Such routines before the cult image are a characteristic example of the growing
integration of cult practice into everyday life in imperial times.
Regardless of their size or the deity worshiped, all cult precincts must provide for
certain basic needs without which normal cult practice is impossible: a water supply
is necessary, firewood for sacrifice and feast must be available. Questions as to whether
permanent solutions for these requirements would be sought, what shape these would
take, and which modalities would be deemed practicable were decided on a case-by-
case basis. It is a primary aim of this chapter to document the organizational flex-
ibility in the establishment of cult sites and the resulting diversity of spatial solutions:
because of the integration of cult sites into the urban environment, religion could
become a part of everyday life, for example as a sacrifice offered in the course of
daily meals, or at roadside sanctuaries and crossroads. Equally, everyday life could
become part of religion. At complex cult sites (Stambaugh 1978; Egelhaaf-Gaiser
2000: 258–71), the intensity with which certain areas were used may have been inversely
proportional to the amount of prestige these facilities could (and did) claim: at the
Apollo sanctuary on the Palatine (see below) the porticos, courtyards, and libraries
may actually have seen more “traffic” than the temple itself, which would only have
been open during religious festivals.
The adjoining subsidiary rooms were instrumental in the smooth operation of the
cult rituals and festivities. The workshops, back rooms, and shops of the porticos
sold sacrificial meat and flower wreaths; bread was baked and meals were cooked;
damaged utensils were repaired and crockery was produced. Archives were managed,
financial transactions completed, and mobile furniture including cushions and
blankets was stored here. The responsibility for these cult activities lay with the numer-
ous cult personnel (priests, archivists, visitors’ guides, gardeners, night-watchmen,
slaves and craftsmen; see Egelhaaf-Gaiser 2000: 407–25). However, rarely can we
make a positive spatial identification from permanent furnishings. Smaller items
were removable. This makes it impossible in many instances to be absolutely certain
whether an object truly is part of the archaeological context or whether it has been
“imported.” The problem is compounded by the fact that all-purpose rooms were
occupied by different groups of people, depending on time of day, calendar date,
or irregular occasions. A portico, for instance, could be an office or a shop by day,
and be used as a place to sleep by night. In synagogues, the dining hall was perhaps
turned into guest accommodation; temples not only housed the cult image, but were
also used for sessions of the senate and, as museum galleries, were open to tourists
at certain times.
On the other hand, movable finds provide an indispensable “reality check” on the
ideal images of complex locations reconstructed from the architecture, its decor, and
stylistic observations. Even a cursory examination of the work and utility equipment
shows that the storage rooms were at quite a distance from where those objects would
actually be used. In a cult precinct many rooms could in the course of the celebra-
tions be used by different social groups for a variety of purposes. Thus the strict sep-
aration and hierarchy between spatial functions and different social groups suggested
by decor, topography, and the network of access ways proves to be a theoretical ide-
alization, which in reality could hardly have been adhered to with all its consequences.
Roman Cult Sites 211