In the Roman context, deities were understood not only through spatial and temporal lenses but also through the individuals who oversaw these realms. Referring to ‘personnel focuses’ rather than just priests allows for a shift away from concepts like ‘status’ or ‘profession’ toward ‘conceptual frameworks’. This shift is essential, as, in theoretical terms, there was no significant distinction between a flamen and an ordinary citizen when performing a sacrifice or saying a prayer. By engaging in ritual actions within set spatial and temporal contexts, both groups essentially “recreated” a similar divine concept, albeit in notably different manners.
Regarding the term ‘priest’, the ongoing debate among scholars about its applicability to Roman circumstances has struck me as both pointless and detrimental. It is pointless because no multifaceted concept, articulated in any language, can accurately encapsulate another’s complex concept (for example, there lacks a Greek equivalent to the Latin term ‘divus’). It is detrimental because it implies that this limitation does not apply elsewhere, outside the notion of ‘priest’. Therefore, ‘priest’ serves a practical interim term for a personnel focal point of a cult, which, with the formal and generally recognized approval of various individuals, functions in specific religious affairs as these individuals’ representative.
In Roman religion, priestly roles can be neatly categorized into official and unofficial priesthoods. The official priests were responsible for fostering and maintaining favorable relations between the deities and the state. They acted on behalf of the state and were under the jurisdiction of the senate and subsequently the emperor. Moreover, these positions were unpaid but carried significant prestige. Conversely, unofficial priests managed the connection between individuals and the divine, aiming ultimately to fulfill personal requests, being compensated either in goods or money.
Unofficial priests encompassed a range of roles, from self-appointed magicians and oracles to well-respected specialists operating within recognized, yet unofficial, cults or practices. The first category included figures like the Greek “pseudo-priest and fortune-teller” (sacrificulus et vates) who introduced the ill-omened Bacchus cult to Rome leading to the Bacchanalian scandal of 186 B.C.; or Licinius, referenced in Cicero’s Miloniana, who earned his living performing purification rites for grieving families. The latter group included Etruscan diviners (haruspices), who routinely interpreted omens for both individual magistrates and the state in an unofficial capacity.
The two most significant sacerdotal colleges during the Republic were the pontifical college (collegium pontificale), led by the pontifex maximus, and the augural college (collegium augurum). Regardless of their origins, these colleges maintained their autonomy throughout Roman history. In the Republic, their independence was signified by distinct archives and the fact that once appointed, an augur could not lose their position, irrespective of exile or legal issues, and an augur was not bound by the directives of the pontifex maximus. Thus, the functions of the pontifical college and the augurate remained strictly segregated.
During the Republic, the personnel focus of official cults is most pronounced with the flamines, who were the designated priests for the official worship of specific gods within the city. In later periods, flamines also took charge of the cult of the emperor, indicating that the flamen was regarded as the principal priest of a particular deity, contrasting sharply with the priestly colleges. The most prominent example in the Republic was the flamen of Iuppiter, whose divinity was matched by the preeminence of his role among the flamines, ranking just below the rex sacrorum in the ancient priestly hierarchy. His wife, the flaminica, performed ritual duties that complemented her husband’s responsibilities.
She may have served as the priestess of Iuno (who did not have a flamen). This rationale accounts for why the flamen Dialis was prohibited from divorcing, and why the flaminica could only marry once (univira), as well as why her husband had to relinquish his priesthood upon her death; they together embodied the divine duality of Iuppiter and Iuno. Furthermore, the various, sometimes obscure, restrictions placed upon the flamen Dialis accentuated his distinctive priesthood, as they prevented him from leading a normal life or engaging in societal activities. This situation ultimately led to heightened focus on the personnel emphasis of the concept of Iuppiter.
Similarly, unofficial cults reflect this personnel focalization. For instance, consider the cult of Bacchus around 200 B.C. Initially, this worship was exclusively led by women, with matrons being selected in succession as priestesses (sacerdotes). This role persisted despite the Tiriolo decree, which the senate issued against the cult in 186 B.C., implicitly recognizing both the female followers (Bacchae) and female priests (sacerdotes). Following reforms circa 210 B.C., male initiates began to join the rites.
In the context of cult205, the roles of ‘master’ (magister) had likely been established. By the time the Tiriolo decree was issued, men were considered equal to women in their roles as priests (sacerdotes) or ‘masters’ (magistri). Livy suggests the presence of a priestly hierarchy (maximi sacerdotes), although it remains unclear whether this hierarchy was founded on personal distinction or specific sacerdotal abilities. It is reasonable to deduce that priests conducted initiations and sacrifices in the presence of their fellow cult members. Meanwhile, ‘masters’ managed sacrifices, although their primary focus was likely overseeing communal funds contributed by cult members. The overall framework, particularly the roles of magistri and the involvement of both slaves and free individuals in the cult, closely resembles various corporate bodies (collegia) that typically formed around particular deities.
The expansion of ritual roles may result in a specialization of tasks. This trend toward specialization is notably evident in the staffing of cults devoted to eastern deities in Rome, such as those dedicated to Iuppiter Dolichenus and Isis. For instance, in the case of Isis, references to priests are initially quite general. An inscription from the Capitoline region dating to the first century B.C. indicates the presence of either a male or female priest (sacerdos) associated with Isis Capitolina, potentially linked with other devotees or even officials of the cult. Another inscription from the end of the first century A.D. similarly mentions a priest of Isis Capitolina.
Literary references suggest that male Isiac priests may have existed on the Capitol as early as 43 B.C. and again in 69 A.D., with Ovid noting their emergence, although he may not have obtained his information specifically from Rome. The sole early testimony indicating a possible specialization among the personnel connected to the cult of Isis is found in Apuleius, who, writing in the second century A.D., suggests that as early as the time of Sulla, a congregation of Isiacs known as the pastophori was established in the capital. However, there is no substantial inscriptional evidence to support this claim.
In the second century A.D. and forward, as the followers of Isis grew and political conditions improved, a variety of specialized priesthoods began to emerge, often modeled on Egyptian traditions. Notably, a ‘high-priest’ (prophetes) is documented in Rome during the first half of the second century A.D., both through epigraphic evidence and depictions on reliefs alongside the keeper of sacred texts (hiero-grammateus) and an unnamed priestess of Isis (sacerdos).
These reliefs, found in Rome, date back to the Hadrianic period. Additional roles include an ‘astrologer’ (horoscopus), known only from artistic representations in Rome, ‘singers’ (paianistes), and potentially, those designated to attire the divine statues (stolistai), although there is currently no direct evidence of the latter in Italy. Furthermore, there were the pausarii, who performed pausae, likely specific ritual pauses during Isiac processions. This growth in priesthoods, representing various personnel within the cult of Isis, allowed for much broader engagement from the community, reflecting both the cult’s escalating popularity and its gradual Egyptianization.
Conversely, the specialization within personnel roles might create a secondary linkage with specific deities. For example, augurs, initially possessing no particular connection with any god, became ‘priests’ of Iuppiter due to their expertise in celestial delineation. Similarly, the III/VII/Xviri epulones and the II/X/XVviri sacris faciundis originated from particular duties within the pontifical college; the former was responsible for organizing the grand feasts associated with the ludi plebei and the ludi Romani, while the latter consulted the Sibylline Books. Given that these games were affiliated with Iuppiter and the Sibylline texts with Apollo, these positions were later interpreted as belonging to the respective cults. However, the worship of Apollo did not emerge as significant until the Augustan period, meaning that the II/X/XVviri could not have initially served as personnel for the Apollonian cult.
As I have previously noted, the deification of emperors was constructed on a model akin to that of traditional deities. This assertion is further substantiated by the evolution of personnel roles. For instance, Augustus acquired a flamen posthumously in 14 A.D., consciously avoiding the precarious precedent set by Caesar, who had a flamen during his lifetime. Augustus’ flamen marked the beginning of a long line of flamines for deified emperors in Rome, persisting until the third century A.D. Throughout the Julio-Claudian era, the role of imperial flamen remained primarily within the imperial family. Yet, not every divus was entitled to a dedicated flamen; records indicate at least one flamen overseen a communal worship of both Divus Iulius and Divus Augustus.
Interestingly, resembling the worship of other significant deities, the cult of the deified Augustus involved multiple priests. For example, Livia became the priestess of Augustus in 14 A.D., with her appointment indicating responsibilities that extended well beyond a mere private cult. Her priesthood likely drew inspiration from the vestal virgins, even though its precise status is somewhat ambiguous. More prominently, there was the association (sodalitas) of Augustales, initiated by Tiberius in 14 A.D., which included twenty-one Roman aristocrats selected by lot, alongside members of the imperial family. This association was not tied to any individual emperor but rather to his gens.
Similarly, analogous associations were formed with other imperial families (sodales Flaviales, Hadrianales, Antoniani). Tiberius explicitly clarified that the sodales Augustales did not equate to other official priesthoods like that of the pontiffs; rather, they served exclusively as priests for the imperial family. This explicit differentiation, alongside the reappearance of the sodalitas in relation to the four major priesthoods in 31 A.D., underscored their focal significance within the imperial cult.
It is highly probable that the flamines, particularly as understood during historical times, represent individual personnel foci from an earlier, pre-historical phase of the Roman pantheon. This implies that they initially centered on the worship of a specific deity, as reflected in their titles (for instance, the flamen Dialis serves as the priest of Iuppiter). Conversely, we can deduce that official rituals linked to deities with assigned flamines were likely conducted primarily or solely by these priests.
As we transition into the historical period, the distinct focus on various cults by specific personnel became somewhat indistinct. Members of the pontifical college were able to stand in for one another. For example, the pontiffs could perform the duties of the flamen Dialis in nearly all of his roles, especially during the long vacancy of the position from 87 to 11 B.C. Additionally, Tellus received offerings from both the flamen Cerialis and the pontiffs, while the flamen Dialis may have participated in the Lupercalia, a celebration associated with Faunus. Similarly, the flamen Quirinalis conducted rituals for Robigus and Consus, alongside the vestal virgins. While it is true that many deities lacked a dedicated priest, necessitating the involvement of priests from other cults, there is credible evidence that the flamen Portunalis was engaged in the worship of Quirinus (who evidently had his own flamen) and that the flaminica Dialis had connections to the cult of Mars (who also had a flamen and likely a flaminica Martialis) during the ritual of ‘moving the ancilia’.
Some academics might contend that this diffusion of functions suggests that flamines did not serve as dedicated personnel for specific gods until the introduction of imperial flamines after Caesar’s demise. They may argue that high-ranking priests, including flamines, did not represent individual cults and held no specific duty concerning the rituals or spaces of particular deities but rather for all cults collectively. This perspective posits that the various colleges are categorized by their functions (auspicia, sacra, warfare, prophecy, etc.) rather than by deities. Critics may accuse me of fabricating an image of early or pre-Roman Rome as orderly and coherent, implying a gradual decline over centuries as elites grew increasingly negligent or doubtful.
I am willing to acknowledge that the original degree of focalization among flamines is difficult to ascertain with precision. However, I maintain that this degree must have been significant for several reasons. First, the naming conventions of flamines include an adjective that identifies the divine figure with whom they were associated (e.g., flamen Dialis, Martialis, etc.). They are the only priestly order that utilizes such identifying markers. Second, some flamines, as noted, were linked to major deities of the later pantheon (such as Iuppiter and Mars), implying that they should not be viewed as incidental components of the pantheon but rather as essential parts of it. Third, lesser flamines, like the flamen Falacer or the flamen Furrinalis (mentioned solely by Varro), were associated with gods that had virtually vanished from the Roman pantheon during the Republic. The retention of their names suggests that they held meanings pertinent to the differentiation among the flamines. Fourth, if flamines had managed all or many cults, the distinctions between the flamines maiores (which non-patricians could not access during the Republic) and minores, as well as the prohibition surrounding the flamen Dialis, would be hard to justify. It is more plausible to assert that these divisions reflect an underlying divine hierarchy, with Iuppiter, Mars, and Quirinus at its apex, led by Iuppiter himself. It’s vital to remember that the later pontiffs, whose title implies “bridge-builders,” did not originate as religious figures. Hence, it is reasonable to conclude that flamines emerged as sacrificial priests dedicated to specific gods or groups of gods conceived as a cohesive entity. In terms of inconsistencies, it should be noted that this discussion pertains to personnel foci; hence focalization implies significance rather than exclusivity.
Regarding the ideas of eventual ‘decline’ and ‘confusion,’ these terms can be misleading as they imply a rigidity and unchangeability in concepts. This book posits instead that concepts are continually shaped and developed from one another. This perspective provides insight into some discrepancies. For example, the fact that Tellus accepted sacrifices from the Flamen Cerialis may be understood through the functional similarities between Ceres and Tellus as earth deities linked to fertility. When we learn that the flamen Quirinalis officiated rituals for Robigus, it becomes less surprising knowing that the Robigalia Games were dedicated to both Mars and Robigus, while acknowledging the overlapping martial roles of Mars and Quirinus as war deities. Similar reasoning can elucidate the substitution of the flaminica of Mars for the flaminica of Iuppiter during the martial ritual involving ‘moving the ancilia’. Due to the limited evidence available, tracing these conceptual connections with certainty is rarely feasible. Nonetheless, this conceptual framework does allow for a dynamic interpretation.
A particularly illustrative example of how the cult of one deity interacts with others can be seen in the case of the flamen Quirinalis. This priesthood is thought to have been established by Numa and was part of the elite group of three flamines maiores (alongside those of Iuppiter and Mars), which included patrician flamines required to marry through confarreatio, unlike the twelve plebeian flamines minores. Historically, the flamen Quirinalis ranked fourth in the earliest known priestly hierarchy, placing him above the pontifex maximus.
The role of the flamen Quirinalis must have held significant prestige during the formative years of Roman religious practice, a time when the deity was at the peak of his influence. However, at some uncertain yet undoubtedly early juncture, his standing diminished, likely due to functional rivalry with Mars. The latter emerged as the foremost god of war, commanding a central position not just in Rome but across central Italy. The initial symbiotic relationship between Quirinus and Mars is evident through the existing two colleges of Salii, one associated with Quirinus and located on the Quirinal Hill (i.e., Salii Collini/Agonenses).
The other associated with Mars and found on the Palatine (known as Salii Palatini, later situated within the temple of Mars Ultor). While the institution of the Salii is not unique to Rome, the coexistence of two similar priestly colleges, each possessing equivalent cultic roles yet distinct ritual locations and traditions, is indeed unusual. This scenario is most logically explained by the premise that these two priestly colleges once functioned independently. It is plausible that one college represented the citizens of the Quirinal (and Viminal) Hills, while the other was aligned with the remaining hills, including the Palatine. Such a dual structure likely mirrors the organization of the early city, which seems to have been segregated into Quirinal and Viminal on one side and the other hills on the opposite (like the Palatine, etc.).
As the worship of Quirinus faced competition from Mars, it gradually diminished. This shift had repercussions for the position of the flamen Quirinalis, as the priest experienced a decline in both authority and recognition. It is uncertain whether the (unofficial) association of Quirinus with Romulus was engineered by the priests of Quirinus as a reaction to this diminishment. However, once this notion began to gain traction in the early second century B.C. or just thereafter, the priests of Quirinus had solid motivations to endorse and promote it. Consequently, Quirinus acquired a new, clearly defined role as the founder of Rome and as Mars’s son rather than his rival the war god. This association with Romulus was particularly noteworthy, given that Romulus lacked a dedicated priest of his own.
We may be able to pinpoint the individual responsible for or at least a vigorous supporter of the linkage of Quirinus with Romulus. Q. Fabius Pictor, son of the historian, held the position of flamen Quirinalis from 190 to 167 B.C. and is the most renowned figure to have occupied this role. He is frequently mentioned by Livy in his capacity as flamen, especially regarding his confrontation with the pontifex maximus P. Licinius: Flavius had been designated to the praetorship in Sardinia but was compelled to resign from that role due to religious obligations following Licinius’s intervention (and Flavius became praetor peregrinus instead). Nonetheless, the impression Flavius left was enduring, to the extent that his grandson, monetary official N. Fabius Pictor, issued a denarius in 126 B.C. depicting his grandfather in the role of flamen. Both the timeline and the apparent political aspirations of Q. Fabius Pictor would position him as a pivotal figure for the identification of Quirinus with Romulus.
Regardless of the circumstances, the identification of Quirinus with Romulus remained unofficial prior to the Augustan era. This is suggested by the fact that, at least until that period, sacrifices made to Romulus were still conducted by the pontiffs, not the flamen Quirinalis. Rituals at the ‘hut’ of Romulus were still performed by the pontiffs in 38 B.C., notwithstanding the fact that the flamen Quirinalis held the position until at least 46 B.C. (although a later vacancy cannot be ruled out). Likewise, Acca Larentia, regarded as the foster-mother of Romulus and Remus according to prevalent beliefs from the first half of the first century B.C., continued to receive regular sacrifices from the pontiffs in 43 B.C. Subsequently, such sacrifices were conducted—presumably as a result of the identification of Quirinus with Romulus—by the flamen Quirinalis.
Quirinus exemplifies a broader tendency wherein priests have actively promoted the merging of their waning deities with others. A notable example is Iuppiter Dolichenus. Two reliefs uncovered in the god’s sanctuary on the Aventine, dating from the late second and mid-third centuries A.D., illustrate Isis and Sarapis as part of the divine hierarchy of Iuppiter Dolichenus, along with his consort, Iuno Dolichena. The earlier relief is inscribed: “To Iuppiter Optimus Maximus Dolichenus Serapis and Isis Iuno” (I(ovi) o(ptimo) m(aximo) Dolicheno Serapi et [Isidi I]unoni). Additionally, antefixes and statuettes featuring Egyptian elements were discovered within the sanctuary.
Thus, it is a reasoned conjecture that Isis and Sarapis were venerated there, either as Iuppiter Dolichenus and Iuno Dolichena or potentially in their own right (various sculptures of other deities such as the Dioscuri, Mithras, Minerva, Silvanus, Diana, Hercules, among others, were also found). In any event, Vidman aptly suggests that this merging (not necessarily identification) with the Egyptian goddesses was championsed by the priests of Iuppiter Dolichenus, aiming to enhance their cult’s appeal by associating with more popular divine figures. However, the Aventine worship of Iuppiter Dolichenus slipped into obscurity not long after the third century A.D.
During the Empire, the central role of personnel foci within traditional Republican cults diminished. A clear indicator of this decline is the well-documented scarcity of mentions of the traditional flamines in imperial texts. Even if we concede that these flamines, particularly the flamines minores, might have been disinterested in commemorating their priesthood in inscriptions or preferred to highlight it differently (because the flaminates themselves had lost their ‘prestigious potential’), this only serves to underscore that they were no longer pivotal personnel foci for the deities. This could have resulted from the decline of the cult itself or a shift in its focalization away from the flamines. Those flamines that are mentioned might owe their recognition to the enduring popularity of the celebrations associated with the deity they represented. However, evidence remains too limited for further deductions, but it is reasonable to assume that some flaminates persisted until at least the onset of the second century A.D.
The rise of the imperial cult, among other factors, significantly contributed to the abandonment of the focal system associated with Republican cults, ultimately leading to its complete disintegration. By broadening the focus to include the cult of the emperor, these traditional foci lost their distinctive character and consequently ceased to fulfill roles that were typical of ancient divine frameworks. Notably, the primary focus of the imperial cult, the imperial flamen, was initially modeled on the key personnel focus of the traditional Republican cult par excellence, the flamen Dialis: both in terms of attire and the privileges accorded to the imperial flamen, which reflected those of the Jovian priest.
This adaptation seems intentional, aiming to bestow a sense of prestige upon the personnel focus of the imperial cult. This deliberate blending of personnel foci between the principal Republican and the imperial rites can be further illustrated by a specific instance. Domitian would participate in the quinquennial Games of the Capitoline Iuppiter while donning a gold crown adorned with representations of the Capitoline triad, symbolizing a clear conceptual merging of duties similar to those of the flamen Dialis.
Conversely, the same crown, with the addition of the emperor’s image, was similarly worn by the flamen Dialis.On the same occasion, the connection of the latter to the imperial cult was emphasized. Likewise, members of the Flavian priestly college (collegium Flavialium) were noted for donning crowns akin to that of the flamen Dialis. Therefore, it can be posited that the flamen Dialis served as both the supreme priest of Iuppiter and, arguably, the protector of the Flavian cult.
The integration of Republican clerical roles with the imperial cult is further illustrated by the evolution of the arval brethren: this ancient priesthood dedicated to Dea Dia likely performed, during the Republic, the rites of Mars as well as those of the Lares and Semones, as evidenced by the ‘hymn of the arvals.’ When the cult was revived during Augustus’s reign, ties to other Republican religious practices were largely severed, which is why the imperial arvals were never seen participating in traditional ceremonies of other deities.
In contrast, the arvals increasingly became integral to the imperial cult, routinely making vows for the emperor’s and his family’s welfare on January 3 and often on other dates. Notably, during the Tiberian period, Dea Dia was typically invoked in the fourth position (after the Capitoline triad). However, any mention of the goddess vanished entirely from the vows made post-38 A.D. Additionally, from the latter half of the first century A.D., an imperial cult facility, a Caesareum, was established in the grove of Dea Dia. Meetings focused on worshipping Dea Dia diminished significantly in comparison to those largely centered on the imperial cult until the Flavians adjusted this by reducing imperial observances.
In summary, the imperial cult absorbed the clerical roles associated with the worship of Iuppiter and Dea Dia during the imperial period, effectively undermining the principle of traditional cultic focalization. This shift is further evidenced by the fact that in addition to the yearly sacrifice at Dea Dia’s temple, the arvals commonly conducted various rites at the residence of their magister or at other temples within the city, particularly in the temple of Iuppiter on the Capitoline.
While it’s arguable that significant Republican priesthoods also lacked distinct locations for worship, a distinction remains between convening for administrative tasks and executing public rituals linked to specific sacred spaces. By integrating the emperor into their regular rites, the imperial arvals likely diminished their concentrated focus on the cult of Dea Dia. It seems reasonable to suggest that this phenomenon also occurred among the personnel foci of other official cults.
A comprehensive list of potential personnel foci for the Jewish god within the Graeco-Roman world can be assembled, though the relevance of such a list for the context of urban Rome and the actual functions of these personnel remains contentious. In several locations, including Rome, the position of the archisynagogue likely served as the leading personnel focus, potentially supported by a council (gerousia). Nevertheless, neither such a council nor an overseeing body of synagogue councils is definitively recorded for Rome, and its existence cannot be confirmed based purely on what is known from Alexandria.
The earliest references to personnel foci of the Christian deity appear in the first epistle of Clement, likely penned around 96 A.D. in Rome, and the first epistle of Peter, which is also presumed to originate from Rome and dates back to the late first century A.D. While it may not be entirely certain how accurately these letters reflect Roman circumstances, both authors seem to convey a similar and widespread structure of Christian communities. Given the significance of the Christian community in Rome and the likely origin of both letters from the capital, it is reasonable to posit that the details provided in these texts pertain primarily to Rome.
If this holds true, two groups of Christian officials can be discerned in the capital towards the end of the first century A.D., namely a council of presbyters (presbyteroi, referred to as episkopoi) and deacons (diakonoi). The presbyters gained their authority through the apostolic succession from Jesus. It was this council of presbyters that collectively oversaw the affairs of the Roman Christian community until approximately the mid-second century A.D. However, by the early second century, Ignatius of Antioch laid the groundwork for the monoepiscopate, appointing a single leader, a bishop (episkopos), for each community, with the support of a presbyter council, while deacons were tasked with charitable duties.
This structure first seems to appear in Rome around the mid-second century A.D., potentially beginning with the popes (monoepiskopoi) Anicetus (154–166?), Soter (166?–174), and Eleutherius (174–189). It was particularly during Victor’s time (circa 189–199) that the special powers of the popes were formalized.
As observed with other newcomers such as the cult of Isis, a trend of increasing specialization among personnel became evident throughout the third century. Notably, Pope Fabian (in office 236–250 A.D.) assigned one deacon (from a total of seven) to oversee two Augustan regions of Rome, with assistance from a subdeacon. Shortly after Fabian’s death, the capital also had 46 presbyters, 42 acolytes, 56 lectors, exorcists, and door-keepers. To summarize the progress of personnel foci of the Christian god in the third century, one would note a rising concentration of authority within the bishop of Rome, alongside a growing local and hierarchical differentiation among the other personnel foci. There appears to be no significant difference in terms of power dynamics between the personnel foci of the Christian god and those of other Oriental deities, most notably Isis.
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