To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure no-reply@cambridge.org
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
In this book, Claudia Moser offers a new understanding of Roman religion in the Republican era through an exploration of sacrifice, its principal ritual. Examining the long-term imprint of sacrificial practices on the material world, she focuses on monumental altars as the site for the act of sacrifice. Piecing together the fragments of the complex kaleidoscope of Roman religious practices, she shows how they fit together in ways that shed new light on the characteristic diversity of Roman religion. This study reorients the study of sacrificial practice in three principal ways: first, by establishing the primacy of sacred architecture, rather than individual action, in determining religious authority; second, by viewing religious activities as haptic, structured experiences in the material world rather than as expressions of doctrinal, belief-based mentalities; and third, by considering Roman sacrifice as a local, site-specific ritual rather than as a single, monolithic practice.
After victory at Actium left him master of the Roman world, Augustus represented himself to the city by building a temple to Apollo closely integrated with his own home, a library, and a portico on the Palatine Hill (28 BCE). The poets, however, largely sidestep the political messages of this building complex, instead asserting interpretive liberty by voicing perspectives marginalized by Augustus’ supposed consensus universorum (consensus of all the orders). Propertius’ elegies 2.31 and 32 define an aesthetic and moral code of toleration in tacit resistance to Augustus’ intrusions into private life and attempts to control female bodies. The Danaids of the portico prompt meditation, by Horace and Vergil, on individuals’ moral autonomy in arbitrating among the competing claims of justice, clemency, and obedience to paternal authority. In his revisitation of the Palatine from exile in Tristia 3.1, Ovid shows how Augustus’ self-advertising falls short of reality – not least, with his exclusion of books from the Palatine’s supposedly inclusive public library, quickly corrected by the people’s welcoming hands and private judgment. Together, these poets verbally reconstruct the Palatine as a counter-imperial space that celebrates readers’ mental autonomy even as their bodies and books were coming under patriomonialist control.
This brief final chapter examines Augustus’ attempts to fix his posthumous memory through his deathbed performance and his will. Suetonius and Cassius Dio report that the princeps left careful instructions for his funeral, a list of his accomplishments (the Res Gestae), and advice for future governance. On all these counts, however, audiences continued to modify the emperor’s plans and intervene in his public image. Augustus’ funeral procession, the Monumentum Ancyranum, and the object history of his bronze statue at Meroë illustrate audiences’ power over imperial signs even after the death of their author. This mirrors the co-authorial role and interpretive autonomy that subjects already enjoyed over images of the principate even during Augustus’ lifetime, as discussed throughout this study. This final chapter thereby confirms the poets’ and princeps’ shared dependence on their audiences, showing how this pivotal figure in world history remains the enduring, remarkably democratic collective creation of his subjects’ imaginations.