Inscriptions represent the most frequent testimony to linguistic allegiance; more than a quarter of a million survive in Latin from the period of the empire, the vast majority of them being funerary. The number of inscriptions per year increases slowly during the 1st century and a half ad, thereafter ascending in a steep line to a point in the second decade of the 3rd and then falling off even more steeply. The curve is best explained as reflecting pride in “Romanness”—in possessing not only Latin but full citizenship as well and, thereby, admission to a group for whom commemoration of the deceased was a legal as well as a moral duty. Over the course of time, by individual gift from the emperors, by army service, and by election to magistracies or simply to the city senates of colonies and municipalities, a growing proportion of the empire’s population had gained citizenship; moreover, their children were citizens, whose descendants in turn were Romans in the legal sense. By ad 212 this accelerating process had advanced so far that the emperor Caracalla could offer the gift of incorporation to the entirety of his subjects without much notice being taken of his generosity—it was already in the possession of most of the people who counted and whose reactions might be recorded. Once citizenship was universal, it ceased to constitute a distinction; thus the declaration of it through the custom of funerary commemoration rapidly passed out of favour. Limits of unification
One great flaw in the picture of the empire as one single civilization by 212, triumphantly unified in culture as in its political form, has already been pointed out: what was achieved within the cities’ walls did not extend with any completeness to the rural population, among whom local ways and native languages persisted. Peasants in 4th-century Syria spoke mostly Syriac, in Egypt mostly Coptic, in Africa often Punic or Libyphoenician, and in the Danube and northwestern provinces other native tongues. There was still another great flaw: the empire was half Roman (or Latin), half Greek. The latter was hardly touched by the former except through what may be called official channels—that is, law, coinage, military presence, imperial cult, and the superposition of an alien structure of power and prestige, to which the elite of the Eastern provinces might aspire. On the other hand, the Roman half was steeped in Greek ways. Apuleius, for example, though born and reared in a small North African town of the 2nd century, was sent to Athens to study rhetoric; on his return he could find not only an audience for his presentations in Greek but ordinary people in the marketplace able to read a letter in that language. In Rome the Christian community used Greek as its liturgical language well into the 3rd century, and the crowds in the Circus Maximus could enjoy a pun in Greek; an aristocrat such as the emperor Marcus Aurelius could be expected to be as bilingual as was Cicero or Caesar before him or even, like the emperor Gallienus, help the Greek philosopher Plotinus found a sort of Institute for Advanced Studies in the Naples area. Greece continued to supply a great deal of sculpture for Western buyers or even the teams of artisans needed for the decoration of public buildings in 3rd-century northern Africa. By such various means the division between the two halves of the empire was for a time covered over. Cult of the emperors
Among the institutions most important in softening the edges of regional differences was the cult of the emperors. In one sense, it originated in the 4th century bc, when Alexander the Great first received veneration by titles and symbols and forms of address as if he were a superhuman being. Indeed, he must have seemed exactly that to contemporaries in Egypt, where the pharaohs had long been worshiped, and to peoples in the Middle East, for similar reasons of religious custom. Even the Greeks were quite used to the idea that beings who lived a human life of extraordinary accomplishment, as “heroes” in the full sense of the Greek word, would never die but be raised into some higher world; they believed this of heroes such as Achilles, Hercules, Pythagoras, and Dion of Syracuse in the mid-4th century bc. Great Roman commanders, like Hellenistic rulers, had altars, festivals, and special honours voted to them by Greek cities from the start of the 2nd century bc. It was not so strange, then, that a freedman supporter of Caesar’s erected a pillar over the ashes of the dead dictator in the Forum in April 44 bc and offered cult to him as a being now resident among the gods. Many citizens joined in. Within days Caesar’s heir Octavian pressed for the declaration of Caesar as divine—which the Senate granted by its vote in 42. By 25 bc the city of Mytilene had organized annual cult acts honouring Augustus and communicated their forms and impulse to Tarraco in Spain as well as to other Eastern Greek cities; and by 12 bc divine honours to Caesar and Augustus’ genius were established through the emperors’ initiative both in the Gallic capital, Lugdunum, and in the neighbourhood chapels to the crossroads gods in Rome. From these various points and models, emperor worship spread rapidly. Within a few generations, cities everywhere had built in its service new temples that dominated their forums or had assigned old temples to the joint service of a prior god and the imperial family. Such centres served as rallying points for the citizenry to express its devotion to Rome and the emperor. To speak for whole provinces, priests of the cult assembled during their year of office in central shrines, such as Lugdunum, as delegates of their cities, where they formulated for the emperor their complaints or their views on the incumbent governor’s administration. Whether these priests were freedmen in urban neighbourhoods, municipal magnates in local temples, or still grander leaders of the provinces, they perceived the imperial cult as something of high prestige and invested it and Roman rule with glory.
The emotional and political unification of the empire was further promoted by submissive or flattering forms of reference or address, adopted even by the highest personages when speaking of the emperor, and by portraits of the emperors or their families with attendant written messages. Of these two most obvious means of propaganda, the first survives in the texts of many panegyrics delivered to the throne, rhetorical disquisitions on monarchy, and prefatory announcements accompanying the publication of government edicts. They established a tone in which it was proper to think of Roman rule and government. Portraits, the second means of propaganda, included painted ones on general display in cities, sculpted ones, especially in the early years of each reign, based on official models available in a few major cities (hundreds of these survive, including at least one in gold), and engraved ones on coins. Imperial coins offered a more rapidly changing exhibition of images than even postage stamps in the modern world. Because the dies soon wore out, many scores of issues had to be brought out each year, in gold, silver, and bronze. While the images (“types”) and words (“legends”) on them tended to repetition, there was much conscious inculcation of topical messages: for example, in the short and rocky reign of Galba in ad 69, one finds the legends “All’s well that ends well” (bonus eventus), “Rome reborn,” “Peace for Romans,” and “Constitutional government restored” (libertas restituta, with iconographic reference to Brutus’ coins of 43 bc) and superlative portraits of Galba himself; or, in other reigns, the legends, enriched with suitable symbolism, read “the soldiers loyal,” “Italy well fed,” and fecunditas of the royal family and its progeny. So far as it is possible to comprehend the mind of the empire’s populace, there was no significant opposition to the government by the 2nd century; instead, there prevailed a great deal of ready veneration for the principate as an institution. The economic factor