The last two chapters of this volume, appropriately, deal with endpoints in the form of tombs in ancient China and ancient Rome. Both chapters, however, make it abundantly clear that tombs should also be studied as points of beginning, namely, as sites where, through the performance of funerals and other rituals, the living renegotiated their own social relationships after a death in their community. Tian Tian’s contribution has a laser-sharp focus on burial money. Starting in Western Han, burial money featured prominently among other grave goods: huge quantities of money were hauled to the burial site – she speaks of two cartloads full in case of one elite tomb – to be subsequently, after a public reading of the funerary-objects lists, buried in the tomb. In Rome, burial coins spread together with the Roman empire, but never in quantities as large as in the case of Han tombs. Moreover, interpreting Roman burial coins remains difficult given that the explanation provided in literary sources (that the deceased needed one coin to successfully cross the River Styx to the underworld) is unsatisfactory to account for the richness of the archaeological record. (For Han China, the funerary-objects lists that were placed in the tomb really help when it comes to categorizing and interpreting the burial coins.) In the Roman case there is little evidence that money played a role in the way families sought to display their wealth and status as they publicly remembered their dead; in contrast, in Han China (and beyond) gifts of money by individuals or other families to the family of the deceased in order to defray funeral expenses were a prominent way to create and confirm communities; as Tian Tian reveals, local villagers even formed private associations (dan) especially for that purpose.

The second chapter in Part II (‘Performances of Power’) turns to a performative arena that is both fundamental to pre-modern societies and yet often forgotten – and that is particularly instructive for cross-cultural comparison. Darian Marie Totten discusses the organization of agricultural labour, not from an economic standpoint but with regards to its innate capacity to govern quotidian experience, endorse ideas of equality and inequality, and structure society. A similar avenue of inquiry is prevalent in Ryan R. Abrecht’s contribution on neighborhood encounters and the rhythm of social life (Chapter 7). In Totten’s take, labour, performed on elite estates and overseen by a court that claims ultimate superiority in knowledge and organizational skill, lies at the heart of social hierarchy and imperial statecraft. Building off theories of performance, the chapter first unravels the basic nexus of social reproduction and discrete agricultural activities – the communication of knowledge, its cyclical application and transmission into a structured workflow, among others. Resonance with real life, inevitably so, shapes and defines different social strata that are discussed in the chapter’s main section: the imperial court and elite landowners, estate managers, free and unfree tenants, and/or slaves. For each of these, Totten displays an ingenious investigative sense that makes voices heard and explores agencies, privileged and underprivileged alike. The bulk of evidence for the comparative study of context in Han China and the Roman Empire is of a literary nature, the Book of Han the Book of Later Han, Monthly Ordinances of the Four Seasons and the agricultural writings of Cato, Columella, and Varro, which figure prominently throughout. At the same time, Totten draws on the visual language of coinage, mosaics, and murals that signalled a forceful message to their ancient audiences: that agricultural performance was critical to the creation of the social cohesion around them. In conclusion, the chapter places its findings into communications between imperial ideology and its translation into the local horizon. Han Chinese and Roman culture relied heavily on agrarian activity, both economically and performatively. While both established similar practices in the amassing of resources, the performance of agricultural labour, argues Totten, followed rather divergent trajectories, with profound ramifications for the experience of empire.

The sites of Vindolanda in Great Britain and Jianshui Jinguan, present-day Gansu, have produced exciting paleographic evidence pertaining to the borders of the Roman and the Han Chinese empires, respectively. Archaeological excavations at both sites have brought to light many written sources, on inscribed thin tablets and strips of locally available woods, that cast a spotlight on what their authors associated with their assignment in the fringes of empire. Imperfect analogues as these two locations are, rich in cultural idiosyncrasy, Charles Sanft undertakes a comparative analysis that brings both data sets into close conceptual conversation. He begins his discussion with observations on the abstract nature of ancient borders: neither tangible nor “real,” borders were, Sanft argues, a projection of culturally encoded imaginaries. Following this investigative vein, he then explores the spatial essence of Roman and Han Chinese borders. Before turning to the actual sites and documents, Sanft reminds his audience of the convoluted relation between space and place; the latter is understood as a local environment that can be experienced by individuals who are, in turn, aware of the distinct experience of place. The examination of the Vindolanda tablets and Jianshui Jinguan reveals an absence of this type of experience from the written records; hence, the imagination of border postings does not find articulation in terms of experience. Sanft translates this discovery into extensive and indeed paramount conclusions on the Roman and the Han Chinese understanding of borderlands, which was subject to imaginations of far-flung imperial spaces rather than actual engagements with place.

Jordan Christopher analyzes the freshwater provision systems of the imperial capitals of Rome and Chang’an from the perspective of political power, using as his adage that “water flows in the shape of power.” He describes how, during the Republican period, Roman aqueducts were constructed in an ad hoc manner, to please certain constituents rather than to meet the documented needs of the general public. Augustus, in contrast, had a new aqueduct (Aqua Alsietina) constructed to serve only his own Naumachia. Still, even under the Principate, Roman rulers understood that maintaining the earlier aqueducts was a political necessity, and they also invested in baths and fountains – public spaces where elite and commoners alike could meet – to promote solidarity among the citizenry. As recent archaeological work has documented, Western Han Chang’an too was equipped with impressive water control and supply systems. Water coming from the mountains south of Chang’an was pooled and channeled, and engineered so that it could both provide the city with freshwater and prevent flooding. Christopher’s point here is that, by and large, the water infrastructure served the palaces, especially the two major palaces in the southern part of Chang’an, providing a steady supply of water and beautifying the environment. In other words, instead of overcoming hierarchies, water infrastructure in Chang’an was used, just like its many walls, to reinforce and strengthen hierarchies. Chang’an also featured no fountains, and while its many (private) wells might have provided occasion for people to mingle, they were by no means designed to promote such encounters.

The beginnings of geographical writings in Graeco-Roman and Han-Chinese culture were subject to divergent perspectives on the natural environment. While ancient Chinese views were typically land-based, the Mediterranean Sea invited a maritime perspective. From the works of early Greek traveling writers, the exercise of geographia (literally ‘description of the earth’) was therefore inspired by principles and practices of circumnavigation, including the detailing of distances and orientation toward topographical features. In China, on the contrary, under the heading of xing fa, an evolving body of geographical manuals focused foremost on shapes and forms, including those of humans, objects, or provinces. Luke Habberstad undertakes the comparative analysis of two authors whose works are commonly considered emblematic of the genre of geographical literature in both civilizations: Strabo of Amaseia (first century BCE/CE), author of an influential Geography, and Ban Gu (first century CE), whose “Treatise on Geography” (“dili zhi”) became an influential precedent for imperial histories compiled in later dynasties. Habberstad’s discussion of authorship, text, and context makes it obvious that Strabo and Ban Gu differed widely in structure and focus. What united their perspectives, however, is that they were situated at analogous historical moments in the trajectory of their respective civilizations, namely, unprecedented highpoints of geographical extent and administrative organization. Literary encounters with space were thus intimately intertwined with ideas about cultural advancement. Expanding on this observation, Habberstad demonstrates that ancient geography, as encapsulated in the works of Strabo and Ban Gu, was not primarily and certainly not exclusively concerned with natural phenomena, but resonated mostly with the imperial milieus and their performative capacities to administer the vast expanse of empire.

According to Tacitus, Tiberius declared before the Senate that he observed all of the deeds and pronouncements of Augustus as if they were law (Ann. 4.37). This chapter explores the degree to which that statement is true and the consequences of Tiberius’ adherence to Augustan precedents. I begin with an overview of Tiberius’ relationship with the Senate. I then examine the much criticized fiscal policies of Tiberius. Even those were a consequence of his reverence for Augustus and his desire to preserve Augustan precedent. Next, we examine the notion of the pax Augusta under Tiberius. Again, we see that Tiberius was bound by Augustan policy in his failure to expand the empire. Finally, we analyze the persecution of Jews, worshippers of Isis, and astrologers in the reign of Tiberius. These persecutions were prompted not only by Tiberius’ desire to follow Augustus’ precedents but also, more importantly, by attacks on the domus Augusta.

The first four principes after Augustus all ruled by virtue of their relationship to the founder of the principate. By the end of the reign of Nero, few men were left who could claim to be descended from Divus Augustus. This led to a series of civil wars, won by a man who had no familial relationship with the domus Augusta. By AD 69, the position of princeps had been codified beyond the hereditary charisma of Augustus. But as we see in the lex de imperio Vespasiani, the Senate recognized the legal claim of Vespasian to rule as princeps was based on the original position created by Augustus, a position solidified by the attitude and actions of Augustus’ successor, Tiberius.

The introduction provides a brief overview of the principal arguments of the book and a description of each chapter. In particular, I present the argument that because Tiberius was forced to rely upon the charisma of Augustus to consolidate his power, he routinized that charisma into the position of princeps.