) called ᾿Ιταλικὰ ῾Ρωμαῖα Σεβαστὰ ᾿Ισολύμπια,7 to be held every four years in honour of Augustus. This represents a turning point in the history of agonistic games in the Roman Empire, since it was the first time that a recurring competition, based on the Greek model and connected with the imperial cult, was established in Italy, thus constituting the precedent for the introduction of the games in the city of Rome. The Emperor Nero created two certamina following the Greek model: the Juvenalia and the Neronia. The former, celebrated annually, were held from 59 to 64 AD.8 With greater repercussions for the imperial capital, the latter were based on the Roman tripartition, with music, athletic, and horsemanship contests,9 and only held until Nero’s death. It was not until 86 AD, with the establishment of the Capitoline Games on behalf of Domitian, when Rome finally hosted Greek games, which would be celebrated until the 4th century AD.10 Starting from the reign of Domitian, Rome began to host major agonistic events celebrating the role of the emperor and Capitoline Jupiter as protectors of the Empire. Events such as these conveyed the centrality of the emperor as organizer of the games and custodian of Greek culture in the Empire. Consequently, suitable facilities for the staging of the agones in the capital, close to emperor, would have to be built. A notable example of this need is one of the high-ranking athletes who were granted positions of great responsibility by Rome in the athletic organization, viz. M. Ulpius Domesticus from Ephesos, Roman citizen, pancration fighter, and winner of the periodos.11 He appears in inscriptions as the representative of the συνόδῳ ξυστικῇ τῶν περὶ τὸν Ἡρακλέα ἀθλητῶν ἱερονεικῶν στεφανειτῶν, to

5  Plut. Pomp. 52, 5; Dio Cass. 39, 38, 1. 6  Suet. Aug. 18, 2. 7  IG XIV, 748 = IGR I, 449. 8  Tac. Ann. 15, 33, 1; Plin. ΗΝ. 37, 19. 9  Suet. Ner. 12, 4. 10   S uet. Dom. 4, 4; Mart. 4, 1, 6; Cens. De die nat 18, 15. IG XIV, 747. 11   I G XIV, 1110 = IGUR I, 238; IG V, 669; I Eph IV, 1089; I Eph 1155 = IK Eph 930; Moretti 1957, 162 no. 844.


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wit, ‘the sacred athletes who are winners and wearers of wreaths dedicated to Heracles’, such as the following one: Ἀγαθῆι Τύχηι Αὐτοκράτωρ Καῖσαρ θεοῦ Τραιανοῦ Παρθικοῦ υἱός θεοῦ Νέρουα υἱωνὸς, Τραιανὸς Ἀδριανός Σεβαστός ἀρξιερεύς μέγιστος δημαρχικῆς ἐξουσίας το ΙΗ, ὕπατος τὸ Γ, πατὴρ πατρίδος, συνόδοῳ ξυστικῇ τῶν περὶ τὸν Ἡρακλέα ἀθλητῶν ἱερονεικῶν στεφανειτῶν χαίρειν. καὶ τόπον ἔνθα βοῦλεσθε κελεύσω δοθῆναι ὑμεῖν καὶ οἴκημα ὡς τὰ γράμματα ἀποτίθεσθαι τὰ κοινὰ, καὶ εἰ τῶν διπλῶν τὴν μεταποίησιν ἀνανκαίαν νομίζετε, τοῦτο ἐφ` ὑμεῖν ἐστιν. ἐπρέσβευεν Οὔλπιος Δομεστικός. Εὐτυχεῖτε. Πρὸ Γ νωνῶν Μαιῶν ἀπὸ Ῥώμης12 Imperator Caesar Trajan Hadrian Augustus, son of the deified Trajan Parthicus, grandson of the deified Nerva, pontifex maximus, holder of the tribunician power for the eighteenth time, thrice consul, pater patriae, to the Athletic Guild of the Athletes Devoted to Heracles, greetings. Yes, a place where you wish I shall order to be given to you and a building to house your archives, and if you consider the alteration of your statutes necessary, that is up to you. Ambassador was Ulpius Domesticus. Farewell. May 5, from Rome.13 Here, Domesticus is lobbying the Emperor Hadrian for a site in Rome on which to construct the curia athletarum and an edifice for the archives,14 requests that were granted by the emperor, but which would only be fulfilled during the reign of Antoninus Pius, with the construction of the curia athletarum near the Baths of Trajan.15 Although the inscription mentions the petition to Hadrian on behalf of one of the synods of athletes participating in the agones, it does not provide any hint as to the names of the associations to which the expression ‘common papers’ refers. Alas, the text of Domesticus’ petition to the emperor, which in all likelihood would have mentioned these associations, has not come down to us. As shown by L. Robert,16 due to the rapidly increasing 12   I G XIV, 1054 = IGR I, 149 = IGUR 235. 13   O liver 1989, no. 86. 14   C aldelli 1992, 75–79; Sinn 1998, 129–130; Pleket 1973. IG XIV, 1109 = IGUR I, 237. 15   C aldelli 1992, 75–76. 16   R obert 2010; Leschorn 1998.

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variety of contests during the Roman imperial era, the mounting complexity of the world of the agones called for the creation of specific bodies to regulate these activities. In this respect, scholars have underlined the great variety of associations and corporations connected with agonistic rituals.17 First of all, we have to differentiate between associations of τεχνῖται (technitai), namely, artists who competed in dramatic or music contests, and those of αθληταί (athletes), viz. those participating in athletic contests. 1

Tεχνῖται (Technitai)

Associations of this type, which were the oldest and the most widespread in the Greek world, were mostly of a local character. The epigraphic sources reveal a range of associations across the entire Mediterranean, including Cyprus, Egypt, southern Italy, Sicily, and Greece, where those of artists played an especially important role. During the first half of the 3rd century BC, the Athenian association was first and foremost, thanks above all to the support of the Hellenistic dynasts.18 This same period saw the development of the associations of artists of Isthmia-Nemea, which would be permanently at loggerheads with their Athenian counterpart in their struggle for hegemony over the Greek agones. The Isthmia-Nemea association also provided a model for the creation, around the second half of the 3rd century BC, of a new association on the island of Teos, called κοινὸν περὶ τὸν Διονυσον τεχνιτῶν τῶν ἐπ᾿ Ιωνίας καὶ Ἑλλησπόντου.19 By the 2nd century BC, the quarrelling between the Athenian and the Isthmian-Nemean associations had become so acrimonious that Rome was asked to step in. The epigraphic sources relate that, in 146 BC, Cn. L. Mummius intervened directly in one of these disputes, confirming the exemption from taxes and other public obligations20 for the Isthmian association. Later on, Cn. Cornelius Sisenna (138–112 BC)21 and P. Cornelius Lentulus (1st century BC) were also called upon to act as arbitrators.22 With the advent of the Augustan regime, the situation changed substantially: new ‘pan-imperial’ associations of artists began to overshadow the old local 17   Forbes 1955; Pickard-Cambridge 1968; Jory 1970; Pleket 1973; Van Nijf 1996; Le Guen 2001, 2007; Lightfood 2002; Ma 2007; Caldelli 2011; Aneziri 2009. 18   P ickard-Cambridge 1968, 279. 19   M a 2007. 20   I G VII, 2413 and 2414 = Le Guen 2001, no. 34; Le Guen 2007, 265; Bradeen 1966, no. 7. 21   L e Guen 2001, no. 12. 22   S IG 3 704c.


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ones and their squabbles for pre-eminence. A distinction must be drawn between the associations that wished to take part in the agonistic rituals and those whose members had been winners at the games and had thus been crowned: οἰκουμένης περὶ τὸν Διόνυσος τεχνείταις ἰερονείκαις στεφανείταις καὶ τοῖς τούτων συναγωνισταῖς.23 What is evident from the adjectivation of the association’s name is the effort made to present it as ecumenical and intimately connected with the sacred games by means of the pleonastic ἰερονείκαις + στεφανείταις,24 and the reference to Dionysus as a protecting divinity, as Antonietta Alessia Semioli points out: ‘Nei primi secoli dopo Cristo, quando l’impero romano si estenderà su tutto il mondo greco, queste compagnie cambieranno notevolmente, e al culto di Dionysos affiancheranno quello dell’imperatore, a volte sostituendolo del tutto.’25 During the 2nd century AD, Trajan and Hadrian took it upon themselves to reorganize the agonistic associations, as can be gleaned from the many petitions submitted by the synods of artists and technitai to both emperors. In these petitions, there are forms of address that treat the emperors as the new protectors of the synods, thus implicitly presenting them as the new Dionysus:26 οἰκουμένες περὶ τὸν Διόνισον καὶ Αὐτοκράτορα Τραῖανὸν Ἁδριανὸν Σεβαστὸν Καίσαρα, νέον Διόνυσον, τεχνειτῶν ἱερονεικῶν στεφανειτῶν καὶ τῶν τούτων συναγωνιστῶν καὶ τῶν νεμόντων τὴν ἱερὰν θυμελικὴν σύνοδον27 Passages of this kind not only highlight the emperors’ interest in being presented as the new Dionysus, but also their direct involvement in the associations of artists across the Empire. In Trajan’s case, Rome’s synod of the technitai played a pan-imperial role as the benchmark for all the other associations, structured along the lines of the Greek model. The first association of artists (mainly poets and actors) in Rome was the collegium scribarum histrionumque, whose seat was in the temple of Minerva on the Aventine. Despite being the oldest association (3rd century BC28), there are no testimonies from the imperial p ­ eriod, which has led some scholars to identify it with the later 23   O liver 1989, no. 24. 24   R emijsen 2011, 100–101. 25   S emioli 2003, 96. 26  Trajan: IG XIV, 2496 = IGR I, 18. Antoninus Pius: IG II2, 1350. Commodus: SEG IV, 522 (Ephesus). 27  From Ankyra: IGR III, 209 = Oliver 1975, 127. Also from Hadrian: IGR III, 1 (Ankyra). IG II2, 3323 = SEG 21, 802 (Athens); IG II2, 1348 (Athens); IGR I, 17 (Nîmes), IGR IV, 1517 (Sardes). 28   F est. Fr. 446 L.

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collegium poetarum, based in the temple of Hercules and the Muses.29 The 1st century BC saw the appearance in Rome of the societas cantorum Graecorum, which hosted the parasiti Apollinis, a group of mimes, artists, and pantomimes who were in charge of performing all Greek plays in Rome, and the synodos magna psaltum, an organization of lyre and cithara players. In imperial times, there was the collegium cantorum (1st century AD), which was in charge of the background music for pantomimes, and in the 2nd century AD, the corpus tragicorum and corpus comicorum. A new association, the so called ‘summa choragion’, was created during the rule of Trajan for host-artists in the service of the imperial household and granted a seat near the Coliseum. These dynamics underline the imperial interest in grouping all the artists in specific associations in order to exert a measure of control over the Greek rituals that were celebrated in Rome. In order to achieve this, the emperors integrated the various associations in the well-established association of the technitai of Dionysus. Thus, there were members of the associations of pantomimes and of the summa choragion, who were also priests of Dionysus and of the imperial cult, in the pan-imperial association of technitai of Dionysus itself.30 The imperial control first exerted by Trajan was not limited to the dramatic and musical facets of the agonistic rituals, since their athletic aspects had already been regulated by the emperors of the Antonine dynasty. The greatest effort was made by the Emperor Hadrian, who undertook a complete reorganization of the athletic associations in Rome and established a new Panhellenic calendar across the Empire. 2

Αθληταί (Athletes)

The first mention of the association of the athletes is from a letter dated 43–33 BC from M. Antonius to the σύνοδος τῶν ἀπὸ τῆς οικουμενῆς ἱερονικῶν καὶ στεφανειτων,31 in which the former ratifies all the synod’s previous privileges and grants them, among other things, military exemption, immunity from liturgies, and the right to wear purple. As was the case with the technitai, the members of this athlete association were those who had won any of the sacred festivals and had been crowned as victors. There was also another association, the οικουμεης αθληταί, whose membership was open to all athletes, winners or not, which had ‘its privileges increased’ by Augustus.32 29  Jory 1970, 234–236. 30   C IL X, 3716. 31  Sherk 1969, 290. 32   S uet. Aug. 45, 3.


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We have far less information on the associations of athletes than on those of artists: we do not know whether or not they had seats in any Greek city, before coming to Rome, although there had to be some kind of organization and structure for the athletes in those cities where contests were held. The Roman imperial period bought with it a new type of athletic association, whose members had competed in the various festivals across the Mediterranean. The epigraphic sources mention an embassy from the athletes of the σύνοδος ξυστικὴ περιπολιστικὴ (‘Guild of Roving Athletes Devoted to Heracles’) who offered a golden crown33 to the Emperor Claudius and who were granted their privileges by Vespasian.34 As to the situation of the agonistic associations in Rome during the 2nd century AD, Trajan undertook the reorganization of the associations of artists within an administrative body that acted as arbitrator for those cities that held any kind of festival, either local or Panhellenic, and which could be approached by them in order to publicize their festivals and cast about for artists willing to participate in their contests. The reorganization of the associations of athletes did not take place until Hadrian’s time: as shown in the inscription mentioned at the beginning of this paper, Hadrian received the representative of the athletes, M. Ulpius Domesticus, who asked him for a seat—the future curia athletarum—and an archive for the ‘common papers’ in Rome. This document appears to suggest the unification of the athletic associations following the model of those of technitai during Trajan’s reign, that is, the standardization of the agonistic organization and matters pertaining to it within a central body. The epigraphic sources appear to hint at the promotion of a new athletic institution in Rome during the 2nd century AD. Called ‘Entire Portico’ (σύμπας ξυστος), it was probably the outcome of a merger between previously established associations of athletes. In 134–154 AD, M. Ulpius Domesticus is mentioned again, this time not as ambassador, but as occupant of the post of ξυστάρχης διὰ βίου, αρχιερεὺς τοῦ σύμπαντος ξυστοῦ διὰ βίου and βαλανείων Σεβαστοῦ. The first of these titles, xystarch, refers to the athletes’ training space, the xystos, which confirms the connection between the ‘Entire Portico’ and the athletic world. An office created in imperial times, the xystarchs were the directors of the xystos and supervisors of the agones held in a city, region, or province.35 The second title, archiereus, was probably connected with the priesthood of the imperial cult, since the emperor was the guarantor of the ‘Entire Portico’, which is why M. Ulpius Domesticus dedicated the Roman 33  Oliver 1989, no. 27. 34   P. Lond 1178 ll. 32–36. 35  See Table 2.

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xystos to the emperor and erected a statue in honour of Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius in the curia athletarum.36 The third title might refer to the administration of the training structure inside the thermal baths, in this case the Baths of Trajan,37 as the curia athletarum was located in their vicinity. The documentary evidence on the ‘Entire Portico’ lasts until the end of the first half of the 3rd century AD, and shows that, since its promotion, which likely took place in Hadrian’s time, it had a director, elected among former athletes who had had a successful agonistic career and who held the three aforementioned titles: Table 5.1

Directors of the ‘Entire Portico’




M. Ulpius Domesticus

134–154 AD

M. Aurelios Demostratos Damas

189–194 AD

M. Aurelius Demetrius

194–200 AD

M. Aurelius Asclepiades

200 AD?

IG XIV, 1110 = IGUR I, 238 IG V, 1, 669 I Eph IV 1089 I Eph IV 1155 I Sardis VII 1.79 = IGRR IV 1519 FD III 1. 557 I Eph IV 1125 = IK EPh 1134 IG XIV, 1105 = IGUR I 243 IG XIV, 1102 = IGUR I 240 = SEG 55, 1061 IG XIV, 1104 = IGUR I 239 IG XIV, 1102 = IGUR I 240 = SEG 55, 1061 IG XIV, 1103 = IGUR I 241 IG XIV, 1104 = IGUR I 239 IGUR I 250

C. Perelius Alexander

220 AD?

36   I G XIV, 1052. 37  Caldelli 1992, 85.

IGR IV 1215 IGR IV 1251 Robert, L. 1948, Hellenica V, 32 TAM V, 2 984 TAM V, 2 1020


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The statute changes revealed in Hadrian’s document and the promotion of the ‘Entire Portico’ may imply a reorganization of the associations of athletes. Unfortunately, we have no documentary evidence of the functions of the ‘Entire Portico’, and the sole references to it are the ones noted above, which focus on the figure of the xystarch. Nevertheless, considering the events during Trajan’s rule, it can be safely conjectured that this new athletic association operated as an imperial regulatory body for all agonistic activities both in Rome and across the Empire. Therefore, following the hypothesis put forward by H.W. Pleket,38 this body must have amalgamated all the previous associations and had its seat in Rome, from where it organized and managed the agonistic games under the direction of the xystarch and the supervision of the emperor. The large number of agonistic games that were held throughout the Empire made it necessary to create an institution under the control of the Emperor Hadrian in order to administer the huge amount of funds that often did not reach the games themselves, but were pocketed by the agonothetas who were in charge of the organization. The inscription discovered in Alexandria Troas makes it clear that the money allocated to the organization of the games had to be spent entirely on the agones. Nevertheless, in a letter sent by Hadrian to the citizens of Aphrodisias he states that part of the funds earmarked for the gladiatorial games can be used for the construction of an aqueduct for the city, which would underline, according to H.W. Pleket, how important the agones were for the emperor, since he would rather divert money from the gladiatorial games in order to leave the funds for the agones untouched.39 As the titulature shows, the director of the ‘Entire Portico’ enjoyed the emperor’s trust, as a priest of the imperial cult within the association and as his intermediary in relation to the agonistic rituals. Given that, according to the epigraphic sources, the ‘Entire Portico’ rose to much greater heights in the 2nd century AD, and that it is highly probable that it unified the previous associations under the same director, the main role of guaranteeing the absence of frauds and the fairness of the competitions might have been played by the ‘Entire Portico’ itself. 3 Conclusion We can safely say that the efforts undertaken by Trajan and Hadrian in agonistic matters during the 2nd century AD are an important indicator of the ongoing absorption of Greek elements into Roman public spectacles. Due to the 38  Pleket 1973, 216, no. 64. 39  Petzl, Schwertheim 2006, ll. 44–57; Reynolds 2000, 5–20; Pleket 2010, 191.


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‘explosion’ of agonistic rituals in the eastern part of the Empire, new mechanisms had to be devised in order to control and guarantee the agones. The first step in this direction was taken by Trajan, who reorganized the administration of the association of technitai in Rome. Hadrian further extended this model by reorganizing the associations of athletes, based in Rome and in charge of the organization and supervision of the agonistic rituals. He then went even further by not only reorganizing the associations of athletes, but also creating a new agonistic calendar that combined the traditional Greek rituals belonging to the archaia periodos with the new Greek games of Roman creation. The emperor’s direct intervention was also formally recognized, since he was depicted as the supreme guarantor of Greekness within the Roman Empire. Both the reorganization of the associations and the creation of the new calendar show, beyond a shadow of doubt, the importance that Hadrian attributed to these Greek rituals in the Empire.40 Table 5.2 Xystarchs Name

Tiberius Claudius Artemidorus T.Flavius Akestimos

P. Aelius Aristomachus

Date and site



After 2 AD Olympia 44/45 AD Athens 96/98 AD Ephesos


IvO 56

Ξυστάρχης Ξυστάρχης

IG II2, 1970 IK Eph 756 = I Eph 1, 124 I Cret I, XVIII 55 = SEG 45, 1326

2nd century AD Crete

2nd century AD Delphi 138 AD Magnesia

Ξυστάρχη ἱεροῦ ἀγωνος πενταετηρικοῦ τοῦ κοινοῦ τῶν Κρητῶν Ξυστάρχης Κυζικηνῶν ξυσταρχίαν

FD III.1, 466 Ins. Mag. 180 SEG 14, 737 McCabe Mag 220

40  Petzl, Schwertheim 2006; Jones 2007; Slater 2008; Guerber 2009, 224–233; Strasser 2010.


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Table 5.2 Xystarchs (cont.) Name

Date and site



T. Claudius Rufus

Trajan/Hadrian, Smyrna

SIG3 1073 IvO 55

Aelius Aurelius Menander

Antoninus Pius, Aphrodisias

Ξυσταρχίας πάντων τῶν ἀγομένων ἀγώνων ἐν Σμύρνηι ξυστάρχης τῶν ἐν κολωνεία Ἀντιοχείᾳ ἀγώνων Ξυστάρχης

Antoninus Pius? Ephesos 145–146 AD Athens 145–146 AD Athens

192 AD Tralles

Ξυστάρχην Βειθυνίᾳ διὰ βίου Ξυστάρχου καὶ ἱερονείκου καὶ ἱερονίκου ἐν Βιθυνίᾳ διὰ βίου Ξυστάρχου διὰ βίου Ξυστάρχης διὰ βίου Ξυστάρχης Ἀκτίων καὶ Μομψουεστάς καὶ Μαγνησίας τῆς πατρίδος Ξυστάρχης διὰ βίου

P.A. Phaidros

200 AD Athens



201–202 AD Athens 210 AD Athens 210 AD Athens


Fl. Arrianos?

T. Ailius Aurelius M. Aurelius Hermagoras

Marcus Pontius

160 AD Tralles 161–167 AD Side 161–200 AD Magnesia ad Sipylum

II–III century AD Athens 2nd–3rd century AD Argos 3rd century AD Athens

Ξυστάρχης Ξυστάρχης Ξυστάρχης διὰ βίου Ξυστάρχης Ξυστάρχου τῶν ἐν Ἀθήναις ἀγώνων

MAMA 8.421 CIG 2810b, 2811b. Sup. Eph Ionia 1568.2 IG II2, 3741 IG II2, 2152+3395 SEG 26, 171 SEG 13, 182 I Tralles 131 IK Side I 62 IG XIV, 739= I Napoli 49

I Tralles 117 = SEG 14, 735 IG II2 7447 SEG 28, 275 IG II2, 2193 CIG 3673 IG II2, 1876 = Agora 15, 477 IG II2, 2772 BCH 80, 604 SEG 16, 253.1 IG II2, 3687


Trajan and Hadrian ’ s Reorganization Name

Date and site



Septimius Aurelius

3rd century AD Athens 3rd century AD Tralles


SEG 34: 176

Ξυστάρχης διὰ βίου

CIG 2935 = McCabe 95= I Tralles 113 IGRR IV, 1419= IK Smyrn 667= Smyrn Ionia 150= CIG 3260 IG Bul III.1, 894

G. Licinius

Aurelius Apollinarius

Valerian and Galienus Smyrna


Poplius A. Dioscurides




Ξυστάρχης διὰ βίου τῆς τῶν Παυταλεωντῶν πόλεως Ξυστάρχης

M. Aurelius Chrysipus Betianus Bettio M. Aurelius Ammonio



BCH I, 290 nº 75 IK Eph 1512= I Eph 1127 P. Lond 1178 ll. 56

? Egypt?

Ξυστάρχης διὰ βίου Ξυστάρχης

CIG 3673 SEG 18, 692.1

Chios? Magnesia?

Ξυστάρχης Ξυστάρχης


Ξυστάρχου Οὺλπίου? Ξυστάρχου διὰ βίου Ξυστάρχης

Chios Ionia 130 I Magnesia 199 = McCabe Magn 263 IG XIV, 691

Neapolis? Cyzicus?

I Napoli I, 53 CIG 3678

Bibliography Aneziri, S. 2009: “World travellers: the associations of artists of Dionysus”, in R. Hunter & I. Rutherford (eds.), Wandering poets in ancient Greek culture: Travel, locality and Pan-Hellenism, Cambridge, 496–545.


Gordillo Hervás

Bradeen, D.W. 1966: “Inscriptions from Nemea”, Hesperia 35, 320–330. Caldelli, M.L. 1992: “Curia athletarum, iera xystike synodos e organizzazione delle terme a Roma”, ZPE 93, 75–87. Caldelli, M.L. 2012: “Associazioni di artisti a Roma: una messa a punto”, in J. Nollé, O.M. Van Nijf, Ch. Kokkinia, M.L. Caldelli, G. Charberland & Ch. Jones (eds.), L’organisation des spectacles dans le monde romain, Genève, 131–172. Forbes, C.A. 1955: “Ancient athletic guilds”, ClPhil 50, 238–252. Guerber, E. 2009: Les Cités grecques dans l’Empire romain. Les privilèges et les titres des cités de l’Orient hellénophone d’Octave Auguste à Dioclétien, Rennes. Jones, C.P. 2007: “Three new letters of the Emperor Hadrian”, ZPE 161, 145–156. Jory, E.J. 1970: “Associations of actors in Rome”, Hermes 98.2, 224–253. Le Guen, B. 2001: Les associations de technites dionysiaques à l’époque hellenístique, Paris. Le Guen, B. 2007: “Kraton, son of Zotichos: Artists’ associations and monarchic power in the Hellenistic period”, in P. Wilson (ed.), The Greek theatre and festivals. Documentary studies, Oxford, 246–278. Le Guen, B. 2010: “Hadrien, l’Empereur philhellène, et la vie agonistique de son temps. À propos d’un livre récent: Hadrian und die dionysischen Künstler. Drei in Alexandreia Troas neugefundene Briefe des Kaisers an die Künstler-Vereinigung”, Nikephoros 23, 205–239. Leschhorn, W. 1998: “Die Verbreitung von Agonen in den östlichen Provinzen des römischen Reichen”, Stadion 24, 31–57. Lightfood, J.L. 2002: “Nothing to do with the technitai of Dionysus?”, in P. Easterling & E. Hall (eds.), Greek and Roman actors: Aspects of an ancient profession, Cambridge, 209–224. Ma, J. 2007: “A horse from Teos: Epigraphical notes on the Ionia-Hellespontine association of Dionysiac artists”, in P. Wilson (ed.), The Greek theatre and festivals. Documentary studies, Oxford, 215–245. Mann, Chr. 2014: “Greek sport and Roman identity: The Certamina Athletarum at Rome”, in F. Scalon (ed.), Sport in the Greek and Roman worlds, V.2., Oxford, 151–181. Oliver, J.H. 1975: “The Empress Plotina and the sacred Thymelic Synod”, Historia: Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte 24.1, 125–128. Oliver, J.H. 1989: Greek constitutions of Early Roman emperors from inscriptions and papyri, Philadelphia. Petzl, G. & Schwertheim, E. 2006: Hadrian und die dionysischen Künstler. Drei in Alexandria Troas neugefundene Briefe des Kaisers and die Künstler-Vereinigung, Bonn. Pickard-Cambridge, A. 1968: The dramatic festivals of Athens, Oxford. Pina Polo, F. 2013: “Die Agone in römischen Westen”, in A. Gutsfeld & St. Lehmann (eds.), Der gymnische Agon in der Späntantike, Gutenberg, 55–75.

Trajan and Hadrian ’ s Reorganization


Pleket, H.W. 1973: “Some aspects of the History of the Athletic guilds”, ZPE 10, 197–227. Pleket, H.W. 2010: “Roman emperors and Greek Athletes”, Nikephoros 23, 175–203. Remijsen, S. 2011: “The so-Called « Crown-Games »: Terminology and historical context of the Ancient categories for Agones”, ZPE 177, 97–109. Reynolds, J. 2000: “New letters from Hadrian to Aphrodisias: trials, taxes, gladiators and an aqueduct”, JRA 13, 5–20. Robert, L. 2010: “Two Greek athletic contests in Rome (translated by Margarita Lianou)”, in J. König (ed.), Greek Athletics. Edinburgh Readings on the Ancient World, Edinburgh, 120–140. Semioli, A.A. 2003: “Associazioni dionisiache e associazioni di attori a Roma”, Studi e materiali di Storia delle Religioni 27.1, 95–125. Sherk, R.K. 1969: Roman documents from the Greek East, Baltimore. Sinn, U. 1998: “Olympia und die Curia Athletarum in Rom”, Stadion 24, 129–135. Slater, W.J. 2008: “Hadrian’s letters to the athletes and Dionysiac artists concerning arrangements for the ‘circuit’ of games”, JRA 21, 610–620. Strasser, J.Y. 2001: “Études sur les concours d’Occident”, Nikephoros 14, 109–156. Strasser, J.Y. 2010: “ ‘Qu’on fouette les concurrents …’ À propos des lettres d’Hadrien retrouvées à Alexandrie de Troade”, REG 123, 585–622. Van Nijf, O. 1996: The Civic world of professional associations in the Roman East, Oxford. Woolf, G. 2006: “Playing games with Greeks: One Roman on Greekness”, in D. Konstan & S. Said (eds.), Greeks on Greeksness: Viewing the Greek past under the Roman Empire, Cambridge, 162–178.


P.Oxy. 471: Hadrian, Alexandria, and the Antinous Cult Alessandro Galimberti Antinoupolis, Alexandria, and Egypt in general were the privileged place of the cult of Antinous, as the pais died in the Nile in October 130. Egypt is also the land of the papyri whose continuous discovery over the last century has brought about a veritable revolution in our knowledge of this province. The aim of this paper is to consider an intriguing papyrus, which undoubtedly belongs to the first half of the 2nd century. The text speaks of a trial against a high-ranking Roman magistrate (most likely a prefect of Egypt) which seems to draw a parallel with the relationship between Antinous and Hadrian, for which the emperor was already criticised by his contemporaries during his lifetime, and also following his death, especially by the historiography of the 3rd century (by the Christians in particular). In accordance with the themes of this volume, a new historical analysis of the papyrus testifies, in the first place, the good fortune and amazing spread of the cult of Antinous, mainly due to the fact that it had its most important place in Egypt (Antinoupolis), and that it had a Hellenistic design, conforming to the philhellenic attitude of its main promoter, Hadrian. In the second place, it shows that the figure of Antinous and his relationship with the emperor were charged with negative moral connotations, which could in turn be used in an allusive way during the indictment of a trial. In 1903, Bernard Pyne Grenfell and Arthur Surridge Hunt published, in the third volume of The Oxyrhynchus Papyri, a speech delivered by the lawyer of the accuser at the trial of a Roman governor before the emperor.1 The chronology of the text, which the editors classified as literary (‘elaborately punctuated like a literary work’)2 is the first half of the 2nd century; it is arranged in six * La revisione linguistica di questo paper è stata finanziata integralmente dall’Università Cattolica nell’ambito dei suoi programmi di promozione e diffusione della ricerca scientifica (Linea D.3.1. anno 2015). 1  P.Oxy. 471; republished with corrections five years later (P.Oxy. V [1908], p. 314). I am grateful to Livia Capponi who brought this papyrus to my attention. 2  For an initial debate on the nature of the text, cfr. Musurillo 1954, 150–151; see now Harker 2008, 73–78; Sarischouli 2009. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004347113_007

P.oxy. 471: Hadrian, Alexandria, And The Antinous Cult


fragmentary columns (the first is lost) and written in semi-uncial on an area of 30.5 × 46.5 cm. In this speech, a certain Maximus is charged with usury, corruption, having interfered in the appointment of judges in Alexandria for bribes, as well as certain matters relating to his conduct during the exercise of his authority and, in particular, with regard to his conduct in the company of a 17-year-old boy. Maximus apparently holds the position of prefect (l. 22: ἐπαρχεἰας), and in several passages he appears to be a prominent official: l. 54 refers to the ‘royal rank, taken by him’; ll. 66–72 to the mass of clientes at his door; ll. 95–97 to petitions addressed to him and to his power to confiscate the property of others; and ll. 124–130 mention his trips to Egypt. By virtue of a 1949 communication by Wilhelm Schubart, we now know that this text has to have a bearing on another papyrus fragment (P.Schub. 42 = Musurillo VII 42 (33) p. 39) containing a dialogue between three Alexandrian ambassadors (Heraeus, Diodorus, and Eudaemon) in the presence of the emperor (Trajan?) about the conduct of Maximus: his name appears in connection with that of Eudaemon archidikastes: ‘Eudaemon, archidikastes: I especially ought to make an accusation against Maximus, for during my term he has been known to order the young boys to be trained in the gymnasium until their eleventh year, and one of these was my Theon’ (trans. Musurillo 1954, 43).3 Ever since the edition by Musurillo (1954, with translation and commentary), in which the two texts are printed together, scholars have conventionally spoken of Acta Maximi I and II. The first issue to be raised is the identity and chronology of Maximus. It is almost certain that he is to be identified with a prefect of Egypt: in effect, he lives in the praetorium (l. 110); carries out regular inspections in Egypt (ll. 124–130); and holds power of life and death (l. 107). For these reasons, it has been proposed to identify him4 with C. Vibius Maximus, prefect of Egypt in Trajan’s time between April 103 and March 107. On friendly terms with Pliny (Ep. 3, 2:09, 1), Martial (9, 106, 1, 7), and Statius, C. Vibius Maximus was known for having composed an Epitome of universal history (Stat. Silv. 4, 7, 54); he had also been praefectus alae in Syria (Stat. 4, 7, 45). What is most intriguing, however, is that he was passed the abolitio no­ minis, as attested by at least three inscriptions (IGR 1, 1148; 1175; 1351).5 The 3  For a different translation cfr. now Capponi 2017, 140–141: “per avere imposto ai giovani di ungersi fino all’ora undicesima”. 4  Data are derived from Musurillo 1954, 152. 5  I GR 1, 1148; 1175; 1351. The first inscription can be datable to 109; the second to 103; about the third we lack information.



a­ ccusations made against Maximus at the trial held in Rome (formally de repe­ tundis?) must have been those of usury, interference in the appointment of judges in Alexandria, and stuprum of a youth. The chronology of the trial is based on a passage in the papyrus (ll. 30 ff.) which reports that ‘Berenicianus will be gymnasiarch until the nineteenth year of the emperor’s reign; Anicetus will be gymnasiarch until the twenty-ninth year.’ Now, since the gymnasiarch would have remained in office for a decade, it can be inferred that the ‘appointment’ of the two future gymnasiarchs occurred shortly before the ninth year of Trajan’s reign, namely between 29 August 105 and 28 August 106. So the trial must have taken place after March 107 (when Maximus was still a prefect) and before the autumn of 113 (when Trajan left for the campaign in Parthia). Musurillo thought of a date between the end of 107 and 109. On the basis of Acta Maximi II, in which the name of the archidikastes Eudaemon appears along with those of two other men (Diodorus and Heraeus), it is possible to envisage at least five possibilities for the identification of this Eudaemon: 1. Valerius Eudaemon, a friend of Hadrian’s (Sha Hadr. 15, 3). 2. Eudaemon eques, who started his cursus honorum under Hadrian (IGR 3, 1077), procurator of Alexandria and of the Greek and Latin libraries, ab epistulis Graecis, and procurator in several eastern provinces. 3. Valerius Eudaemon, prefect of Egypt between 141 and 142. 4. Eudaemon archidikastes of 143–144. According to Musurillo, 1, 2 and 3 are very likely to be one and the same person: in this case, the eques Eudaemon, after an honourable procuratorial career, would have obtained the prefecture of Egypt under Antoninus Pius. On the contrary, Musurillo rules out, for a number of reasons—first of all, that no other Maximus prefect of Egypt was tried in 143/144—the possibility that Eudaemon eques was the archidikastes of 143/144. Thus, our Eudaemon should not be identified with the archidikastes of 143/144 of the same name; Andrew Harker, however, has recently returned to this issue. On the grounds that the fate of the prefects of Egypt who fell in disgrace (Cornelius Gallus, Avillius Flaccus, and Tuscus) resulted from a breakdown in their relations with the emperor, Harker believes that the trial mentioned in the papyrus is not a historical fact.6 In his opinion, Maximus could 6  Harker 2008, 74–75: ‘Nevertheless, the texts may not refer to historical trials’; ‘Therefore we cannot discount the possibility that some or all of the stories may be fictional. The frequent references to Maximus may perhaps simply exploit a common Roman name.’

P.oxy. 471: Hadrian, Alexandria, And The Antinous Cult


simply be a common Roman name used here to identify the central figure of the text7—as is well known, Grenfell and Hunt did indeed qualify the papyrus as ‘literary’, i.e. as a narrative that reflected, inter alia, the moods and opinions of Rome expressed by the ‘Greeks’ of Alexandria.8 It is not my intention here to support with new arguments the h ­ istoricity— which I am inclined to believe—or non-historicity of the contents of the papyrus.9 I would rather propose a reflection on the charges and the main characters of this story to highlight some links with the account of Antinous in Hadrian’s time and the spreading of the former’s cult. In doing so, I would nevertheless like to begin with a short remark: based on the form of writing, the editors agree in dating the papyrus of Oxyrhynchus to the time of Hadrian or Antoninus Pius.10 This could encourage us to think that this text, besides being literarily elaborated, was drafted much later than the events it mentions. The first element that strikes our attention in the papyrus is a reference to the fact that Maximus is often accompanied by a young boy (παῖς, μειράκιον) aged 17 (l. 49: ἑπτακαιδεκαετής παῖς). Scholars studying Hadrian cannot but be impressed, not only by this circumstance but also by the repeated references to the youth in question: in l. 79 he is said to be good-looking and rich (εὔμορφον καὶ πλούσιον μειράκιον), while ll. 110 ff. mention that Maximus never allowed him to attend τὰ διδασκαλεῖα to perform those exercises that are suitable for youths of his age (καὶ τὰς προσηκούσας τοῖς νεανίαις). The latter accusation has led to the assumption that the young boy should be identified with Theon, the son of Eudaemon mentioned in Acta Maximi II.11 For my part, I would exclude any identification with Theon, because the two texts speak of two opposite cases: while the child of P.Oxy. 471, by having to follow Maximus, was prevented from attending school and the gymnasium, Theon was forced to attend the gymnasium until his eleventh year, together with other youngsters.12 7  It is odd, however, that Harker himself hypothesises shortly afterwards (p. 76) that Acta Maximi II may refer to the murder of young Jews in Alexandria by Maximus himself. The papyrus states, in any case, that ‘Maximus had ordered the young boys to be trained in the gymnasium until their eleventh year, and one of these was my Theon.’ 8  Cfr. also Vout 2007, 141. About the literary features of the text, consider l. 72 that contains the verb θυραθλέω, which was typically used to describe lovers who wait for their sweethearts on the doorstep. 9  Musurillo 1954, 158 remarkably considers the trial as an event with a historical basis, while simultaneously claiming that it became a locus classicus. 10  Grenfell-Hunt 1903, 147; Musurillo 1954, 150. 11  Cfr. Musurillo 1954, 156. 12  Now Capponi 2017, 140–141 translates: “per avere imposto ai giovani di ungersi fino all’ora undicesima”.



It is clear, however, that the repeated mention of the young boy cannot but remind us of the case of Antinous. I am not saying that the young boy mentioned in the papyrus is to be identified with Antinous; yet, some of his traits cannot but make us jump to such a conclusion. But to what extent is it legitimate to draw such an analogy between the two? As is well known, the story and especially the cult of Antinous were very widely circulated. The young favourite of Hadrian was born in Mantinea near Bythinion-Claudiopolis in Bithynia, presumably in the years around 100. Unfortunately, information in historical sources about the relationship between Hadrian and Antinous almost exclusively refers to the latter’s death in Egypt; it is therefore within this context that we must consider any information on the relationship between the two, insofar as the Egyptian setting itself is behind the creation of the ‘myth’ and the cult of Antinous. I reckon, however, that this kind of perspective needs to be framed in the broader horizon of Hadrian’s Hellenism.13 It was indeed a widespread belief—not universally accepted, albeit fully supported by Hadrian—among the Hellenised élites in Egypt and in Greece that the ancient Egyptian culture had a Greek origin. On these grounds, it is perhaps possible to identify also a ‘Roman’ point of view on the relationship between Hadrian and Antinous which may help to highlight the most crucial aspects of our argument. First of all, there is the emperor’s homosexuality. The relationship between Antinous and Hadrian was still a legal one; as a matter of fact, it had been pointed out that the Optimus Trajan himself, who was childless too, loved to sleep in the company of young boys. This was also witnessed by Hadrian who composed poems for Trajan’s favourite boyfriends.14 What was intolerable was the publicity and the subsequent religious and cult-related resonance that Hadrian intended to attribute to his love-affair with a young boy. In effect, the senatorial tradition, whose point of view is voiced by both Dio Cassius and the Historia Augusta, censored Hadrian not so much for the nature of his relationship, but rather for the fact that he had mourned the death of Antinous ‘like a little woman’ (muliebriter flevit)15 and that the latter had been awarded more honours than the members of the imperial family (especially Paulina, sister of Hadrian, who passed away in the same year of Antinous’ death or shortly thereafter).16

13  On this aspect, cfr. at least Calandra 1996. 14   D IO 68, 7, 4; HA Hadr. 4, 5; HA 1, 7; 14, 9. 15  Sha Hadr. 14, 5. 16  Sha QT 8, 10. For a possible historical contextualisation of this text, cfr. Galimberti 2010, 111–120.

P.oxy. 471: Hadrian, Alexandria, And The Antinous Cult


Conversely, the interest in hunting shared by Antinous and Hadrian was purely Hellenic in origin. It appears that Hadrian, since his own youth, was ve­ nandi usque reprehensionem studiosus, so that, among other things, he had acquired the nickname Graeculus (Sha Hadr. 1, 3–2, 1). This passion is confirmed in a spectacular way by two reliefs in the tondi of the Arch of Constantine in Rome (whose exact interpretation remains however controversial): the first depicts a hunting scene with a wild boar in which the emperor appears on horseback,17 followed by a young boy also riding a horse and probably to be identified with Antinous; the second tondo shows Hadrian and Antinous ­(besides three other men) in the act of laying their feet on a lion portrayed in the lower part of the relief. This second relief is very interesting because it most likely preserves the memory of a spectacular lion hunt conducted by Hadrian and Antinous which has left traces in the written sources. The HA (26, 3) says that Hadrian hunted with friends frequentissime and slew a lion with his hands.18 In the Deipnosophistai (15, 677 d–f), Athenaeus reports that the Alexandrian poet Pancrates composed a poem (P.Oxy. VIII 1085) on Hadrian and Antinous’ victorious hunt of a lion that was ravaging Libya. The papyrus provides the description of ‘the lovely Antinous son of the slayer of Argus’ (here he is identified with Hermes, the god responsible for slaughtering the Peloponnesian 100-eyed giant) who, on horseback and armed with a spear, waited for the lion that Hadrian had injured, and narrates that the emperor himself put down the lion before it had the chance to assault Antinous, thus suggesting that he must have saved the latter from the lion’s charge. Furthermore, upon Antinous’ death, Pancrates proposed to name a lotus flower ἀντινόειον after him, for which a grateful Hadrian granted him a life annuity at the Museum of Alexandria. The Byzantine Suda, also recalls that Mesomedes of Crete,19 a freedman of Hadrian, was the author of a eulogy in honour of Antinous and that the rhetorician Numenius wrote a consolatory oration (consolatio) for the emperor also in honour of the pais.20 Hadrian and Antinous’ passion for hunting is finally attested by the foundation of the city of Hadrianoutherai in Mysia (nowadays Balikesir, in north-western Turkey) in 123–124,21 where the emperor had killed

17  Hadrian celebrated Boristenes, his hunter, in an inscription (CIL XII, 1122; cfr. DIO 69, 10, 2) on a column. In an inscription from Thespiae (IG 7, 1828), Hadrian commemorates the dedication of a bear skin to Eros. 18  The lion hunt is also portrayed on a medallion (Strack 1933, 129). 19  Whitmarsh 2004. 20   Suda M668: γράφει οὖν εἰς Ἀντίνοον ἔπαινον; N518: Ἀδριανῷ παραμυθητικὸν εἰς Ἀντίνοον. 21  D io Cass 69, 10, 2; Sha Hadr. 20, 13.



a bear that appears on the reverse of a coin displaying a bust of Antinous as a good hero (ἥρως ἀγαθός) on the obverse.22 In October 130, after visiting Alexandria, Nicopolis, and Heliopolis (home of the cult of Horus-Harakte)23 Hadrian stayed for a few days in Memphis (home of the Colossus). Here he met Pancrates—who is very likely the author of the poem on Hadrian and Antinous’ lion hunt—who gave proof of his magical powers24 and who, for this reason, was extremely well rewarded. Apart from these monumental and literary sources which refer to episodes of little import, the relationship between Hadrian and Antinous in the historical sources is limited to information about the death of the pais in October 130.25 It is worth noting, however, that the case of Antinous contains some significant cult-related elements that can be explained not merely in connection with the circumstances in which he lost his life, but also by referring to Hadrian’s philhellenism and to his policy of promotion of the Hellenised élites. In the second half of 130, Hadrian left Judea for Egypt. With him was a large retinue that included his family (including his wife Vibia Sabina and her friend and astrologer Julia Balbilla) and, above all, his young friend Antinous. The visit to Egypt must have been prepared in advance, as Hadrian’s stay lasted at least four months, between August and November 130. Presumably in the second half of October, the imperial fleet reached Hermopolis, the city of the god Thoth (Hermes). On October 24, the anniversary of the commemoration of the death of Osiris, Antinous drowned in the Nile. Dio Cassius (69, 11, 2–3) preserves a triple version of Antinous’ death. The first, handed down by Hadrian himself in his Autobiography, recounts that the young man ‘had fallen into the Nile’: thus, it had been an accident; in the second, Dio believes that according to ‘the truth of the facts’ (ὡς ἡ ἀλήθεια ἔχειν), he was slain in sacrifice (ἱερουργηθείς); and in the third, he committed suicide: ‘Accordingly, he honoured Antinous, either because of his love for him or because the youth had undertaken to die voluntarily (it being necessary that a life should be surrendered freely for the accomplishment of the ends Hadrian 22  Jones 2010, 82. 23  Hdt. 2, 3 states that the priests of Heliopolis were the most well-informed of the Egyptians. 24  Betz 1985, 82: ‘The prophet of Heliopolis, Pachrates, revealing the power of his own divine magic, demonstrated it to the emperor Hadrian: for he attracted within one hour, made someone sick within two hours, killed within seven hours, and sent the Emperor himself dreams. Thus the prophet proved the complete truth of his magical powers. The emperor marvelled at the prophet and ordered that he should receive a double fee.’ 25  For an analysis of the different versions of the death of the pais, cfr. Galimberti 2007, 139–142; for a different interpretation, cfr. Turcan 2008, 111–112.

P.oxy. 471: Hadrian, Alexandria, And The Antinous Cult


had in view), by building a city on the spot where he had suffered this fate and naming it after him.’ The biographer of the HA (Hadr. 14, 5) states that ‘During a journey on the Nile he lost Antinous, his lover, and for this youth he wept like a woman (mu­ liebriter flevit).’ Then, he reports the version of Antinous’ self-sacrifice, as well as a variant—unfortunately obscure—that laid the blame on Hadrian’s nimia voluptas: ‘Concerning this incident there are varying rumours; for some claim that he had devoted himself to death for Hadrian, and others—what both his beauty and Hadrian’s sensuality suggest.’ Aurelius Victor (14, 7–9) alludes to the third version of Dio Cassius (Antinous committing suicide), clarifying, more explicitly than Dio, that the young man apparently did so voluntarily, following a report of the soothsayers to Hadrian according to which the emperor, who wanted to producere fatum, needed someone ‘who died in his place’. Finally, Aurelius Victor goes along with the most popu­lar version (cunctis retractantibus), with the difference that he only mentions a simple suicide without giving any reason (Antinoum obiecisse se referunt). We have, therefore, at least three versions of Antinous’ death, among which the third features only slight variations: the first, Hadrian’s (an accident); the second, only in Dio (sacrifice); the third, in Dio, in the HA, and in Aurelius Victor, in two different versions and with different motivations: Antinous’ death as apparently caused by self-sacrifice (Dio, HA, Aurelius Victor) either because of his love for Hadrian (HA) or due to the emperor’s desire to postpone the oracular fate hanging over him (Dio, Aurelius Victor). In view of this continuing lack of consensus among modern scholars as to which version should take precedence over the others, it seems to me that the sources citing Antinous’ sacrifice (devotum says the biographer) and his suicide lend themselves to different interpretations, which the sources themselves offer as alternative versions of Antinous’ demise which originated from vague rumours. In the light of these remarks, it is more appropriate, as I have tried to show elsewhere, to stick to the version that refers to an accident, on which hostile sources probably elaborated, especially in the wake of the honours—disproportionate, in the eyes of many—granted by Hadrian to Antinous after his death. The widespread diffusion of the heroic cult of Antinous,26 well-documented by archaeology (Antinoupolis), is already attested by Dio Cassius. According to the historian (69, 11, 4), ‘Hadrian set up statues (ἀνδρίαντας) or rather sacred images (ἀγάλματα) of him, practically all over the world. Finally, he declared that he had seen a star which he took to be that of Antinous and gladly lent an 26  On this aspect, see most recently Jones 2010, 75–83; Galli 2010.



ear to the fanciful tales woven by his associates to the effect that the star had really come into being from the spirit of Antinous and had then appeared for the first time.’ The cult of Antinous was, in effect, organized along syncretistic lines27 that primarily referred to a Hellenistic religious framework: Antinous was associated with Osiris, and a tribe of Antinoupolis was named Ὀσειραντινόειος, the same name found on the Pincio obelisk28—alongside Παυλίνιος, in honour of Paulina, sister of Hadrian, although Dio (ibid.) claims that the emperor awarded no honours to his sister. The strategic position of Antinoupolis (on the right bank of the middle course of the Nile, on the site of the ruins of an ancient pharaonic city [Besa], facing Hermopolis—a key Egyptian cult site—to whose epistrategia it belonged), the name of the city and of its inhabitants (Ἀντινοεῖς Νέοι ῞Ελληνες),29 its urban structure (the plan of the city as well as the division into tribes and demes), its institutions (boulé and self-government), and its temples and public works30 prove that Hadrian founded a new city (a polis) not merely to honour the memory of Antinous, but to further his project of ‘Hellenisation’, which was gaining ground in Greece at the time (130–132). The name of some demoi of Antinoupolis recalled the initiation of Hadrian at Eleusis and the cult of the emperor in the city of Athens. Games in honour of Antinous (Antinoeia) were established at Antinoupolis, Eleusis, Athens, Mantinea, and Argos.31 The direct involvement of Hadrian in the promotion of the cult of Antinous, however, reached well beyond Antinoupolis. As reported by Pausanias (8, 9, 7–8), it was evident at Mantinea (in Bithynia) where ‘Antinous was regarded as a god, and between the most recent temples is that of Antinous. He was extraordinarily favored by the Emperor Hadrian. I never saw him alive, but I have seen his sacred statues and his pictures (ἐν δ’ ἀγάλμασιν εἶδον καὶ ἐν γραφαῖς) […] Since Antinous was born in Bythinion by the river Sangarius, of which the citizens are Arcadians and Mantineans by origin. For those reasons the emperor (scil. Hadrian) established honors for him at Mantinea too.’

27  Voisin 1994, 730–741. 28  Beaujeu 1955, 253–254; Grimm 1994. 29  The new citizens, mostly coming from Ptolemais in the Thebaid and Arsinoites, were granted some privileges: epigamia with the Egyptians, both men and women; advantages for young boys; exemption from laographia. Cfr. Montevecchi 1990. 30  Cfr. Zahrnt 1989; Calandra 2008. 31  Meyer 1991, 183–211.

P.oxy. 471: Hadrian, Alexandria, And The Antinous Cult


Among the Greek gods, Antinous was assimilated to Pan, at times to Adonis (in Cyprus),32 to Apollo (Delphi and Nicopolis), to Hermes or Dionysus (both linked to the mysteries). It cannot be ruled out that Hadrian wanted to imbue the cult of Antinous with mystical-soteriological qualities:33 Pausanias says (ibid.) that ‘in Mantinea there is an annual mystery-rite (τελετή) and a contest for him (scil. Antinous) every fourth year.’ It is not hard to believe the biographer of the HA (14, 7) when he states that ‘the Greeks deified him at Hadrian’s request.’ In 131, a few months after the death of Antinous, a delegation from Thessalonica reached Alexandria asking Hadrian to be allowed to establish the cult of Antinous in their city. At Leptis Magna the head of the statue of Apollo Lyceus was promptly replaced with that of Antinous-Dionysus. A colossal statue of Antinous has been recently discovered at Loukou (eastern Peloponnese), in the house of the senator and Athenian sophist Herodes Atticus—who was on very good terms with Hadrian.34 The celebrated sophist Polemon of Smyrna issued coins with the image of Antinous. Alongside this strong promotion of the cult of Antinous by the eastern élites seeking visibility and prestige, we should also consider that at the time of Hadrian competition between rival cities was very strong in the East in connection with the phenomenon of the so-called ‘Second Sophistic’. Hadrian also imposed the cult of Antinous in Rome, as proven by the Pincio obelisk (which was most likely originally placed in the area of the Antinoeion at Villa Adriana in Tivoli) and, above all, by the statues found at Villa Tiburtina and the so-called ‘tomb of Antinous’.35 It seems, however, that in Rome the cult of Antinous was promoted mainly through the direct initiative of Hadrian, within his own residence; similarly, in Italy there are scant traces of his cult, these being mostly limited to the private sphere.

32  Migliorati 2003, 300–301. 33  That Antinous had been initiated into the Eleusinian Mysteries with Hadrian in 128 is a mere hypothesis (Guarducci 1941, 153, and now Meyer 1991, 234), despite the fact that a statue of Antinous was found at Eleusis, where the Antinoeia were also celebrated (Graindor 1973, 100, 266–267). A reference to mystery forms could also stem from the fact that Antinous was buried with a simulacrum of a small boat, on Hadrian’s behest (Epiph. Ancorat. 1, 130: ῞Ως ὁ Ἁντινόου κεκηδευμένος καὶ σὺν λουσωρίῳ πλοίῳ κείμενος, ὑπὸ Ἁδριανοῦ οὕτως κατετάγη); alternatively, it could be, more simply, an element recalling his death. Cfr. now Galimberti 2013, 92. On the ‘tomb of Antinous’, the so-called Antinoeion at Villa Adriana, cfr. now Mari-Sgalambro 2007. 34  Opper 2008, 188–190. On Herodes Atticus and the villa at Loukou, see Spyropoulos 2001 and Galli 2002. 35  Beaujeu 1955, 255–256; Levi 1993, 89–91; Calandra 1996, 157–162.



Thus, in the case of Antinous, there is clear evidence of the Hellenistic traits of Hadrian’s religious policy; furthermore, the different ways in which the emperor promoted Antinous’ cult throughout the Empire highlight more intensely the decision, underlying his religious policy, to temper his philhellenism, which was barely tolerated in Rome—as proven by the opposition against him in the Senate and by the fact that it never granted (nor was it ever requested to do so) any apotheosis to Antinous—with a more cautious attitude, maintaining the cult of Antinous, albeit in monumental form, only within the walls of his own home. The Roman senators never forgave Hadrian for the heroisation and deification of Antinous, and above all for having publically disclosed his relation with the youth, a fact which certainly annoyed the most uncompromising senators (on whom most of the historiographical tradition on Hadrian seems to draw) who accused the emperor of having made a laughing stock of himself. According to the HA, on the death of Antinous, Hadrian muliebriter flevit,36 while Dio Cassius (69, 11, 4) states that, upon the appearance of the so-called star of Antinous, ‘Hadrian for this story (scil. the appearance of the star) was mocked (ἐσκώπτετο), because when Paulina, his sister, died he did not hurry to pay her any honor’ (as a matter of fact, Hadrian did dedicate several honours to his sister).37 The so-called ‘pseudo-Hadrianic epistle’ to his brother-in-law Servianus (HA QT 8, 8) reports that Hadrian, after leaving Egypt, had to endure the attacks of those who ‘had begun to speak ill of Antinous.’ These criticisms seem quite similar to those of Juvenal, a contemporary who had mocked Antinous’ star, the mystery cult of the pais, and the entire Hellenising (and especially ‘Egyptianising’) policy of Hadrian.38 As is well known, both Pagans and Christians were still shocked by the relationship between Hadrian and Antinous and by the latter’s cult even after some time had gone by.39 Now, returning to our papyrus, we can state that this document censures Maximus in no uncertain terms and, therefore, the political and administrative authority of Rome in Egypt. Yet this should come as no surprise, since it is not uncommon to find documents criticising Roman government and its authority. What I believe is important is that the censorship of Maximus derives not only from his bad administration, but also, and above all, from his behaviour: 36  It has been suggested by Weber 1973, 249, that his weeping may be a hint at Hadrian’s mystery initiations. 37  Cfr. Grimm 1990, 33–44; Migliorati 2003, 297–298. 38  Cfr. Galimberti 2013, 87–100. 39  For instance, Tert. Apol. 13, 9: cum de paedagogiis aulicis nescio quem synodi facitis […]; Iul. Caes. 8 speaks of Hadrian’s ‘inane delirium’ for Antinous.

P.oxy. 471: Hadrian, Alexandria, And The Antinous Cult


not only did he manifestly keep the young boy as a lover, but he was followed by him on his official engagements all too often (Maximus took the boy along with him to the conventus and probably also on his inspection tours). This, in my opinion, is the factor that must have damaged Maximus, since such indecorous behaviour was inconceivable for a Roman magistrate. These charges closely recall those against Hadrian: if we admit, as has been done by authoritative interpreters,40 that the text of the papyrus circulated as if it were a locus classicus at the time of Hadrian and Antoninus Pius (as evidenced by the dating of the papyrus based on the style of writing), it is perhaps possible to hypothesise that the Maximus’ trial was known to Hadrian’s enemies. We may wonder at this point if the charge of stuprum that was brought against Maximus and that cost him the damnatio memoriae might not have been used also against Hadrian for his relationship with Antinous. In effect, the papyrus reports an accusation of iniuria, which included stu­ prum. If we read the Digest (47, 11, 1, 2)41 and the Institutiones (IV 1) of Justinian42 we can indeed clearly see this situation. What is most thought-provoking is that this offence entails the illicit conduct of adsectatio, namely the fact that someone persistently courts a young boy praetextatum. This is indeed the quid of the matter: column V of the papyrus insists on the fact that the young boy is constantly seen with Maximus at his public audiences and appears to be explicitly his lover, as revealed by the ‘realistic’ scene described in column IV, where the witnesses at the trial are willing to testify to the fact that ‘while they would be outside his door awaiting his greeting they would see the boy coming out of his bed-chamber, all but bearing the sign of his familiarity with him (scil. Maximus).’ Finally, as indicated in the sources, an abolitio memoriae was passed against Maximus. The similarities between these circumstances and the relationship between Hadrian and Antinous would seem anything but negligible. Hadrian never tied to keep his relationship with Antinous under wraps, as is clearly proven by two elements: the fact that the sources recall the famous lion hunt, also portrayed in one of the tondi of the Arch of Constantine in Rome; and the fact that the death of Antinous occurred during a cruise on the Nile in which Hadrian also participated. 40  Cfr. supra. 41   Qui puero praetextato stuprum aliudve flagitium abducto ab eo vel corrupto comite persua­ serit […] perfecto flagitio capite punitur, imperfecto in insulam deportatur: corrupti comites summo supplicio afficiuntur. 42   Iniuria autem committitur … sive quis matrem familias aut praetextatum praetextamve ad­ sectatus fuerit, sive cuius pudicitia attentata esse dicetur.



We must not forget that, on his death, it was only thanks to the intervention of Antoninus that the damnatio was not visited on Hadrian, who was awarded a regular apotheosis instead. The murder of four prominent consulares (C. Avidius Nigrinus, Lusius Quietus, A. Cornelius Palma Frontonianus, and L. Publilius Celsus), which occurred at the beginning of Hadrian’s reign and was never forgiven by the senators, was certainly at the root of their proud opposition. In the light of these observations, it seems reasonable to assume that the charge against Hadrian was bolstered by disapproval of his philhellenism and, in particular, his attitude toward Antinous and his cult. When all was said and done, Antinous must have played his role in the events very well, insofar as even after his death there was still the need to conjure up his memory at a trial as an instrument to denigrate the behaviour of a Roman authority towards a 17-year-old boy. Bibliography Beaujeu, J. 1955: La religion romaine à l’apogée de l’empire. I. La politique religieuse des Antonins (96–192), Paris. Betz, H.D. 1985: The Greek Magical Papyri in translation, Chicago. Borg, E. (ed.) 2004: Paideia: the world of the Second Sophistic, Berlin-New York, 377–402. Calandra, E. 1996: Oltre la Grecia. Alle origini del filellenismo di Adriano, Naples. Calandra, E. 2008: “La città e il nome: progetto politico e utopia nella fondazione di Antinoe”, in M.T. Schettino & C. Carsana (eds.), Utopia e Utopie nel mondo antico, Rome, 133–159. Capponi, L. 2017: Il ritorno della fenice. Intellettuali e potere nell’Egitto romano, Pisa. Galimberti, A. 2007: Adriano e l’ideologia del principato, Rome. Galimberti, A. 2013: “Adriano e Giovenale”, MediterrAnt 16, 87–100. Galli, M. 2002: Die Lebenswelt eines Sophisten. Untersuchungen zu den Bauten und Stiftungen des Herodes Atticus, Mainz am Rhein. Galli, M. 2010: “La paideia di Adriano: alcune osservazioni sulla valenza politica del culto eroico”, in M. Rizzi (ed.), Hadrian and the Christians, Berlin, 51–70. Graindor, P. 1973: Athènes sous Hadrien, New York. (Originally published 1934: Cairo.) Grenfell, B.P. & Hunt, A.S. 1903: The Oxyrinchus Papyri, III, London. Grimm, G. 1990: “Paulina und Antinous. Zur Vergöttlichung der Hadriansschwester in Ägypten”, in C. Börker & M. Donderer (eds.), Das antike Rom und der Osten. Festschrift für Klaus Parlasca, Erlangen, 33–44. Guarducci, M. 1941: “Adriano e i culti misterici della Grecia”, BCAR 69, 149–158. Harker, A. 2008: Loyalty and dissidence in Roman Egypt. The case of the Acta Alexandri­ norum, Cambridge.

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Jones, C.P. 2010: New heroes in Antiquity: from Achilles to Antinoous, Cambridge, Massachusetts. Levi, M.A. 1993: Adriano Augusto. Studi e ricerche, Rome. Mari, Z. & Sgalambro, S. 2007: “The Antinoeion of Hadrian’s Villa: Interpretation and architectural reconstruction”, AJA 111, 83–104. Meyer, H. 1991: Antinoos. Die archäologischen Denkmäler unter Einbeziehung des numismatischen und epigraphischen Materials sowie der literarischen Nachrichten, Munich. Migliorati, G. 2003: Cassio Dione e l’impero romano da Nerva ad Antonino Pio. Alla luce dei nuovi documenti, Milano. Montevecchi, O. 1990: “Adriano e la fondazione di Antinoopolis”, in J.M. Croisille (ed.), Neronia IV. Alejandro Magno, modelo de los emperadores romanos, Brussels, 183–195. Musurillo, H.A. (ed. Comm.) 1954: The Acts of the Pagan Martyrs. Acta Alexandrinorum, Oxford. Opper, T. 2008: Hadrian. Empire and conflict, Cambridge, Massachussets. Sarischouli, P. 2009: “Acta Alexandrinorum”, APF 55.2, 454–461. Spyropoulos, G. 2001: Drei Meisterwerke der griechischen Plastik aus der Villa des Herodes Atticus zu Eva Loukou, Frankfurt a.M. Strack, P.L. 1933: Untersuchungen zur römischen Reichsprägung des zweiten Jahrhunderts. Teil II. Die Reichsprägung zur Zeit des Hadrian, Stuttgart. Turcan, R. 2008: Hadrien: souverain de la romanité, Dijon. Voisin, J.-L. 1987: “Apicata, Antinoüs et quelques autres. Note d’épigraphie sur la mort volontaire à Rome”, MEFRA 91, 257–280. Vout, C. 2007: Power and eroticism in ancient Rome, Cambridge. Weber, W. 1973: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Kaisers Hadrianus, HildesheimNew York. (Originally published 1907: Leipzig). Whitmarsh, T. 2004: “The Cretan lyre paradox: Mesomedes. Hadrian and the poetics of patronage”, in B.E. Borg (ed.), Paideia: the World of the Second Sofistic, Berlin-New York, 377–402. Zahrnt, M. 1989: “Antinoopolis in Ägypten: Die hadrianische Gründung und ihre Privilegien in der neueren Forschung”, ANRW II 10. 1, 667–706.


Hadrian Among the Gods* Juan Manuel Cortés Copete In 1926, after a lifetime devoted to the study of Laconian antiquities, A.M. Woodward published, among many other epigraphic texts, an important religious inscription from 2nd century AD Sparta.1 Caius Iulius Theophrastus, son of Theoclimenes, had the monument in question erected as an act of thanksgiving to the gods for an intense political life devoted to his community. Unfortunately, the cursus honorum of this Spartan politician appears not to have been represented with strict respect for the chronology. However, it does provide two firmly established time references enabling us to date a large part of his activity to the third decade of the 2nd century AD. He was the agoranomos and, as such, in charge of ensuring the adequate supply of provisions to the city during the Emperor Hadrian’s first visit to Sparta; a visit that can be dated with certainty to the year 125 AD, as part of his first trip to Hellas as emperor. Theophrastus also held the post of ephor during Hadrian’s second and final stay in Sparta, which took place during the years 128–9 AD.2 Then, after visiting Africa and Rome, the emperor set off once more for the East, stopping off in the province of Achaea. The text of the inscription reads as follows:



Γά(ϊος) Ἰούλιος Θεόφραστος Θεοκλυμένου‚ βουαγός‚ διαβέτης‚ ἱερεὺς Διὸς Ὀλυμπίου‚ ἐν ᾧ καιρῷ ἀνέθηκα ἀνδριάντας β᾽‚ ἕνα μὲν τοῦ ἐν θε οῖς Ἁδριανοῦ‚ τὸν δὲ ἕτερον τοῦ Δήμου τοῦ Λακεδαιμο νίων‚ ἀγορανόμος ὅτε ὁ ἐν θεοῖς Ἁδριανὸς πρώτως ἐπεδήμησεν εἰς τὴν πόλιν ἡμῶν‚ πρέσβυς νομοφυλά κων‚ σειτώνης ἐν σπάνει ὅτε ὁ μέδιμνος ἐγένετο ж μ᾽‚ καὶ ἔδωκα διανομὴν πᾶσιν ἡμιέκτον ж α᾽‚ ἔφορος ὅτε ὁ ἐν θε οῖς Ἁδριανὸς τὸ β᾽ ἐπεδήμησεν‚ γυμνασίαρχος ἐπὶ Ἀφθο νήτου‚ ἀγοράσας τὴν ὑδρίαν ж λ᾽ καὶ θεὶς τὸ ἔλαιον ἐν

*  This paper has been written with the support of the Research Project ‘Adriano y la integración de la diversidad regional / Hadrian and the integration of regional diversity’ (HAR2015-65451C2-1-P, MINECO/FEDER). 1  Woodward 1925/6, 227–234. SEG XI 492. 2  Halfmann 1986.

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Hadrian Among The Gods



γυμνασίῳ‚ ἐν ταῖς θέρμαις ἑλκυστόν‚ ἐν τοῖς Μαχανί δαις‚ καὶ παρέσχον ὅλον τὸν ἐνιαυτὸν πᾶσιν λέντια ξύστρα‚ πατρονόμος‚ ἵππαρχος‚ Κυθηροδίκας ὑπὲρ Ἀττικοῦ‚ γυμνασίαρ χος ἐν τοῖς ιβ᾽‚ βίδεος δ᾽‚ γραμματεὺς βουλῆς‚ πρεσβευτὴς εἰς Ῥώμην β` προῖκα καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς Ἑλλαδος πολλάκις‚ καὶ παραπράσεις ποιησάμε νος πολλάκις ἐν τοῖς ἐπείγουσιν καιροῖς‚ ἄρξας τὴν τῶν γερόν των ἀρχὴν δ᾽‚ καὶ δὶς γενόμενος πρέσβυς συναρχίας‚ θεοῖς εὐχαρι στήριον.

In spite of the two certain dates contained in the text, Woodward believed that the monument must have been built, not in the time of the emperor Hadrian, but during the reign of his successor Antoninus Pius. There are two reasons for this. The first is the lengthy career of Theophrastus, which prompts us to consider at least two decades of public activity. This argument, however, is inconclusive. It should be borne in mind that from the time of Hadrian’s second visit he was to reign for another decade. Therefore, it should not be ruled out that the political career of Theophrastus might essentially have coincided with the reign of Hadrian and that the monument could have been raised when the emperor was still alive. But Woodward had another good argument to support the late dating. Theophrastus was also the priest of Olympian Zeus and on that authority had two statues erected, one to the people of Lacedaemonia and the other to the emperor ‘Hadrian among the gods’, ἕνα μὲν τοῦ ἐν θεοῖς Ἁδριανοῦ. This formula is repeated in the inscription in the two places where Theophrastus refers to the visits paid by the emperor, whom he always calls ‘Hadrian among the gods’, ὁ ἐν θεοῖς Ἁδριανὸς. In line with orthodox thinking about the imperial cult, Woodward reached the conclusion that the monument was raised after the emperor’s death, when, after a stormy session, the Senate decreed his apotheosis.3 The different beliefs regarding the divine nature of the emperor, and the various cultural activities to which they gave rise, covered a spectrum as wide and varied as the reality of the Roman Empire itself. The cult of his person which Augustus organized in some eastern provinces has come to be considered the imperial cult par excellence.4 This form of worship, once perfected by his successors, came to be defined by its fundamental political nature. It depended on the vote of the Senate that the deceased emperor ascended to the heavens to become one of the deities protecting the state. But alongside this Roman, or imperial Roman, practice, many other forms of emperor worship 3  S ha, Hadr. 27; Dio Cass., 69, 23, 2. 4  Lozano 2010, 29–102; 2011, 475–519.


Cortés Copete

developed in the Empire.5 Cultural, regional and local traditions, notions of divinity and its relationship with the human world, the relationship between each community and the Empire and its government, and even the imagination of some prominent figures were all decisive in the conception of the divinity of the emperor in the far-flung corners of the Empire over the years. It is undoubtedly also the case that all these factors conditioned the development of the rituals that could accompany these beliefs. The fact that most of these manifestations, alien to the orthodox imperial cult, though not necessarily contrary to the correct functioning of the Empire, were purely local or, at best, regional in character might have led to their being relegated in importance in the eyes of scholars. My aim in this study is to work from a different conception of the Roman Empire. Beneath the thin layer of Roman uniformity represented by the instruments of government, which were never numerous, can be detected a multitude of local and regional realities, anchored in the past but still very much alive and in a state of permanent transformation. In the Greek provinces, it was the polis that occupied this position, despite the fact that they never actually formed part of the category which some modern scholars have defined as ‘privileged cities’.6 Paradoxically, the polis became the mainstay of an Empire whose oligarchy was apparently contemptuous of them. In my view, a solid understanding of the social, cultural, religious, political, and economic mechanisms by means of which the poleis became integrated into the Roman Empire, while continuing to exist as separately recognizable and autonomous entities, will make for a better understanding of the Roman reality. With his unprecedented and constant presence in Hellas, the Emperor Hadrian brought out the vitality of these Greek cities, synchronizing to some extent this political timescale with what some term the longue durée. But I also need to distance myself from the view of the imperial cult that has predominated since the ground-breaking work of Price.7 Undoubtedly Price’s study presented a considerable number of novelties, the fruits of which we can still take advantage of. The regional perspective, the distancing from Christian religious prejudices, and the surmounting of a purely political view of the imperial cult are essential considerations nowadays when approaching the phenomenon. The same can be said of the attention Price pays to the ritual he aims to analyse, quite correctly, as an instrument for the conceptualization of the world, of a worldview that need not be verbalized. But the fact 5  Beard, North & Price 1998. 6  González 1999; Guerber 2009. 7  Price 1984, 1–22.

Hadrian Among The Gods


that verbalization is not necessary does not mean that it should be rejected as a route to understanding the reality of the imperial cult, as expressed in the literature and other written sources referring to the emperor’s divinity. Neither should the debate be limited to a supposed duality between the literal and the interpretative methods for a study of the written documents, nor should we spurn individual testimony, whether political, theological, or even mysteric,8 on the emperor’s divinity. In short, I do not believe that it is licit to choose to ignore some of the theological ideas which explained emperor worship. Nor can we continue to disregard the dimension of feelings and emotions as a fundamental factor in ritual and beliefs, in religion and public life, in politics and devotion to the emperor. A perspective similar to that offered in the case of dreams by ‘secondary elaboration’, as proposed by Sigmund Freud, may serve to address this thorny question. Emotions are individual, but their expression is culturally mediatized; this cultural reinterpretation of emotion should also be an object of study. Chaniotis defines this approach as ‘the social and cultural construction of emotions.’9 Thus, an agitated spirit may, through the culturally determined means by which it expresses itself, turn out to be worthy of the attention of historians. In view of the above, on the basis of an analysis of the aforementioned inscription I will study a path that Hadrian and the Greeks trod together. My hypothesis is that this led them to believe that either the emperor gradually revealed his divinity or that the god gradually made himself manifest through his intermediary, converting Hadrian into a sacred individual. This allowed him to be treated as a deity among mortals, until such time as death would finally enable him to be welcomed to Olympus. I will end by analysing what I believe to be one of a number of attempts to offer theological cover for the process of the Emperor Hadrian’s divine transformation. 1

Priest of Olympian Zeus.

The most striking element in the Theophrastus inscription is the peculiar formula used to refer to the emperor: ‘Hadrian among the gods’. When Woodward published the inscription, he included another two with parallel formulas: one from Sparta10 and the other from Lindos.11 8  Pleket 1965. 9  Chaniotis 2012. 10  Woodward 1923/4, 1924/5, 165, 180–182. 11   I G XII 1, 786; IGRom. IV 1150.


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Forty years later, Reynolds published a stele containing a rescript addressed by the Emperor Gordian to the city of Aphrodisias. In the rescript, there is another mention of ‘the emperors among the gods’, and this is where we should begin.12 The lines that concern us here (4–7) read as follows: εἴ τι περὶ τῶν τῆς πατρίδος σου̣ νόμ̣ [ων] τῇ τε ἱερωτάτῃ συνκλήτῳ βουλῇ ἔδ[οξε] καὶ τοῖς ἐν θεοῖς τῶν αὐτοκρατόρων, τοῦ[το] κἀμοὶ πρέποι ἂν ἐπὶ τῶν αὐτῶν φυλάττει ̣ν̣ If the most revered Senate and the emperors who are among the gods made any decision concerning your laws, it would be incumbent upon me to maintain it […] Reynolds provided the key to interpreting these infrequent and recherché formulas which, apart from implying a reduplication of the Senate’s decision, make reference to the deified emperors. Gordian, in an attempt to distance himself from Maximinus, not only exalts the authority of the Senate, but claims that he recognizes only the decisions of those emperors who are ‘among the gods’. These are the emperors to whom the Senate granted the benefits of apotheosis and whose names were then added to the list of state patrons. Nero, Tiberius, Domitian, and many others down to Maximinus had been excluded from this list, on which Gordian undoubtedly hoped to appear. It has not been possible to give a precise dating for the inscription from Lindos.13 The editors have been able to state little more than that it was from imperial times. It is in memory of one Titus Flavius Thrasylochos, son of a priest of the same name, who had been honoured by the emperors and the Senate: ἀπὸ γένους τετειμημένος ἐς τὸ διενεκὲς ὑπὸ τῶν ἐν θεοῖς Αὐτοκρατόρων καὶ τῶν τῆς ἱερᾶς βουλῆς συνκλήτου δογμάτων […] honoured for all time by the emperors who are among the gods because of his lineage and by the agreements of the sacred senatorial council.

12  Erim & Reynolds 1969; Oliver 1989, no. 282. 13   I G XII 1, 786.

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This inscription presents us with a formula that is very close to that of the rescript of Gordian. As in the Aphrodisias inscription, there is mention of the Senate, although it now comes after the emperors. Of special significance is the fact that it is referred to by means of the same reduplication of terms: boule and synkletos. So far as I am aware, this formula is exclusive to these two inscriptions, which may provide a clue as to the dating of the Lindos inscription. It is fairly reasonable to assume that this inscription should also be seen in the light of the Senate’s reaction supported by Gordian’s government. It is obvious that the expression ὑπὸ τῶν ἐν θεοῖς Αὐτοκρατόρων ‘by the emperors among the gods’, refers to those emperors whose labours had been rewarded by apotheosis, since Thrasylochos had been honoured by the emperors by reason of his lineage and ἐς τὸ διενεκὲς, ‘for all time’. After an analysis of the two inscriptions with formulas similar to those which appear on the Theophrastus monument, it can only be concluded that they are not referring to the same reality. The fact that the Senate is mentioned in both the Lindos inscription and the one from Aphrodisias and that the plural is used to name the emperors, rules out the possibility of any correlation between the three texts. The difference between these formulas, with the realities denoted in them, and that on the Theophrastus’ monument is as great as the time separating Gordian’s reign from Hadrian’s. To reinforce the singularity of the Spartan text there is a second inscription from Lacedaemonia.14 One year before the publication of the Theophrastus inscription, Woodward published the cursus honorum of a Spartan citizen as recorded in another inscription on the wall of the city’s theatre. The text is as follows: [Ἰσόχρ]υσος (Ἰσοχρύσου)‚ γερουσίας ἐπὶ Κλέωνος‚ [δια]βέτης ἐπὶ Ἑρμογένους ἐφ` οὗ ἐνίκησαν Κονοουρεῖς δι᾽ ἐτῶν τεσεράκοντα‚ πρεσβευτὴς πρὸς τὸν ἐν θεοῖς Ἁτριανὸν εἰς Νεικόπολιν προῖκα‚ δικασταγωγὸς ἀπό Ἀσίας ἐπὶ Κλαυδίου Ἀριστοτέλους‚ γυναικονόμος ἐπὶ Ἀβιδίου Βιάδα. Unfortunately, the chronological references cannot be used since it has been impossible to date the magistracies named in the inscription. Nevertheless, the reference to service as ambassador to Hadrian in Nicopolis is extremely valuable because, in the first place, it enables a time reference to be established, as this delegation must have been sent either at the end of Hadrian’s first stay in 14  Woodward 1923/4, 1924/5, 165, 180–182.


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Greece in 125 AD,15 or when the emperor, at the beginning of his second trip, revisited the region in the autumn of 128 AD.16 As Woodward believed, this is the most likely occasion when taking into account that it coincided with the Actian games, an appropriate setting for the presence of the emperor and the reception of delegations from Greek cities. The other reason for the importance of this inscription is that it converts the formula ὁ ἐν θεοῖς Ἁδριανὸς into an exclusively Spartan expression that would not be used again with any other emperor. The answer must, therefore, be sought in the city of Sparta and its relationship with the emperor. Any attempt to reveal the meaning of the expression ὁ ἐν θεοῖς Ἁδριανὸς by which Theophrastus refers to Hadrian in his inscription requires, first of all, that we go back to its origin: the statue he raised to the emperor when he was a priest of Olympian Zeus. The city of Sparta was one of the two pillars (Athens being the other) of the policy implemented by Hadrian as regards the Greek cities.17 But surprisingly, the base of only one statue of the emperor is preserved in the city’s territory.18 Here, he is proclaimed soter, euergetes, and ktistes of the polis, in gratitude for the numerous favours he had bestowed upon it. As is so often the case, it is impossible to establish the date or a link to any specific circumstance that might have been behind the erection of the monument. But when compared with this paucity of civil honours—if I may be allowed to use the expression—it is surprising just how many altars (some twenty-five) are dedicated to the emperor.19 Eleven of these bear the name of the emperor in the dative, and the remaining fourteen, in the genitive. The lemmata present slight variants depending on whether they proclaim him ktistes, soter, or euergetes of Lacedaemonia, and in different combinations, ktistes and soter of Lacedaemonia being the most frequent. With no internal element allowing us to place it chronologically, the similarity to the Athenian altars possibly erected in 128/9 AD, on the occasion of the dedication of the temple of Olympian Zeus, or in 131/2 AD, the year of the inauguration of the Panhellenion, has prompted scholars to consider a similar dating. Be that as it may, in 1953 J. Bingen published the text of No. 25 of the known altars.20 Unlike all the other inscriptions, this altar bore a more comprehensive text, including a date from the Spartan civic calendar. It was consecrated by the 15  Birley 1997, 187–8; Halfmann 1986, 203; SEG XI, 493. 16  Birley 1997, 219; SEG XI, 493. 17  Spawforth & Walker 1986, 88–96. 18   I G V 1, 405. 19   I G V, 1, 381–406, 763; Benjamin 1963, 74–5. 20  Bingen 1953, 642–646; SEG XIII, 256.

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synarchia serving under Publius Memmius Sidectas.21 Basing his case on the cursus honorum of another Spartan magistrate, Agathocles son of Stephanos, Bingen believed that he could make the date of Sidectas’ year in office coincide with that of the Emperor Hadrian’s first visit.22 This would mean that this altar, and possibly all the others, should be dated between four and six years before the completion of the Olympieion and the foundation of the Panhellenion. The divine status of Hadrian would thus have been accepted and exalted publicly in Sparta before it was in the other cities. A review of the evidence should only urge caution. Sidectas’ year in office is indeed linked to a visit by the Emperor Hadrian, but as our knowledge stands we cannot conclude whether this was the first visit in 124/5 AD or the second in 128/9 AD. The reason is simple: Agathocles, son of Stephanos, held a different magistracy or liturgy on each of Hadrian’s visits to the city. The mention of each one of these services is accompanied by a reference to the patronomos, the magistrate who lent his name to the year, but the magistracy occupied on each of the visits is not specified.23 It is therefore impossible to say whether Sidectas’ year corresponds to 124/5 AD or to 128/9 AD.24 In view of the above, it would make more sense to attribute a later date to these altars, one connected with Hadrian’s religious policy tour between 128/9 and 131/2 AD, the date of the majority of the altars the Greek cities dedicated to the emperor in Athens. The similarity between the formulas used in Sparta and those that appear in Athens suggests that we should think along these lines. The dedication of the Olympieion of Athens gave rise to a wave of religious fervour, prompted by the emperor himself who, in turn, was the main beneficiary, as is clear from his taking of the title of Olympian. This new religious atmosphere likewise led to a revival of the devotion to the supreme god in all Hellas, including Sparta.25 During his visit to Sparta, Pausanias reported on the city’s newest temples: ἔστι δὲ καὶ Σαράπιδος νεώτατον τοῦτο Σπαρτιάταις ἱερὸν καὶ Διὸς ἐπίκλησιν Ὀλυμπίου, ‘the most recent of the Spartan temples is that of Serapis and Zeus 21  [Αὐτοκράτορι Καίσαρι]| Τραιανῷ Ἁδρια[νῷ] | Σεβαστῷ Σωτῆρι | τᾶς Λακεδαίμονος‚ | συναρχία ἁ ἐπὶ Πο(πλίου) | Μεμμίου Σειδέ|κτα. 22  Bingen 1953, 644, no. 3. The year 124/5 is also accepted by Benjamin 1963, 76. 23   I G V, 1, 32a, ll.4–5: ἱππάρχας ἐπὶ Σιδέκτα; ll. 5–6: ἀγορανόμος ἐπὶ Σειτείμου; and ll. 9–12, as a genitive absolute: οὗ καὶ ἱππαρχοῦντος καὶ ἀγορανομοῦντος ἐπεδήμησεν τῇ πόλει ὁ θειότατος Αὐτοκράτωρ Ἁδριανός. To my mind, it is impossible to establish the concordance between Agathocles’s offices and imperial visits. 24  The same doubt is expressed by Bradford 1997, ss.vv. ΑΓΑΘΟΚΛΗΣ (15) and ΠΟΠΛΙΟΣ ΜΕΜΜΙΟΣ ΣΕΙΔΕΚΤΑΣ (2). 25  Beaujeu 1955, 174–184.


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with the title of Olympian.’26 From this cult only one altar remains in the city, its dedication reading as follows:27 Διὸς Σωτῆρος Ὀλυμπίου. As assumed by the editors of the inscription,28 the identity of the Emperor Hadrian is behind the name of the god. That this monument is connected with Theophrastus, priest of Olympian Zeus in Sparta, is beyond all doubt. And, for the same reason, the temple Pausanias writes about can also be linked to him. The most convincing indication of Theophrastus’ central role in the implementation of the imperial programme in the city of Sparta is his claim to have promoted the sculpture group of ‘Hadrian among the gods’. Among the extant inscriptions related to this sculpture group is one that may commemorate its consecration.29 If this is so—and there is every reason to believe it is—it should be considered prior to SEG XI 492, a monument on which Theophrastus looks back on his public life. This inscription recalls Caius Iulius Theophrastus as προσστάτης τῆς ἀναθέσεος, ‘in charge of the consecration’ of this offering. Its religious and cultural value lies in the mention on the monument itself of some spondophoroi, who, as Woodward supposed, would have been a group of boys in charge of offering the libation. In view of the analysis of all the evidence, it could be that the statue of ‘Hadrian among the gods’, erected by Theophrastus as priest of Olympian Zeus, has nothing to do with the emperor’s death and apotheosis. It might have been erected in his lifetime, when the cult of Olympian Zeus was spreading all over Greece and he himself accepted the cognomen ‘Olympius’. As is well known, the idea of a living emperor-god was not at all repugnant to the Greek mentality of the time, but was accepted and proclaimed far and wide during the reign of Hadrian. Perhaps we should therefore regard the monument erected by Theophrastus as a large complex in which Hadrian would appear surrounded by other gods, perhaps the Olympians. The formula would be a strictly Spartan invention, which would explain why the only two existing examples are from this city. But even if the lemma was Spartan, the idea was shared by other Greeks. Crossing over to the other continent, in 124 AD Hadrian had issued the necessary instructions for the reconstruction of Cyzicus, which had been 26  Paus. 3, 14, 5. The colossal temple on the Quirinal Hill in Rome is now considered a Sera­ peum ascribed to Hadrian: Taylor 2004. 27   I G V, 1, 406. 28   C IG 1312 (Boeckh): Haud dubie Hadriani Olympii. 29  S EG XI, 623 (IG V 1, 167): [ἐπὶ … ω]νος·| ….η̣ ς προσστάτης ̣ | [τῆ]ς ̣ ἀναθέσεος,| [Γά(ϊος) Ἰού]λ̣ ιος Θεόφραστος, | [… Φιλ]ω̣ νίδας Ͻ ὁ ἀγαθός.| [σπον]δ̣οφόροι· Γά(ϊος) Ἰού(λιος) Δαμαί|[νετος(?) Ξ] εναρχίδα· |[Γά(ϊος) Ἰού]λιος Λυσικράτης |[νεώτε]ρος.

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destroyed by an earthquake.30 He also ordered the building of a temple which was ultimately consecrated to him.31 Regarded in Antiquity as one of the wonders of the world, its final destiny as a quarry for building materials prevents us from forming an exact idea of its splendour. All we have today are a few archaeological remains, the odd literary reference (most of them late), and Cyriacus of Ancona’s description of the temple in the 14th century. According to Malalas,32 the emperor had an image of himself placed on the pediment of the temple, accompanied by the inscription: θεου Ἁδριανοῦ.33 Vermeule interpreted this imprecise information as a gigantic imago clipeata of the emperor,34 singling out some bronze coins from the time of Antoninus Pius, displaying an octastyle temple crowned by a tondo containing a portrait, to back up his claim. The closest architectural testimony is typologically the tondo that crowns the pediment of the propylaea at Eleusis, the image of which is generally identified with Marcus Aurelius, although it cannot be ruled out that it might depict Hadrian. Returning to Cyzicus, Socrates of Constantinople’s Historia Ecclesiastica contains another valuable piece of information: it was there that Hadrian was proclaimed the thirteenth god.35 This may explain the statues of gods which Cyriacus claims to have seen on the front of the temple. Hadrian would have appeared on the main pediment, accompanied by the other Olympian gods, constituting a statue group that could reasonably be described as ‘Hadrian among the gods’. 2

The Year 128/9

The year 128 AD witnessed a change in the way the figure of the emperor was seen and a clear move forward on the road to his consecration, his divine status. Before then, the cities, following the tradition of their civic king and emperor cults, had dedicated monuments and attributed divine epithets to the first emperor to live among them after Augustus and the briefer attempt 30  Birley 1997, 162–3. 31  Schulz & Winter 1990; Barattolo 1995; Burrell 2004, 86–94. 32  Malalas, Chronogr. XI 279D: ἔκτισε δὲ ὁ αὐτὸς Ἁδριανὸς ἐν τῄ αὐτῇ Κυζίκῳ ναὸν μέγαν πάνυ‚ ἕνα ὄντα τῶν θαυμάτων‚ στήσας ἑαυτῷ στήλην μαρμαρίνην στηθαρίου μεγάλου πάνυ ἐκεῖ εἰς τὴν ὀροφὴν τοῦ ναοῦ‚ ἐν ᾧ ἐπιγράφει‚ Θείου Ἁδριανοῦ· ὅπερ ἐστὶν ἕως τῆς νῦν. 33  The manuscript’s reading, Θείου Ἁδριανοῦ, was corrected by Reinach 1890, 520 into Θεῷ Ἁδριανῷ. However, the change into dative might not be necessary. 34   Vermeule 1965, 376–7. 35  Socrates, Hist. Eccl. 3, 23, 59: Κυζικηνοὶ δὲ τρισκαιδέκατον Θεὸν Ἁδριανὸν ἀνηγόρευσαν.


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by Nero. The presence of Hadrian in Hellas during 124–125 AD immediately aroused a feeling of reverence towards the immensity of his power. The emperor’s sojourns, brief in most cases, his epidemia in cities which no emperor had ever visited before, provoked an unprecedented wave of devotion to the Lord of the Empire. He showered an unimaginable wealth of resources on these cities hitherto untouched by Roman prosperity, once again generating splendour, work, wealth, civic pride, and reverence to his person.36 For some cities, the date of Hadrian’s arrival marked the beginning of a new civic era.37 Others raised monuments proclaiming him soter and ktistes, while still respecting his Roman nomenclature.38 On that first visit, the emperor also presented his plan to create a common council of all the Greeks;39 he had already submitted a project to transform the Amphictyonic League, to which he aimed to assign this new function, to the Senate for its perusal and approval. Apollo was all set to become the patron of this new form of imperial integration. But the disputes between the Thessalians and Delphians over the control of the Amphictyonic League forced him to go back on this. In this same letter, Hadrian announced a future visit to resolve the confrontation, a clear sign that he had already changed his mind. At the same time, he issued orders for building work in Athens to begin: the temple of Olympian Zeus was to be finished, having awaited dedication since the times of the Athenian tyranny. In 128 AD, the emperor made every effort to ensure an auspicious arrival in Athens: he wished to attend another celebration of the mysteries and had to set sail before it became inadvisable to take to sea.40 Another procession, with citizens, epheboi, and Greeks who had come from far and wide, accompanied him as far as the Telesterion. There he would complete the epoptia, the second grade of initiation into the mysteries and a ritual that was not open to all. The emperor came out of it transformed. We know of a sesterce minted in Rome which, lacking the title pater patriae, must be dated prior to 128 AD. On it, the emperor appears crowned with ears of wheat. This was undoubtedly a reference to his first initiation in 124 AD, and to his interest in exalting the mysteries of Ceres held in the imperial capital.41 Now bearing the title pater patriae, and therefore after 128 AD, a famous cistophorus was minted in Asia bearing the

36  Birley 1997, 175–188. 37  Epidaurus: IG IV2, 384; Tegea: IG V, 2.50, 52, where the imperial visit was called parousia. 38  Epidaurus: IG IV2, 606. 39  F D III 4, no. 302. Cortés Copete 1999. 40  S ha, Hadr. 13, 6. 41  Antonetti 1995, 150–1; Kienast 1959–60; Aur. Vict., Caes. 14, 4.

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legend: HADRIANVS AVG PP REN.42 Although there has been much debate on the last abbreviation, I am of the opinion that we should read renatus.43 The term would have been used here to express the profound transformation of the emperor after the new process of initiation into the mysteries. Subsequently, possibly in 129 AD, the dedication of the temple of Olympian Zeus took place. The account in the Historia Augusta suggests that the building work had already been completed or was at least well enough advanced to permit worship.44 It is obvious that the dedicatio was the final step in the long process of bringing a temple into service, after the inauguratio and the consecratio. It is precisely the use of this concept for the emperor’s new temples in Asia that suggests the completion of the work in Athens.45 The sanctuary had already been transformed to accommodate worship of the emperor: the existence of the altar, which has not been identified archaeologically, is proof of this. Hadrian was going to share a sanctuary with the father of the gods himself. And it was then that he received the title of Olympian. Thenceforth, this imperial title widened a rift that had first appeared in Hispania in 122 AD. At that time, on the occasion of the restoration of the temple of Augustus in Tarraco, Hadrian had begun to shorten his titles to appear on many occasions simply as Hadrianus Augustus.46 Since it was used on monuments and coins, this new denomination was certainly official, yet it did not invalidate either the names or the list of titles which constituted the emperor’s proper denomination. At the beginning of 129 AD, this phenomenon reoccurred. From that time on, the Greek cities referred to and addressed him with—and not only in religious contexts—the cognomen Olympian. Hadrian never incorporated it into his imperial titles, although he did take it on in the Greek context.47 It seems to me that an explanation of the use of this divine epithet calls 42   B MC Emp. III p. clxi, p. 395, no. 1094, pl. 75, 5–6; Beaujeu 1955, 169. 43  Metcalf 1980, 89–90, understood it as renovavit. 44  S ha, Hadr. 13, 6: statim ad orientem profectus per Athenas iter fecit atque opera quae apud Athenienses coeperat dedicauit, ut Iouis Olympii aedem et aram sibi, eodemque modo per Asiam iter faciens templa sui nominis consecrauit. 45  The date of 128/9 AD was suggested by Weber 1907, 210, and since then has been generally accepted. 46  Birley 1997, 147; BMC Emp. III pp. cxvi–cxviii, clxvii–clxxi: HADRIANVS AVGVSTVS. This issue certainly began in 124–125 AD. It should be associated with the great event of Hadrian’s return to Rome. 47  Although Hadrian always employed all his Roman names in his letters to Greek cities, the Greeks often used divine epithets to refer to the emperor in public documents: ­statue bases from Megara (IG VII 3491) and Ephesus (SIG 839). A letter from Delphi (FD III 4 308): [Αὐτοκράτ]ορι Καίσαρι [Σεβαστῷ‚ Θεοῦ Τραιανοῦ υἱῷ‚ Θεοῦ Νερούα] υἱωνῷ‚ Τραιανῷ |


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for a dual approach: from the perspective of beliefs and from the use of triumphal cognomina by the emperors. I will begin with this second point. In the turbulent events following the death of Trajan, Hadrian was assigned, during the initial weeks of his reign, all the triumphal titles of the late emperor. Dacicus and Parthicus featured among these, perhaps obeying a preestablished design. But in view of the accumulation of adverse circumstances surrounding his succession, Hadrian wrote to the Senate renouncing all these names. This came into effect immediately and already in the final months of 117 AD none of these appear on newly minted coins.48 Hadrian did not assume any triumphal title again, not even after having defeated the Jewish rebels with great effort and sacrifice. And yet, in 129 AD, he permitted his Greek subjects to use publicly the cognomen Olympian when referring to him. I am inclined to believe that he was using it as a substitute for the triumphal cognomina which he had renounced. Just as Nero aimed to convert his artistic triumphs in Greece into a substitute for a military triumph he never achieved,49 Hadrian, with greater prudence since he only accepted it in the context of the Greek cities, assumed the title of Olympian to celebrate one of his most significant victories: the completion of the temple of Zeus, which had lain unfinished since the 6th century BC. Two arguments reinforce this hypothesis concerning the creation of a special Greek title for the emperor. The first refers to the acceptance of the title of Olympian, without the explicit mention and identification of Zeus being required. It is particularly significant that in Athens, birthplace of the proclamation of Hadrian as Olympian, his identity with the father of the gods is not invoked, while elsewhere in the Greek East it was occasionally.50 This last practice of granting Hadrian the name of Olympian Zeus was more in line with the Hellenistic tradition of drawing a parallel between kings and gods than the new beliefs surrounding his adoption of the title of Olympian in Athens. The second argument in favour of the idea of Olympian as a title is to be found in the reiteration of the method.51 In 131/2 AD, on the occasion of the inauguration of the Panhellenion, the emperor assumed his second cognomen: Panhellenios. This was also an epithet of Zeus, now attributed to him because of his second great triumph, namely, that of assembling all the Hellenes together in one single organization. [Ἁδριανῷ] Ὀλυμπίῳ‚ Πα[νελληνί]ῳ‚ Πυθίῳ‚ Δελ[φῶν ἄρχοντες‚ βουλή‚ πο]λις χαίρειν. This epistle is quite relevant because it is an official and public document sent to the emperor. 48  Cortés Copete 2014. 49  Suet. Ner. 25, 1; Dio Cass. 63, 20; Alcock 1994. 50  I GRom. IV 84, 85, 986, 1594, 1661. 51  Perret 1929, 30–33.

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À la recherche d’une théologie

In 1972, J. Gagé published a brief study of the evolution of paganism in the 3rd century AD, part of whose title I have borrowed here.52 Hadrian’s constant presence in Greece, his euergetic deeds on behalf of the cities, his participation in and proclaimed transformation through the Eleusinian Mysteries, the termination and dedication of the temple of Zeus, the acceptance of the title of Olympian, and the organization of the Panhellenion stirred the religious imagination. All these events provoked in some the need to draw up a theological construction that would enable them to explain the emperor’s new relationship with his subjects and the traditional Greek gods. This was particularly necessary because the new forms of beliefs being imposed under Hadrian differed in nature from the imperial cult designed under Augustus and his successors. It was now not a matter of a new and distant god, invisible and juxtaposed to the gods of each of the cities. Rather, there was a need to seek new means by which to refer to an emperor who was present—epiphanies—who displayed his power—dynamis, arête—through limitless generosity, who was prepared to listen—epekoos—to subjects to whom he was very close.53 But this same emperor, who had resided in Athens, had been familiar to the Greeks since he was a young senator. To mark his accession to the throne, the Greek cities had offered sacrifices to their gods, and some years later, in 124 AD, Hadrian had gone to great lengths to recover the splendour of many of their temples and rituals. Now each of these cities as a body proclaimed him Olympian, ktistes, and soter. This whole transformation not only called for a political explanation, but for a religious one too. The first evidence of this need to construct a theology appears in the wellknown poem composed by the hierophantis who took part in Hadrian’s initiation into the mysteries.54 After stating her obligation to remain silent regarding her own name, but giving a few clues as to her identification, the hierophantis felt compelled to tell the story of the events in which she had participated: οὐκ ἐμύησα δ’ ἐγὼ Λακεδαιμονίης τέκνα Λήδης, οὐδὲ τὸν εὑράμενον παυσινόσους ἀκέσεις, οὐδὲ τὸν Εὐρυσθῆι δυώδεκα πάντας ἀέθλους ἐξανύσαντα μόγωι καρτερὸν Ἡρακλέα· τὸν χθονὸς εὐρυχόρου δὲ καὶ ἀτρυγέτης μεδέοντα, τὸν καὶ ἀπειρεσίων κοίρανον ἡμερίων, 52  Gagé 1972. 53  Chaniotis 2011, 173–178. 54  I G II2 3575; Graindor 1934, 121.


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ἄσπετον ὃς πάσαις πλοῦτον κατέχευε πόλεσσιν, Ἁδριανόν, κλεινῆς δ’ ἔξοχα Κεκροπίης. […] but I did not initiate into the Mysteries the offspring of Leda the Lacedaemonian, nor him who discovered the healing remedies, nor the one who toiled to terminate all twelve labours of Eurystheus, the mighty Heracles, but the protector of the vast and barren earth, the lord of uncountable mortals, the prodigious one who showered wealth on all the cities, Hadrian, above the illustrious Cecrops. This text must be treated with caution. First of all, it is essential to reject the kolakeia as a criterion for interpretation.55 The poem no doubt could have been composed and published with the intention of having the prince himself read it, but the daughter of Demetrius would have gained little from this gesture in comparison with what she might have received from the emperor for collaborating in the mysteries. It would be more correct to approach the question from the viewpoint of Swain’s thesis when he argued that social and cultural behaviours, such as those reflected in the inscription on the base of the statue of the hierophantis, were also an instrument of internal authority and social domination employed by the Greek aristocracies.56 In view of this, the purpose of the inscription would thus be closer to that of Herodes Atticus of tracing his ancestry back to the heroes of Marathon than to that of reflecting servility to the emperor. So, for the hierophantis and all her family it would have been a way of reasserting their social and religious superiority over other Athenian oligarchs, thanks to their advantageous relationship with Hadrian. But this social and political analysis of the text is insufficient to reveal all its meanings. Two other aspects must be commented upon: the style used and the religious ideas contained in it. The deliberately epic tone of the inscription is clear from both the verse form and the vocabulary employed. This style corresponds perfectly to the archaizing tastes of the time, but we should not rule out the possibility that, within this literary model, it was an instrument to express emotion. How else but through the re-use of epic vocabulary could the magnitude of the event in which she had participated be expressed, namely, the epoptia of an emperor who was believed to be divine?

55  Tac., Ann. 6, 18, 2: adulatio Graeca; Syme 1958, 504–519. The difficulties of using ancient interpretations to read the evidences of the divinity of the king are remarked by Chaniotis 2011, 179–181. 56  Swain 1996, 33–42.

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Furthermore, the text of the inscription is an attempt to place the events taking place in Athens and throughout Hellas in the ambit of belief. These events went beyond the simple presence of the emperor or a notable Roman’s initiation into the mysteries. The Dioscouri, Asclepius, and Heracles are interpreted with the same yardstick: euergesia, initiation, and divinity. They are, moreover, three examples of a divine status that can be described as ‘ongoing’. The divinity of the above-mentioned figures was acquired or revealed, developed over time, and not a dogma accepted prior to their services to humanity and their participation in the mysteries. Through these examples, a theological explanation was offered, expressed allegorically. We are thus able to glimpse the thoughts of some of the central characters on those intense moments when the emperor was present and active in Athens. It is therefore of the greatest interest to us that the hierophantis went out of her way to give a detailed account of the euergesia of Hadrian. Where the Dioscouri had decided to share life and death, where Asclepius had become the universal healer, where the labours of Heracles were his principal gift to humanity, Hadrian is ἄσπετον ὃς πάσαις πλοῦτον κατέχευε πόλεσσιν, ‘the prodigious one who showered wealth on all the cities’, Athens in particular. This last aspect is especially interesting inasmuch as it enables the theology, the mythological construction if I may say so, that explains the divinity of the emperor to be linked to his political actions. A glance at M. Boatwright’s book will suffice to understand the reach of Hadrian’s contributions to the life and prosperity of cities the whole length and breadth of the Empire.57 But of no lesser interest than the numerous marks of his generosity is the explicit statement by the emperor himself that all this formed a project of imperial government. In a letter addressed to the city of Coronea, expressing his interest in facilitating the drainage of the land surrounding Lake Copais, the emperor set out his intentions:58 αὐτὸς ἐγὼ συμπράττων ταῖς πόλεσιν πρὸς εὐπορίαν χρημᾶ[των, ‘I myself, who collaborate with the cities to achieve an abundance of resources […].’ In the letter addressed to the technites found in Alexandria, he declared his concern, among other things, for protecting the finances of the poleis, understood as a category falling under the scope of imperial action:59 ἐπεισάγειν δὲ ταῖς πόλεσιν ἀναλώματα‚ ἃ μὴ πρότερον ἐτέλεσαν‚ οὐκ εἴθισμαι, ‘I am not accustomed to assigning to the cities expenses which they have not previously had to defray.’

57  Boatwright 2003. 58  Oliver 1989, no. 109. 59  Petzl & Schwertheim 2006, l. 87.


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The perception of his subjects was in keeping with his declared intentions. The series of ‘colonial’ statues at the Olympieion unanimously praise the emperor as ktistes and soter of each of the cities represented there.60 In an attempt to explain this use of the term ktistes, Benjamin claimed that the cities were referring to his work as founder of the Panhellenion.61 She based his case on the above-mentioned inscription from Epidaurus (IG IV2 384), where there is explicit mention of τῆς κτίσεος τοῦ Πανελληνίου, the founding of the Panhellenion. But even if the meanings might coincide, the universal attribution of the epithet ktistes to Hadrian on the part of the Greek cities obliges us to place the accent on his benefactions. The cities would thus be expressing their gratitude to their benefactor by erecting a statue to him in the grounds of the sanctuary of Zeus. All things considered, the conclusion to be drawn from the theological meaning of the poem by the hierophantis seems clear: the euergetic actions of the emperor on behalf of the cities are the manifestation of his power and virtue and will make him a god, as was the case of the Dioscouri, Asclepius, and Heracles. The Eleusinian Mysteries, for their part, fulfil a transcendental function in this process of deification or revelation of the divinity that is evinced. There are signs that might suggest to us that the emperor himself accepted this thesis. Beyond the problems of understanding and transmission of the passage of the Historia Augusta in which Hercules and Philip are cited as forerunners of Hadrian’s initiation, it might not be too far off the mark to consider the information as having come from the emperor’s own hand, or that of one of his agents, through his autobiography.62 Moreover, in the above-mentioned letter to the technites, the emperor associates the Eleusinian Mysteries with the games that were to be held in his name in Athens:63 ‘After the Olympians will come the Isthmian games, and after the Isthmians the Hadrianic games, for the contest commences on the day following the festivity which ends in Eleusis.’ This distribution of the calendar for the games may be interpreted as the result of practical considerations, but such an interpretation may well reflect our own blinkered view. The connection between the end of the Eleusinian Mysteries and the beginning of the Hadrianic games, which in the emperor’s eyes were equivalent to the Olympians and the Isthmians, also reveals the idea 60  Paus. 1, 18, 6: χαλκαῖ δὲ ἑστᾶσι πρὸ τῶν κιόνων ἃς Ἀθηναῖοι καλοῦσιν ἀποίκους πόλεις; IG II2, 3288–3322; Graindor 1934, 50–1. 61  Benjamin 1963, 60. 62  SHA, Hadr. 13.1; Oliver 1950. Hadrian’s autobiography: Lewis 1993. 63  Petzl, Schwertheim 2006, l. 62: μετὰ δε τὰ Ὀλύμπια Ἴσθμια ἔστω‚ μετὰ δὲ Ἴσθμια Ἁδριάνεια‚ ὡς ἄρχεσθαι τὸν ἀγῶνα παυσαμένης τῆς ἐν Ἐλευσεῖνι πανηγύρεως τῇ ὑστεραίᾳ.

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he had of himself and of the close relationship between the Eleusinian rites and his own imperial divinity. 4

A Sophist Constructing a God

Arguments in favour of this interpretation, which links initiation into the Eleusinian Mysteries with the emperor’s revealed divinity, are offered by the sophist Aelius Aristides. Writing some 20 years after the events, he witnessed the final outcome of the whole process. In the sixth decade of the 2nd century AD, the orator took part in the Panathenaic festivals where he delivered a long speech in praise of Athens, referring to its glorious past, to its predominance in the cultural life of Greece, as well as to its new splendour thanks to the endeavours of the emperors. At the end of his work, Aristides devoted several pages to developing the theme of Athenian superiority over the other cities. One of the areas in which Athens was at an advantage was the Eleusinian Mysteries, when the city welcomed more visitors each year than did many of the great quinquennial festivals. And he went on to say: ἀλλὰ μὴν Ἡρακλέα γε καὶ Διοσκούρους ἅπαντες δήπου θεοὺς εἶναι νομίζουσιν· τούτοις δέ γε‚ ἕως ὡμίλουν ἀνθρώποις‚ πρώτοις ξένων ἡ πόλις δείκνυσι τὰ ἱερά· ὥστε οἷς νῦν ἱερὰ δρῶμεν‚ τούτους ἱεροποιήσασα αὕτη φαίνεται. Everybody of course believes that Heracles and the Dioscouri are gods. But they were the first strangers to whom the city revealed its sacred ceremonies, while they still lived among mankind, so that the city clearly deified those to whom we now sacrifice. (I 374) It is clear that for the sophist and his audience there was a close relationship between mysteries and apotheosis. We must now dwell for a moment on the participle ἱεροποιήσασα, the subject of which is the city of Athens. Although Behr in his first translation took it to mean ‘initiate into the Mysteries’,64 the most obvious sense of the verb has imposed itself: ‘deify’. Both Canter, in his Latin translation, and the new version Behr published in Brill identify this meaning in the passage.65 The divine status warranted by both the Dioscouri 64  Behr 1973, 261: ‘[…] so that it clearly has initiated into the Mysteries those to whom we now sacrifice.’ 65  Canter 1566, ad loc.: et quibus nunc sacrificamus, eos ipsa consecravit; LSD sv II.: ‘Deify (Aristid. 191 J)’; Behr 1986, 73: ‘[…] so that it clearly deified those to whom we now


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and Heracles—as well as by Hadrian, as can be noted from inscription of the hierophantis—did not depend on any session of the Roman Senate, but on their participation in the Eleusinian Mysteries. Athens was the instigator of the process of deification and it was there that the real nature of those new gods had to be revealed. In his Hymn to Hercules, Aristides had occasion to clarify his thoughts. In exaltation of the hero who had been deified, he says (XL 10): οὐ μόνον δὲ τοῖς ὑφ᾽ Ἑλλήνων λεγομένοις ἀκολουθῶν ἄν τις γνοίη τὴν ἐκείνου φύσιν καὶ ὅτι κρείττων ἢ κατὰ ἀνθρώπους ἐγένετο‚ ἀλλ᾽ ἴσμεν Αἰγυπτίους ὅσον τινὰ ἄγουσιν θεὸν Ἡρακλέα […] Not only would one realize that his nature was greater than man’s by following the tales of the Greeks, but we also know how great a god the Egyptians regard Heracles to be […] This superhuman nature was manifested in the celebration of the myste­ries and constitutes the ultimate basis for his being worthy of deification (XL 10): εἰ δ᾽ οἱ μὲν ὡς ἕνα τῶν πρεσβυτάτων θεῶν νομίζουσιν‚ ἡμεῖς δ᾽ ὡς ὅμοιον ἐκείνῳ τοῦτον τῆς αὐτῆς ἠξιώκαμεν τιμῆς‚ καὶ οὕτω κρείττων ἢ κατὰ ἄνθρωπον γεγονὼς δείκνυται. But if some believe him to be one of the oldest of the gods, while we have thought our Heracles to be worthy of the same honour as theirs is, as being the one’s equal, even in this way he is shown to be greater than a mere human being. τοῦτον τῆς αὐτῆς ἠξιώκαμεν τιμῆς is a phrase which reveals a great deal: the divinity of the emperor is an honour bestowed by the city of Athens. In accordance with this literary and theological construction, Athens would not have proclaimed Heracles (Hadrian) a god spontaneously. Initiation into the mysteries had revealed his superior status; on his death the other gods had to intervene to welcome him among them. Apollo would have been given the task of announcing the divine decision by means of an oracle (XL 11).

sacrifice.’ However, in note 561 of his translation, he still maintains that the sense of the verb is obscure. Oliver 1968, 87: ‘Hence she is clearly the one who sanctified these heroes to whom we now offer sacred rite.’

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δῆλα δὲ καὶ ταῖς τοῦ θεοῦ μαντείαις. ἐπειδὴ γὰρ ἀπῆλθεν ἐξ ἀνθρώπων Ἡρακλῆς, καθαρθεὶς ὃν λέγεται τρόπον‚ εὐθὺς ἐξηγεῖτο νεὼς μὲν Ἡρακλέους ἱδρύεσθαι καὶ θύειν ὡς θεῷ· καὶ ταῦτα μέντοι πρὸς τὴν τῶν Ἀθηναίων φράζων πόλιν‚ ἣ καὶ πρεσβυτάτη τῶν Ἑλληνίδων καὶ τῆς εἰς τοὺς θεοὺς εὐσεβείας καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν σπουδαιοτάτων ὥσπερ ἡγεμὼν τοῖς ἅπασιν ὑπῆρχεν. This is also made clear by the oracles of the god. For when Heracles, purified in the manner told, left the human race, Apollo immediately proclaimed the establishment of temples to Heracles and that sacrifices be made to him as to a god, and at that he revealed it to Athens which was the oldest Greek city, and, as it were, a guide for all men in the matter of piety toward the gods and in all other serious activities. In a passage of the Anabasis, Arrian confirmed the necessary participation of Apollo and his oracle in the deification process. While the possibility of Alexander being proclaimed a god was being debated, Callisthenes, in opposition to those who argued for immediate deification, invoked the example of Heracles. Divine honours were not decreed to the hero during his lifetime or on hearing of his death. Before he could be considered a god, there had to be an oracle of the Delphic god ordaining that it should be so.66 That Aristides and Arrian concurred should come as no surprise. Hailing from the same social class, with the same rhetorical education and a similar view of the relationship between the Greeks and the Empire, this may seem natural or, at worst, a literary coincidence. A letter from Delphi to Hadrian shows that this was not the case. This may well be the last letter preserved from a long and intense correspondence between Delphi and the emperor. We can only lament its state of conservation and express our gratitude to the editors for their brilliant reconstruction work. Dating from after 132 AD, the letter seems to suggest that work on the construction of this theology to permit the deification of the emperor was over:67 [Αὐτοκράτ]ορι Καίσαρι [Σεβαστῷ‚ Θεοῦ Τραιανοῦ υἱῷ‚ Θεοῦ Νερούα] υἱωνῷ‚ Τραιανῷ [Ἁδριανῷ] Ὀλυμπίῳ‚ Πα[νελληνί]ῳ‚ Πυθίῳ‚ Δελ[φῶν ἄρχοντες‚ βουλή‚ πο]λις χαίρειν· 66  Arr., Anab. 4, 11, 7: οὔκουν οὐδὲ αὐτῷ τῷ Ἡρακλεῖ ζῶντι ἔτι θεῖαι τιμαὶ παρ᾽ Ἑλλήνων ἐγένοντο, ἀλλ᾽ οὐδὲ τελευτήσαντι πρόσθεν ἤ πρὸς τοῦ θεοῦ τοῦ ἐν Δελφοῖς ἐπιθεσπισθῆναι ὡς θεὸν τιμᾶν Ἡρακλέα. Alexander’s divinity: Stadter 1980, 103–114. 67  F D III 4, 308.


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[ὑπὲρ σοῦ‚ μέ]γιστε καὶ θει[ότ]ατε Αὐτοκράτ[ωρ‚ πολλάκις λισάμεν]οι θεὸν Ἀπόλλω [να καὶ τὰς τ]ῆς σῆς Θειότητος ἀνυπερ[βλήτους χάριτας ἀντιτετει]μημένοι κοι [ναῖς εὐχαῖ]ς‚ καὶ μυστήρια ἐπιτελοῦντ[ί σοι τὰ Ἐλευσίνια συγχαίρο]ντες‚ μετὰ [τοῦ τε τ]ῶν Ἀμφικτυ[ό]νων συνεδρίου[καὶ ........ 24 . l............] To the Emperor Caesar Augustus Traianus Hadrianus, the Olympian, the Panhellenian, the Pythian, son of the god Trajan, grandson of the god Nerva, from the archontes, the council and the city of Delphi, greetings. Having besought on numerous occasions the god Apollo on your behalf, o great and most divine emperor, having acknowledged with common vows the unsurpassable favours of your divine nature, sharing with you your joy at having taken part in the Eleusinian Mysteries, together with the council of the Amphictyons […] It is a valuable document which combines all the building blocks of the theological construction that would lead to the birth of a new god: Hadrian. For one thing, there is the use of the divine cognomina as part of the emperor’s titles. For another, there is a reminder of the prayers offered to Apollo on behalf of the emperor. The superlatives are a reflection of the greatness of his power, as well as his efficacy, both of these being characteristics of gods.68 And finally there is an obvious admission of a nature superior to that of humans, a divine nature from which, if the proposed restoration of the text is correct, his generosity and euergetic activity would emanate. To all this must be added the evident joy over the initiation into the mysteries which, as we know from Aristides, would have been the key factor in the recognition of the emperor’s superior nature.69 Eleusis and Delphi appear as two corners of a triangle in which a Greek deification process was being devised for Hadrian. The third corner was the city of Athens. Let us now return to the last passage cited from the Hymn to Heracles. It is difficult not to see in it a mention of the Panhellenion and the leadership the Emperor Hadrian recognized in the city of Athens among the united Greeks. Both the dedication of the Olympieion in 128/9 AD and the inauguration of the Panhellenion in the year 131/2 AD made Athens the most venerated of cities and the leader of the great organization of emperor worship that united all Greeks. That the Panathenaic Oration and the Hymn to Hercules are on the same wavelength is made clear in another passage of the address to Athens (I 50): 68  Chaniotis 2011, 176. 69  The editors suggested a new initiation into the mysteries in 131/2 AD: FD III 4, 308, p. 104.

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ἃ δ᾽ ἐστὶν τῶν παλαιῶν ἐντιμότατα καὶ ὥσπερ ἀρχὴ τοῖς πολλοῖς διηγεῖσθαι‚ Ἡρακλέους ἀπελθόντος ἐξ ἀνθρώπων70 ἡ μεν πόλις καὶ νεὼς καὶ βωμοὺς ἱδρύεται πρώτη‚ καθάπερ καὶ πρόσθεν τοῖς μυστηρίοις ἐτίμησεν πρῶτον ξένων. καὶ διατελεῖ δὴ θεὸς ὢν καὶ δοκων ἐξ ἐκείνου. But here is the most honoured of all ancient tales, and as it were the first one for most writers to relate. When Heracles departed from mankind, the city was the first to establish for him temples and altars, just as even before it honoured him first of foreigners with initiation into the Mysteries. And from that time he has always been and has seemed to be a god. The connection between literature and reality is even more conspicuous in the last words cited. Aristides was undoubtedly familiar with the Olympieion and the temple of Panhellenic Zeus and had seen the altars consecrated to the emperor all over Athens. About one third of the altars consecrated to Olympian Hadrian were in the area around the Agora and the Theseion.71 The kind of rivalry the emperor allowed himself to keep up over the course of time with the founder of the city is well known. This was manifested in the famous archway separating the old city from the neighbourhood of the Ilissus. ‘This is the Athens of Theseus, the older city; this is the city of Hadrian and no longer that of Theseus’ read the two faces of the arch.72 Let us see what Aristides had to say about this in the hymn to Hercules (XL 11): ὅσα Θησεῖα ἦν κατὰ δήμους‚ ἅπαντα μετεσκεύασαν καὶ κατέστησαν Ἡράκλεια ἀντὶ Θησείων‚ νομίσαντες Θησέα μὲν ἄριστον εἶναι τῶν πολιτῶν‚ Ἡρακλέα δὲ ὑπὲρ ἀνθρώπου φύσιν. […] they even changed all the shrines built in honor of Theseus throughout the demes and made them shrines in honor of Heracles instead of Theseus in the belief that Theseus was the best of the citizens, but that Heracles was beyond human nature.

70  The text is not well established according to Dindorf 1829, 174. Lenz 1976, ad loc., who proposed deleting ἐξ ἀνθρώπων. Behr 1986, 431, no. 64. 71  Benjamin 1963, 71. 72  I G II2, 5183. Willers 1990, 68–92.


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5 Conclusion The testimonies analysed here describe a process of deification of Hadrian which was strictly Greek and autonomous, as opposed to Roman apotheosis. This Greek process was, in form and content, far removed from what the Senate would have had to decide in a session held after the death of the emperor. This did not simply involve the introduction of a new cult to the late emperor whose work as head of state the Senate wished to protect as a legacy worth preserving. The sense of what had taken place went beyond the framework that Augustus had defined for emperor worship. The Greek deification of Hadrian formed part of a complex system of preexisting gods, beliefs, rites, and moral options. The theos Hadrian was fully integrated into the structures of civic religion of the Greek poleis. He was considered a god because of his actions as benefactor, the consequence of his superior nature to that of mankind. The emperor’s reiterated participation in the Eleusinian Mysteries was the fundamental motive for the general awareness of this divine reality. Divine power manifested itself through the emperor, thus allowing him to assume epithets showing his divine connections in the form of triumphal cognomina. Myth provided theological cover for the deification process: the Dioscouri, Asclepius and, above all, Heracles offered the precedents which made it possible to understand the events unfolding during that time. And the Greeks, with the Athenians at the forefront, established his cult before any other people, putting into practice the decision the gods had taken to include him in their number. This cult, already organized during the emperor’s lifetime, was expressed outwardly through a surprising number of altars in different cities and the construction of temples consecrated to him. In some temples, he was granted the honour of being worshipped along with the previous incumbents, of whom the emperor was merely a manifestation. Other temples were dedicated to him exclusively, as the true god he was. The moral implication of faith in the new god requires no explanation: loyalty. The god Hadrian formed an integral part of the religious system of the Greek cities, thus ensuring their loyalty to the Empire. To conclude, we should return to the inscription of Theophrastus and the statue he had erected to ‘Hadrian among the gods’. Given this state of affairs, I believe that the role of Theophrastus can be interpreted as one of the Spartan manifestations of the process that Hellas underwent as a result of Hadrian’s final two visits. The formula used to refer to the emperor might suggest a complex group of sculptures, such as the one that took pride of place on the pediment of the temple at Cyzicus, or could have simply been a way to refer to the situation reached after Hadrian’s death and deification at Delphi and Athens. It is obvious, in any case, that it is better explained by Theophrastus’ function

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Gagé, J. 1972: Le paganisme imperial à la recherche d’une théologie vers le milieu du IIIe siècle, Wiesbaden. González, J. (ed.) 1999: Ciudades privilegiadas en el occidente romano, Sevilla. Graindor, P. 1934: Athènes sous Hadrien, El Cairo. Guerber, É. 2009 : Les cités grecques dans l’Empire romain, Rennes. Halfmann, H. 1986: Itinera Principum, Stuttgart. Kienast, D. 1959–60: “Hadrian, Augustus und die eleusinischen Mysterien”, JNG 10, 61–69. Lenz, F.W. 1976: P. Aelius Aristidis Opera Quae Extant Omnia, I, Leiden. Lewis, R.G. 1993: “Imperial autobiography, Augustus to Hadrian”, Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt II 34, 1, 629–706. Lozano, F. 2010: Un dios entre los hombres, Barcelona. Lozano, F. 2011: “The creation of imperial gods: not only imposition versus spontaneity”, in P. Iossif, A. Chankowski & C. Lorber (eds.), More than men, less than gods, Leuven, 475–519. Metcalf, W.E. 1980: The cistophori of Hadrian, New York. Oliver, J.H. 1950: “Hadrian’s precedent, the alleged initiation of Philip II”, AJPh 71, 295–299. Oliver, J.H. 1968: The civilizing power, Philadelphia. Oliver, J.H. 1989: Greek constitutions of early Roman emperors, Philadelphia. Perret, L. 1929: La titulature impériale d’Hadrien, Paris. Petzl, G. & Schwertheim, E. 2006: Hadrian und die dionysischen Künstler, Bonn. Pleket, H. 1965: “An aspect of the emperor cult: imperial mysteries”, HThR 58, 331–347. Price, S.R.F. 1984: Rituals and Power, Cambridge. Reinach, Th. 1890: “Lettre à M. Le Commandeur J.B. de Rossi au sujet du temple d’Hadrien à Cycique”, BCH 14, 517–545. Schulz, A. & Winter, E. 1990: “Zum Hadrianstempel von Kyzikos”, Asia Minor Studien 1, 33–81. Spawforth, A.J.S. & Walker, S. 1986: “The world of the Panhellenion II. Three Dorian cities”, JRS 76, 88–105. Stadter, Ph. A. 1980: Arrian of Nicomedia, Chapel Hill. Swain, S. 1996: Hellenism and Empire, Oxford. Syme, S. 1958: Tacitus, Oxford. Taylor, R. 2004: “Hadrian’s Serapeum in Rome”, AJA 108, 223–266. Vermeule, C.C. 1965: “A Greek theme and its survivals: The Ruler’s Shield (Tondo Image) in tomb and temple”, PAPhS 109, 361–397. Weber, W. 1907: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Kaisers Hadrianus, Leipzig. Willers, D. 1990: Hadrians panhellenisches Programm, Basel. Woodward, A.M. 1923/4, 1924/5: “Excavations at Sparta, 1924–25”, ABSA 26. Woodward, A.M. 1925–6: “Excavations at Sparta, 1926”, ABSA 27.


Some Thoughts on the Cult of the Pantheon (‘All the Gods’?) in the Cities and Sanctuaries of Roman Greece Milena Melfi A large number of small stone altars, not more than one metre tall and 30 to 40 cm wide, were dedicated in the Sanctuary of Asklepios at Epidaurus between the 2nd and the 3rd century AD. Beyond their size, what they had in common was the inscription of very short dedicatory formulas and a sparing use of decoration. They were dedicated to Asklepios and his family as much as to the most disparate gods, heroes, and personifications. Distributed in various parts of the sanctuary, there are good reasons to believe that there were over 100 specimens in the sacred area by the 4th century AD, when the altars were inventoried and marked with numbers and symbols. The numbers are in a sequence that ends in the high nineties, while the symbols seem to identify the divinity to whom the altar was dedicated.1 Some of the altars can safely be dated between 128 and 355 AD because they were all dedicated by sacred officials at different stages of their religious careers (mostly pyrophoroi and hiereis) and adopted very accurate dating formulas, all starting from the year of Hadrian’s visit to the sanctuary in 124 AD.2 References to the life and deeds of the emperor were so precise that one of the most important pieces of chronology of Hadrian’s reign is preserved on one of these altars, dedicated to Epione and Asklepios by the priest Euthyches, dated three years after the dedication of the Temple of Zeus Olympios at Athens and the foundation of the Panhellenion, and 10 years after the emperor’s visit to 1  According to Fraenkel, the numbering happened between 306 and 355 AD, because the last dated inventoried altar is dated to 306 AD, while an altar from 355 AD does not have any mark (IG IV, 1, p. 186). The same date is accepted in von Gaetringen’s edition of the inscriptions from Epidaurus (IG IV2, index VIII and pp. 173–176). Later literature, in general, believes that the numbering was connected to the reign of Julian the Apostate, when the sanctuary is believed to have experienced a revival of sorts (Katakis 2002, 327). This cannot be proved, and since I believe that the inventory implies that the altars where still in use throughout the sanctuary, a date towards the beginning of the 4th century, when the last altar is dated (306 AD) and the sacred space was still preserved in its most defining features, is the most likely. 2  I G IV2, 381–392; 394–399; 403–416; 417–427; 430; 432–435; 438.

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Epidaurus.3 The fact that Hadrianic dating formulas are used until as late as nearly 200 years after their first introduction confirms that the emperor (and/ or his visit) must have played a special role in the inception of the practice. The great majority of the altars cannot be precisely dated, but, nonetheless, certainly belong to the same period. Among them are two unusual dedications to the pantheion both by priests of Asklepios: Hierokles son of Aphrodeisios dedicated after a dream, while a hiereus Daos records the setting up of an altar.4 The recipient of the dedications should be understood as the collective body of all gods, rather than a single syncretic entity under the name of Pantheios. This is suggested by the fact that both altars are marked with the same symbol, as is a third one bearing the much clearer and more common dedication to Pasi kai Pasais. The dedication is dated to 166 AD and the symbol is in itself very clear: a circle connecting 12 points.5 The only other dedication to the pantheion known to me from the Greek world comes from the sanctuary of Demeter at Pergamon. It is once again placed on an altar of similar shape and size, and is dedicated by another cult official, a Marcus Aurelius Menogenes, hierophantes and prytanis.6 Its date should be placed between the second half of the 2nd and the beginning of the 3rd century AD. Here, again, the recipient of the dedication is clearly intended as the collective body of all gods, since, as noted by Fraenkel, the name is preceded by the definite article.7 1

The Nature of the Cult

Both the Pantheion, as an abstraction, or Pantheios, as a single divine personification of all gods refer to a fundamental concept in Greek religion, that of the body of the 12 gods of Olympus or Dodekatheion. Yet all studies of the concept performed to date have failed to describe which deities should be included in the 12 and whether these were ever considered to be a coherent unit. Unsurprisingly, Charlotte Long’s most recent research provided a list of 54 divinities which, at one time or another, were identified as members of the ‘twelve’.8 This further emphasizes the difficulty of identifying Dodekatheion 3  Ibidem  384. 4  Ibidem 549 (89×30×27), 550 (90×44×38): the priest (hiereus). 5  Ibidem 390 (AD 166). 6  M DAI 35, p. 454, no. 38. 7  I G IV, 1, 1038. 8  Long 1987.

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and Pantheon as being identical concepts, and of speaking of a single Pantheon/Dodekatheion applicable to diverse and often distant communities. The pantheon of the Greek cities, or of larger ethnic communities, was in fact the reflection of their history, politics, and territorial arrangement.9 Cults were physically woven into the fabric of the settlements they belonged to, and religion ‘embedded’ in the life of the community, following the much debated, but still fundamentally valid, models proposed by De Polignac and SourvinouInwood.10 Ultimately, every community had its own pantheon that might have consisted of 12 or more gods, chosen from a vast array of divinities, and could be manipulated according to political or social needs. For most of the history of ancient Greek communities, the pantheon was therefore an abstraction, an empty container that could be filled with a much more substantiated, and very flexible, number of gods according to the specific context.11 This might be the reason why, in contrast to the numerous dedications to ‘all gods’ or to ‘the twelve gods’ throughout the most disparate periods of ancient history, very few dedications to the Pantheon/Pantheion as such survive, and the first appearance of the name in Greece, at Epidaurus, is extraordinary to say the least.12 The only time in history when that of the pantheon developed into a fairly uncommon, but well-established, form of worship was the Hadrianic period, when the most famous monument dedicated to its cult was rebuilt in Rome by the emperor (118–125 AD). This was originally erected by Agrippa in the 20s BC, possibly as a dynastic monument to celebrate the gens Iulia and its patron gods on the very site of Romulus’ apotheosis.13 Only under Hadrian’s impulse, nevertheless, did it become a radically innovative cultic building that reflected the emperor’s tastes in monumental architecture and religious speculation. Its large, unprecedented, semicircular dome symbolized the vault of heaven and immediately provided the vision of a space harmoniously inhabited by all gods together. Since it is known that Hadrian sat under the same dome to hold court, the cult building must have served at the same time as a way of creating a direct link between the emperor and all gods of heaven. The rebuilding of the Pantheon in Rome and the promotion of its cult seem to have triggered, to a certain extent, its diffusion in the west of the Empire. 9  This is also the conclusion drawn by V. Pirenne-Delforge from her studies on Pausanias (Pirenne-Delforge 1998, 138–139 and 148; Ead. 2008, 259 and 352). 10  De Polignac 1995; Sourvinou-Inwood 1990; Sourvinou-Inwood 2000. 11  According to some, reducing to a single abstraction the complex polytheistic system of the Greeks is ultimately a modern invention (Calame 1998, 151). 12  On dedications to ‘all gods’: Ziegler 1949. 13  C oarelli 2014; Marcattili 2005.



From Rome itself comes a small number of Latin inscriptions from altars, bearing the dedication Pantheo Sacro, and in one instance Pantheo Augusto Sacro.14 They attest to the existence of the cult during the reign of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius, if not a little later. But the most coherent and consistent group of inscriptions comes from Spain. In Hispalis, Munigua, and Complutum, altars bear dedications to a Pantheo Augusto,15 while a longer inscription from Astigi records the offering of a bronze statue of Pantheus, possibly as a single syncretic god.16 These dedications were all dated between the 2nd and the 3rd century AD, offered in public civic spaces by freedmen holding various public offices, and have all been interpreted as connected to the figure of the emperor. This is suggested by the use of the epithet Augustus, and by the fact that at least three of the four dedicants are Seviri Augustales, in attendance to the cult of the emperors.17 In the East, the reconstruction of the Roman Pantheon was paralleled by the erection of an equally authoritative sanctuary at Athens dedicated to ‘all gods in common’.18 We know practically nothing about the building, probably completed at the time of Hadrian’s third visit to the city in 131–132 AD, except from the fact that all imperial benefactions to Greeks and foreigners alike were inscribed therein.19 It has been tentatively recognized in a large complex, excavated some 50 metres east of Hadrian’s library and the Roman agora, but many doubts remain on both its identification and date.20 That Pausanias mentions the sanctuary when listing the works completed under the emperor in the area of the river Ilissos has, however, led other scholars to suggest a location

14  C IL VI, 557–559. 15  Hispalis: CIL II, 1156; Munigua: Archivo Español de Arqueología 1972–1974, 347; Complutum: CIL II, 3030. 16  C IL II, 1473. 17  Rodríguez Cortés 1991, 85–87, nos. 1–3. 18  Paus. 1, 18, 9: ‘Hadrian constructed other buildings also for the Athenians: a temple of Hera and Zeus Panhellenios, a sanctuary common to all the gods, and, most famous of all, a hundred pillars of Phrygian marble’(transl. W.H.S. Jones). 19  Paus. 1, 5, 5: ‘As for the sanctuaries of the gods that in some cases he built from the beginning, in others adorned with offerings and furniture, and the bounties he gave to Greek cities, and sometimes even to foreigners who asked him, all these acts are inscribed in his honor in the sanctuary at Athens common to all the gods’ (transl. W.H.S. Jones). 20  In favour of an identification of the building with the structure near the Roman Agora: Travlos 1971, 439–443; Kokkou 1970, 159–161; Shear 1981, 375–377; Willers 1990, 21–26 and 60–62; Taliaferro Boatwright 2000, 169–170. Against, with different proposals: Spawforth & Walker 1985, 97–98; Lippolis 1995, 47–51.

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of the sanctuary for ‘all gods in common’ in the vicinity of the Olympieion.21 In the same area, the pseudo-Aristotelian De Mirabilibus Auscultationibus (51) reports the existence of a Pantheon, using such a name for the first and only time in ancient literature to indicate a sanctuary in Athens. This passage has been mostly ignored in the literature and is generally considered an unreliable source, but the most current hypothesis suggests that it is the result of a post-Hadrianic interpolation of the original Hellenistic text.22 Here, the original sentence mentioning an otherwise unknown Pantheon in Olympia triggers the later juxtaposition of an explanation concerning a much more famous contemporary Pantheon in Athens. It might therefore offer us an alternative definition for the hieron of ‘all gods in common’, coherent with contemporary developments in the western part of the Empire, as much as a precise hint for the location of the building in the Ilissos valley. Pausanias’ report may imply that the establishment in Athens of the sanctuary to ‘all gods in common’, possibly known also as ‘Pantheon’, triggered the development of a new cult in Greece, as had happened in the West. The writer uses, in fact, a special wording for defining the hieron founded by Hadrian: ‘all gods in common’ (θεοῖς πᾶσιν ἱερὸν κοινόν), not just the widespread and wellknown ‘all gods’ (θεοῖς πᾶσι).23 Interestingly, this expression is never attested in any earlier literary or documentary sources and recurs only four times in the Description of Greece, suggesting that in the 2nd century AD it was endowed with a very specific meaning. In Olympia and Lykosoura, altars were dedicated to ‘all gods in common’; at Orneai (near Argos), in the sanctuary of Artemis, and at Marios (Laconia) there were temples ‘dedicated to all gods in common’ or ‘common to all gods’.24 In Olympia, in particular, Pausanias clearly distinguished the altar for ‘all gods in common’ from those ‘to all gods’ for ritual reasons that will be described below. The question of whether the cult of the Pantheon corresponds to that of ‘all gods in common’ is intriguing and cannot be easily answered, but the appearance of both in Greece seems to be contemporary. Should we decide to give credit to the testimony of the pseudo-­ Aristotle, the fact that the Athenian cult building reported by Pausanias as dedicated to ‘all gods in common’ was also known as ‘Pantheon’ will confirm the identification of the two cults. 21  Or even an identification of both the sanctuary of ‘all gods in common’ and the unknown seat of the Panhellenion, the council of Greek cities established by Hadrian, with the Olympieion: Godfrey & Hemsoll 1986, 207, n. 33). 22  Vanotti 1981, 84–88; Vanotti 2007, 31 and 155. 23  On the recurrence of these terms in Pausanias see Pirenne-Delforge 1998, 139. 24  Olympia: 5.15.1; Lykosoura: 8.37.10; Orneiai: 2.25.6; Marios: 3.22.8.

142 2


The Ritual

The Epidaurian altars dedicated to the Pantheion bear symbols and numbers; they were therefore included in the inventory of altars described at the beginning of this paper. This was clearly aimed at counting and classifying the altars in a later phase of the cult, at keeping a record of numbers and sequence of gods, at a time when this was likely to be forgotten, possibly at the beginning of the 4th century AD.25 The numbering must have followed a topographical sequence, since altars that were found next to one another, although dedicated to different deities, bore either the same numbers or numbers in close succession. It is therefore highly likely that the sequence of altars marked a route throughout the sanctuary, possibly following the performance of a precise ritual, where offerings were presented to the various deities in a fixed order. The inventory was clearly a way of preserving the memory of the original ritual. The sequence of the gods, as it is preserved, does not appear to me particularly telling: gods and goddess are mixed without an obvious order, although Asklepios, Apollo, and the healing family seem to occupy prime positions (in order of appearance and by number of altars). The altar to the Pantheion dedicated by Hierokles was No. 12 in the sequence, followed by that to Pasi kai Pasai at No. 13, while the altar dedicated by Daos was No. 87. This situation has an unexpected comparison in Pausanias’ description of the altars at Olympia, among which was one altar for ‘all gods in common’.26 Besides the main altar of Zeus, as a matter of fact Pausanias lists around 70 altars, dedicated to the most disparate divinities, often coinciding with those of Epidaurus. He also specifies that ‘his narrative will follow in dealing with them in the order in which the Eleans are used to sacrifice on the altars.’ As a result, he offers us an extraordinary account of the ritual route that, from the Altis to the slopes of the hill of Chronos and out of the sanctuary, around the hippodrome and the gymnasium, marked the worship of a number of gods, heroes, and personifications. With respect to this description, it has been suggested that he availed himself of a catalogue or inventory of altars, possibly not dissimilar to the one that must have existed later on in Epidaurus.27 At the end of his description, Pausanias also specifies that the ceremony took place once a month, and that the religious officers called to perform the sacrifice on all the altars in one single day were a theokolos, the manteis, the spondophoroi, an exegetes, and a flutist (all independently attested in inscriptions of the 25  See footnote 1. 26  Paus. 5, 14, 4–15, 10. 27  Weniger 1909, 291–293, 1920, 1–15; Robert 1888, 429.

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imperial period from the sanctuary). We have, therefore, a precise account of a monthly ritual performed at the sanctuary of Olympia by the main cult officials that can help us to better understand the ritual practice at Epidaurus. Here, it similarly appears that libations and offerings were placed on all the altars in a topographical sequence during one single ceremony and that the main sacred officials were responsible for the performance of the ritual, since all the altars were dedicated by pyrophoroi and hiereis. Maybe a similar situation can also be also hypothesized in Lykosoura, where the altar to ‘all gods in common’ was also part of a series, according to the description of Pausanias. In his account of the altars at Olympia, Pausanias also highlights an important ritual detail concerning the altar of ‘all gods in common’. He specifies that, while the Eleans ‘burn on the altars incense with wheat that has been kneaded with honey, placing also on the altars twigs of olive, and using wine for libation,’ only to the Nymphs, the Mistresses, and ‘all gods in common’ do they not pour wine.28 These are specific libations, known in Greek religion as Nephalia, normally offered to chtonian gods, the dead, deities of the earth, special categories of divine beings, and rites of purification.29 It is unclear, in this context, why ‘all gods in common’ should be the recipients of such offerings, although what is indeed evident is that their altar, together with a few others, is clearly distinguished from the rest (including the one to ‘all gods’—θεῶν πάντων) and singled out by the performance of special rites. 3

A ‘New’ Cult?

It is undeniable that a modest, and possibly selective, diffusion of the cult of the Pantheon/Pantheion can be traced in both the east and west of the Empire, from the reign of Hadrian onwards, and in particular after the reconstruction of the Pantheon in Rome and the foundation of the cult place for ‘all gods in common’ in Athens. The insertion of the cult in the ritual workings of the Asklepieion at Epidaurus might have been directly connected to Hadrian, especially in consideration of his consistent interventions in the life of the sanctuary. After his visit to Epidaurus in 124 AD, the emperor seems to have enforced a new dating system and new regulations concerning both the annual rota of religious officials and the recurrence of the games.30 The fact that these changes started at the very time of Hadrian’s visit and that the adjectives 28  Paus. 5, 15, 10. 29  Ziehen 1935. 30  Melfi 2010, 331–333.



soter and oikistes were attached to his name in inscriptions in his honour suggest that a sort of refoundation of the Asklepieion took place during his reign.31 From the point of view of the cult, besides the dedications to the Pantheion discussed above, there are at least three other votive inscriptions conceptually related to the religious world of the Hadrianic period: two to Zeus Panhellenios and Zeus Olympios, respectively, and one to Antinous.32 By the same token, the testimonies of a cult of ‘all gods in common’ in Orneai, Marios, Lykosoura, and Olympia might be connected to the same visit of the emperor to the Peloponnese in the autumn of 124 AD. After visiting Megara, and crossing the Isthmus to Epidaurus, the imperial party probably travelled from Troezen, along the opposite coast, to Argos. From Argos to the following stop at Mantinea, the road must have passed by Orneiai, as is confirmed by Pausanias’ description of the area: ‘[…] from the gate at the ridge of the city of Argos’33 to ‘Lyrkea at about sixty stadia, and from Lyrkea to Orneai at the same distance.’34 The party would have then continued south, through Tegea, to Sparta, where the emperor arrived in January 125 AD and spent a considerable time. To trace the origins of the sanctuary of ‘all gods in common’ at Marios back to this period is still pure speculation. From Sparta onwards, Hadrian’s route is not very clear, but he is generally believed to have visited Olympia, possibly passing by Megalopolis and Lykosoura.35 A similar pattern of dissemination of the cult, strongly connected to Hadrian’s personality and his travels, has also been suggested for the dedications from Spain. These should also be dated to the years following the emperor’s trip there in 123 AD and might have been a direct consequence of his presence in the area.36 Nevertheless, the evidence from Spain appears to be more coherent and probably slightly earlier than that from Greece, with one fundamental difference: the idea of a direct and explicit association of the cult with the emperor. Indeed, all the Spanish dedications bear the epithet ‘Augustus’ and are offered in public civic spaces by officers of the imperial cult. This affords a precise connection with the way Hadrian crafted the religious concept of the pantheon and expressed it in architectural forms in Rome. The Roman Pantheon was at the same time a place of worship of all gods in the 31  I G IV2, 606. 32  Zeus Panhellenion: IG IV2, 525; Zeus Olympios: IG IV2, 524; Antinoos: IG IV2, 492. 33  Paus. 2, 25, 1. 34  Idem. 2, 25, 5. 35  Birley 1997, 177–182. 36  Rodríguez Cortés 1991, 85–87. Although it is commonly denied that Hadrian visited the provinces of Lusitania and Baetica (Birley 1997, 149).

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heavens and a place of cult of past emperors, where the living emperor sat alone among the immortals.37 The concept of the pantheon in Spain and Rome could not therefore be easily dissociated from that of the emperor’s divinity. This situation is very different from that attested in Greece. In the Asklepieion at Epidaurus, the altars dedicated to the Pantheion appear no different from those dedicated to the other gods, heroes, or group of divinities and are likely to have shared the same ritual. Similarly, in Pergamon, where one single altar to the Pantheion was found, this was one of many others for the most disparate divinities, dedicated in the Sanctuary of Demeter by cult officials. The same can be inferred from Pausanias’ description of the altars to ‘all gods in common’ in Olympia and Lykosoura. In all these sanctuaries of different titular deities, the new cult of the Pantheion and ‘all gods in common’ was therefore fully adapted to the regular workings of religious life: the altars are inserted in a pre-existing religious system and dedicated by religious officers of the local cult. The Epidaurian altar dedicated by Hierokles even bears the formula kat’onar, after a dream, implying that the new divine entity, the Pantheon, shared a form of oneiric divination with Asklepios, the titular god of the sanctuary. Only the peculiar nature of the wineless offering attested in the sanctuary at Olympia might betray the foreign/external origin of the cult. All in all, the cult of the Pantheon in the East seems never to have directly included the worship of the emperor as a god, and even though it was foreign it swiftly blended with pre-existing cults and rituals. The case of Pergamon, where Le Glay has attempted to reconstruct a cult of Hadrian as Zeus Pantheios on the strength of the dedication above, has to be ­discredited—mainly on the basis of the find-spot of the dedication, in the sanctuary of Demeter.38 Analogously, in Athens, instances of the divinization of the living emperor are lacking in connection with the building for ‘all gods in common’, although they appear much clearer elsewhere—for example in the proliferation of altars dedicated to Hadrian.39 It is possible that in the Greek world the traditional association of sanctuaries for all gods and the 12 gods with the cult of the ruler, known from the Hellenistic period onwards, had made an explicit reference to the emperor unnecessary.40 The night-time procession at Aigai, where the statues of the 12 gods were displayed together with a thirteenth image of King Philip of Macedon41 and the Dodekatheion at Delos, where images of the 37  On the Pantheon as seat of imperial cult, see in particular Coarelli 1983 and 2014. 38  Le Glay 1976, 368. 39  Camia 2011, 36–39. 40  Ziegler 1949, 697–747; Thomas 2004, 15–16. 41  Diod. Sic. 16, 92, 5.



12 gods and a colossal portrait statue of a Hellenistic ruler (maybe Antigonos Monophtalmos) were worshipped,42 would have represented well-known precedents. The only known example of a similar setting at the time of Hadrian is the altar for the Dodekatheion dedicated to the Emperor in the theatre of Hierapolis of Frigia–should the recent identification be proved correct. Here the statue of Hadrian was displayed together with those of the Twelve Gods in a very traditional monumental setting, reminiscent of Hellenistic altars such as the Great Altar at Pergamon.43 Alternatively, it is also possible that the qualification of the Pantheon was purposefully left unclear in the East. If the Pantheon and ‘all the gods’ of the Greek cities were traditionally identifiable as the reflection of their history, politics, and territorial arrangement, and therefore contained all the deities that were precisely relevant for each community, the ‘new’ Pantheon of the 2nd century AD might have been much more flexible: it blurred the original individual meanings of the gods in assembly into a generality and abstraction; it could be ‘all things to all men’ at a time of rapid religious diversification. In view of this, it could be more easily adapted to different contexts and might have constituted a strong reminder of the figure—not necessarily the d­ ivinity—of the Emperor Hadrian, who was the first to fully develop the concept of a pantheon in both architecture and religion in the capital of the Empire. Bibliography Birley, A.R. 1997: Hadrian. The restless emperor, London-New York. Bruneau, P. 1970: Recherches sur les cultes de Délos à l’époque Hellénistique et à l’époque impériale, Paris. Calame, C. 1998: “Logiques du temps légendaire et de l’espace cultuel selon Pausanias : une représentation discursive du « panthéon » de Trézène” in Pirenne-Delforge (ed.), Les Panthéons des cités, des origines à la Périégèse de Pausanias, Liège, 148–163. Camia, F. 2011: Theoi Sebastoi. Il culto degli imperatori romani in Grecia (Provincia Achaia) nel secondo secolo D.C., Athens. Coarelli, F. 1983: “Il Pantheon, l’apoteosi di Augusto e l’apoteosi di Romolo”, ARID Suppl. 10, 41–46. Coarelli, F. 2014: “Il Pantheon e il tempio di Adriano”, in L. Abbondanza, F. Coarelli & E. Lo Sardo (eds.), Apoteosi. Da uomini a dei. Il Mausoleo di Adriano, Rome, 231–243. De Polignac, F. 1995: Cults, territory, and the origins of the Greek city-state, Chicago-London. 42  Will 1955; Bruneau 1970, 438–41. 43  Masino and Sobrà 2012, 259–291.

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Godfrey, P. & Hemsoll, D. 1986: “The Pantheon: temple or rotunda?” in M. Henig & A. King (eds.), Pagan gods and shrines of the Roman Empire, Oxford, 195–209. Katakis, S. 2002: Ta γλυπτά των ρωμαïκών χρονών από το ιερό τού Απόλλωνος Μαλεάτα και του Ασκληπιού, Athens. Kokkou, A. 1970: “Αδριάνεια έργα εις τας Αθήνας”, AD 25, Melet., 150–173. Le Glay, M. 1976: “Hadrien et l’Asklépieion de Pergamon”, BCH 100, 347–72. Lippolis, E. 1995: “Tra il ginnasio di Tolomeo e il Serapeion. La ricostruzione topografica di un quartiere monumentale di Atene”, Ostraka 4, 43–67. Long, C.R. 1987: The twelve gods of Greece and Rome, Leiden. Marcattili, F. 2005: s.v. “Pantheum”, ThesCRA IV. Masino F., Sobrà G. 2012: “L’Altare del Dodekatheon di Hierapolis”, in D’Andria, F., Caggia M.P., Ismaelli T. (eds.), Hierapolis di Frigia V. Le attività delle campagne di scavo e restauro 2004–2006, 259–292. Melfi, M. 2010: “Rebuilding the myth of Asklepios at the sanctuary of Epidauros in the Roman period”, in A.D. Rizakis & C. Lepenioti (eds.), Roman Peloponnese III. Society, economy and culture under the Roman Empire. Continuity and innovation, Athens. Pirenne-Delforge, V. 1998: “La notion de « panthéon » chez Pausanias” in V. PirenneDelforge (ed.), Les Panthéons des cités, des origines à la Périégèse de Pausanias. Liège, 129–148. Pirenne-Delforge, V. 2008: Retour à la source: Pausanias et la religion grecque, Liège. Robert, C. 1888: “Olympische Glossen”, Hermes 23, 424–53. Rodríguez Cortés, J. 1991: Sociedad y religión clásica en la Bética romana, Salamanca. Shear, L. 1981: “Athens: From city-state to provincial town”, Hesperia 50, 356–377. Sourvinou-Inwood, C. 1990: “What is polis religion?” in O. Murray & S. Price (eds.), The Greek City: from Homer to Alexander, Oxford, 195–222. Sourvinou-Inwood, C. 2000: “What is polis religion?” in R.G.A. Buxton (ed.), Oxford Readings in Greek Religion, Oxford, 13–37. Spawforth A.J.S. & Walker, S. 1985: “The world of the Panhellenion I. Athens and Eleusis”, JRS 75, 78–104. Taliaferro Boatwright, M. 2000: Hadrian and the cities of the Roman Empire, Princeton. Thomas, E. 2004: “From the Pantheon of the gods to the Pantheon of Rome”, in R. Wrigley & M. Craske (eds.), Pantheons. Transformations of a monumental idea, Aldershot, 11–33. Travlos, J. 1971: Pictorial Dictionary of Ancient Athens, New York. Vanotti, G. 1981: “Appunti sul De mirabilibus auscultationibus”, Giornale Filologico Ferrarese, 84–88. Vanotti, G. 2007: Aristotele, Racconti Meravigliosi, Milan. Weniger, L. 1909: “Die monatliche Opferung in Olympia.1. Die Opferordnung”, Klio 9, 291–303.



Weniger, L. 1920: “Die monatliche Opferung in Olympia. 3. Die heilige Handlung”, Klio 16, 1–39. Will, E. 1955: Le Dôdékathéon (Exploration archéologique de Delos, 22), Paris. Willers, D. 1990: Hadrians panhellenisches Programm. Archäologische Beitrage zur Neugestaltung Athens durch Hadrian, Basel. Ziegler, K. 1949: s.v. “Pantheon”, RE XVIII 3, 697–747. Ziehen, L. 1935: s.v. “Nephalia”, RE XVI, 2481–9.


Emperor Worship and Greek Leagues: The Organization of Supra-Civic Imperial Cult in the Roman East1 Fernando Lozano 1. This paper presents arguments to support one main idea: supra-civic emperor worship in the Roman East was not usually organized by ‘provincial koina’. Admittedly, leagues with a provincial scope did indeed exist—and, therefore, it is also possible to talk about ‘provincial cults’—yet many of the so-called koina were not really provincial, in the geographical or political sense of the word. Neither had they the legitimacy nor, for that matter, the will to speak on behalf of a province, but only for the sake of its members, which were usually a privileged selection of the communities from a certain region. Hence, this paper suggests that the general term ‘provincial cult’ should be abandoned in favor of more appropriate terms, such as ‘koinon cult’, ‘league cult’ or ‘federal cult’. Nevertheless, this change in terminology is really of secondary importance, as the real aim of this work is the shift in focus from provinces to leagues and the possibilities that this approach may offer for understanding the Greek East under Roman rule. In order to state this case: (1) testimonies of several leagues2 of the eastern part of the Roman Empire are herein reviewed, with the hope that this brief scrutiny will highlight the shortcomings of the intellectual framework usually used to explain the organization of supra-civic 1  This paper has been written with support from the Andalusian regional government (‘Pensamiento y religión en el Mundo Antiguo’ [HUM-545]), the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Finance (‘Adriano y la integración de la diversidad regional / Hadrian and the integration of regional diversity’ [HAR2015-65451-C2-1-P, MINECO/FEDER]), and the Research Plan of Seville University (research personnel mobility grants). This is a revised version of the paper presented at the workshop, Imperial Dynamics and Religion in the Greek cities of the Roman Empire (Seville, November 2014). I am grateful to all the participants for their helpful observations and remarks. I would also like to express my gratitude to Dr. M. Melfi for her kind support and help at Oxford University in 2015, where the final version of this paper was drafted. 2  For the sake of convenience, I have employed both the term koinon and ‘league’ as equivalent in meaning in this paper. However, see the remarks in Larsen 1968, xiv–xv and, more recently, in Rizakis 2008, n. 1, where the issue is covered in greater detail.

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emperor worship in the East during the Principate; and (2) an explanation of the reasons behind the appearance of these alleged ‘provincial cults’ in historiographical works dealing with the Greek East is put forward. 1

Emperor Worship and Greek Leagues

2. In 1984, the late Simon Price in his influential book Ritual and Power wrote that ‘the Roman empire is too large and too diverse to allow us to examine the imperial cult throughout the empire. The value of an area study is that it permits proper attention to be given to the historical, social and cultural contexts.’3 Shortly after, Duncan Fishwick expressed a similar view.4 Both opinions are used here to illustrate the main line in imperial cult research in recent years. Nowadays, in fact, the bulk of scholarly work dealing with the imperial cult is devoted to regional and local studies.5 This stress on the regional and local aspects of emperor worship has strengthened the idea that it was a multiplex, heterogeneous phenomenon.6 So much so that some researchers now talk of imperial cults in the plural to indicate that ‘there is no such thing as “the imperial cult”.’7 3. When we consider the relevant information about and the particularities of the cult in each of these regional imperial cults, an overall review of the evidence allows us to conclude that a good part of the Eastern Empire never had a koinon that organized emperor worship at a provincial level, viz. a cult practiced by an organization, usually a gathering of prominent cities, geographically corresponding to a Roman province. According to Burrell’s useful definition, a koinon was neither ‘a subset of official imperial administration, nor did its geographic lines have to correspond exactly to the borders of a Roman province. Instead, it was an organization of cities of similar ethnic background and 3  Price 1984, 20. 4  Fishwick 1987–2005, vol. I.1, p. IX. 5  The literature is truly vast. A proper account cannot be given here, but, limiting the scope to monographs, see the following examples: Liertz 1998; Gradel 2002; Kantiréa 2007; Witulski 2007; Lozano 2010a; Pfeiffer 2010; Bru 2011; Camia 2011a; Reitzenstein 2011; Frija 2012; Fujii 2013. 6  The idea of the diversity of emperor worship is by no means new. See, for instance, Bickerman 1973, 9 and 26. On imperial cult diversity, see also: Herz 1988; Bergmann 1998; Lozano 2011, 494–510; Brodd, Reed 2011. 7  Beard, North, Price 1998, 348. I have found particularly thought-provoking the new approaches to emperor worship and ruler cult in: Gordon 2001; Brodd & Reed 2011; Versnel 2011, 439–492; Woolf 2012.

Emperor Worship And Greek Leagues


interests within a region, bound together by the practice of a particular cult.’8 (It is necessary to add to this definition that not only cities, but also leagues, could integrate a bigger commonalty, as was the case in Achaia and probably Syria.) By the same token, Millar also wrote in his influential The Emperor in the Roman World that ‘the leagues, which united areas sometimes identical with that of a Roman province, sometimes larger and sometimes smaller, had thus very different backgrounds and histories.’9 In relation to the cults organized by these koina, Chapot magisterially explained in the Daremberg-Saglio that ‘diverses provinces de l’Orient grec ont bien pu compter chacune plusieurs grands prêtres du culte impérial, chacun à la tête d’un Koinon, sans avoir un sacerdos provinciae, au sens strict du mot.’10 To elaborate on this argument, a brief description of several of these supposed provincial cults is presented here. However, I would like to stress that this work does not intend to provide a full historical account of the cults practiced by Greek leagues. Although highly desirable,11 such a study would be a Herculean task, whose western equivalent (published in three volumes totaling more than 700 pages in all) was completed by Fishwick 10 years ago.12 My intention, then, is only to show that the title of such a book should not be, ‘Provincial Cult’, as in Fishwick’s last volume, because supra-civic cults in the East were seldom of a provincial nature and the different koina were not usually representatives of a Roman province.13 4. The first case study is that of twin provinces with two differentiated league cults, for instance, Crete-and-Cyrene. This province had two capitals: Gortyn and Cyrene. Mark Anthony divided it and gave Cyrene to Cleopatra. Augustus, however, reunified both regions after conquering Egypt, and the province was 8  Burrell 2004, 2. 9  Millar 1992, 387. 10  Dar. Sag. s. v. “Sacerdos Provinciae”. 11  The most recent study of comparable worth for the Eastern Empire is that of Burrell 2004. See also the book by Guerber 2009, 79–116. However, Greek leagues under Roman rule are still under study—including aspects such as function, geographical extension, institutional organization, main goals, and activities. Francesco Camia’s forthcoming book on the imperial cult in the eastern part of the Roman Empire is a brave and extremely desirable attempt to fill an important part of this gap. Deininger 1965 remains the basic work. See also Sartre 1991. With a wider scope, the following were of use to me: Millar 1992, 385–394; the general account in Mackil 2013; and the specific treatment of a complicated historical problem, whose origin is to be found in league politics, in Spawforth 1994. See now Addendum to bibliography. 12  Fishwick 1987–2005, vol. III. 13  For a more general perspective of leagues in the Roman Empire, see also: Lozano 2013.



subsequently granted senatorial status. Therefore, during the Principate this administrative unit had two clearly separated centers, namely, Cyrene in the region of North Africa (today Libya), and the island of Crete.14 Rouanet-Liesenfelt has addressed the imperial cult organized by the Cretan koinon in a well-grounded paper.15 During the Principate, the league changed its festival, converting it into an isopythic contest, probably in response to Augustus’s Apollonian propaganda and the growing relevance of Apollo’s cult at Gortyn. The chief post in the league was the high priesthood that presided over the annual assembly of representatives from the poleis. This took place at Gortyn and all the participating cities were from Crete, those from Cyrene being conspicuous by their absence. Even though Rouanet-Liesenfelt rightly emphasized the regional character of the Cretan koinon, clearly limited to the island, one of the work’s conclusions is that the league organized a provincial cult. It should be noted again that, though two different regions formed the province, it was governed by a sole proconsul: ‘At any rate, from 27 BC Cyrenaica was administered together with Crete, governed by a proconsul of praetorian status. He and the quaestor appointed with him, normally held office for one year, and divided their time between the two parts of the province.’16 The Cretan league’s cult should not be termed ‘provincial’, since it did not include the other half of the Roman province. This is even truer when bearing in mind that this second part of the province had its own koinon, structured around Cyrene, which did celebrate imperial cult.17 5. Besides Crete-and-Cyrene, during the Principate there were several of these twin provinces, such as the Roman province of Pontus and Bithynia.18 Indeed, there was an assembly of Bithynia with a high priest and a bithyniarch,19 and an autonomous koinon of Pontus that also celebrated its own imperial cult and 14  For a general account of the province, see Sartre 1991, 22; Reynolds & Lloyd 1996; Reynolds 2000. See also: Haensch 1997, 201–207, 512–517. 15  Rouanet-Liesenfelt 1994. On the Cretan koinon, see also: Deininger 1965, 84–85; Guerber 2009, 107–109. 16  Reynolds & Lloyd 1996, 631. 17  On the Cyrenaic koinon, see: Reynolds 1978; Oliver 1989, nos. 120–124; Jones 1996, pp. 47–53. See also: Laronde 1988, 1060; Laronde 2004, 188; and the observations in Guerber 2009, 108, n. 147. On Cyrene in Roman times: Romanelli 1943; Barker, Lloyd & Reynolds 1985; Laronde 1988 (esp. pp. 1061–1063). 18  Concerning the province of Pontus and Bithynia, see: Haensch 1997, 282–290, 598–609; Marek 2003. 19  Deininger 1965, 60–64; Burrell 2004, 147–165; Guerber 2009, 83–84. Guerber 2009, 113, n. 179 explained that only by ‘un abus de langage’ can the Bithynian imperial cult be called a ‘provincial cult’. See also Guinea 1997, esp. 227.

Emperor Worship And Greek Leagues


appointed archiereis and pontarches.20 And a similar structure was in place in the Flavian province of Lycia-Pamphylia.21 6. The second case study deals with the existence of several league cults in the same province. This was the case of the Province of Macedonia.22 It has been argued that the organization of emperor worship at a provincial level was undertaken by the Macedonian koinon whose festivals and cyclical reunions were held at Beroea. The league had its own high priests and macedoniarches, the institution’s top magistrates.23 This cult could be considered ‘provincial’, at least from a geographical point of view, from the moment of the creation of the province until the time when Thessaly was added to it—except from 15 AD to 44 AD, when the province was merged with Moesia and Achaia.24 Thessaly was separated from Achaia and integrated into the province of Macedonia at some time in the second half of the 1st century AD or in the reign of Antoninus Pius.25 The Thessalian cities were grouped in a koinon of their 20  Deininger 1965, 64–66; Burrell 2004, 205–211; Guerber 2009, 92–99. 21  As regards the province, see: Haensch 1997, 290–297, 610–617; Arena 2005. Koinon of Lycia: Deininger 1965, 73–81; Jameson 1980; Burrell 2004, 253–256; Guerber 2009, 100–101. For a detailed study of the high priest of this koinon, see: Reitzenstein 2011. See now the treaty between Rome and the Lycian League: SEG 55, 1452. For the regional organization of the cities of Pamphylia: Deininger 1965, 81–82; Burrell 2004, 175– 190; Guerber 2009, 100–101. Even though there is no evidence for a high priest in the Pamphylian organization (Burrell 2004, 175), Vespasian granted a neokoria to Perge and the union was directed by Pamphyliarchs. The koinon of Lycia should not be regarded as the ‘provincial cult’. Magie 1950, 576 no. 28: ‘The Pamphylian cities did not become members of the Lycian Federation, but formed (or maintained) an organization of their own, evidently modeled after that of the Lycians, which conferred the usual honors and created Pamphyliarchs and other officials.’ See now also SEG 57, 1439. 22  Haensch 1997, 104–112, 447–451. 23  For the Macedonian league, see: Bowersock 1965a, 97; Deininger 1965, 91–96; Burrell 2004, 191–204; Herz 2008; Guerber 2009, 112–114. See also the interesting paper of Kremydi-Sicilianou 2005, esp. 101–103. On the Macedoniarches, see: Lucernoni 1983–1984; Cormack 1943; Edson 1940. Plinius described the league as free (Plin. HN 4, 36). 24  See infra no. 7. 25  Robert, Hellenica 5, 29–30; Larsen 1938, 439 no. 7 suggested that Thessaly was only joined to the province of Macedonia during the reign of Antoninus Pius. Their opinion is based on ILS 1067 which records a legatus of the Emperor Hadrian sent to ‘Athenis, Thespiis, Plataeis, item in Thessalia’ (ll. 6–8). Oliver 1973, 389 thought that this region never belonged to the province. In contrast, Bowersock 1965b, 287–288 proposed that the region was separated from Achaia at the end of the reign of Nero, coinciding with the liberation of Greece. See also: Cherf 1987; Burrer 1993, 8–11; Lozano 2010a, 103–107.



own, whose seat was at Larissa, which has at least one attested high priest of the imperial cult, dated to the 2nd century AD.26 The copious epigraphic material produced by the league proves its continuous functioning.27 Augustus, who held the generalship of the league, granted the title of Sebáste(i)os to several cities of that territory and to the koinon as a whole.28 The league also minted its own bronze coinage.29 A close reexamination of the remaining testimonies on both leagues does not point to their union. It seems rather that two parallel cults coexisted in the ­province.30 Moreover, yet a third league within the Roman province of Macedonia should be taken into account, to wit, the Magnesian koinon. Its independence from the surrounding confederations has been questioned on the grounds of Pausanias’s account of Augustus’s reorganization of the Delphic Amphictyony.31 However, there are also strong arguments to support the league’s freedom during the Principate.32 Firstly, it minted bronze coinage and,

26  On the imperial cult in Thessaly, see: Kantiréa 2007, 51–52; Camia 2011b, esp. 145–147. High priest of the league: CID IV 163. Kantiréa 2007, 155, n. 2 and 233, no. 77 dates the inscription in the reign of Nero. See also Camia 2011b for another possible high priest. 27  For Thessaly in Roman times, see: Bowersock 1965b; Helly 1980; Bouchon 2008. For the activity and organization of the Thessalian league during the Principate, see: Decourt 1995, 10–13, no. 13; Burrer 1993, 13–20. See also: Larsen 1958, 126–130. Larissa as the seat of the koinon: IG IX, 2, 261. Regarding the independence of the Thessalians, see: Larsen 1953, 91–93: ‘The Thessalians to a considerable extent actually governed themselves’ (92). 28  Concerning Augustus and the Thessalian league, see: Bowersock 1965a, 97 and 104; Bouchon 2008. For the title granted to the cities and the league: Helly 1975, 125–127. Augustus’s generalship of the league: IG IX, 2, 415b. 29  On Thessalian coinage, see: Burrer 1993; Rogers 1932. 30  There is one document that may point to the joint celebration of festivals: AE 1946, no. 180. It is an inscription from Beroea that describes a dispute between the Thessalians and the Koinon of Macedonia in relation to the synteleia—contribution—that the Thessalians had to pay to the province. The document is dated at some time in the early 3rd century AD. See: Robert, Hellenica 5, 29–34; Millar 1999, 94–95. Millar claimed that the word synteleia in this inscription is used ‘in exactly this context in a letter of Valerian to the city of Philadelphia in Lydia, written from Antioch in Syria in 255, and responding to the city’s request to be freed from the synteleia made by minor cities to the metropoleis towards the expenses of priesthoods and festivals’ (95). A similar use of the term in Pseudo-Julian, Letters 198: Spawforth 1994. 31  Bowersock 1965a, 97. 32  The league as an autonomous organization in Helly 1980, 39; Sartre 1991, 207.

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secondly, at least one emperor, Claudius, was general of the league.33 To further muddy the waters, this autonomous league was confined for some time to the Magnesian region itself, according to Helly, but later on expanded to include Phocian Thebes; so its members were also from a second Roman province, that of Achaia.34 There are no testimonies of a possible organization of imperial cult by this league, so admittedly the Magnesians could have had their own cult or participated in the Thessalian rituals. 7. This state of affairs—a province with several league cults—is also the case of the second example, that of Achaia.35 In Greece, a somewhat reduced geographical context for the Empire, many functioning koina can be identified: 1) the Achaean league; 2) the Acarnanian/Aetolian leagues; 3) the Arcadian league; 4) the Argolid league; 5) the Boeotian league; 6) the Phocian league; 7) the Locrian league; and 8) the Eleutherolacones.36 Given the scant evidence, researching these leagues is no easy task. Both stability and change are hard to appreciate, as the life of most of them is only recorded in a small number of inscriptions. These regional koina were all active during the Principate, but not simultaneously. There were times when they joined together in order to create a larger commonality. This is the case, for instance, of the union of several leagues, including the Boeotians, Euboeans, Locrians, Phocians, and Dorians, attested as early as 33 BC,37 and the merger of these koina with the Achaean league38 during the Julio-Claudian dynasty (also known as ‘the Panachaeans’).39 In other instances, regional leagues were incorporated by more powerful koina. The Locrians, for example, were members of the aforementioned merger of koina from Central Greece and also formed part of the Panachaean league. 33  For the coins, see: Rogers 1932, and Roman Provincial Coinage, vol. I.1, 280. Claudius, general of the koinon: IG IX, 2, 1115; see also IG IX, 2, 1117 and 1120 for the generalship of an unknown emperor. 34  Helly 1980. 35  For the province, see in general: Larsen 1938; Groag 1939; Kahrstedt 1954; Alcock 1993, 8–17, 129–171; Haensch 1997, 322–328; Cortés Copete 2007; Lozano 2010a, 103–115. 36  Together with these regional or ethnic leagues, the province was also the seat of several koina of a different nature whose boundaries surpassed its limits: the Panhellenion; the Plataean synhedrion; and the Delphic Amphictyony. 37   S IG 3 767. 38  For the Achaean league, see: Kahrstedt 1950; Deininger 1965, 88–91; Warren 2008. 39  As regards this merger of several regional leagues, see: Larsen 1938, 450–452; Kahrstedt 1950, 70–75; Deininger 1965, 88–91; Oliver 1978, 185–188; Spawforth 1994, 222–224; Müller 1997; Walbank 2000; Kantiréa 2007; Lozano 2010a, 125–133.



However, Hadrian’s letter to Naryka has shown ‘that the Locrian league had been absorbed into the Boeotian, whereas the Phocians continued to maintain theirs into the 2nd or even the 3rd c.’40 The Arcadian and Argolid leagues seem to have appeared and disappeared intermittently during the Principate. But, in these cases, lack of evidence could be an explanation for their alleged disappearances.41 Out of this group of leagues, two strong candidates have been put forward as the organizers of the provincial cult of Achaia: the Julio-Claudian merger of leagues from Central Greece and the Peloponnese and, more consistently, the ‘younger’ (post-146 BC) koinon of the Achaeans. Even though the matter is definitely not settled and a detailed and complete account cannot be given here for lack of space, none of these leagues had, in my opinion, the geographical scope or political clout to speak on behalf of all Achaean Greeks. In spite of its size, the Julio-Claudian merger of koina was not a provincial league for two main reasons. Firstly, Achaia was placed under the supervision of the governor of Moesia, together with Macedonia, when the union of leagues came into effect.42 That the inclusion of Achaia in such a large province might have actually been the reason behind the merger of the southern koina—in order to gain visibility and foster its position in this multi-part territory, as well as with the legatus of Moesia—will be discussed in the concluding remarks. Secondly, both Thessaly and Epirus were in all likelihood included in the Roman province during the Julio-Claudian period; thus, neither was the Panachaean league entitled, nor arguably did it have the resolve, to represent the province as a whole, but just a group of Greek communities in the south.43 40  Jones 2006, 154. 41  The date of birth of the Arcadian league is unknown, but it was functioning during the 3rd century AD: Inschriften von Olympia nos. 473 and 474. It held a festival in honor of Antinous: Moretti 1953b, no. 84B, l.15. For the Argolid league, see: Paus. 8, 23, 1; cf. BCH 33, 1909, 175–200, no. 2. 42  In 15 AD, Tiberius placed the province, together with Macedonia, under the administration of the legatus of Moesia: Tac. Ann. 1, 76, 4. In 44 AD, Claudius returned the province to its previous condition: Suet. Claud. 25. 3; Dio Cass. 60, 24, 1. The emperor Nero freed the province in 66 AD (IG VII 2713). Vespasian rescinded the privilege at the beginning of his reign: Paus. 7, 17, 3–4; Suet. Vesp. 8, 4; Philostr. VA. 5, 41. 43  Out of Augustan Achaia, Epirus, together with parts of Acharnania, formed a separated province—the change taking place in Antoninus Pius’s reign at the latest, but possibly as soon as the Flavian dynasty. This early date is based on the possible identification of a Roman governor of Epirus under the Flavians, see: Pflaum 1960, p. 123, no. 53; Thomasson 1984, col. 203, no. 1. For the moment of the creation of the province of Thessaly, see supra No. 6, esp. n. 25.

Emperor Worship And Greek Leagues


Similarly, the Achaean league, which organized the most important (and better attested) federal cult in the province from the reign of Nero,44 has been interpreted as organizing a provincial cult in the name of all Greeks from Roman Achaia.45 As has been noted above, this issue is still open to discussion and the title of the Achaean high priest complicates matters as they stand. In any case, even if we accept that the Achaean high priest represented a more ample union of cities in the performance of imperial cult rituals than the Achaean league itself, as is indicated in several inscriptions,46 the geographical scope of such a union remains unclear, as several smaller koina from the province simultaneously organized their own autonomous emperor cult. In the Peloponnese, the Arcadian league appointed a high priestess and an arcadarches during the early 3rd century AD.47 The league of the Eleutherolacones also organized an imperial festival at Gytheum.48 The imperial cult was being introduced in Central Greece too. There was a ‘high priest of Boeotia’ under the Antonines49 and a ‘high priestess for life’ of the Phocians early in the 3rd century AD.50 Both cults are unspecified, but as Spawforth has rightly stressed ‘the possibility can hardly be ruled out that these Boeotian and Phocian federal cults included at least an element of emperor worship.’51 In my opinion, this reconstruction is plausible, taking into account the existence in the 2nd century AD of boeotarches and phocarches;52 titles that are similar to the asiarches, ­macedoniarches, pontarches, lyciarches etc., and usually related to the imperial 44  With regard to the Achaean cult, see: Puech 1983; Spawforth 1994; Camia 2002; Kantiréa 2008; Camia 2008; Lozano 2010a, 133–138; Zoumbaki 2010; Camia & Kantiréa 2010, 398–402; Camia 2011a, 168–181. 45  See, above all, Puech, 1983. Doubting this reconstruction, see Spawforth 1994. 46  On these testimonies, see for convenience Lozano 2010b. 47   Inschriften von Olympia nos. 473 and 474. Arcadarches: IG V, 2, 132. On the imperial cult in Arcadia, see: Kantiréa 2007, 180–181; Lozano 2010a, 227–229; Jost & Hoët-van Cauwenberghe 2010, 302–307. 48  Oliver 1989, no. 15 (= SEG 11, 923). For the federal character of this cult, see Larsen 1938, 447, and Kantiréa 2001, 52. For further information on the Eleutherolacones, see: Paus.  3, 21, 6–7; cf. IG V, 1, 1161, 1167, 1177, and 1243. The relation of this small southern Peloponnesian league with the city of Sparta has been assessed in Bowersock 1961. 49  Oliver 1970, 117, no. 32. 50  I G VII, 3426. 51  Spawforth 1994, 224. 52  M. Ulpius Damasippus is named as boeotarch and phocarch in Oliver 1970, 116–117, Nos. 31–32. C. Curtius Proclus was boeotarch twice: Oliver 1970, 122, no. 42. Knoepfler (2006, 26) defends the possibility of the existence of a béotarchie collégiale. However, Jones (2006, 154) suggests that city members of the Boeotian league were supposed to occupy the position of boeotarch in rotation.



cult.53 We have also argued that the Delphic Amphictyony held imperial cult rituals during the 1st century AD.54 The league also appointed its own helladarch, probably under Trajan.55 Admittedly the testimonies on the imperial cult in this league are not conclusive, especially during the 2nd century AD. The evidence in relation to the activities performed by the Amphictyonic helladarches is not clear either, so it is only a suggestion that they were also in charge of imperial cult practices during the 2nd century AD.56 These double posts in the province are usually understood as having been inspired by the Emperor Hadrian as a means to ‘make the new Amphictyony a northern league complementary to the southern “Achaean” one.’57 This context is further complicated if we accept that Thessaly, and therefore its koinon and its independent cult, still remained part of Achaia during this whole period. 8. In reference to the relationship between koina and provinces, one fundamental observation is in order. It is necessary to take into consideration the chronology of the evolution of both the leagues and the provinces, as there were koina that, at one point in time, might not have only included the main cities in a province, but also undergone modifications with respect to its borders. It is also evident that there were regional leagues that became provincial in nature. Even though further study is called for, the general impression in this sense is that the imperial aim was to reconcile the Roman provincial organization with the previous ethnic reality. The atomization of Roman provinces might be seen, in part, as a complex process by which the different units of government of the Empire adapted geographically and politically to the ethnic, supra-civic organizations that had emerged during the Principate. The cases of the provinces of Macedonia and Achaia have already been described in relation to the need to understand chronological changes in the formation of leagues and cults. Another complex example can be drawn from Syria.58 This province witnessed a special organization with a federal cult, whose seat was in Antioquia, which originated in the times of Augustus. 53  See the general account in Burrell 2004, 346–348 with further Bibliography. 54  See, for convenience, Lozano & Gordillo 2015. 55  Lefèvre 1998, 133; Sánchez 2001, 441. 56  Testimonies point to the organization of imperial cult in the Amphictyony during the 1st century AD. During the following century, evidence is scarce and unclear. For further reference, see Lozano & Gordillo 2015, Section I for the 1st century AD and Section II for a revision of the testimonies from the 2nd century AD. 57  Jones 2006, 154. 58  On the imperial cult in Syria: Sartre 2001, 476–480; Guerber 2009, 104–107; Sawaya 2011; Bru 2011, 273–285, and Vitale 2013.

Emperor Worship And Greek Leagues


This cult was regionally divided into what were known as eparchies59 which initially coincided with the province’s borders. Nevertheless, as Sartre states, ‘On observe que les modifications provinciales ne sont pas suivies immédiatement par des réaménagements des cadres régionaux du culte impérial. Certes, d’Auguste à Vespasien, les trois composantes—Syrie, Phénicie, Cilicie—­ forment autant de circonscriptions du culte impérial. Mais la Cilicie continue à célébrer le culte impérial à Antioche après 70–72, alors que la Commagène s’est ajoutée. Après que la Cilicie eut mis en place sa propre organisation du culte, dans les années 80, il y a de nouveau adéquation entre les deux structures, mais la création de l’éparchie de Koilè-Syrie sous Hadrien perturbe à nouveau l’organisation: certaines cités qui lui appartiennent se trouvent en réalité depuis 106 dans la province d’Arabie (Gérasa, Dion, Philadelphie), et d’autres, depuis toujours, en Judée-Syrie Palestine (Scythopolis, Hippos, Gadara, Pella), ce qui ne les empêche pas de célébrer le culte impérial dans une structure relevant de la province de Syrie.’60 The evolution of the provinces in Anatolia provides additional examples of the need for a chronological analysis. As Guerber has recently remarked, ‘la Galatie-Cappadoce sous Néron, l’association Galatie-Pamphylie sous ce même règne, la Galatie-Paphlagonie-Pamphylie-Pisidie sous Galba, la CappadoceGalatie sous Vespasien, la province des trois éparchies sous Antonin le Pieux’ comprised several koina.61 9. The examples provided in this brief overview allow us to conclude that the Greek leagues organized emperor worship during the Principate without any strict relation to Roman provincial borders. Nevertheless, notwithstanding the examples of leagues with members in more than one province, it can be maintained that the general tendency would be for regional koina to be part of the same province, even if they did not represent it as a whole. As Burrell accurately points out, ‘On the whole, the evidence seems to favor a basic principle: a single koinon would generally not overstep the border of a Roman Province, and the cities in it would not be responsible, some to one governor, others to another.’62 This author also adds that ‘a koinon making unified decisions while

59  Sartre relates eparchies with conventus: Sartre 2001, 477. See an evaluation on Sartre’s work in Guerber 2009, 104–107. For a text on the conventual organization of the imperial cult in Hispania Citerior: Goffaux 2011. 60  Sartre 2001, 478. 61  Guerber 2009, 81, n. 4. 62  Burrell 2004, 206.



overseen by two or three governors is extremely rare.’63 She refers to the case of the concilium Galliarum, but, with respect to the union of cities within leagues with the common goal of practicing the imperial cult, the aforementioned (see Nos. 6 and 8) would have to be added to these.64 2

Provincial Cults in the Roman East: A Historiographical Explanation

10. In part, this model of provincial imperial cult organization is the result of analyzing the Empire from a central, Roman point of view, an approach that pays little heed to regional particularities or prior cultural and political backgrounds. This modern orthodoxy implies the establishment of a single pattern of supra-civic organization of emperor worship for all the Empire. Admittedly, in those places where previous traditions did not meet Roman standards of political and social organization, a greater reorganization is to be expected. This is the case for most parts of the Western Empire. However, ancient leagues were preserved, and new ones created, in the East, even though their scope and goals were redirected in order to help Roman government. There is no need to equate leagues with provinces, as is usually attempted, or to search for a ‘provincial league’ that represented the whole province and, therefore, organized the ‘provincial cult’. 11. The creation of this organizational model for emperor worship derives mainly from the sum of well-known literary sources, together with epigraphic evidence coming above all from Asia and the Western Empire. As regards the literary sources, special mention should be made of Cassius Dio’s remarks on emperor worship in Asia Minor. The author, who was discussing the measures taken by Augustus in 29 BC, informs us that the emperor ‘permitted the aliens, whom he styled Hellenes, to consecrate precincts to himself, the Asians in Pergamum and the Bithynians in Nikomedia.’65 This text is also combined 63  Burrell 2004, 206, n. 11. 64  Ibid.; Sartre 1995, 191, n. 208: ‘Le koinon du Pont regroupe des cités qui appartiennent, selon les époques, à des provinces différentes, sans que cela entraîne des modifications de la constitution du koinon.’ 65  Dio Cass. 51, 20, 6–8. This is considered the model for the rest of the provinces; see, for example, Fishwick 1987–2005, vol. I.1, 155 (esp. n. 34: ‘This had set the model for provincial cult of the living emperor’). See also, Clauss 1999, 394: ‘Die Erlaubnis Octavians zur Errichtung von Kultstätten für seine Gottheit—in Verbindung mit der Göttin Roma—in

Emperor Worship And Greek Leagues


with Tacitus’s description of Tiberius’s reaction regarding emperor worship.66 Tacitus wrote that Tiberius accepted a petition from the province of Asia to erect a temple to him, while he rejected a similar one made by Hispania Ulterior. He permitted the honors granted by Asia because they were supported by Augustan tradition, but he rejected all others because he did not want the honor paid to Augustus to become a mockery through the vulgarization of divine worship. He accepted, however, a temple of his divine father to be erected in Hispania, and, in Tacitus’s words, his measure set an example for all provinces.67 These literary sources are combined, as already noted, with epigraphic testimonies of assemblies, whose limits clearly correspond to those of a Roman province, coming mainly from the Romanized West such as Lusitania, Baetica, Hispania Citerior, Mauretania Caesariensis, and Gallia Narbonensis (see No. 14). This combination has led us to support an explanatory model with obvious shortcomings when applied to the Empire as a whole. To my mind, these shortcomings are plainly reflected by the fact that the same category of ‘sacerdos provinciae’ is being given, to name just one example, to the ‘high priest of the Bithynians’ and to the ‘flamen Divorum Augg. Provinciae Baeticae’ (as in CIL II 2344). These titles show that the priests were functioning in different spheres. The first was restricted to his koinon, while the second was clearly linked to a Roman province. The difference is also apparent in IG II2 4193 in which the Athenians honored ‘the first provincial priest of Gallia Narbonensis’: ‘ἀρχιερέα πρῶτον ἐπαρχείας τῆς ἐκ Ναρβῶνος’.68 12. In particular, there is a tendency to apply Price’s conclusions regarding the organization of emperor worship in Asia to the entire Eastern Roman Empire.69 Rituals and Power, probably the most influential book on imperial cult, has correctly answered the questions posed by Asia Minor, yet this league’s supra-civic

der Provinz Asia wirkte nach Cassius Dio als Modell für andere Provinzen im gesamten Reich.’ More critically: Friesen 2001, 25–42. The temple in Pergamum was consecrated to Augustus alone in Cassius Dio (51, 20, 6–8), while in Tacitus (Ann. 4, 37) it was dedicated to Augustus and Rome. It is important to note that the koinon of Bithynia was only one of two koina in the same Roman province. 66  Tac. Ann. 1, 78 and 4, 37. 67   Datumque in omnes provincias exemplum: Tac. Ann. 1, 78. 68  See Fishwick 1987–2005, vol. III.2, 183, n. 1, and vol. III.1, 99–111. 69  Price 1984. On imperial cult in Asia, see, for convenience, Campanile 2001; Weiss 2002; Burrell 2004, 17–146. For a possible separate emperor cult organized inside the province of Asia by the Ionian league, see Herrmann 2002.



cult was not the model for all Roman provinces.70 The use of the term ‘provincial cult’ has been abused because, as reasoned above, not all supra-civic cults were of a provincial nature. 13. The problem of inadequate terminology could be easily solved by the use of an alternative term. Hence, I propose to accompany the term ‘provincial league’, and thus ‘provincial cult’, with ‘koinon cult’, ‘league cult’, or ‘federal cult’.71 This may help to avoid equating koina to provinces, while providing a more accurate label to designate many of the supra-civic cults organized in the Roman Empire. The case of the Latin West is different, since there was a closer relationship between leagues and provinces. However, there were also exceptions to this general rule, such as the cult of Three Gauls.72 14. We could consider the possibility of classifying the assemblies in relation to the provinces; nonetheless, as mentioned above, this classification would be of little value for obtaining valid information. Firstly, because it would contrast two structures between which there was not always a geographical correlation. They had a parallel development that only led to their occasional territorial equivalence. Modifications to the extension of the provinces would consequently affect the relationship between councils and provinces. Secondly, it could lead us to believe that the Empire’s eastern koina aspired to represent an entire province, as could be argued on the strength of what happened in the West. In contrast, available information seems to point to the eastern leagues mainly trying to speak on behalf of a privileged selection of communities from a particular region or ethne, regardless of whether a correspondence with the limits of a Roman province existed or not. I will return to this aspect below (see Nos. 17 and 18). Nonetheless, here follows a classification of the assemblies according to their relationship with the provinces which may prove useful in clarifying this point: I) Supra-provincial leagues. Cities and tribes that formed part of several Roman provinces would occasionally unite: this would be the case of the Three Gauls that, according to Liertz, could also have included tribes from the southwestern reaches of Germania Superior.73 Even though the Plataean

70  See the comments in Müller 1997, XIX. See also: Guerber 2009, 81, n. 4. 71  In Spanish, I think cultos conciliares is the best alternative, but I have also suggested cultos asamblearios, cultos federales, and cultos étnicos: Lozano 2010a, 124. 72  Fishwick 1987–2005, vol. III.1, 92–94 (Gallia Comata), 149–156, 181–186, 199–204. 73  Liertz 1998, 99–107.

Emperor Worship And Greek Leagues


synhedrion74 and the Panhellenion of Hadrian75 are undoubtedly a different type of league, they help us to depict the complexity of the association of Greek cities during the Roman Empire, since these leagues were also formed by cities from several, sometimes distant, provinces. The Delphic Amphictyony should also be included in this supra-provincial league order, as it encompassed members from Achaia, Macedonia, and Epirus.76 II) Provincial leagues. These included leagues formed by cities that mustered representatives from an entire Roman administrative demarcation. They were more frequent in the Roman West, though also present in the Greek East. Some examples include the councils of Lusitania,77 Baetica,78 Hispania Citerior,79 Gallia Narbonensis,80 Mauretania,81 Cyprus,82 and Thrace.83 III) Infra-provincial leagues. This third category includes the koina that embraced cities or leagues that, despite being part of the same province, did not represent it as a whole. Instances are numerous: a) Cirenaica: koinon of Crete and Cyrene; b) Macedonia: koinon of Thessaly and koinon of Macedonia; c) Bithynia-Pontus: koinon of Bythinia and koinon of Pontus; d) Achaia; and e) Lycia-Pamphylia: koinon of Lycia and league of the cities of Pamphylia. 3 From Provinces to Koina: Concluding Remarks 15. As stated in the introduction, the change in terminology is really of secondary importance. I would like to suggest that what is truly of consequence is the shift in focus from provinces to leagues, and the possibilities that this 74  With regard to the Plataean synhedrion, see: Robert 1929 and 1937, 141–142, and Hellenica 7, 121 and 124; Étienne & Piérart 1975; Robertson 1986; Lozano 2010a, 138–142. 75  For the Panhellenion, see: Spawforth, Walker 1985 and 1986; Nafissi 1995; Marotta 1995; Jones 1996 and 1999; Spawforth 1999; Weiss 2000; Romeo 2002; Lozano 2010a, 156–166; Gordillo 2012. 76  On the Amphictyony under the Roman Empire, see: Bourguet 1905; Daux 1975, 1976; Pouilloux 1980; Lefèvre 1998, 127–134; Sánchez 2001, 426–463; Weir 2004. For the imperial cult in the league, see for convenience Lozano 2010a, 145–156; Lozano, Gordillo 2015. 77  Fishwick 1987–2005, vol. III.1, 53–59, 166–169. Idem. 78  Idem. 111–126, 205–206. 79  Idem. 43–52, 156–166, 204–205. For the koina in Hispania, see also Étienne 1958, 121–175. 80  Fishwick 1987–2005, vol. III.1, 99–111. 81  Idem.  131–132. 82  Haensch 1997, 263–267; Guerber 2009, 103–104; Fujii 2013. 83  Burrell 2004, 236–245.



new approach has for broadening our understanding of the Greek East under Roman rule. Specifically, it should help us to assess the local and regional diversity that still characterized the Greek East during the Principate. Borrowing Wells’s expression, it lets the Greeks speak and by doing so it gives a better sense of the activities of provincials under Roman control.84 16. If the focus of research is shifted from provinces to leagues as city unions, the numerous testimonies of the Greek East, primarily epigraphic, would be better understood as they were frequently of a civic or league nature. Thus, I adhere to the considerations of Finley for whom much of Greek history may be understood as that of the model of the polis, extending this to the Roman period in accordance with Alcock’s ideas.85 To my mind, the best way to e­ xplain the dynamic life and activity of the koina and Greek poleis during the Principate would be to heed both authors. To illustrate this, here are two examples of the way in which the different Greek cities of the Principate organized their foreign relations. The instance of Hippata in Thessaly is particularly striking. This city was one of the bastions of the Thessalian league, though not its seat. Being part of this league, the polis also occupied a place in another civic assembly, the Delphic Amphictyony.86 The dignitaries of the city did not hesitate at the time of joining both institutions, with a larger political reach than that of their own native communities.87 But Hippata’s external influence was not limited to these two assemblies: after the creation of the Panhellenion in Athens, the oligarchs of this Thessalian city similarly became very active in the new supra-provincial assembly born under the auspices of Hadrian.88 In this manner, if we were to define Hippatian politics only at a provincial level, we would be overlooking the varied aspects of its external activity. The city became involved in several different conciliar bodies, one of which was regional, though not provincial, in character, as Thessaly was united with Macedonia which also had its own independent league. On the other hand, two of the associations in which Hippata participated exceeded the limits of the province. 84  Wells 1999. 85  Finley 1973, 10; Alcock 1995. During the Principate, the evolution of the Greek polis model was defined by the relationship of the cities with Rome. A good example of the different ways of presenting the said relationship appears in Plutarch: Plut. Mor. 813 D–F and ff. 86  Larsen 1952; Spawforth & Walker 1985, 80. 87  Larsen 1953. 88  For the members of the Panhellenion, see, for convenience, Gordillo 2012, 52–53.

Emperor Worship And Greek Leagues


Another example can be found in the letter sent by Hadrian to Naryka.89 Among the arguments raised by the emperor to claim that no one could doubt Naryka’s category as a city was precisely its presence in prestigious city associations, regardless of the provincial frame in which these functioned: ‘I do not think that anyone will dispute that you have a polis and the rights of a polis, seeing that you contribute to the League of the Amphictyons and to the League of the Boeotians, you provide a Boeotarch, you choose a Panhellene, you send a theêkolos.’90 17. The eastern leagues were not representative institutions in the current sense of the word; they did not defend all the communities within their territory, but only their members. They entailed the union of communities in a higher structure in order to attract the attention of the authorities, perform governmental duties, pool their resources, engage in religious activities, and resolve internal and external conflicts.91 This type of interaction among Greek cities might explain the merger of the Achaean league and those of Central Greece in the Julio-Claudian period, precisely at a time when the Roman province of Achaia was united to Moesia and Macedonia. The federation might have been a means to defend the interests of the southern cities and to bolster its position with the legatus of Moesia.92 Likewise, each independent league within a single province could decide to protect its interests and prosecute (or honor) its governor; there was no need for the whole province to draw together in order to do so.

89  See Jones 2006; Knoepfler 2006. 90  Jones 2006, ll. 8–13: οὐκ οἶμαι ἀμφιζητήσειν τινὰ πόλιν ὑμᾶς ἔχειν καὶ πόλεως δίκαια, ὁπότε καὶ εἰς τὸ κοινὸν τῶν Ἀμφικτυόνων συντελεῖτε καὶ εἰς τὸ κοινὸν τῶν Βοιωτῶν, καὶ Βοιωτάρχην παρέχετε, καὶ Πανέλληνα αἱρεῖσθε καὶ θεηκόλον πέμπετε. See the commentary to this section in 154–155. 91  Even if the importance of a common religious cult that united the leagues, which during the Principate would have normally been imperial cult, ought not to be taken for granted, these institutions also engaged in other activities. One of the most important of these was to represent their interests in Rome, whether to raise complaints against the governors (Brunt 1961; González Román 2002; Rodríguez Neila 1978) or to clarify legal and procedural matters (Millar 1992, 393, with several examples; see also SEG 37, 593), such as the punishment for cattle rustling (Pavón Torrejón 2009). We also know about the involvement of leagues in tax collecting: SEG 57, 1666. This was done on a regular basis by dispatching envoys to the capital to receive a response from the imperial chancery. 92  On this league, see Cortés Copete 2015.



18. Being as they were representatives of the privileged cities that formed the league, the koina served as a powerful tool for the hierarchical organization of the territory. For instance, the Bithynian koinon was neither representative of all Bithynians, nor of the Romans of the province; it was in charge of safeguarding the interests of the ‘Greeks in Bithynia’. There were other local populations outside this group which, furthermore, often submitted to the members of the league.93 19. But solidarity and equality did not exist within the leagues themselves either, as can be gleaned from the internal mechanisms of the koina. They would meet annually to honor their tutelary divinities. Along with these rituals, the elections of league officials would be held, and pending matters settled.94 The cities that took part in these reunions did so through representatives who were normally designated within the civic council. Although, due to the lack of evidence, the precise number of delegates sent by each city cannot always be well established, on the basis of several better known cases it is indeed possible to conclude that the distribution of representatives, and therefore votes and power, in the council was not usually proportionate (see No. 21). Those cities with a higher position and prestige and greater political and economic clout managed to secure additional representation, thus allowing them to control the meetings for their own benefit. This is the case, for instance, of the koinon of Lycia with 23 cities, each sending from one to three delegates, depending on their rank.95 A similar situation occurred in the league of Asia: ‘On ne sait comment étaient choisis les représentants mais il est peu probable que chaque communauté ait été représentée en premanence, du moins dans les provinces où elles sont nombreuses. Ainsi, en Asie, l’assemblée provinciale regroupait cent cinquante membres alors que la province rassemble plus de trois cents cités, peuples ou tribus.’96 Representation on the council thus became a means to establish firmly the hierarchy of the urban centers of one territory. 20. Rome worked with, not against, this grain of the older federal institutions in the Eastern Empire. In effect, the numerous leagues that existed before the ascension to power of Augustus were the basis on which the reorganization activities of the first Caesar would be sustained; this endeavor was keyed to 93  On the titles used by the league, see Heller 2007. 94  See, for example, the epigraph that portrays an oligarch who had been elected pamphiliarch on six occasions with more than 37 votes: SEG 57, 1439. 95  Sartre 1991, 115; Burrell 2004, 253. 96  Sartre 1995, 191.

Emperor Worship And Greek Leagues


laying the foundations of his power, and not to establishing a rigid government structure oblivious to the dynamism inherent to provincial societies. The emperor was reshaping the past for his modern needs. In this sense, it seems particularly appropriate to return to the lucid conclusions arrived at by Fougères in his ample entry on the leagues in the Daremberg-Saglio: “C’est ce que [koina, concilia] les historiens modernes appellent les Assemblées provinciales, en partant de ce principe qu’il y avait au moins une de ces assemblées par province […] En fait, les Romains ne se sont pas astreints, dans cette organisation, à suivre un statut uniforme. Ils se sont gardés de toute conception absolue et ont su adapter le régime nouveau aux institutions antérieures et aux différents milieux. Dans la répartition des assemblées, il a été tenu compte à la fois de l’ethnos et de la province. D’une manière générale, en Orient, presque chaque ethnos conserve son koinon de sorte que le bon fonctionnement du culte impérial ne se trouve pas atteint par les remanierments si fréquents des territoires provinciaux.’97 The emperors did not seem to have considered this situation a risk—I refer here to the existence of several leagues in the same province. Moreover, many are the testimonies that support the claim that this development was amply sustained by central Roman power, such as the emperors’ acceptance of honorary positions in the leagues (see No. 6) and the granting of exemptions to league officials.98 Previous traditions survived alongside new administrative creations at least as far as supra-civic cults of Roman authorities were concerned. Since provinces and koina were often not equivalent, the implication is that governors needed to visit, regulate, and assist all the confederacies in their territories. They were not dealing with a single entity, but with a politically and culturally fragmented territory. 21. Moreover, this emphasis on preexisting structures does not imply that Augustus and his successors made no effort to reform and modify the Greek leagues. Nor should it be assumed that they possessed an excessive autonomy or liberty. For Rome, they were tools that allowed for social control, regional government and administration, and interaction with civic oligarchies; in short, they served as a communication channel between the central government and its subjects. For this same reason, Rome itself spawned, or fostered, the creation of many new koina with the primary mission of ruling, controlling, and getting the most out of the Empire’s territories.

97  Dar. Sag. s. v. “Concilium”. 98  Dig. 27, 1, 6, 14.



The endorsement of leagues that resulted in an unequal distribution of power in the provinces was part of a larger political design in which some cities increased their status and were able to lead the rest for their own benefit and that of Rome. This was the case with the Delphic Amphictyony, whose 24 representatives, evenly divided among the 12 traditional integrants of the league, were subsequently redistributed in the time of Augustus as follows: 10 representatives for Nicopolis; two for Thessaly; two for Phocaea; two for the city of Delphi; two for the Dorians; two for the Ionians; two for the Boeotians; and two for the Locrians.99 Henceforth, the league was dominated by Nicopolis, which had been founded by Octavian to commemorate the victory over Antony, and which would occupy a prominent place under the rule of Augustus and the Julio-Claudian Emperors, thus enabling the city to lead the rest of the poleis making up the union.100 22. The idea that many of the so-called ‘provincial leagues’ were not representing a province but securing the particular interests of its members, along with Rome’s use of preexisting leagues and the support given to the creation of others, indicate that the emperors were fostering and upholding a particular territorial hierarchy. Rome promoted an unequal distribution of power and resources. By doing so, it forged alliances and, consequently, a network of social, economic, and political control in the provinces that was decisive for ruling the Empire. The divinized Caesars played different roles in the imperium Romanum, but ultimately acted as the symbolic mortar of these uneven ‘commonwealths’. Rome’s relationship with the koina was fundamentally in line with its eastern policies, summarized by Woolf: ‘Roman rule also generated a new degree of hierarchy in the system, partly by overtly “ranking” urban settlements and distributing governmental functions among them, partly by weakening the bonds of the polis in general so that competition between them for resources, material and human, came to generate consistent winners and consistent losers.’101 However, as Woolf himself points out, the hierarchical organization of the territory was not the sole responsibility of Rome, as other elements were involved, such as the designs of the ruling oligarchies in the provinces and the cities as units of action. This struggle for overall prominence was frequently articulated through the koina. Effectively, to the new distribution of power offered by Rome should be added the obvious advantages for the cities, and particularly their dominant elites, of belonging to a higher entity 99  Daux 1975, 1976; Lefèvre 1998, 127–128. 100  Lefèvre 1998, 127–134; Sánchez 2001, 426–463. 101  Woolf 1997, 13.

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that made them more visible to Rome and increased their capacity to defend themselves against all types of aggression, such as the misrule of provincial governors. Therefore, it seems that the best way to understand leagues in the provinces is to start by observing both the inner logic of the societies that witnessed the birth of the koina and the needs of the Roman government, which were not always restricted to the provinces. The koina were a means of pooling the disparate interests of a people or region at a time of continual conflict as cities jockeyed for position in political, economic, and religious matters. In this regard, it is possible to affirm that the koina served to both unify and harmonize a region and foster competition and inequality.102 The emperors were gods of harmony and stability, but also divinities of hierarchy and competition. Addendum I would like to state that three important books appeared after the completion of this chapter. I have not used them to write the chapter but since they represent a substantial improvement in the question of Greek leagues I would like to mention them here. The first one is: Edelmann-Singer, B. 2015: Koina und Concilia: Genese, Organisation und sozioökonomische Funktion der Provinziallandtage im römischen Reich, Stuttgart. After its publication note 11 should now be at least partially rephrase, as this book will serve to fill the gap in the historiography of Eastern leagues. The same holds true for the second book: Beck, H., Funke, P. (eds.) 2015: Federalism in Greek Antiquity, Cambridge. Even though it focus mainly on koina before the Roman Empire it is also of the greatest use for the study of Greek federal organizations. Lastly, the third work is: Kolb, A., Vitale, M. (eds.) 2016: Kaiserkult in den Provinzen des Römischen Reiches. Organisation, Kommunikation und Repräsentation, Berlin-Boston. It has several well-grounded papers on the imperial cult in different regions of the East – Achaia (Camia), Asia and Bithynia (Madsen, Holler, Frija), Thessaly (Bouchon), Crete (Cigaina), Lycia (Campanille, Reitzenstein), Pontus, Pamphylia, Armenia (Dalaison)–.

102  The reasons behind and consequences of the struggles between Greek cities during the Principate have been magisterially assessed in several works. A general account with further Bibliography in Burrell 2004, 351–354. On this subject, I found Gascó 1990 and Heller 2006 especially useful.



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Le paysage culturel de la colonie romaine de Philippes en Macédoine : cosmopolitisme religieux et différentiation sociale* Athanasios D. Rizakis 1

Introduction : un panthéon romain “importé”

Dans le domaine des cultes, l’impact de la domination romaine ne se pose pas dans les mêmes termes dans une cité grecque transformée en colonie de citoyens romains que dans une cité libre ou pérégrine. Dans le second cas,1 on admet généralement que le pouvoir romain n’a pas aliéné la nature et le rôle des cultes traditionnels, même dans les cas occasionnels d’introduction de cultes romains comme celui de l’Empereur. L’adoption de celui-ci par les élites exprimait surtout leur fidélité à l’Empereur et à l’ordre établi ; le culte lui-même n’avait pas une grande influence sur les masses car il n’y avait qu’une seule fête annuelle en son honneur. Pour le reste le calendrier festif restait inchangé. La situation des cités, transformées en colonies romaines, est bien différente. Les mutations furent dans ce cas, même sur le plan strictement religieux, plus larges et plus profondes. Si l’on en croit la lex Ursonensis, qui n’est rien d’autre qu’une ‘loi-cadre’,2 l’établissement des colons romains s’accompagnait d’une réorganisation des cultes, effectuée par celui qui iussu eius coloniam deduxerit.3 Les duoviri avaient par la suite la responsabilité d’aménager le calendrier festif de l’année (cura sacrorum), d’organiser et de subventionner (en partie à leurs frais) certaines manifestations relatives aux affaires sacrées.4 Ils devaient également * Je tiens à remercier John Scheid pour avoir échangé avec moi des idées sur diverses questions, C. Brélaz pour m’avoir généreusement confié une étude inédite, Clément Sarrazanas pour la lecture attentive de mon texte et enfin F. Kokkini pour toutes les informations bibliographiques de la note 28. 1  Voir Price, 1984a, passim. 2  Formule heureuse utilisée par Belayche, Hošek 2011, spécialement 388. Cette ‘loi-cadre’ pourrait être utilisée dans d’autres cas mais il ne faudra pas l’assimiler avec un décret ­d’application générale, voir Rüpke 2006a. 3  Cap. LXVI–LXVIII; cf. Raggi 2006; Jehne, Pfeilschifter 2006, 370; Jurewicz 2007, 322 n. 247. 4  Seuls les premiers duoviri, qui étaient désignés par le deductor coloniae, étaient exonérés de cette obligation, voir Jurewicz 2007, 315–316; C. Ando 2007, particulièrement 435. Le fait © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi ��.��63/9789004347113_011



prendre l’initiative pour l’élection des prêtres publics, les pontifes et les augures, l’entretien des sanctuaires et le fonctionnement de l’appareil cultuel. Les magistratures religieuses sont au nombre de trois à Philippes, comme d’ailleurs dans d’autres colonies ainsi qu’à Rome : il s’agit de celles d’augur, de pontifex et de sacerdos ; pour l’élection de leurs successeurs, on suivait la même procédure que pour les duoviri et l’organe compétent pour l’effectuer était le IIvir ou le ­praefectus.5 Le fait que ces fonctions religieuses étaient organisées en collèges de deux membres, nommés à vie, explique la rareté des inscriptions qui les concernent ; au contraire, les flamines du culte impérial, nommés probablement pour une année, sont plus nombreux à Philippes, comme il est naturel.6 L’introduction du panthéon romain dans les colonies entraîne souvent des changements importants—aussi bien dans la topographie sacrée que dans la hiérarchie cultuelle—dont la nature et l’échelle présentent de grandes disparités dans l’espace et le temps.7 La loi de fondation n’imposait pas, de façon autoritaire, un panthéon totalement romain et la suppression pure et simple des cultes antérieurs ou leur relégation à la campagne ;8 elle laissait en revanche, au fondateur, une grande marge d’initiative au regard des situations locales particulières9. Dans de nombreux cas, le panthéon de la colonie est le produit d’un dialogue, d’un compromis entre les autorités coloniales et les représen­ tants de l’élite locale. Ce processus conduit à une nouvelle synthèse, une recomposition du paysage cultuel qui ne suit pas partout les mêmes règles. Dans un grand nombre de colonies romaines en Orient, par exemple, les colons s’approprient une ancienne divinité tutélaire qui devient dès lors une figure commune, une divinité “fédératrice” qui va jouer le rôle de point de rencontre, de contact, voire de réconciliation entre les anciens et les nouveaux habitants ; que la responsabilité de l’organisation des affaires sacrées revienne aux autorités de la co­ lonie n’est pas une originalité romaine; dans le monde grec aussi, ce sont les autorités civiques qui sont responsables de la constitution du panthéon civique et de la hiérarchie des divinités adorées : voir Burkert 1995. 5  Rüpke 2006b pense que les prêtres publics étaient élus par les comices, au nombre de trois pour chacun des deux collèges des augures et des pontifes (cf. Jurewicz 2007, 323). 6  Collart 1937, 265 ; Poncin 2001; CIPh II.1, passim. 7  Pour les colonies établies en Italie, voir Bertrand 2015. 8  L ivy. Epit. 5, 51–54. Rome ne pouvait naturellement exporter l’ensemble de son propre panthéon, structurellement lié au territoire de l’Urbs : voir Ando 2007, spécialement 434–436 et 444. 9  Il semble que des communautés locales ont gardé, parfois, une certaine ‘autonomie’ à ­l’intérieur du cadre juridique romain, voir Scheid 1999, 398–401. La loi d’Urso semble être susceptible de favoriser un tel processus : voir chap. CCG XII 2001, 300; cf. Ennabli, Scheid, 2007–2008.

Le Paysage Culturel De La Colonie Romaine De Philippes


ainsi n’est-il pas étonant qu’elle apparaisse sur le monnayage colonial et fasse alors partie d’une identité locale partagée.10 Cette redéfinition de la mémoire collective connaît certes des formes variées et la question cruciale est, dans tous les cas, de savoir quelle fut la place du passé dans l’élaboration de la nouvelle identité politique individuelle ou collective de la nouvelle communauté.11 Sur ce point Philippes constitue une véritable exception. On n’y trouve aucune divinité indigène fédératrice, récupérée par les colons dans l’organisation du panthéon de la nouvelle communauté. Il semble alors que l’environnement cultuel gréco-thrace qui avait donné lieu, depuis le VIe siècle, à un syncrétisme riche entre divinités gréco-macédoniennes et thraces n’ait apparemment joué aucun rôle, du moins au départ, dans la définition de la physionomie cultuelle du centre urbain de la colonie. Ce qu’on observe est l’adaptation aux exigences politiques et socio-culturelles de la nouvelle communauté coloniale. Cela est illustrée par le monnayage aux légendes et à l’iconographie romaines, et agrémentée par des temples ou d’autres monuments qui vont organiser et orner l’espace public12 dans lequel sera dressé un grand nombre de dédicaces aux dieux romains, exclusivement en latin. Philippes plus que toute autre colonie en Macédoine ou en Achaïe aura donc une allure romaine.13 Cette physionomie romaine dont le poids semble plus important au premier siècle de notre ère ne caractérise pas l’ensemble des espaces sacrés de la colonie. À partir du deuxième siècle, on observe de nombreux aménagements et des mutations, naturellement en articulation avec l’évolution sociétale, qui redéfinissent le paysage sacré philippien et lui donnent un air plus cosmopolite. Cet aspect est clairement visible sur les marges de la ville, sur l’acropole ou à la campagne où l’on voit se côtoyer les dieux grecs, romains, thraces voire égyptiens ou anatoliens. Ici la cohabitation soumet continuellement ces divers cultes aux interactions et 10   E.g. Artémis Laphria à Patras en Achaïe (Osanna 1995, 70–78), Zeus Ammon à Cassandrée en Macédoine (Falezza 2012, 297–299); pour la province d’Achaïe, voir en général Alcock 1993, 168–169. Sur l’application du processus d’hellénisation aux colonies romaines d’Asie Mineure, voir Levick 1967, 130–162; Brackertz 1976, 156–157; Price 1984a, 96–98 et Price 1984b. Enfin sur les formes de religion dans quelques colonies du Proche-Orient, voir Belayche 2003, particulièrement 172–175 (à propos de Ptolemaïs et de Tyr). Sur les transferts des rituels traditionnels, voir, en général, Chaniotis 2009. 11  Voir par exemple pour l’Occident, Le Roux 1992, spécialement p. 411. 12  L’organisation des espaces publics et le placement des temples (ou des basiliques) est, comme le dit Ando (2007, 434) un domaine “in which Roman theory and Roman practice not only harmonize, but harmonize across the centuries”. 13  Le parallèle le plus proche est celui de la colonie romaine de Beyrouth au Proche-Orient, voir Millar 1993, 279; Belayche 2003, 162–171; Hošek 2012, passim. Il est de même d’Aelia Capitolina : Millar 1990, spécialement 29; Belayche 2001, 168–172.



aux échanges mutuels et fait changer et évoluer le paysage religieux sans cesse ; l’air cosmopolite qui caractérise Philippes du IIe et du IIIe siècle n’est certes pas celui du premier, au lendemain de la fondation de la colonie. 2

La spatialité des cultes : la nouvelle topographie sacrée

On sait depuis plus d’un siècle maintenant que celui qui entreprend une étude régionale sur la religion doit faire le choix entre deux approches différentes : la première se fonde sur des divinités classées suivant certaines catégories, alors que la seconde prend comme principe de structure la topographie plutôt que la divinité. Ainsi, tandis que dans le premier cas on parle des ‘dieux’, dans le second, la question se focalise plutôt sur des ‘cultes et sanctuaires’.14 Elle a

Figure 10.1

Carte géographique de la Grèce (A. Rizakis).

14  Sur le contenu et l’évolution de ces approches, voir le rapide exposé de Milli 2015, 9–14.

Le Paysage Culturel De La Colonie Romaine De Philippes

Figure 10.2


Carte géographique de Philippes (Y. Rizakis).

été récemment suivie par Tsochos15 dans son étude concernant les cultes de Philippes, de Dion et de Samothrace. Il va de soi que dans le cadre de toute approche topographique on doit tenir compte de l’environnement physique, de la facilité d’accès, mais aussi du cadre politique et socio-culturel dans lequel se développent les divers lieux de cultes. Ce sont des paramètres importants qui permettent de comprendre les choix des sites et parfois d’expliquer l’impact local voire régional des cultes qui y sont pratiqués. Le schéma que nous allons suivre à Philippes sera celui d’une classification en sanctuaires et cultes urbains, suburbains et extra-urbains. En effet, c’est dans ces trois secteurs bien distincts qu’on trouve placés les divers sanctuaires ou lieux de culte à Philippes (fig. 10.3). Le premier secteur, celui du centre urbain de la colonie, espace public par excellence de la nouvelle communauté, devient le centre des cultes purement romains. Le second centre religieux, celui de la ville haute et de l’acropole, présente une plus grande variété de divinités (grecques, romaines, gréco-romaines, thraces, égyptiennes ou anatoliennes) illustrée par quelques petits sanctuaires et surtout par les nombreux reliefs 15  Tsochos 2012, passim. Ses prédécesseurs (à savoir Picard 1922, 172–183; Collart 1937, 389–486; et Ducrey 1988) suivent la méthode traditionnelle de classement en divinités grecques, romaines, thraces, orientales….


Figure 10.3 Plan d’ensemble de la ville de Philippes (Sève, Weber 2012, au rabat de la jaquette).


Le Paysage Culturel De La Colonie Romaine De Philippes


rupestres, qui sont au nombre de 200 environ. Le troisième secteur, celui de la campagne, présente une diversité similaire des cultes avec toutefois une prédominance de cultes locaux, surtout thraces, comme celui du héros chasseur adoré sous divers aspects (Dominus or Deus Magnus Rincaleus, Myndrytus, Héros Aulonitès),16 de Bendis,17 de Manta18 et enfin de Dionysos. Ces trois espaces cultuels de Philippes dévoilent des particularités et des différences concernant aussi bien la nature que le rôle des divinités qui y sont présentes. La première particularité est que l’espace sacré du forum (figs. 10.4 et 10.5), est organisé ex novo par les autorités coloniales et s’inscrit dans le nouveau plan urbain dans lequel espaces sacrés et espaces civiques s’entremêlent.19 Le forum est conçu, dès le départ, afin de réponde aux exigences institutionnelles, sociales et religieuses romaines et elle connaît—comme l’indiquent par M. Sève et P. Weber—diverses phases et adaptations.20 Cet espace qui est construit de part et d’autre de la rue principale (i.e. la via Egnatia), est dominé par le culte des divinités qui affichent la tradition purement romaine, c’est-à dire celui des Empereurs (fig. 10.6),21 du Génie de la colonie22 et probablement celui de la triade capitoline et peut-être de Mars Ultor.23 La nature et le rôle 16  Sur les différents aspects du culte du héros-chasseur à Philippes, voir Collart 1937, 423– 429; Tsochos 2012, 73–84 ; sur l’adjectif kyrios/dominus, voir Hošek 2012, 300–308. 17  Sur Bendis, déesse thrace assimilée à Artémis et puis à la Diana des Romains (voir Collart 1937, 430–443) ou à Hékaté (voir Tsochos 2012, 84–85 et 122–128). 18  Sur Manta, voir Tsochos 2012, 86–87. 19  L’organisation et la répartition des fonctions sont toutefois bien marquées “avec une zone cultuelle sur la terrasse haute et une zone plus civique et politique sur la place basse, avec un rejet à l’extrérieur de tout rôle commercial” (Sève, Weber 2012, 20). Sur l’organisations de l’espace civic, voir March 2013; Raja 2012. 20  Sève, Weber 1986; Sève, Weber 1988; Sève 1996; Sève, Weber 2012, 11–27 et 33–80. 21  Ce culte prend une grande importance a Philippes, si l’on juge par le nombre d­ ’inscriptions et le témoignage apporté par l’archéologie et le monnayage de la colonie : voir Collart 1937, 412–413; Poncin 2001; Ch. Tsochos 2012, 51–72 (cf. les observations critiques de Voutyras, 2013). 22  Voir CIPh II.1, 43. Le Génie de la colonie faisait figure “d’expression sacrée de la collec­ tivité”, selon la formule de Lepelley (2001); cf. aussi Goffaux 2004. En revanche, le culte du Genius populi romani n’est pas attesté formellement à Philippes. Je ne pense pas que la tradition romaine du Genius coloniae se soit greffée sur la tradition locale de Tyché comme à Beyrouth et ailleurs : voir Hošek 2012, 222–228. 23  La découverte d’un temple consacré à la triade capitoline fait encore défaut à Philippes mais la présence de nombreuses inscriptions, surtout en l’honneur de Juppiter Optimus Maximus (Pilhofer 2009, nos. 177–178, 473, 588 [I.O.M. Feterancus]), 186 [I.O.M. Fulmen conservator]) nous permet de supposer qu’il devait occuper l’étroite terrasse supérieure


Figure 10.4 Plan du Forum de Philippes au milieu du IIe s. ap. J.-C. (SÈVE 1996, 124).


Le Paysage Culturel De La Colonie Romaine De Philippes


Figure 10.5 Reconstruction tridimensionelle du Forum de Philippes au milieu du IIe s. ap. J.-C. (Sève 1996, 124).

Figure 10.6 La façade du temple du culte impérial (Sève, Weber 2012, 42).



de cet espace expliquent l’aspect monumental des édifices civiques et sacrés. Cette façon d’exprimer l’identité religieuse par la monumentalité des lieux de cultes nouveaux s’oppose clairement aux formes plus humbles que prennent les lieux de culte sur l’acropole ou à la campagne, où la référence politique et sociale n’est pas la même. Mais en-dehors du Forum, la romanitas trouve d’autres formes d’expression du sentiment religieux, soit par des lieux de culte plus modestes auxquels font allusion des inscriptions ou des ruines (e.g. la dédicace à Artémis Lucifera aux marges nord-ouest du Forum), soit par le recours à la représentation sculptée de diverses divinités dans des espaces, publics par excellence, comme le théâtre, haut lieu de rencontres, d’échanges, parfaitement approprié à la propagande impériale. Ici, ce sont des reliefs de Némésis, de la Victoire et de Mars Ultor (fig. 10.7) qui s’approprient des facilités offertes par cet édifice ancien pour faire valoir sa ‘romanisation’ exprimée aussi par des interventions architecturales afin qu’il puisse servir mieux aux jeux de l’arène.24 La physionomie romaine du centre urbain de Philippes est davantage marquée par la plus que douteuse présence des traces d’édifices religieux monumentaux qui marqueraient la mémoire sociale de son passé cultuel.25 On ne trouve pas à Philippes d’indices clairs en rapport avec des croyances antérieures illustrant l’identité culturelle ou les pratiques religieuses des anciens habitants, grecs ou thraces. Si l’on croit les rares inscriptions et le témoignage des monnaies émises pendant la période précédente, les divinités thasiennes, comme Apollon ou Héraclès ont un rôle prédominant, même après la fondation de la cité macédonienne,26 mais on ne connaît absolument rien sur la hiérarchie qui se forme sur les pentes de l’acropole et qu’on peut appeler ville haute (Sève, Weber 2012, 33–38.). On ne connaît pas encore l’emplacement précis du temple, qui fut probablement élevé à Mars Ultor, à Philippes même, selon le vœu fait par Auguste (cf. Suet., Aug. 29; Dio Cass. 60, 5, 3), immédiatement après la bataille (42 ap. J.-C.). Ce temple ­devait contenir une statue du dieu porte-trophée; cette statue ne saurait être identifiée (voir Collart 1937, 400 n. 1), comme le proposait Ch. Picard, avec le relief venant du théâtre : voir Festugière 1935, 78. 24  Voir Aristodimou 2015. L’association des temples ou du culte impérial aux édifices théâtraux est bien connue, voir Bertrand 2015, 360. 25  Cette absence d’édifices monumentaux sacrés à Philippes pourrait s’expliquer par le fait que les Macédoniens investissaient des ressources importantes de préférence pour des tombes plutôt que pour les temples, contrairement à ce qui était l’usage en Grèce, où la construction des temples était la principale activité civique. Selon Christesen, Murray (2010, spéciallement 436–437), ce phénomène peut être expliqué par des ­facteurs socio-politiques, les convictions religieuses et les traditions culturelles. 26  Sur le monnayage de Philippes pendant la période hellénistique, voir ChrysanthakiNagle forthcoming.

Le Paysage Culturel De La Colonie Romaine De Philippes


Figure 10.7 Relief de Nemésis au théâtre (Aristodimou 2015, 75).

divine, les rituels ou les détails sur l’impact social de ces cultes.27 Les seuls 27  Une stèle découverte par hasard en 1979 dans la Basilique A, mentionne la terre sacrée (téméné) de quelques divinités adorées à Philippes hellénistique : Philippe, Arès, Poséidon et Héros (voir Ducrey 1990, 551–555; cf. Pilhofer 2009, no. 161) mais on ignore le rôle respectif précis des divinités, grecques ou thraces, leur hiérarchie dans le panthéon officiel ou la divinité ‘patronne’ bien que cette notion soit équivoque : voir Quantin 2015. A cette liste on doit ajouter les témoignages isolés de quelques dédicaces : voir Pilhofer 2009, no. 246 (Απόλλων Κωμαῖος/ville/IVe s. av. J.-C.); loc. cit., no. 359 (Ἀπόλλων/second emploi près du Forum/ IVe s. av. J.C.). Le culte est attesté sous l’Empire : Pilhofer 2009, no. 509b (Apollo/Drama/IIe–IIIe s. s. ap. J.-C.). L’authenticité des dédicaces suivantes, en l’honneur d’Apollon (époque classique), publiées par Mertzidis, est très contestée : Pilhofer 2009, nos. *651 et *652 (Ἀπόλλων/Drama), loc. cit., no. *669 (Ἀπόλλων/Koudounia, au sud de Drama), loc. cit., no. *682 (Ἀπόλλων/peut-être Philippi). Plus rare est la présence d’autres divinités, comme Artémis, contrairement à son équivalent romain Diana amplement attesté : voir Pilhofer 2009, nos. 167, 168, 171–172, 173–174, 181, 183 (IIe–IIIe s. ap. J.-C.), loc. cit., no. 227 (Deana Lucifera/Forum), loc. cit., no. 451 (Deana Gazoria/Doxato), no. 519 (Deana Minervia/Kokkinogeia). La mention de Bendis est beaucoup plus rare : loc. cit., no. 517 (Prosoutsani/époque impériale); une Θεὰ Ἁλμωπία n’est attestée que par un



i­ndices matériels supposés pouvant suggérer l’existence d’un lieu de culte antérieur, dans cet espace urbain, sont les dédicaces à Liber Pater dans la maison dite des ‘thermes’ ou des ‘fauves’, au sud-ouest de la basilique B.28 Plus difficile à interpréter est la présence d’une dédicace à ’Απόλλων Κωμαῖος (datée du IVe s. av. J.-C.), trouvée in situ au sud du marché,29 d’une tombe macédonienne souterraine à l’est du Forum, appelée habituellement ‘hérôon hellénistique’30 et enfin les fondations d’un temple rectangulaire anonyme avec cella et pronaos sur la terrasse supérieure du Forum, à l’ouest de la Basilique A.31 Les opinions exprimées, particulièrement sur la tombe hellénistique, s’opposent les unes

exemple tardif provenant de Podochori au mont Pangée: loc. cit., no. 602 (IIIe s. s. ap. J.-C); il est de même d’ Ἀσκληπιός, Pilhofer 2009, no. 311 (second emploi dans la Basilique B/IIIe s. ap. J.-C.) ou de Ζεὺς Μείλαξ et Ἀθηνᾶ : Pilhofer 2009, no. *678 (peut-être de Philippes); de Ποσειδών: Pilhofer 2009, no. 509a (Drama/Ier–IIe s. s. ap. J.-C.); d’ Ἅδης : Pilhofer 2009, no. 609 (Moustheni/IIIe s. s. ap. J.-C.) et enfin de Πλούτων: Pilhofer 2009, no. 527 (Drama?/ IIe s. ap. J.-C.). La majorité des dédicaces à Dionysos, en grec, proviennent de la région de Drama et elles datent des époques classique ou hellénisique tardives : Pilhofer 2009, nos. 417, 499, 501, 501a, 501d. Deux autres, publiées par Mertzidis, sont probablement fausses : Pilhofer 2009, nos. 666 et *672. Les inscriptions en rapport avec Διόνυσος, datant de l’Empire, proviennent également de la region de Drama : Pilhofer 2009, no. 501b; d’Alistrati : loc. cit., no. 535; et de Néos Skopos : loc. cit., no. 568; cf. Collart 1937, 182–183; il est de même du texte mentionnant les membres d’une διονυσιακή σπεῖρα: loc. cit., no. 166a (acropolis de Philippes/IIIe s. s. ap. J.-C.). 28  Collart 1937, 37 ; Aupert, Bottini 1979; Provost, Foschia, 2002; Tsochos 2012, 43. Le nouveau nom de l’édifice, ‘Maison des fauves’ est dû au mosaïque qui décorait le plancher de la grande pièce, représentation qui renvoie naturellement à Dionysos-Liber Pater, honorés ici par plusieurs inscriptions (Pilhofer 2009, nos. 40–42). 29  Apollon kômaios est accompagné dans cette dédicace par Artémis : voir KoukouliChrysanthaki 2008, d’où SEG 59, 691. Le culte d’Apollon Kômaios est également attesté à Thasos (information que je dois à l’obligeance de C. Brélaz), si bien qu’on peut y voir précisément, à Philippes, une influence thasienne : cf. Robert 1934 (=OMS II, 972–976); Salviat, 1958, 261–263. 30  Une première fouille a été effectuée par D. Lazadiris (ADelt 19 [1964] Chron. p. 372–374), mais les résultats obtenus et surtout leur interprétation ne sont pas satisfaisants (voir ci-dessous n. 32). 31  La datation de cet édifice pose problème; les fouilleurs avaient attribué ses restes à l’époque hellénistique (voir Lazaridis 1971, 38; cf. aussi Koukouli-Chrysanthaki, Bakirtzis 1995, 33–34 avec fig. 25) mais Sève, Weber (2012, 36–41 avec fig. 16) préfèrent la période impériale (réamenagements de la période antoninienne) en s’appuyant sur des critères archéologiques. Mentzos 2008, 117, apporte des éléments qui appuient la datation romaine.

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aux autres32. À défaut d’arguments positifs et sûrs, il est difficile d’affirmer qu’il y ait eu une continuité du culte, du moins sous sa forme ancienne.33 Cette réserve s’impose dans la mesure où seule une toute petite partie de la ville a été fouillée. De plus, ces fouilles n’ont que rarement atteint le niveau ­hellénistique.34 Certains archéologues optimistes pensent qu’une future fouille, en profondeur, va complètement changer la donne, alors que d’autres, comme Aris Mentzos,35 vont jusqu’à penser que l’espace occupée par les deux cités (hellénistique et romaine) n’est pas identique et qu’il faut chercher la première sur les pentes de l’Acropole et la terrasse supérieure de la cité romaine. Cette question pour l’instant insoluble n’enlève rien à notre constatation initiale, à savoir que le cœur du centre urbain prend, du moins avec la fondation de la colonie, un aspect très romain. Face à cette structure bien élaborée du centre urbain, la disposition des petits sanctuaires et des reliefs rupestres sur la ville haute et l’acropole ne montre aucun souci d’une organisation civique et rationnelle. Les autorités de la colonie ne semblent pas être mêlées à l’aménagement global de cet espace sacré, apparemment nouveau, et nous avons l’impression que les diverses formes de religiosité ne sont pas dirigées, comme elles le sont dans le centre urbain. Ici, au contraire, les dieux (romains, grecs, gréco-romains, thraces, égyptiens ou anatoliens) se mélangent et illustrent, de façon moins artificielle que dans le centre urbain, la réalité cultuelle de 32  Trois hypothèses ont été formulées à propos du rôle et la signification de la tombe souter­ raine macédonienne : qu’elle était celle d’un héros-fondateur de la cité macédonienne qui est devenue le centre d’un culte civique de type héroïque ; selon la seconde h ­ ypothèse l’église chrétienne (Octagônon) fut érigée à cette place pour couvrir les traces d’un culte païen plus ancien ; enfin, une troisième hypothèse considère que les deux cultes coexistèrent pendant le Bas-Empire, avec cependant une évolution dans la mesure où les Chrétiens auraient associé définitivement cette tombe avec l’apôtre Paul. L’association avec l’apôtre ou à la limite un saint homonyme est suggérée à leurs yeux par la grande église fondée à côté au cours du IVe siècle ap. J.-C. Mentzos (2008, 103–106 et passim), après avoir signalé les faiblesses voire les contradictions de ces hypothèses, a opté pour une solution complètement différente; selon lui la tombe dite héroïque n’est rien d’autre qu’une simple tombe macédonienne, placée hors les murs de la cité hellénistique; il n’y a aucun indice, selon lui (Mentzos 2008, 128–129), qu’elle ait servi pour un quelconque culte sous l’Empire. 33  Cette question semble être plus claire dans le cadre des autres cités et colonies romaines de la Macédoine, voir Falezza 2012; pour les provinces d’Achaïe et de Macédoine, voir Camia, Rizakis forthcoming. 34  Je dois cette précision à l’amabilité de Michel Sève; sur les ruines, attribuées à cette ­période, voir Sève, Weber 2012, 11–12. 35  Mentzos 2008, 114–119.



la colonie. Cette liberté laisse naturellement plus d’espace pour les divinités populaires et plus dynamiques dont certaines possèdent de petits sanctuaires (e.g. dieux Egyptiens, Cybèle, Sylvanus)36 alors que d’autres reçoivent simplement des hommages sous forme de reliefs dont le plus grand nombre est dédié à Diana-Artémis (Fig. 10.8), ce qui confirme sa grande popularité.37 Les dieux adorés sur l’acropole sont nommés soit avec leur nom romain ou gréco-romain, grec ou thrace : ce fait indique que les personnes qui sont concernées viennent de toutes les communautés ethniques et de tous les milieux sociaux. Toutefois, l’identité précise des fidèles est souvent difficile à décrypter car le seul moyen d’opérer cette distinction est la langue38 et

Figure 10.8 Reliefs rupestres d’Artémis-Diana, sur l’acropole de Philippes (Collart, Ducrey 1975, 44).

36  Sur le culte de la mère des dieux (= Cybèle), à Philippes, voir Collart 1937, 454–456; Pilhofer 2009, nos. 54, 321 et 468. L’auteur se demande si ce culte, attesté aussi à Amphipolis, Thasos et dans plusieurs cités de la Macédoine ou de la Thrace est venu directement d’Asie Mineure ou simplement amené par des colons, étant donné qu’il avait été officiellement accueilli à Rome dès 204 av. J.-C. 37  Voir Collart, Ducrey 1975, 201–227 (89 reliefs rupestres). 38  En principe, les Grecs et les Thraces hellénisés utilisent le grec, les Romains et les Thraces romanisés le latin. Les Thraces sont facilement reconnaissables, indépendamment de la

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malheureusement peu de reliefs portent une dédicace.39 En l’absence de ce critère linguistique, la possibilité de reconnaître l’identité ethnique du fidèle sur des reliefs anépigraphes est problématique, puisqu’iconographiquement il est difficile de distinguer, pour l’instant, des traits particuliers, par exemple sur les reliefs de Bendis, d’Artémis ou de Diana et Bendis, ou sur ceux d’Athéna et de Minerva.40 La façon dont les diverses divinités sont dispersées dans la campagne montre une autre manière de concevoir le sacré. L’organisation de cet espace n’émane d’aucune autorité civique romaine. Elle est le produit d’une évolution naturelle qui remonte loin dans le passé. Les inscriptions et monuments trouvés dans cette zone attestent de la persistante vitalité, particulièrement de l’élément thrace.41 Le culte dominant dans une zone particulière, au nord-ouest de la pertica (entre Drama-Prousotsani) habitée surtout par des Thraces, est celui du Héros-cavalier que Kazarov appelle cavalier ‘thrace’42. Son culte est associé, langue des inscriptions, puisqu’ils portent soit un nom thrace soit ils ajoutent, parfois, au dieu romain un surnom local. La ‘romanisation’ des théonymes n’implique pas nécessairement, ici comme ailleurs, l’usage du seul ‘surnom’ officiel de la divinité, surtout dans un milieu bi- ou multiculturel ; voir Ando 2005 ; Colin et Huck 2015. En Afrique, la romanisation des théonymes marque le souci de rapprocher les dieux indigènes du panthéon romain, voir Cadotte 2007, 1–8 ; Van Andringa 2002, 133–135. 39  Des vingt et une inscriptions conservées sur les reliefs rupestres de l’Acropole, seize sont en latin et cinq en grec : voir Collart, Ducrey 1975, nos. 5, 68, 20, 32, 49, 85, 96, 135, 140, 141, 142, 149a (Gr), 149b, 153, 166, 167 (Gr), 168, 169 (Gr), 170 (Gr), 171, 172 (Gr). Certes les noms des dédicants (sauf quelques exceptions thraces), ne permettent pas de déduire (cf. Collart, Ducrey 1975, 257), s’ils sont des descendants des colons italiens ou des indigènes romanisés mais cela n’a aucune importance alors puisqu’au début du IIIe siècle tous les peregrini libres de l’Empire sont devenus des citoyens de Rome (Bormann 1995, 64 n. 183). Ceux-ci ne s’identifiaient plus de la même façon qu’au Ier s. ap. J.-C. ; l’identité des Philippiens est alors plus complexe et difficile à définir avec précision. 40  Sur l’iconographie de Artémis-Bendis-Diana, voir Collart 1937, 430–443 ; Picard 1950. Collart, Ducrey 1975, 201–209, nos. 8–97, reconnaissent cinq types iconographiques parmi les 89 reliefs rupestres de Diana : Diane à l’arc, à la lance, à la lance et au rameau, enfin Diane tuant le cerf, Diane dadophore. Notons qu’un grand nombres de figures féminines présentent des difficultés d’identification avec une divinité précise, voir Collart, Ducrey 1975, nos. 98–137. Sur ce thème voir Hošek 2012, 325–333. 41  Collart 1937, 392 avec renvoie à la n. 4. 42  Kazarov 1938, 3–16 (introduction). Le culte du héros-cavalier connaît une large diffusion, surtout au Bas-Empire, dans les provinces balkaniques et la Mer Noire (voir en général LIMC VI, s.v. Heros equitans avec toute la bibliographie antérieure). La signification de ces nombreux reliefs en l’honneurs du Heros equitans ne trouve pas l’accord des savants; très intéressante est à mon avis sur ce point l’opinion hétérodoxe de Dimitrova 2002.



dans l’esprit du syncrétisme religieux de la période, à diverses divinités thraces mais aussi grecques comme Apollon, Asclépios, Dionysos et Héraclès.43 Ce qui est intéressant est que cette divinité—qui connaît une grande diffusion, parti­ culièrement dans les pays thraces et ailleurs—porte ici des surnoms rares (e.g. Myndrytus, Souregethès et Rincaleus) qu’on ne trouve que rarement dans la province de la Thrace (Fig. 10.9). Il s’agit donc de cultes à caractère purement local dont la spécificité pourrait être, indirectement, éclairée par ce qu’on connaît sur celui d’un autre heros equitans similaire, appelé Aulonitès.44 Le sanctuaire du dieu se trouve au sud de la plaine de Drama, à Kipia, sur le mont Pangée, précisément au défilé qui fait la liaison entre la vallée de Piérie et la plaine de Drama (environ 20 kilomètres au sud-ouest de Philippes).45 Les fouilles ont révélé, en

Figure 10.9

Reliefs d’un dieu cavalier [Dominus Rincaleus ?] (COLLART, DUCREY 1975, 35).

43  Voir Kazarov 1938, 13; Venedikov 1963, 153; cf. aussi Koukouli-Chrysanthaki, Malamidou 1989, 555 n. 9 et 558–559. 44  Sur l’étymologie du surnom Αὐλωνίτης, voir Koukouli-Chrysanthaki, Malamidou 1989, 553–554 n. 5; Bakirtzis 1988, 433 n. 1, et Bakirtzis 1992. Dans les dédicaces il est appelé Θεὸς Αὐλωνίτης ou ἥρως ἐπήκοος. 45  Samsaris (1984, 47–54) suppose l’existence de deux autres sanctuaires en l’honneur d’Aulonitès dans le territoire de la colonie mais cette hypothèse n’a pas été confirmée.

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dehors de divers bâtiments (Fig. 10.10)—rares vestiges matériels de la mémoire du passé cultuel de ce pays—un grand nombre de reliefs et d’inscriptions dédicatoires. Les plus anciennes remontent à l’époque hellénistique46 mais les plus nombreuses datent de l’Empire. Les dernières attestations archéologiques de ce culte datent du Bas-Empire et c’est pendant cette période (IVe siècle ap. J.-C.) que son sanctuaire fut probablement abandonné.47 Archéologie et épigraphie nous apprennent que Aulonitès est un dieu ­chtonien qui reçoit des sacrifices propres au caractère de son culte.48 Ce

Figure 10.10 Sanctuaire du héros Aulonitès (Kipia, au mont Pangée) (Koukouli-Chrysanthaki, Malamidou 1989, 555).

46  Il s’agit d’un relief (Koukouli-Chrysanthaki, Malamidou 1989, 559 fig 2) ainsi que de grafitti sur des vases hellénistiques; peu de restes de murs sont attribués à cette période. 47  Koukouli-Chrysanthaki, Malamidou 1989, 556–558. L’érection d’une église ­paléochrétienne, sur la colline voisine, indique qu’il y a une continuité dans ce lieu de culte (Bakirzis 1988, 433–437); pour la relation de cette basilique avec la vallée de la Piérie et la soi-disant “Κάτω οδός” voir Bakirtzis, 1992. 48  Les fouilles ont mis à jour un autel et des restes d’ossements animaux qui étaient destines aux sacrifices : voir Koukouli-Chrysanthaki, Malamidou 1989, 557–559.



trait explique pourquoi il est parfois associé, dans des inscriptions funéraires, aux dieux infernaux (Dii Manes).49 Les dévots viennent des tous les milieux ethniques ou sociaux (Romains, Thraces, Grecs etc.) et le dieu reçoit, à l’époque impériale, des dédicaces aussi bien en latin qu’en grec.50 Le culte du héros Aulonitès connaît, à partir du IIe siècle, une grande popularité non seulement à Philippes mais aussi dans d’autres cités voisines.51 Il compte alors parmi les cultes officiels les plus populaires de Philippes, au même titre qu’Isis et Serapis,52 Artémis-Diana,53 Sylvain54 et enfin Dionysos. La présence du culte de Dionysos dans la plaine de Drama n’est guère étonnante car ce dieu était adoré depuis des siècles dans les pays thraces.55 L’emplacement précis de son sanctuaire reste toutefois inconnu dans la mesure où aucune des dédicaces repérées dans la ville ou dans ses environs (5 en tout dont une en latin) n’a été trouvée in situ.56 Les plus anciennes a­ ttestations 49  Pilhofer 2009, no. 80. 50  Il y a 20 attestations dont la majorité est en grec ; il y a aussi une bilingue (voir Pilhofer 2009, nos. 74a, 616, 620, 621, 627, 628, 629a [latin], 133, 580, 617 ( ?), 618, 619, 622, 623, 624, 625, 626 et 626a, 629, 703 [grec]); 703d-e [bilingue]. La totalité des dédicants qui utilisent le grec sont Grecs ou Thraces, peregrini incolae ; en latin son rédigées les dédicaces des citoyens romains (dont trois sont des militaires), mais aussi des esclaves (Pilhofer 2009, no 298 et no 416) considérés par erreur comme des citoyens romains libres par Tsochos (2012, 79 : erreur observée par Voutyras 2013). 51  En dehos de Philippes le culte est attesté à Thessalonique (ΑDelt 24, 1969[1970], Chron., 300–301, pl. 311γ d’où BE 1987, 680 et Horsley 1987, 215) et à Abdère (Reinach 1884) mais ce dernier exemple a été récemment contesté par Parissaki 2011. 52  Les dédicaces qui leur sont adressées, sont soit en latin soit en grec ; les fidèles sont des peregrini incolae mais surtout des Romains ou des indigènes romanisés (voir Pilhofer 2009, nos. 132, 175, 190, 252, 255, 455, 506, 581 (Isis) et 191–192 (Ἴσις avec Σέραπις and Ἁρφοκράτης) ; loc. cit., nos. 252 (Serapis et Isis) et 191, 192 et 307 (Σάραπις) ; cf. Collart 1937, 443–454 (dieux égyptiens). 53  Parmi les quatre-vingt neuf reliefs rupestres sur l’acropole, attribués à Diana, huit portent une dédicace inscrite, dont trois en grec (Collart, Ducrey 1975, 221–222 ; Ch. Tsochos 2012, 122–128. 54  Les dédicaces à Sylvain sont toujours rédigées en latin, ainsi que les fastes du collège, qui réunit pourtant un grand nombre d’affranchis, des esclaves et même des pérégrins: voir Collart 1937, 402–408 ; Dorcey 1992, 105–134 ; Tsochos 2012, 130–132; cf. Brélaz 2015, n. 88. Sylvain était l’objet d’un culte particulier à Philippes, comme à Rome et en Italie mais aussi dans les provinces voisines de Dalmatie, de Dacie et de Panonnie, voir Collart 1937, 402–408; Dorcey 1992, 24–27 et 154–178 ; il n’y a pas d’autres exemples en Macédoine ; la présence de ce dieu est rare en Asie Mineure et dans les Mésies. 55  P erdrizet 1910 fut le premier à montrer l’importance du culte de Dionysos-Sabazios dans la région de Philippes ; cf. aussi Collart 1937, 413–421; Tsochos 2012, 43 et 89–109. 56   Koukouli-Chrysanthaki, 1996, 67–87, spécialement 73–77.

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sont un relief votif et une dédicace qui datent de la fin IVe s. av. J.-C.57 mais ce culte est certainement plus ancien. En effet, les deux portraits du dieu (celui de Drama et de Zygos) copient probablement la statue du culte, œuvre peût-être du même atelier du début du Ve s. (Fig. 10.11).58 A l’époque impériale, ce culte est à nouveau revivifié et il connaît une grande popularité auprès des toutes les communautés; les Grecs l’honorent en grec et avec son nom grec (fig. 10.12)59 les Romains ou les indigènes Thraces romanisés utilisent le latin et adressent

Figure 10.11 Statue de Dionysos (KOUKOULI-CHRYSANTHAKI 1996, 106).

57  Koukouli-Chrysanthaki 1996, 74 (relief) et 75 (dédicace) avec fig. 20 = Pilhofer 2009, no. 501d. 58   Koukouli-Chrysanthaki 1996, 76–83. 59  Elles sont placées par Koukouli-Chrysanthaki 1996, 75–76 au IIe–Ier av. J.-C. et sous l’Empire (ces dates sont à réviser) ; pour les dédicaces, aujourd’hui perdues, KoukouliChrysanthaki 1996, 71–75 et Collart 1937, 182 n. 4 ; sur ce culte, voir Collart 1937, 413–421 et pl. LXVIII.



Figure 10.12 Dédicaces à Dionysos (Koukouli-Chrysanthaki 1996, 98).

leurs dédicaces à Liber-Pater, son équivalent romain, qui prouve une forte ­acculturation.60 La divinité thraco-hellénique qui fut superficiellement roma­ nisée conservait, comme dit Collart, “ses caractères profonds sur le sol même où tant de générations avaient célébré ses mystères”.61 Les fidèles sont réunis dans des thiases dionysiaques et plus particulièrement dans ceux de son équivalent 60   B ruhl 1953, 214–215. Il y a de nombreuses attestations pour Liber Pater ou Libera dont la majorité provient d’un contexte urbain, précisément de l’édifice appelé « maison des fauves » (voir Pilhofer 2009, nos. 94, 332, 339, 340). Les quelques dédicaces, répérées dans le territorium de la colonie, proviennent, très probablement, du sanctuaire de Dionysos, situé près de Drama (Pilhofer 2009, nos. 408, 500 et 501C). Les dédicaces adressées à cette divinité sont rédigées en latin ; elles sont généralement élevées par des citoyens romains ou par des affranchis à l’exception de deux dédicaces à Liber Pater Tasibastenus qui sont érigées par des Thraces (Collart 1937, 416 avec pl. 84 / 2 ; Pilhofer 2009, nos. 524–525 ; Tsochos 2012, 85–86). Liber Pater, qui était confondu en Italie avec Dionysos, trouvait à Philippes, comme dit Collart (1937, 413 ; cf. aussi Perdrizet 1910, 36), précisément au pied du Pangée, « des lointaines origines ». 61  Cela est confirmé par la dédicace d’une statue de Bacchus adressée en latin et en grec à Liber Pater et à Dionysos, en 119, sous le règne d’Hadrien, par un vétéran de la garde prétorienne, décurion de municipe de Stobi, au nord-ouest de la Macédoine (Saria 1930 ; sur le culte de Dionysos-Bacchus à Philippes, voir Collart 1937, 413–423).

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romain comme celui de Liber Pater Tasibastenus ou le thiasus Maenadarum Regianarum;62 dans ces derniers les mystes invoquent et fêtent Liber Pater en lui associant souvent sa parèdre Libera et parfois Hercule.63 Certains de ces groupements reçoivent des legs pour honorer la mémoire de leurs bienfaiteurs le jour des Rosalia, fête italique des morts.64 On peut, donc, conclure que la tradition cultuelle romaine n’est pas totalement absente de la campagne. On y trouve, en effet, une équivalence avec le centre urbain dans la mesure où il y existe une dévotion à des divinités romaines, particulièrement dans les “enclaves latines” que sont les vici, dans la zone de Prousotsani,65 au nord-ouest de la pertica coloniale, ou à la praefectura coloniale, au voisinage de Serrès.66 Mais la plus grande spécificité philippienne est que les dévots ne sont pas que des descendants de colons mais également des incolae-thraces. L’adoption des divinités romaines par ces incolae-­thraces, parfois accompagnées par un surnom local,67 ainsi que l’usage du latin dans 62  Sur Liber Pater Tasibastenus (CIL III, 703 et 704 = Pilhofer 2009, nos. 524–525), voir Perdrizet 1910, 95; Collart 1937, 418. D’après ce dernier auteur (1937, 415 et pl. LXVIII, no 3) le thiasus Maenadararum Regianarum (Pilhofer 2009, no. 340) devait être fort ancien; un troisième thiase est connu par un règlement religieux dont un fragment a été retrouvé, voir Collart 1937, 417 n. 2 ; cf. Pilhofer 2012, no. 95. Sur une autre attestation similaire, voir Pilhofer 2009, no. 529; cf. Jaccottet 2003 II, nos. 25–30. 63  Cinq dédicaces sont adressées à Liber et Libera et trois fois Hercule leur est associé : Collart 1937, 414 et n. 1 avec pl. LXVIII, 2 et 3. 64  Sur cette fête, son origine, sa diffusion et son rituel, voir Perdrizet 1900 ; Picard, Avezou 1914 ; Collart 1937, 474–485; Robert 1974, 210–220 (= OMS V, 306–307); Kokkinia 1999 ; Tsochos 2012, 99–111. Il a été établi par Collart (1937, 474–478) que la formule παρακαύσουσί μοι (ou ὅπως ἀποκαίηταί μοι ῥόδοις), dénote un holocauste de petites victimes (sans doute des volatiles) à côté de la tombe lors de la célébration des Rosalies; cf. aussi l’observation de Robert (1974, 210–220 = OMS V, 306–307) à savoir que dans ces textes les verbes παρακαίειν et ἀποκαίειν ne sont pas équivalents (cf. aussi Voutyras 2013 qui critique sur ce point l’interprétation de Tsochos). L’idée de Picard, Avezou (1914, 58) que le rite d’ἀπόκαυσις des roses sur la tombe fut importé d’Asie Mineure et non d’Italie, comme le pensait Perdrizet 1900, n’est suivie ni par Collart ni par Robert ni par Voutyras. 65  Sur le rapport entre les vici et le centre urbain sur le plan religieux, voir Scheid 1991. 66  Deux dédicaces (l’une en l’honneur de Juppiter Optimus Maximus et du divus Augustus et l’autre en l’honneur de Mercure) montrent l’attachement, comme dans le centre urbain, à la religion romaine ; voir Rizakis 2012. 67   E.g. Vertumnus : dieu agricole romain (cf. Bettini 2010) auquel un autel avait été dédié à Prosoutcani par un incola d’origine thrace (Pilhofer 2009, no. 515); dans la même région, Liber Pater et Juppiter Optimus Maximus sont adorés avec des épiclèses locales :



les dédicaces, montrent une forte acculturation de ces tribus qui devient encore plus significative par l’adoption des pratiques rituelles romaines adaptées à leur propre tradition, précisément à propos de la fête romaine des Rosalia.68 Cet aspect de la réalité philippienne, nous rappelle à certains égards une situation analogue observée en Afrique, où l’on constate la persistance à la campagne des cultes traditionnels malgré la pénétration des cultes romains et leur adoption par des tribus indigènes. Il faut dire que les Romains qui vivent dans cette zone du territoire philippien ne sont pas restés imperméables aux influences exercées par l’environnement indigène ; par exemple, le Dominus ou Deus Magnus Rincaleus ainsi que le Héros Aulonitès ont aussi des dévots Romains.69 Il est évident que les témoignages dévotionnels repérés dans ce vaste secteur de la campagne ne me semblent pas révélateurs d’une organisation poliade des cultes.70 Il n’y a pas de correspondance—à l’exception naturellement de quelques ‘enclaves latines’—entre les dédicaces religieuses du territoire et celles attestées dans le centre urbain; et nous avons l’impression que les autorités coloniales ont laissé à ces lieux de culte de la campagne toute latitude pour perpétuer la tradition religieuse ancestrale et fonctionner selon les coutumes locales. Le contrôle colonial à la campagne s’est sans doute limité à un encadrement juridique qui permettait aux traditions locales de subsister. Et contrairement au centre urbain, la majorité des dévots qui sont en principe Thraces et Grecs pouvaient ici afficher leur dévotion en grec ou en latin. 3 Conclusions Ce qui caractérise le paysage religieux de Philippes est sa continuelle mutation au cours des siècles. Bormann71 n’a pas tort quand il écrit qu’au premier siècle, c’est-à-dire au moment de la visite de Paul, c’est la religion romaine et augustéenne qui domine dans le paysage sacré de la colonie, du moins d’après I.O.M. Feterancus[?] (Pilhofer 2009, no. 588) et Liber Pater Tasibastenus (Pilhofer 2009, nos. 524–525). Sur les diverses formes que prit l’acculturation romaine des ­incolae-peregrini thraces, voir Brélaz 2015, 371–407; Brélaz forthcoming. 68  Voir supra n. 64. 69   Dominus ou Deus Magnus Rincaleus : voir Pilhofer 2009, nos. 169, 189 et 516. En revanche, Σουρεγέθης apparaît dans l’épitaphe d’un Thrace, rédigée en grec (Pilhofer 2009, no. 133); cf. Brélaz 2015, 371–407. 70  Voir à ce propos, Goffaux 2006, spécialement 75; Scheid 1991, spécialement 48–50; Van Andringa 2002, 232–233. 71   B ormann 1995, 82.

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la documentation qui a subsisté. La présence des cultes indigènes (grecs ou thraces) est alors pratiquement invisible dans notre documentation provenant non seulement de la ville—fait qui ne nous surprend pas à Philippes— mais aussi de la campagne. Cette invisibilité des cultes indigènes, au début de ­l’Empire doit être vue, à mon avis, comme une conséquence de la marginalisation politique, sociale, économique et culturelle des communautés indigènes. Mais quand les conditions générales s’améliorent, au IIe s. ap. J.-C., le paysage religieux de Philippes est moins artificiel et retrouve sa vitalité naturelle. La monotonie qui le caractérisait (du moins en apparence) au premier siècle fait place désormais à une pluralité de divinités et à une multipolarité de secteurs religieux qu’on ne rencontre dans aucune autre cité ou colonie romaine de Macédoine (à l’exception peut-être de Thessalonique). Cette évolution va de pair avec la régression que connaît alors la religion romaine en faveur des cultes grecs, gréco-romains, égyptiens ou orientaux qui sont à la mode. Ainsi, à ­l’exception du centre urbain qui arrive à maintenir sa physionomie romaine, aux marges de la ville (à l’acropole et dans la campagne) on observe la coe­ xistence à la fois des cultes importés par les colons, des cultes indigènes traditionnels, et enfin des cultes étrangers en vogue.72 Cette répartition spatiale des cultes et des offrandes révèle aussi une spatialité sociale73 et il n’est pas déraisonnable de supposer avec Collart74 que, peut-être, certaines familles indigènes grecques ou thraces domiciliées en ville, se retirèrent, volontairement ou non, à la campagne à la suite de l’installation des colons. Elle en révèle aussi une répartition communautaire car, comme on le sait, les religions du monde gréco-romain étaient essentiellement communautaires (i.e. la famille, les collèges, enfin la cité et ses subdivisions). Les traditions religieuses ancestrales, particulièrement thraces voire grécothraces (e.g. Dionysos), restent, comme le dit Collart, vivaces à la campagne “malgré l’annexion”75 et leur prépondérance est incontestable à partir du second siècle malgré l’influence indiscutable des cultes romains sur certaines tribus thraces, en particulier celles qui vivent dans une zone située au nord 72  C’est précisément le cas des cultes égyptiens, voir Collart 1929, 70–100 avec pl. I–III; Collart 1937, 443–456; Tsochos 2002; Tsochos 2012, 109–121. Sur la diffusion de ces cultes à Philippes et dans les régions voisines, voir Dunand 1973, 191–199. 73  La composition sociale de la ville de Philippes, proposée par Oakes (2001, 40–54) d’après le modèle de Malina, pourrait servir comme base pour une élaboration plus poussée et plus nuancée de l’ensemble des données épigraphiques et archéologiques. 74   C ollart 1937, 296 ; cf. Oakes 2001, 28–29. Sur l’infériorité politique, économique et sociale de ces derniers groupes et leurs rapports inégaux avec les riches propriétaires des villes, voir MacMullen 1974, 48–56. 75  Collart 1937, 392 avec renvoi à la n. 4.



et nord-ouest du territoire. C’est une grande popularité que connaissent alors aussi bien certains cultes locaux (e.g. le héros Aulonitès et Dionysos) que des cultes étrangers, particulièrement égyptiens. Il est notoire que le héros Aulonitès (Fig. 10.13) et Isis Regina comptent dorénavant parmi les cultes officiels de la colonie76. Les cultes grecs, en revanche, sont peu visibles dans la documentation épigraphique et archéologique, fait qui incitait Collart, contrairement à ses prédécesseurs,77 à se demander s’ils avaient survécu à l’installation des colons romains.78 Tout aussi surprenante est la rareté des traces laissées à la campagne alors que la présence des cultes grecs est incontestable dans les cités pérégrines voisines de la plaine de Serrès dont le rapport administratif avec la colonie reste inconnu.79 Cette place minuscule des divinités grecques dans le paysage religieux de la colonie explique, à mon avis, la faiblesse mémorielle directe ou indirecte sur

Figure 10.13 Le héros Aulonitès sur une monnaie de Philippes (Amandry 1998, 31) .

76   P ilhofer 2009, no. 132 ; mieux CIPh II.1, no 23 : Isidi Reg|(inae) sac(rum)/ ob honor(em) divin(ae)/ domus pro salute/ colon(iae) Iul(iae) Aug(ustae) Philippiens(ium)/5 Quintus Mofius Euhemer,/ medicus ex imperio/ p(ecunia) s(ua) p(osuit). idem susselia IIII/ loco adsig(nato) d(ecreto) d(ecurionum) ; cf. Tsochos 2002, 86–87 aussi Pilhofer, loc. cit., nos. 506 et 581 (Isis Regina). La promotion du culte du Héros Aulonitès, au IIIe s. ap. J.-C., est indiquée par une émission philippienne avec le portrait d’Auguste et la légende DIVO AUGUSTO au droit et au revers le dieu cavalier thrace avec la legende R(es) P(ublica) C(oloniae) P(hilippensium) HEROI AULONITE : voir Picard 1988, 389 et 394, fig. 10; cf. Amandry 1998; elle est indiquée également, de façon indirecte mais claire, par une dédicace au Héros Aulonitès d’une table de mesures par l’un des duoviri Philippiens (Pilhofer 2009, no. 629a et surtout maintenant CIPh II.1, no. 158). 77   C ollart 1937, 392 avec n. 3. 78  Sur la marginalisation des élites auxquelles ces cultes indigènes étaient associés, voir Scheid 1999. 79   E.g. Pilhofer 2009, nos. 545–546, 568, 568b. Ces cités formaient une Pentapole, mentionnée dans deux documents datant du second et du début du IIIe siècle de notre ère (Pilhofer 2009, 544 et 349; cf. Rizakis 2012, 91 n. 12 avec la bbliographie antérieure).

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le passé grec ou gréco-macédonien de la cité ; on ne trouve pas dans la ville de Philippes des objets et des représentations et encore moins des comportements rituels ou des narrations textuelles se référant au passé de la cité. Il est caractéristique que tout au long du Haut-Empire, Philippes—comme d’ailleurs Lampsaque en Asie Mineure—a préféré une iconographie monétaire évoquant son identité romaine (Fig. 10.14)80 tandis que les autres colonies romaines, du moins en Macédoine (e.g. Cassandreia et Dion) n’ont jamais représenté des divinités romaines sur le revers de leurs émissions monétaires.81 Cette situation particulière—qui s’oppose à ce qui se passe dans les autres colonies romaines en Orient où la mémoire sociale est vivante et s’exprime de diverses façons82explique à mon avis la relative absence des manifestations de la tendance très

Figure 10.14  Victoria Augusta sur les monnaies de Philippes (archive de S. Kremydi-Sicilianou).

80  Même au second siècle, voire pendant une partie du troisième, l’iconographie monétaire de Philippes rappelle son passé romain et augustéen : voir Amandry 1998. Le seul parallèle en Orient d’une telle obsession d’afficher la romanité est celui la colonie d’Iconium en Asie Mineure : voir Katsari, Mitchell 2008, particulièrement 244. Sur cette question, voir aussi Bormann 1995, 61–67 ; Hellermann 2005, 67–69. 81   V oir Katsari, Mitchell 2008, 235 ; Kremydi-Sicilianou 2005, particulièrment 99– 101; pour un autre exemple analogue, voir Hošek 2012, 176–182. 82  Dans ces cités les dieux romains sont progressivement remplacés, à partir du Ier siècle de notre ère, dans l’iconographie monétaire, par des représentations des dieux locaux, sur le modèle des frappes des cités pérégrines et cette tendance s’amplifie au second siècle par l’influence qu’a eue la Seconde Sophistique et la création du Panhellénion (sur la mémoire sociale des cités, voir Price 2012). La majorité des colonies utilise alors soit une icono­graphie civique inspirée de la tradition locale (i.e. divinités locales et symboles religieux traditionnels) soit une combinaison des deux iconographies, voir Katsari, Mitchell 2008, 245–246. Dans certaines colonies (e.g. Corinthe) même, le



diffusée au second siècle que nos amis Anglais appellent ‘antiquarian doctrine’ et qui consiste à la restauration, le plus souvent artificielle, d’un culte ou d’une tradition ancienne.83 Le seul exemple qui pourrait suggérer une telle relation à Philippes est une série de figures féminines (en relief), portant des robes volantes qui décorent les piliers de la stoa sud de la scène du théâtre construite au second siècle de notre ère. Ces œuvres, qui sont contemporaines et datent précisement du règne de Marc Aurèle (époque des grands travaux sur le Forum de Philippes) sont des exemples typiques de classicisme attique, la source d’inspiration provenant de modèles attiques du Ve s. av. J.-C. Les premiers fouilleurs avaient identifié ces figures avec des ménades,84 D. Damascos, dans une étude récente,85 proposa d’y voir des personnages (ménades) qui peuplent le mythe reproduit dans les Bacchantes d’Euripide. L’auteur croit même que le personnage central de ce mythe, Agaué, est la figure féminine qui tient dans sa main droite une épée et dans la gauche une tête masculine, celle du roi Penthée. Ces identifications sont aussi possibles, tout comme est probable l’idée que les spectateurs faisaient l’association, quand ils regardaient ces figures, entre la tradition de l’ancien culte local de Dionysos (le dieu était impliqué dans ce mythe) et le mythe des Bacchantes. En revanche, l’hypothèse que cette représentation renvoie et fait la liaison avec le passé royal macédonien me semble problématique dans la mesure où tous les indices dont nous disposons montrent que le centre urbain de Philippes maintient son caractère romain tout au long du Haut-Empire, ce qui laisse peu de place à la mémoire du passé gréco-macédonien.86 Par ailleurs on sait que les thèmes dionysiaques faisaient partie, depuis un moment, de la koiné artistique du monde gréco-romain et passé ­hellénique est p ­ rogressivement approprié par les descendants des colons (e.g. Dio Chrys. Or. XXXVII.26 : Ῥωμαῖος ὤν ἀφηλληνίσθη, ὥσπερ ἡ πατρὶς ἡ ὑμετέρα: cf. Millis 2010, particulièrement 13–14 n. 2–4; Thomas 2010, particulièrement 119 et n. 9). 83  On ne sait pas si Philippes faisait partie du Panhellénion comme Dion et Thessalonique. Il existe, toutefois, deux dédicaces latines en l’honneur d’Hadrien, l’une provenant de l’Acropole d’Athènes (CIL III, 7285) et l’autre de Philippes (Lemerle 1934, 456) qui pourraient faire allusion à une éventuelle demande d’adhésion, les colonies n’étant pas exclues : voir Spawforth, Walker 1985; Spawforth, Walker 1986, et en dernier lieu Camia, Corcella, Monaco forthcoming. 84   K aradedos, Koukouli-Chrysanthaki 2007, particulièrement 275–280. 85   D amaskos 2007. 86  La liaison avec le passé gréco-macédonien voire thrace est plus évidente à partir du IIIe siècle. Aux exemples concernant les cultes (e.g. la promotion du culte du héros Aulonitès) on pourrait ajouter ceux des épigrammes funéraires, rares il est vrai. Un épigramme ­funéraire du IIIe siècle (Pilhofer 2009, no. 439) et un édit (inédit) de Constantin (sur ­mosaïque) évoquent la fondation de la cité par Philippe II de Macédoine. Sur la

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étaient devenus des stéréotypes dont le style et la signification variaient d’un site à l’autre. Il ne faut pas oublier que Dionysos présidait les combats des animaux sauvages qui avaient lieu au théâtre de Philippes réaménagé à cet effet, un peu après le milieu du IIe s. ap. J.-C.87 Le conservatisme religieux observé à Philippes donne l’impression que les autorités coloniales ont voulu assigner à Philippes l’image d’un “îlot latin dans une mer étrangère”88. Cette image est en grande partie artificielle et en tout état de cause elle ne reflète pas la situation réelle ni dans le temps ni dans l’ensemble de l’espace colonial. Elle commence tout d’abord à fléchir à partir du second siècle et cet affaiblissement est accompagné par une véritable expansion— particulièrement dans la zone suburbaine, l’acropole ou la campagne—des cultes indigènes, particulièrement thraces, mais aussi étrangers alors en vogue. Cette variété de cultes qui contraste avec la monotonie cultuelle du chef-lieu donne, comme dit Collart,89 à la vie religieuse de la colonie tout son intérêt, sa spécificité aussi. La cohabitation de communautés et traditions religieuses diverses (indigènes, romaines ou orientales) favorisait le jeu réciproque d’influences et d’interactions et rendait les échanges intensifs, voire compétitifs entre “majors religions and niche players”.90 L’emplacement enfin de Philippes sur des grandes voies terrestres (e.g. Egnatia) et maritimes (via son port à Néapolis) facilitait la diffusion de certaines croyances nouvelles venues de l’extérieur ainsi que les transferts culturels de toute sorte, l’Empire étant, pour utiliser l’expression de Alston, van Nijf et Williamson, an open market91 dans le domaine cultuel aussi. Ce paysage sacré varié et multipolaire va mutatis mutandis changer avec la progression de la nouvelle religion monothéiste. Les changements sont plus visibles en ville où les éléments qui définissaient jusqu’alors l’homogénéité ­architecturale et urbaine de Philippes seront progressivement remplacés par une multitude de formes nouvelles associées à la basilique, qui empièteront sur les espaces municipaux ouverts. La ‘sacralisation’ de l’espace urbain, à partir du IVe siècle, par l’érection de basiliques gigantesques va créer un centre r­ éception en Macédoine de son passé, voir Damaskos 2007. Sur l’héritage d’Alexandre et la Seconde Sophistique, voir Asirvatham 2000. 87  Les représentations des combats d’animaux sauvages sont relativement rares en Grèce : voir Kokkini 2012, 143–144 ; et Kokkini forthcoming. Sur le rôle de Dionysos dans ces combats, voir Foucher 1981; De Matteis 1994 ; De Matteis 2004. 88  La formule est due à Millar ; elle est discutée amplement par Hošek 2012, 24–29. 89   C ollart 1937, 486. 90   A lston, Van Nijf, Williamson 2013, 9–10 avec la bibliographie sur cette question aux notes 43–44. 91  2013, 9–10. Sur le rôle d’Egnatia ainsi que des voies transversales, voir Collart 1937, 487– 523 et Lemerle 1945, 70–74.



cultuel urbain nouveau (Fig. 10.15) qui connaîtra une importance régionale et va progressivement conduire à la disparition totale des autres secteurs cultuels, actifs sous l’Empire.92 On doit souligner toutefois, avant de terminer, que le paysage sacré de Philippes, présenté de façon assez schématique dans cette publication préliminaire, s’appuie surtout sur la documentation épigraphique dont les limites sont bien connues en cette matière : comme l’on sait les deux langues de l­’épigraphie religieuse philippienne (grec et latin) ne reflètent qu’imparfaitement l’état effectif des pratiques linguistiques orales des dévots. Le latin, langue des colons, jouissait du prestige de la langue officielle; dans les lieux “médiatiques” comme le forum ou les sanctuaires du centre urbain de Philippes c’était, sauf exception, la langue d’affichage également pour les actes de la vie

Figure 10.15 Plan du cœur de la ville protobyzantine (Sève 1996, 124).

92  Sur la façon avec laquelle la religion triomphante a voulu, comme dit Lemerle (1945, 85), “marquer de son signe la ville jusque-là païenne” voir Lemerle 1945, passim. Sur ­l’organisation de la ville chrétienne à partir du Bas-Empire, voir l’article récent de Mentzos 2008, avec toute la bibliographie relative antérieure; sur le plan urbain de la ville paléochrétienne, voir Provost, Boyd 2002 (spécialement fig. 7, 103).

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religieuse privée.93 En revanche, dans la campagne les dévots s’expriment soit en latin soit en grec.94 La “négociation” des identités au sein de cet environnement multiculturel passait vraisemblablement aussi par le “choix de la langue”. C. Lévy-Strauss a montré la complexité des rapports qu’entretiennent la langue et la ‘culture’. Ce qui est intéressant à Philippes est le choix du latin par certains incolae thraces de la campagne; ce choix trahit-il, comme cela a été avancé, une volonté délibérée d’afficher une identité “romaine’, autrement dit un ‘désir d’intégration’? On ne doit pas totalement exclure l’idée que ces choix pourraient simplement témoigner de l’adoption d’une forme de discours dominant, proche d’un modèle universel et pratiqué sur place par une communauté romaine dont la supériorité politique et sociale, voire culturelle semblent incontestables.95 Bibliography Alcock, S. 1993: ‘Graecia capta’: the landscapes of Roman Greece, New York. Alston, R., van Nijf, O., Williamson, Chr. G. (eds.) 2013: Cults, creeds and identities in the Greek city after the classical Age, Leuven-Paris-Walpole, Massachusetts. Amandry, M. 1998: “Le monnayage de la Res Publica Coloniae Philippensium”, in U. Peter (ed.), Stephanos nomismatikos, Edith Schoenert-Geiss zum 65. Geburstag, Berlin, 23–31. Ando, C. 2005: “Interpretatio romana”, CPh 100, 41–51. Ando, C. 2007: “Exporting Roman religion”, in J. Rupke (ed.), A companion to Roman religion, Oxford, 429–445. Aristodimou, G. 2015: “Mars Victor, Victoria and Nemesis Invicta. Three votive reliefs from the ancient theatre of Philippi”, in C.-G. Alexandrescu (ed.), Cult and votive monuments in the Roman provinces. Proceedings of the 13th International Colloquium on Roman Provincial Art, Bucharest-Alba Iulia-Constanța, 27th of May–3rd of June

93   B elayche, Hošek 2011, 394. On sait que les pratiques linguistiques sont affectées à des espaces ou à des fonctions particulières : voir Valette-Cagnac 2005, spécialement 11. 94  L’adoption du latin par les incolae-peregrini thraces à Philippes—chose extrêmement rare en Orient, à l’exception peut-être d’Héliopolis et de Palmyre—ne signifie pas pour autant que ces individus connaissaient parfaitement cette langue. “La connaissance du latin par les incolae pouvait, d’ailleurs, se révéler sommaire, comme le montrent quelques inscriptions gravées en caractères grecs, mais transcrivant du latin” (Brélaz 2015, n. 112). 95  Sur ce rapport voir Hošek 2012, 269.



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Index Geographicus Abdera 71 Achaia (Achaea) 79, 112, 151, 153, 155–158, 163, 165, 169, 179 Aeolis 4 Africa 112, 152, 198 Aigai 145 Alexandria 98–101, 104, 107, 127 Alexandria Troas 92 Ancyra 14 Antinoeia 106–107 Antinoupolis xiii, 98, 105–106 Aphrodisias 5, 92, 94, 116–117 Arcadians 106 Argos 94, 106, 141, 144 Asia 2, 5, 46, 69, 73, 75, 122–123, 160–161, 166, 169 Asia Minor 1–2, 18, 76, 79, 160–161 Astigi 140 Athens 22, 36, 46–51, 55, 64, 106, 118–119, 122–125, 127–134, 141, 143, 145 economic situation xi, 22, 27–28 imperial cult 50–51 Olympieion 119, 122, 133, 137 Panhellenion 45, 52, 63, 133, 164 Pantheon xiv, 140–141, 143 sack of Sulla 22, 26–28 Baetica 161, 163 Beneventum 95 Besa (Egypt) 106 Bithynia 3, 102, 106, 152, 161, 166 Bithynion-Claudiopolis 102 Byzantion 4 Cappadocia 4 Caria 3, 4 Cassandreia 201 celtic tribes 67 Chalcis 71 Chios 34, 78, 95 Cilicia 3 Complutum 140 Coronea 127 Crete 61, 93, 152, 169 and Cyrene (province) 151–152 Cyprus 87, 107, 163 Cyzicus 95, 120–121, 134

Delos 59, 145 Delphi 67–69, 93, 107, 123, 131–134, 168 Didyma 2–3, 5–8, 18 Dion (Arabia) 159 Dion (Macedonia) 181, 201, 202 Dionysia 33 Egypt (province) 72, 87, 95, 99, 104, 108, 151 Egyptians 106, 130 Prefect of Egypt xiii, 99–100 Eleusis 45–52, 55, 64, 106–107, 121, 128, 132 Eleusinian cult 49–50, 57, 58, 61, 63 Eleusinian mysteries see Mysteries Panhellenion 45, 52, 63 priesthoods 28, 56 sanctuary 46–47, 53–54, 58, 63–64 Ephesus 5, 16, 73, 94–95 sanctuary of Artemis 73 Epidaurus 60, 122, 128, 137–139, 142–145 Galatia 3 Gergithus 75 Greece 27, 45, 67, 72, 87, 102, 106, 118, 125, 129, 137, 139, 141, 144–145, 155–157, 165, 180, 203 cults xiv, 120, 141 koina see koinon Roman domination vii, 67, 84, 124, 153 temples 76, 79, 186 Hadrianoutherai 103 Heliopolis 104, 205 Hellas 112, 114, 119, 122, 127, 134 Hermopolis 104, 106 Hispalis 140 Hispania 123, 159, 161, 163 Hispanic provinces 72, 161 Ilion (Ilium) 67, 74–76 Ilissos (river, valley) 140–141 Ionia 3–5 Ionians 168 Italy 68, 77–78, 85, 87, 107 Judea 104 Kipia 192–193

214 Lacedaemonia 113, 117–118 Lacedaemonian 126 Lagina 4, 16 Lake Copais 127 Lampsacus 201 Leptis Magna 107 Libya 103, 152 Lindos 115–117 Locri 77–78, 80 Locrians 77, 155, 168 Loukou 107 Lusitania 161, 163 Lycia 3, 4, 7, 169 Lycia-Pamphylia (province) 153, 163 Lydia 3 Lykosoura 141, 143–145 Lyrkea 144 Macedonia 153, 154, 156, 158, 163–165, 179, 189–190, 196, 199, 201, 203 Magnesia ad Sipylum (Lydia) 94 Magnesia (Ionia) 5, 93–95, 155 Magnesians 155 Mantinea 102, 106–107, 144 Marios 141, 144 Megalopolis 144 Megara 49, 123, 144 Memphis 104 Miletus 5 Munigua 140 Mysia 3–4, 103 Neapolis 85, 95, 203 Nicopolis (Egypt) 104, 107 Nicopolis (Epyrus) 85, 117, 168 Olympia 93 Orneai (Orneae) 141, 144 Oxyrhynchus 101 Pamphylia 3, 169 Pamphylia (province), see LyciaPamphylia (province) Panamara 4, 16 Pangeon (mountain) 188, 192–193 Parthia 100 Peloponnese 107, 144, 156–157 Pergamon 4, 138, 145–146

Index Geographicus Philipopolis 95 Philippi 178–183, 186 Acropolis 179, 181, 186, 189–190, 199, 203 Basilica 188, 203 Forum 183–185 hérôon (hellenistic) 188 thermae 188 Phrygia 3 phrygian marble 140 Pisidia 3 Pontus 3, 4, 169 Pontus-Bithynia (province) 152, 163 Priene 73 Prousotsani (Philippes) 191, 197 Rhoeteum 75 Rome 46, 55, 67–68, 70–71, 73–80, 84–90, 92–93, 100, 103, 107–109, 112, 122, 140, 178, 194 Roman Empire 1, 3–4, 6–8, 14, 19, 67, 79, 85, 101, 108, 166–169 Samos 46 Samothrace 181 Sangarius 106 Serres 197, 200 Sestos 4 Side 94 Smyrna 94–95 Sparta 112, 115, 117–120, 134, 144, 157 Straits 3 Stratonikeia 5, 16, 18 Syria 99, 151, 158 Tarraconensis (Hispania Citerior) 161, 163 Tegea 122, 144 Thessalonica 107, 199 thracian 4, 179, 181, 183, 186–187, 189–199, 203, 205 incolae-thracian 197 Tralles 94–95 Troezen 144 Troy see Ilion (Ilium) Verres 72, 77–79 via Egnatia 183 Villa Adriana (Villa Tiburtina) 107

Index Nominum Aelius Aristides 129–133 Agathocles (son of Stephanos) 119 Agrippa 139 Ahenobarbus, L. Domitius 76 Alexander the Great 60, 73, 131 Alexidemos, son of Theodoros 76 Anicetus 100 Antigonos Monophtalmos 23, 146 Antinous 49, 98, 101–110, 144 Antinoeia (games in honour of Antinous) 106 Antinous-Dionysus 107 cult 98, 102, 105–107, 110 Antoninus Pius 49, 55, 86, 88, 91, 94, 100–101, 109–110, 113, 121, 153, 156 Arrianus, Fl. 94, 131 Anabasis 131 Artemidoros 73–74 Athenaeus 103 Augustus (Octavianus) 1, 27, 29, 46–47, 54, 59, 85, 89, 113, 121, 123, 125, 134, 151–152, 154, 158–161, 166–168, 189, 200 epithet 140, 144 divus Augustus 197 Aurelius Victor 105

Eudaemon (archidikastes) 99–101 Euripides 202 Bacchae 202

Berenicianus 100

Iustus Iunianus, Ti. Iulius 14

Caesar, L. Iulius 74–75 Cassius Dio 46, 51, 102, 104–105, 108, 160–161 Cato, A. Hostilius 78 Celsus, L. Publibius 110 Charidemus of Chios 78 Cicero 72, 78–79 Claudia Philossena 48–49 Claudius Marcellus 67 Cornelius Gallus 100

Julia Balbilla 104 Justinian 109 Digest 109 Institutiones 109 Juvenal 108

Daos (hiereus) 138, 142 Demainetos (son of Theoteles) 76 Dio Cassius see Cassius Dio Diodorus (Alexandrian ambassador) 99–100 Dionysius of Halicarnassus 67 Dionysius, P. Aelius 57 Dolabella 78 Domitian 85, 116

Marcus Aurelius 47–49, 53, 55, 57, 91, 121 140 Martial 99 Maximus, C. Vibius (prefect) 99 Menogenes, M. Aurelius 138 Mesomedes of Crete 103 Micythion 71 Mithridates 74, 84

Fabius Pictor 67 Flaccus, Avillius 100 Flamininus (Roman general) 67 Frontonianus, Aulus Cornelius Palma 110 Gallus, C. Lucretius 71 Gens Iulia 75, 139 Glabrio, M. Acilius 68–69 Gordian 116–117 Hadrian xiii, xiv, xv, 26, 27, 45, 46–49, 51–52, 55, 63, 84, 86, 88, 89, 90–92, 93, 98, 100–110, 112–114, 115, 117–121, 122–124, 125–128, 130–133, 134, 137, 139, 140–141, 143–146, 156, 158, 159, 163, 164–165 Heraeus (Alexandrian ambassador) 99–100 Hermodoros (priest of Amphiaraos) 74 Herodes Atticus 27, 51, 59, 107, 126 Hierokles (priest of Asklepios, son of Aphrodeisios) 138, 142, 145 Hortensius, A. 71

Krates 73 Lusius Quietus 110

216 Nero 50, 55, 85, 116, 122, 124, 157 Nigrinus, C. Avidius 110 Numenius 103 Paiana, Tit. Flavius of 55 Pancrates 103–104 Paulina (Hadrian’s sister) 102, 106, 108 Paullus, Aemilius 68 Pausanias 106, 107, 119–120, 140–141, 142–143, 144–145, 154 Description of Greece 141 Pentheus 202 Philip of Macedon 128, 145 Pleminius, A. 77, 78 Pliny the Younger 99 Polemo of Smyrna 107 Pompey 78, 84 Pseudo-Aristotle De Mirabilibus Auscultationibus 141 Romulus 139 Salinator, C. Livius 67, 69 Scipio Africanus 77

Index nominum Servianus 108 Sidectas, P. Memmius 119 Socrates of Constantinople 121 Sophokles, Tit. Flavius 59 Spurius Postimius 69 Statius 99 Straton, Tit. Flavius 56 Sulla 22–23, 26–28, 39, 75–76, 78, 84 Theon (son of Eudaemon) 99, 101 Theophrastus, C. Iulius 112–113, 115, 117–118, 120, 134 Thrasylochos, Tit. Flavius 116 Tiberius 50, 116, 161 Trajan xiii, 84, 86, 88–89, 90–94, 99–100, 102, 124, 132, 158 Dacicus 124 Parthicus 86, 124 Tuscus 100 Valerius Eudaemon 99–100 Vibia Sabina 49, 104 Xenion, Tit. Flavius 53, 61

Index Rerum Sacrorum Actian games 85, 118 Adonis 107 Aeneas 67, 75 agon xii–xiii, 84–88, 90, 92, 93 agonistic associations xii, 84, 88, 90 agonistic calendar 93 agonistic rituals xii, 84, 87–89, 92, 93 altar-priest (Eleusis) 47, 54, 55, 57 Amphiaraos 74–76 Amphictyonic League 122, 132, 154, 158, 163, 164–165, 168 Apollo 107, 122, 130–132, 142, 152, 186, 192 Komaios 188 Lyceus 107 oracle of the Delphic Apollo 130–131 Patroos 23 Prostaterios 23 Pythias 67, 69 apotheosis 108, 110, 113, 116–117, 120, 129, 134, 139 archiereus xi, 2, 50–51, 54, 63, 90 Argus 103 Artemis (Diana) 190–191, 194 Agrotera 33 Boulaia 23 Lucifera 186 Phosphoros 23 sanctuary at Ephesos 73 sanctuary at Orneai 141 temple of Artemis Propylaia 48 Asklepius xiii, 30, 59, 127–128, 134, 137–138, 142, 145, 192 Great Asklepieia (games) 56 sanctuary at Epidaurus xiv, 137, 143–145 temple at Athens 31 asiarches 2, 3–9, 16–18, 19, 157 Athena Archegetis 23 Ilias 67, 74–75 Polias 26, 30, 73 augur 178 Aulonite see Heroi Aulonite Bendis 183, 191

Capitoline Triad 183 Ceres see Demeter civic religion vii, xiv, 30, 134 Cybele 190 dadouchos 53, 54–57, 59–60 Demeter 46, 48, 49, 50, 52, 59, 60 sanctuary at Pergamon 138, 145 Deus Magnus Rincaleus 183, 198 Diana see Artemis Dionysus 88–89, 107, 183, 192, 194, 199–200, 202–203 Dioscouri xiv, 127–128, 129, 134 dodekatheion 138, 139, 145–146 Egyptians cults 179, 181, 189, 199–200 Egyptian gods 179, 189–190 Epione 137 exegetes 59–60, 142 pythochrestos exegetes 59 flamen 178 flamen Divorum Augg. Provinciae Baeticae 161 genius of the colony 183 Hera 78 temple at Samos 77–79 Heracles xiv, 86, 90, 126–128, 129–131, 133, 134, 186, 192 Hymn to Heracles 132 Heraion (temple of Hera in Samos) 77–79 Hermes 103–104, 107 Heroi Aulonite 183, 191–194, 198, 200 hiereus xi, 2, 138 hierophant 49, 53, 54–55, 57 hierophantis 48, 60–61, 125–127, 128, 130, 138 hieropoioi 34, 53 high-priest (high-priestess, high priesthood) 1–9, 11–17, 19, 55 of Asia 2 of Boeotia 157 of the Achaean league 157 of the Arcadian league 157

218 high-priest (cont.) of the Bithynians 152, 161 of the Cretan koinon 152 of the imperial cult see imperial cult of the Macedonian koinon 153 of the Phocians 157 Horus-Harakte 104 hydrophoros 2, 3–8, 14, 18 imperial cult viii–ix, xii–xiv, 1–2, 3, 15, 19, 50, 52, 54, 63, 85, 89, 113–115, 125, 150, 152, 155, 157–158, 160–161–169 priest and priesthood of imperial cult 90, 92, 144 high-priest of imperial cult 50, 154 impiety 77–78 Isis 30, 194 Regina 200 Isthmian Games 128 Juno see Hera Kore 46, 48, 49, 52, 59, 61, 77 ktistes 12, 13–14, 15–17, 118, 122, 125, 128 Libera 197 Liber Pater Tasibastenus 197 lykiarchissa 7 Maenads 202 Manes 194 Manta 183 manteis 142 Mars Ultor 183, 186 Minerva 88, 191 Myndrytus 183, 192 Mysteries Eleusinian Mysteries xiv, 45, 46–50, 52, 54–55, 57–58, 61, 63, 107, 122–123, 125–128, 129–130, 132–133, 134 of Antinous xiii, 107, 108 of Ceres (at Rome) 122 of Liber Pater 196–197 Nemesis 186 nymphaeum 47–48 Nymphs 143

Index Rerum Sacrorum oikistes 17, 144 Olympieion see Zeus Olympus 115, 138 Osiris 104, 106 Pan 107 Panathenaic festivals 56, 60, 129 Panhellenion 45, 51, 52–53, 63, 118–119, 124, 125, 128, 132, 137, 163, 164 Pantheion xiv, 138, 139, 142, 143–144, 145 Pantheios 138 Pantheo (Augusto Sacro) xiv, 140 Pantheon building at Athens 141 building at Rome 139, 140, 143 religious concept xiv, 50, 139, 144–145, 146 pax deorum 78 Persephone see Kore pontifex 178 Pontifex Maximus 86 priest (priestess, priesthood) 1–9, 11–16, 18–19, 45, 116, 137, 161 of Amphiaraos 74, 76 of Asklepios 59, 138 of Demeter and Kore 59–60 of Dionysus 89 of Eleusis 28, 53–58, 63–64 of emperors 3–4, 6, 8, 14 of Gallia Narbonensis 161 of Olympian Zeus 113, 115, 118, 120, 135 of Poseidon Erechtheus 60 of Rome 3–4, 6–8, 14 of the Eponymos at Athens 40 of the imperial cult see imperial cult of the Mother of the Gods 61 prophetes 2, 3–4, 6, 8, 14, 18 pyrophoroi 137, 143 rosalia 197–198 sacerdos 178 provinciae 151 sacred-herald (Eleusis) 54 Saturn 70 Serapis 119, 194 Seviri Augustales xiv, 140


Index Rerum Sacrorum soter 1, 13, 118, 122, 125, 128, 144 spondophoroi 120, 142 Sylvanus 190, 194 Tasibastenus see Liber Pater temple of Augustus in Tarraco 123 theokolos 142 Theseus 23, 133 Thoth 104 traditional gods 2–4, 14–15, 19, 125 Victory 186 xystarchs 90, 92–95

Zeus Ktesios 23 Olympios (Olympian Zeus) 113, 115, 118–120, 124, 135, 142, 144 Panhellenios 51–52, 63, 144 Pantheios 145 temple of Olympian Zeus at Athens  118–119, 122–124, 125, 128, 132–133, 137, 141 temple of Panhellenic Zeus at Athens 133

Index Rerum Memorabilium ab epistulis graecis 100 abolitio nominis (abolitio memoriae) 99, 109 Aetolian League 68–69, 155 agoranomos 112 ambassador 70–71, 86, 90, 99, 117 arch of Constantine 103, 109 Attalid monarchy 4 benefactor 1, 4, 14, 26, 35, 50, 128, 134 Boulé 22–25, 29, 31–33, 40, 53, 55, 59, 62, 76, 106, 117 censor (censorship) 74–76, 80, 108 civil wars 1 client-kings 1 consul 69–70, 76, 80, 110 conventus 109 council 162 common council to all the Greeks 122 of Athens 23–24 of Delphi 132 of Pergamon 4 of Rome see Senate of the Amphyctions 132 damnatio memoriae 109–110 delegates 166 duoviri 177–178 embassy (embassies) 55, 69–71, 73–74, 76–80, 90 ephor 112 eugenes 16, 18 euergesia (euergetism) ix, xi, 30, 35–36, 127 euergetes 1, 13, 118 eusebes 2, 12–16, 18 father of the city 13 first of the city 1, 13 first of the province 13 fishing-rights 73 governor xiii, 72, 73, 78–79, 98, 156, 159–160, 165, 167, 169 graecostasis 70 gymnasiarch 55, 60, 100

hegemonia 79 Historia Augusta 49, 102, 123, 128 honorific inscriptions 1, 5, 13, 18 honorific titles xi, 1, 2, 7, 9, 19 hospitia 70 imperium 79, 168 iniuria 109 kalos kai agathos 2, 13 koinon xiv, 9, 149–151, 153–159, 161–164, 166–169 Cretan koinon 152, 163 koinon cult 149, 162 Macedonian koinon 153 Magnesian koinon 154 of Bithynia 163, 166 of Crete and Cyrene 163 of Lycia 163, 166 of Macedonia 163 of Pontus 152, 163 of the Achaeans 156, 163 of Thessaly 158, 163 kosmios 13 legates 77 leges de Repetundis 77, 79 lex Calpurnia 72 lex Gabinia 70–71 lex Ursonensis 177 magistrate of Oropos 76 of Sparta 119 of the Macedonian koinon 153 Roman magistrate xii, 4, 7, 13, 68, 69, 72–75, 76–80, 98, 109 megalophron 12, 17 mother of the city 13–14 navarchus 78 office-holders 3–16, 18–19 Parthicus see Trajan Pater Patriae 86, 122


Index Rerum Memorabilium patroni 71 Patronomos 119 pertica 191, 197 philagathos 18 philhellene 68 philodoxos 18 philokaisar xi, 1, 12–13, 15–16, 18 philopatris xi, 1, 12, 14–18 philopolis 15–16 philoromaios xi, 1 philosebastos xi, 1, 12–19 philotimos 12–13, 15–17 praefectus 178 alae 99 praetor 70–72 procurator 100 proxenoi 70 publicani 72–76, 79 quaestor 46, 70, 152 recuperatores 71 Roman citizenship 7, 9, 55

Second Punic War 77 Second Sophistic 107 Senate (of Rome) 51, 68–71, 73, 76–77, 80, 108, 113, 116–117, 122, 124, 130, 134–135 Senatusconsultum 73, 76 son of the city xi, 1, 12, 16 of the Council xi, 12 of the people xi, 1, 12 of the Province 12 of the tribe 12 stuprum 100, 109 Suda 103 tax collectors xii, 68, 73–76, 80 title-holders xi, 5, 7, 9, 11–14 treasury 26, 70 tribunal 72, 77–79 tribunes (military office) 77