CONCLUSION

It is helpful to approach Roman religion as a system, as an interdependent network of meaningfully related cults. The richness and complexity of meaning with which each individual cult is endowed can best be appreciated when it is seen in the context of the religion as a whole. Meaning is generated not only from within each cult but also from the way in which it is related to other cults in the system. The cults of Ceres, Liber and Flora are particularly good examples of this process. Le Bonniec (1958) and Bruhl (1953) in particular have demonstrated the significance of the cults of Ceres and Liber respectively, as independent entities. But seen in relationship to each other and to the cult of Flora the meanings thus independently generated acquire a new dimension, a greater depth and complexity. Ceres, Liber and Flora are of course easy cases. The way in which they were structured invites comparison. Ceres, Liber and Libera for example, occupied the same temple. Flora’s temple stood next door, in Tacitus’ words in the very same place, eodem in loco. The other easy case for us, because the ancient commentators themselves pointed the way, was Bona Dea and Venus. Why was myrtle, Venus’ plant, not used at the festival of Bona Dea? It was Plutarch’s question before it became ours. But most of the time the interconnections need to be teased out in a process fraught with difficulty. For one thing we are in danger of missing relationships within cults that might have been intuitively acknowledged in antiquity. But more damaging perhaps is the risk of over-zealously creating relationships which perhaps never existed. There are no easy answers. Gaps, inadequacies and over-simplifications are inevitably a part of writing ancient history. But I have tried to suggest two ways in which to

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steer clear of possibly anachronistic explanations or rationalizations.

The first is the concept of categorization. Roman religion was organized around categories. Rituals were defined by their participants. In this book I have focused on categories that were defined by gender and sexuality. It is a fair assertion that the way in which women were ritually defined always encompassed in some way their gender and sexuality. Men were rarely thus defined. In the rites of Venus there were glimpses of the ways in which men participated: the story of the patrician myrtle and the plebeian myrtle hinted at a political distinction, while the cults of Venus Obsequens and Venus Erycina both ritualized the notion of military prowess. Implicit in the lictor’s cry as reported by Festus, hostis, vinctus, mulier, virgo exesto, we have the suggestion of male citizens as a ritual category, in some instances. So one way of trying to identify related cults within the system is to compare the categories of participants whenever possible.

It is important to note that different cults used categorization in different ways. The cults of Bona Dea, Hercules Invictus at the Ara Maxima, Ceres and Flora all operated on a principle of ritual exclusivity. Sometimes the exclusion of other categories was rigid and strictly enforced; witness Bona Dea and the Clodius affair. The sacrum anniversarium Cereris was another rite that was strictly exclusive, confined as it was to matronae. In these cults exclusion operated in terms of the physical absence of the excluded category. At the Floralia, which was undoubtedly a festival of prostitutes, the exclusivity was less rigid. The Floralia was a stage performance with actors—prostitutes—and audience. I showed that the men in the audience had a ritual role to play. But given the nature of the festival

—a public stage performance—it is more than likely that the audience contained women who were not prostitutes. In fact this is an area where ritual categorization was not a perfect mirror of social categories. For there were surely individual women who were both matronae and prostitutes. It is possible that some women participated in different cults that were marked by exclusivity by virtue of their multiple status. But that does not change the nature of the cult itself. The Floralia was a ritual manifestation of prostitution regardless of whether some of the women who participated in the cult were also technically matronae as well. It was an exclusive cult in that it did not recognize any other category of women. The distinction becomes clear when we compare the Floralia to the cult of Venus

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Verticordia. The cults of Venus, I argued, operated in a way antithetical to the model of exclusivity. Venus served an integrative function in Roman religion, by acknowledging yet bringing together disparate categories within the same ritual. In the cult of Venus Verticordia prostitutes and matronae qua prostitutes and matronae performed the rites together. The Vestals, I argued, were unique. By transcending all other ritual categories they became representatives of the unity, the integrity of the state. They were simultaneously symbols of its soundness and instruments for healing its rifts.

A second way to avoid the trap of anachronistic explanations is to see Roman religion itself as part of a system. I suggested that cultural institutions in general are also usefully perceived as a system. In particular I used legal rules, vestimentary codes, myth, poetry in its various genres, and historiography to demonstrate consistency with the patterns that emerged from the analysis of ritual. I do not suggest that this is a foolproof method for avoiding anachronism or falsity. But to invoke again the metaphor of Monet’s cathedral, if it is possible to demonstrate that the different perspectives reveal the same cathedral, that at least lends plausibility to the analysis.

It is clear that women’s role in Roman religion was not a marginal one. I have shown that they participated in important public rituals and festivals of the civic calendar. This takes us back to the question I began with: why did Roman women never acquire a legitimate constitutional role? It is important to realize that this is a modern question. There is no evidence that it was ever an issue in antiquity. When men feared political action by women they were not afraid that they would have to cede a degree of power to women. Rather they feared that women would destroy the structure of society itself. That for example is the fear that Cato expresses, as we saw, in the debate over the repeal of the Oppian law. The political domain was exclusively male. Women could never share it; they could remain outside (which is what did happen) or they could destroy it (which is what men feared could happen).

Though modern, the question is a valid one. For there is a remarkable affinity between women like Hortensia, Cornelia, Servilia or Sempronia just to name a few, and modern western women. These were all women who were eminently capable of playing a constitutional role, and indeed who did affect the course of events through either the politics of protest or the politics of individual influence. But they appear to have accepted unquestioningly their position outside the domain of legitimate authority. Thus, for example, Horten-

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sia protesting before the triumvirs a tax imposed on the personal wealth of some of the richest women in Rome: ‘Why should we pay taxes when we have no part in the honours, the commands, the statecraft for which you contend against each other’ (App., B. Civ., 4.5.34). Her words are echoed by Livy through the tribune Valerius. Valerius was arguing that the Oppian law should be repealed and the women allowed their baubles: ‘No offices, no priesthoods, no triumphs, no decorations, no gifts, no spoils of war can come to them. Elegance, adornment, finery—these are a woman’s insignia’ (Livy, 34.7.8–9). In other aspects of their lives women did over the years achieve a very great degree of equality with men. A most important factor in this process was the effective freedom from the constraints of tutelage, for the tutor early on became little more than a legal formality. When Augustus released the mother of three chil- dren—four for a freedwoman—from the requirements of a tutor’s supervision of certain legal transactions, his innovation was little more than the discarding of a formality. In effect there were already mechanisms in place to allow women to circumvent the will of their tutores. If a tutor refused assent to a particular transaction a woman could apply to the authorities to force him to assent. If he was absent she could not only get one temporarily appointed, but could choose him herself. Indeed it has been noted that though we know a good deal about the business transactions of Cicero’s wife Terentia, we do not know who her tutor was (Crook 1967a:115). These women were wealthy, independent, sophisticated in matters of politics and finance, yet they never sought political legitimation, which with the hindsight conferred by two thousand years of intervening history, seems today like a logical progression.

The lesson from Roman religion was, as I showed, that women never had a ritual identity independent of their relationship to men. In one sense this is not peculiar to Rome. Women have always been classified according to their sexuality. Even today women are classified according to the stages of their sexual development into roughly pre-menarche, post-menarche and post-menopausal stages. Ostensibly this serves a medical function, but it would be naïve to suggest that there were no social and cultural undertones to classifications of this nature. In Roman ritual, however, sexual classification was endowed with extraordinary symbolic significance. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the case of the Vestals. Apart from their daily ritual duties a Vestal’s everyday existence was not very different from the ordinary upper-class Roman matron. They attended din-

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ner parties and the public games, and they did have friendships and social and business relations with men despite the danger that these might lead to allegations of unchastity. They were not secluded, nor was their social behaviour formally inhibited except for the necessity to preserve both the appearance and reality of chastity. Yet their identity was encompassed entirely by the fact of their virginity. Whatever individual personality they possessed was effaced by their sexuality. Occasionally we get a quick glimpse of the individual woman behind the Vestal façade, accompanied by a reminder of the high price she might well have to pay for individuality. For example, Livy’s account of the trial of the Vestal Postumia suggests a woman with a vivacious manner and a fondness for self-adornment. In themselves these traits were not offensive. However, they could and in this case did give rise to suspicions of unchastity. Postumia was tried and acquitted but admonished to dress and behave with greater circumspection. For Vestals virginity was all-encompassing.

The Vestals were, of course, an extreme case. But women never fully escaped the implications of ritual categorization. We know very little indeed of individual Roman women, of their lives, their interests, their achievements. In Moses Finley’s memorable phrase they were indeed the ‘silent women of Rome’ (Finley 1968). But those few individuals who did survive in historical accounts, always and without exception regardless of their personal achievements, derived their identity from their relationship to one or more prominent men. These women were first and foremost wives, mothers, daughters, sisters or even mistresses of some noteworthy man. Whatever their achievements, they were subordinate to that defining relationship. Roman women lacked an independent identity. This was particularly true of matronae, the group otherwise most qualified for a constitutional role. Although in a sine manu marriage a woman was not legally or financially subordinate to her husband, her identity in large measure depended on his. A woman is rarely introduced in historical writing without an accompanying litany of her male relationships: her father, her husband or husbands if she had been married more than once, her sons or her brothers, depending on the relative political prominence of each.

I suggest that this lack of an independent identity was a major factor in the failure of women to achieve a constitutional role in the Republic. Their facelessness prevented them from becoming a political force in their own right, regardless of their qualifications for the part. Women were politically powerful, as Bauman so cogently

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demonstrates, but they were content to act through their menfolk (Bauman 1992). It would be simplistic to regard women’s exclusion from a constitutionally defined political role as male imposed. We have no evidence that women ever fought for an independent, legitimate political role. Rather women’s position was the result of a shared ideology. In the religious domain in particular, women, divided into sexual categories, acted out time after time, year after year, the ritual implications of male defined identity. Ritual repeatedly reinforced the status quo and legitimated the male defined status of women.