Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on the Basis of Objects, Architecture, and Space (Antiquite Et Sciences Humaines) (Antiquite Et Sciences Humaines, 3) 9782503569000, 2503569005

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ANTIQU ITÉ ET S CI E NC ES H U MA I N ES LA TRAVE RS É E DE S FRON T IÈ RE S

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DIRECTEURS DE COLLECTION

Corinne Bonnet Pascal Payen COMITÉ SCIENTIFIQ UE

Zainab Bahrani

(Columbia University, New York)

Nicola Cusumano

(Università degli Studi di Palermo)

Erich Gruen

(University of  California, Berkeley)

Nicholas Purcell

(St John’s College, Oxford)

Aloys Winterling

(Humboldt Universität, Berlin)

RELIGION AND MATERIAL CULTURE Studying Religion and Religious Elements on the Basis of  Objects, Architecture, and Space

Proceedings of  an International Conference held at the Centre for Bible and Cultural Memory (BiCuM), University of  Copenhagen and the National Museum of  Denmark, Copenhagen, May 6-8, 2011 Edited by Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen and Jesper Tae Jensen

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© 2017, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium.

All rights reserved. No part of  this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of  the publisher.

D/2017/0095/103 ISBN 978-2-503-56900-0 Printed on acid-free paper.

CONTENTS

LIST OF  FIGURES 7

Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen and Jesper Tae Jensen Preface 13 Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen and Jesper Tae Jensen Introduction 17 METHODOLOGY Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen Between Mental and Material: Looking for the Origins of  Religion in Archaeological Material 27 Morten Warmind What is a God? 51 David A. Warburton The Importance of  the Origins of  Abstraction and Discourse

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ARCHAEOLOGY Emmanuel Anati Prehistoric Art and Religion

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Marion Benz Making the Invisible Visible: Steps Towards a Ritualized Corporate Identity 121 5

CONTENTS

Bo Dahl Hermansen Death, Feasting, and Memory Culture at Early Neolithic Shkārat Msaied, Southern Jordan 169 Flemming Kaul The Shape of  the Divine Powers in Nordic Bronze Age Mythology 199 Mads Kähler Holst At the Scene of   Cosmology Construction: The Religious Effects of  Barrow Building in the Nordic Bronze Age 227 Klavs Randsborg Kivig – Kivik: A Bronze Age Collage 253 TEXT Izaak J. de Hulster Religion, Pictoriality and Materiality: A Hebrew Bible Perspective 281 Trine Bjørnung Hasselbalch Matter and Meaning in  the Dead Sea Scrolls: Reading the Genesis Apocryphon as a Palimpsest 319 Lars Östman Language and Materiality: Stolpersteine in  Light of   Roman Archaic Religion 341 INDEX

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CONTRIBUTORS 377

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LIST OF  FIGURES

Marion Benz Fig. 1. Beside context and intersubjectivity, meaning, mediality, and emotions influence the impact of   symbolic actions on society. Drawing by the author 126 Fig. 2. Communal or  special buildings of   Upper Mesopotamia: I.  Round ‘polyvalente’, II. Round to  oval without room division a.  with wooden pillars, b.  with stone/clay pillars, III. Rectangular with pillars. 128 Fig. 3. Development of  communal buildings in relation to domestic architecture, Jerf el-Ahmar, Syria. PPNA. Modified after Stordeur 2003, fig. 2. 130 Fig. 4. Group of   plastered skulls associated with the skeleton of   a newborn, Aswad, Syria. PPNB. Photo courtesy of   the Fouille franco-syrienne de Tell Aswad. Co-directed by Danielle Stordeur and Bassam Jamous. Mission El Kowm-Mureybet du Ministère des Affaires étrangères France. Photo by Laurent Dugué. 132 Fig. 5. Figurative decoration of  shaft-straighteners and pebbles from Upper Mesopotamia. PPNA-EPPNB. All items are reproduced at the same scale. 134 Fig. 6. Decorated pebbles and shaft-straighteners, Tell Q aramel, Syria. PPNA. All items are reproduced at the same scale. 135 Fig. 7. Geometrically decorated shaft-straighteners and pebbles, the Levant. Natufian to Late PPNB. All items are reproduced at the same scale unless otherwise stated. 136 Fig. 8. Nevalı Çori, southeastern Turkey, Head with snake; limestone. Şanlıurfa Müzesi. Early to  Middle PPNB. Photo courtesy of  Euphrat-Archiv, Berlin-Heidelberg. 137

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LIST OF  FIGURES

Fig. 9. ‘Sun-like’ symbols on  different media. Early to  late PPNA. 1.  ‘Abr 3. After Yartah 2004, fig.  14.1; 2. Tell Q aramel. After Mazurowski and Jamous 2000, fig. 7; 3. Körtik Tepe. After Coşkun and others 2010, fig. 2a. 138 Fig. 10. Relief of  a lion or panther, in a crouching position on pillar P27, Göbekli Tepe, southeastern Turkey. Late PPNA/Early PPNB. Photo courtesy of  the German Archaeological Institute, Nico Becker. 140 Fig. 11. Possible social and mental consequences of  increased sedentarism. Drawing by the author. 151

Bo Dahl Hermansen Fig. 1. Map showing the location of   Shkārat Msaied. Drawing by Moritz Kinzel. Drawing courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project. 170 Fig. 2. Site plan of   Shkārat Msaied. Drawing by Moritz Kinzel. Drawing courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project. 171 Fig. 3. Interior of   Unit A. Notice the stone installation next to doorway. Middle Pre-Pottery Neolithic (MPPNB), c. 8340– 7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project. 175 Fig. 4. Interior of   Unit F. Notice the stone installation next to doorway. MPPNB, c.  8340–7960 cal bc.  Photo courtesy of   the Shkārat Msaied Project. 176 Fig. 5. Interior of   Unit K. Notice staircases. MPPNB,  c. 8340– 7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project. 177 Fig. 6. Reconstruction drawing by Moritz Kinzel. Drawing courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project. 177 Fig. 7. Unit H. Notice the collapsed wall in upper part of   the section. MPPNB, c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of   the Shkārat Msaied Project. 178 Fig. 8. Vertical stone slabs along the interior wall of  Unit F. Belonging to earlier (earliest?) house and incorporated in the visual field of   the interior of   Unit F. MPPNB,  c. 8340–7960 cal bc.  Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project. 179 Fig. 9. Human remains on top of  stone installation in Unit F. View from the South. Notice that skull and mandible are missing. MPPNB, c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Drawing by Niels Lynnerup, courtesy of   the Shkārat Msaied Project. 180 Fig. 10. Cist 1 with skeletal remains. MPPNB, c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project. 181

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LIST OF  FIGURES

Fig. 11. Seven skulls arranged in  the southern part of   Cist 1. MPPNB, c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of   the Shkārat Msaied Project. 182 Fig. 12. Ovi/caprine mandibles next to headless skeleton. MPPNB, c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project. 185

Flemming Kaul Fig. 1A–B. The Chariot of  the Sun. The day-side is directed towards right and the night-side towards left, Trundholm Bog, northwestern Zealand, Denmark. C. 1375 bc. Photo by Juraj Liptak. 202 Fig. 2. Sun-horse from the rock carving at Balken, Tanum, Bohuslän, Sweden. Late Bronze Age.  Rubbing by Laurine Albris in collaboration with Tanums Hällristningsmuseum, Underslös. 203 Fig. 3. Sun-horse on a razor from Neder Hvolris, northern Jutland, Denmark. C. 800 bc. Drawing by Bjørn Skaarup. 204 Fig. 4. Stylized sun-horses, Nordic Late Bronze Age bronzes. After Sprockhoff 1954, p. 48, fig. 10B. 205 Fig. 5. Neck-ring with ship decoration, Fjellerup, Island of   Funen, Denmark. C. 600 bc. After Madsen 1876, pl. 19, fig. 11. 207 Fig. 6. Sunrise. A divine fish is pulling the sun up from the night ship to the morning ship, provenance unknown, probably Jutland. C. 800 bc. Drawing by Bjørn Skaarup. 209 Fig. 7. Motifs from Danish razors showing different points of  the cyclical movement of   the Sun. Late Bronze Age, between 1100– 500 bc. 211 Fig. 8. Razor from southern Jutland showing two human-like figures, probably two aspects of   the Sun-god paddling the sun ship, unknown provenance. C. 800 bc. Photo by the author. 212 Fig. 9. Razor from Voldtofte, south-western Funen, Denmark. C. 800 bc. Drawing by Thomas Bredsdorf. 217 Fig. 10. Razor from Borgdorf, Schleswig-Holstein, Germany. C. 800 bc. After Schwantes 1939, p. 557, fig. 879. 218 Fig. 11. Detail from the razor from Borgdorf, Schleswig-Holstein, Germany. C. 800 bc. Photo by the author. 219 Fig. 12. Example of   mythological ships with strokes representing the crew. Here two night ships sailing towards left are seen on top of  each other, from Jerne, western Jutland, Denmark. It should be noted that the strokes representing the crew are carefully placed in pairs. C. 800 bc. Photo by the author. 221

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LIST OF  FIGURES

Mads Kähler Holst Fig. 1. Table and graph of  the intensity in establishment of  barrows through prehistory based on the recorded number of  primary burials per year for each period. For data and a more detailed account of  the calculations, see Holst 2013, pp. 42–44. 231 Fig. 2. Skelhøj in  Southern Jutland under excavation. Photo by Per Poulsen. 234 Fig. 3. Schematic representation of   the organizational principle of   Skelhøj. The progress of   the construction was structured by a series of   concentric extensions of   the mound around the burial. The builders were organized by a segmenting, radial division of   the mound into eight equal parts. Graphics by Peter Jensen. 235 Fig. 4. The nested building procedure at Skelhøj with rigid turflaying principles forming rows, layers, and shells. Graphics by Peter Jensen. 235 Fig. 5. Hjordkjær burial with a  stone setting shaped like a  fivespoked wheel surrounding the burial structure, Late Neolithic. After Aner and Kersten 1981, p. 62, fig. 37. 238 Fig. 6. Plan of   Skelhøj with the eight-spoked wheel structure defined by the segmentation of  the mound. Plan by the author. 239 Fig. 7. The belt plate from the woman’s burial in the great mound Borum Eshøj and the geometric principle behind its layout, Borum Eshøj, Eastern Jutland. Bronze Age. After Müller 1921, p. 11. 241

Klavs Randsborg Fig. 1. The Kivig stone cairn, stone cist grave chamber, and the images on the inner side of   the cist in 1756. After Randsborg 1993, p. 11, fig. 3. 254 Fig. 2. The Kivig cist and cairn, not later than 1780. After Randsborg 1993, 18, fig. 7. 254 Fig. 3a = Panels 1–4 (left page), the eastern or seaward side of   the stone cist. 256 Fig. 3b = Panels 5–8 (right page), the western or landward side of  the cist. 257 Fig. 4. Contents of   the Kivig grave. After Randsborg 1993, p. 54, fig. 29a. 259 Fig. 5. Male figurine with brimmed hat from a large deposition of  Early Bronze Age Period II bronzes found at a boulder in Stokholt,

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LIST OF  FIGURES

Skåne (the one of   two identical images). Bronze knob for a  staff decorated with a masked human face; found at Glasbakke, Halland. Near Eastern figurine (raised arm) found under a  huge boulder, Šernai, Lithuania. All after Randsborg 1993, p. 104, fig. 56, p. 113, fig. 60 with further references, including Montelius 1917. 262

Izaak J. de Hulster Fig. 1. Taanach cult stand. Tenth century. After Keel and Uehlinger 2010, fig. 184. 301 Fig. 2. Drawing of   Urartian orthostat with empty cart. 800–750 bce. After Keel 1977, 186–87, fig. 129. For a photo, see Calmeyer 1974, pls 10-2. 302 Fig. 3. Aniconographic, anepigrafic erected stones in situ at the piazza of  Tel Dan. Ninth and eighth century bce. The stones of  Figure 3 stand on a bamah and are probably representations of  deities. Other standing stones might also represent ancestors. Photo by the author (August 2010) 303 Fig. 4. Rock relief in Petra. Hellenistic period. After Dalman 1908, fig. 313. 304

Lars Östman Fig. 1. Stolperstein, Sonnenstraße 51C, Münster, Germany 2011. Photo by the author. 352

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LISBETH BREDHOLT CHRISTENSEN JESPER TAE JENSEN *

PREFACE**

The origins of   this book go back to Athens, 2007. At that time, Jesper was the assistant director at the Danish Institute at Athens and Lisbeth was giving a lecture on the study of   prehistoric religion at the Institute. After Lisbeth’s lecture, we continued the discussion. Because we came from different disciplines – classical archaeology and the study of  religion – our approaches to religion were very different. Yet, our interest was the same: How is it possible to study religion on the basis of  archaeological material? And how can archaeologists and historians of  religion jointly approach prehistoric religion? We found the topic worth exploring in  an interdisciplinary context, so in 2009 we started gathering scholars from a number of  fields for a conference specifically dedicated to  this subject. In  the course of   the planning, Pernille Carstens joined us as a co-organizer together with BiCuM. Our original aim for the conference was to  establish criteria for definitions of   religion based on the study of   material culture. Traditionally, both the study of   religion, archaeology, and philology work with definitions of   religion based on texts. Yet, the *  Jesper Tae Jensen: My part of   the book is  dedicated to  my family, my mother Vivi Mina Jensen and brother, Peter Bamberg Jensen. **  This volume is  the proceedings of   the conference Religion and Material Culture: Defining Religion, Religious Elements and Cultural Memory on the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space held in  Copenhagen, 4–6 May 2011. The conference was hosted by BiCuM (Centre for Bible and Cultural Memory), University of  Copenhagen and took place at BiCuM and the National Museum, Copenhagen.

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way to really grip both prehistoric religion – and material aspects of   historical religions – would be to have a definition of   religion produced on  the basis of   the study of   material culture. This, however, is  a  more complicated task than we had envisioned. The conference cemented that interest and enthusiasm is  there both among archaeologists, philologists, and scholars of   religion; yet, more interdisciplinary co-operation is  still needed before such a  definition or  set of   criteria can in  fact be established. Thus, whereas the title of   the conference was about ‘defining religion’, the book is  about ‘studying religion’. It is  a  testament to a work-in-progress and a step towards studying religion from a new perspective. Many people have been involved in  the organization of   the conference and the publication of   this book. Without them the project could not have been completed, and at this place we would like to thank them. First of   all, we would like to thank the Centre for Bible and Cultural Memory (BiCuM) and the Danish National Museum for their support and for hosting the conference. Our deep gratitude goes to  Pernille Carstens, Director of   BiCuM, and to Trine Bjørnung Hasselbalch, also BiCuM. Pernille’s generous involvement made it possible to realize the conference at all, and Trine’s tireless work with the overall planning made the conference a fruitful experience for everybody. Warm thanks also to Michael Perlt, BiCuM, for his work with practicalities up to and during the conference. For financial support we would like to  thank H.P.  Hjerl Hansen Mindefondet for dansk Palæstinaforskning and to BiCuM. Finally, we would extend our gratitude to the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek for hosting the reception of  the conference. Thanks also go to  the core of   the conference – the speakers and participants – for making the conference stimulating and great fun. We also thank the speakers for their cooperation and patience in the editing process. This book had a  long journey and we are grateful to  the Section of   Archaeology, the SAXO Institute, University of  Copenhagen, especially Jane Fejfer, Annette Rathje, Kristina Winther-Jacobsen, and Lone Wriedt Sørensen for facilitating the completion of   the project during 2012 and 2013. We also 14

PREFACE

thank Paolo Sartori, publishing manager at Brepols, the board of  Brepols’s series Antiquité et Sciences Humaines, directed by Co­rin­ne Bonnet and Pascal Payen (Toulouse), as  well as the anonymous peer reviewers for their help in producing this book. We would also like to thank the staff at the Danish Institute for Mediterranean Studies (DIOMEDES), especially Nikoline Sauer Petersen, Camilla Elisabeth Søgaard Ebert, and Katerina Tsalapatis for assisting with the editing process. Finally, we thank Katerina Tsalapatis for assistance with the figures in  the book, Rasmus Winther for helping with the captions, and George Hinge, Peter Schultz, and Bronwen Wickkiser for support in practical matters and for reading parts of  the texts during various stages in the editing process. Lisbeth wishes to  thank Marlies Heinz for  generously providing working space at the Vorderasiatische Archäologie, Albert-Ludwigs-Universität Freiburg. She also would like to thank Nis Hardt and Danevirke Museum, as well as Berit Eriksen, Mechtild Freudenberg, Angelika Abegg-Wigg, Maike Tessars, and Stiftung Landesmuseen Schloss Gottorf for access to library and working space. Jesper is grateful to the family that owns Beau Marché, Copenhagen – Denise Lee Dann and Steen Folke Madsen, Julie Sascha Lee Dann & Martin Lindholdt Madsen, Elisabeth Lee Dann, Danielle Lee Dann, and Christian Lee Dann – for facilitating the final completion of  the book in 2013. For Jesper it is  also a  pleasure to  record his gratitude to the following friends and colleagues who have helped and discussed various aspects of   this project with him: Camilla Bjarnø, Hedvig von Ehrenheim, Thomas Grane, David Scahill, Nicklas Thrysøe, Marit Hessels, Lambrini and Panos Vasilakopoulou, Kristina Winther-Jacobsen, Emeline Ragonnaud, Lisbeth Kroer, Marie Kroer, and Søren Kroer and not least, Gabriela Nicole Ramsonius.

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INTRODUCTION

The articles collected in  this volume are based on  the international conference Religion and Material Culture: Defining Religion, Religious Elements and Cultural Memory on the Basis of  Objects, Architecture and Space. The conference took place from 6–8 May 2011 in Copenhagen, at the Centre for Bible and Cultural Memory (University of   Copenhagen) and at the National Museum of  Denmark. The subject of   the conference was the meeting, or  the relationship, between religion and material culture in  historic and prehistoric settings. It also included other disciplines – such as theology, philology, European studies, and philosophy – in so far as  these touched upon the problematic intersection of   religion and material culture. The idea of   the conference was to  investigate religion as it presents itself  from an archaeological perspective, both prehistorically and historically. Thus, one aim was to investigate what types of  material culture characterize religion and what these types ‘mean’. Another aim was a  diachronic one, focusing on how the gradual invention of   various forms of   material culture – graves, images, objects, space, paraphernalia – made it possible for certain religious expressions to arise and unfold. Ultimately, the goal was to identify and to define religion by way of   both material culture and texts. On one hand, this would enable us to  expand the field of   the history of   religion as  such beyond written sources. On the other hand, with regards to the prehistoric sources, it would enable us to  speak about religion on the basis of   the archaeological evidence itself  rather than on the basis of  text-based, anthropological models. 17

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In order to  get to  this point, however, it was essential that archaeologists, scholars of   religion, historians, ethnographers, and others work closely together. Thus, the group of   speakers gathered at the conference was a  combination of   archaeologists working with religion and scholars of   religion and historians working with material culture. This enabled a  broad dialogue. The articles, as well as the conference, cover both prehistoric and historic periods across a wide chronological frame and a large geographical spectrum. Yet, not all periods are covered, and not the whole world. The purpose of   the conference was broad. Its purpose was ultimately theoretical, but based on practical examples. We hope that it marks a  beginning that can be duplicated by other initiatives in the future.

Working Q uestions The following working questions were set during the conference and in  the course of   preparing contributions for this publication: 1. What is  the role of   material culture in  religion, historically, and prehistorically? What kind of   phenomenon is  religion? Is  it a  constant or  has it changed – has it perhaps become more or  less material, discursive, or  intellectual with time? Is  it basically ideas and beliefs taking place in  the mind? Or  is  it basically a  specific discourse, taking place verbally and in writing? Or – further – is it basically, or additionally, a  material expression, supplied with discursive explanations? Is  material culture basically an illustration of   ideas, or  does material culture also constitute these ideas? 2. What types of   material culture characterize religions as such? What kind of  architecture, burials, depositions, gear, statuary, and imagery, characterize the historical contexts, which we agree to be ‘religious’? If  we have these material features in the prehistoric record, then do we also have religion? 3. Is it possible to identify religion (historical as well as prehistoric) on  the basis of   material culture alone? As it is  today, definitions of   religions are made on the basis of   the study of  texts and/or observation. When applied to prehistoric mate18

INTRODUCTION

rial these models run the risk of   either not being able to say anything new about the material or  of   being anachronistic. From what point and place in (pre-)history can we speak about religion? Some of  the contributions in this volume address these questions directly, others indirectly; most contributions address only one or two of   the questions. Common to all contributions, however, is  the constellation of   religion and material culture. Whereas it is  clear to  most that religion is  a  controversial concept and difficult to  define, it became equally clear in  the course of   the seminar that material culture is  not unequivocal. The seeming ‘materiality’ of  the term is deceiving. By material culture we understand manufactured objects, architecture, and space. We do not include natural material (mountains, trees, waterfalls); to the degree that a landscape has been modified (e.g. cultivated) this is  included. We also do not include movements or  actions. Our intention is  to look at the development of   human produced material culture, from flint axes to houses to statues. The production of   material culture predates the rise of  homo sapiens as a species. The production of   material culture also takes place in  non-human communities (Neanderthal, chimpanzees, etc.). By the same token, anatomically modern humans lived perfectly well for about 100,000 years without any extensive material culture. Only in the past 10–35,000 years has the production of  material culture increased exponentially. Increasingly, research in various areas, including those influenced by the material turn, has come to realize that material culture is not only a byproduct of   human culture and experience but also that it shapes culture and experience. Thus, the intention and idea of   the conference was to  investigate how the development and expansion and increasing production of  material culture has shaped and formed human culture, specifically religion.

Organization of  the Book This volume contains revised versions of   12 papers presented at the conference. For the subdivision of   the contributions, we 19

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have chosen a  methodological one. The first section includes contributions primarily addressing the methodological problems in working with religion and material culture. The second section is comprised of  those contributions dealing with prehistoric material and/or addressing the question from an archaeological point of  view. Those contributions that address the question of  religion and material culture via textual studies or from the point of  view of  material from historical periods are treated in the third section. Such a subdivision cannot be stringent. Some of  the methodological papers also address archaeological material; several of   the archaeological and textual papers also deal with methodology; some of   the archaeological papers also deal with text, and some of  the textual papers also deal with archaeology. In the first section (Methodology) the overall theme is  the degree to which religion, as we know and define it today, is dependent on material culture. Religion is often defined by the presence of  transcendent beings, the holy, the sacred, and the transcendent. Yet, these definitions are insufficient when applied to  (prehistoric) material culture. Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen discusses the theoretical foundations for approaches that take their point of  departure from the material record rather than models. The most important inhabitants of   the supernatural world are the gods. From texts, we know them by their names and their attributes, but is it possible to recognize and identify a god from material culture alone? Are gods dependent on  texts? Morten Warmind discusses what ultimately defines a  god and contends that all gods are dependent upon some kind of  material representation. David  A. Warburton goes one step further in  his paper and argues that material culture is  the precondition for abstract thought as such. In so far as religious discourse builds on abstract thought and symbols, it presumes a  certain level of   material culture. Although discourse is  the primary focus of   the study of   religion, Warburton argues that material, first and foremost in the form of   architecture, plays a much larger role in societies with a textual culture, than usually assumed. The second section (Archaeology) covers a  period from the Upper Palaeolithic to the Scandinavian Bronze Age. On the basis 20

INTRODUCTION

of   evidence of   burials and rock art Emmanuel Anati argues that religion characterizes not only our own line of   homo but also that of   the Neanderthals. According to Anati, religion is part of  being human as such; as interpreters, our task is to learn how to read the evidence. Two contributions discuss the Early Neolithic in  the Near East, the neolithization process, and the relations between sedentism, the domestication of   plants and animals, and early religion. Both Marion Benz and Bo Dahl Hermansen speak about religious change linked to an increased use of   a plethora of   materials and signs, an intensification of  mortuary rituals, and feasting. In her analysis of   the early Neolithic material, specifically the architecture and imagery of  Göbekli Tepe, Benz explores how far it is possible to take an interpretation when avoiding a discussion of  the signifié but remaining on the level of  the signifiant. With the aid of  neurobiological theories she offers a hypothesis of  meaning, based on the relationship between materiality and the senses. Bo Dahl Hermansen looks at early religion from the evidence of   Shkārat Msaied in  Jordan. He speaks within the framework of  a history of  religion and observes changes on an archaeological level, suggesting that architecture, feasting upon the consumption of   domesticated animals, and a  special treatment of   the dead, including dismembering and manipulation of   body parts, all played a role in the construction of   a memory culture where the dead built a  transition between the world of   the living and the beyond. This is what characterizes many religions today, and in Shkārat Msaied its beginnings are seen. From the Near Eastern Neolithic, we jump geographically and chronologically to  the Scandinavian Bronze Age. Three contributions discuss material from this period and its possible interpretation of   a religion concerned with the sun. They all touch on the phenomenon of   a sun cult with relations and roots in Egyptian and Mesopotamian mythology and iconology. Kaul attempts a reconstruction of  a mythological system as it may have looked like in Scandinavia. Randsborg traces the Near Eastern and Egyptian influences, and Holst suggests how to analyze religion from a material point of  view. Flemming Kaul enters the discussion about the identification of  transcendent beings in material culture. He argues that images 21

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on razors from Bronze Age Scandinavia make it possible to reconstruct a  mythological and cosmological system of   the Bronze Age. Defining a god as an entity with ‘a mystical ability to change appearance’, he interprets the images on the razors as the sun god, sometimes accompanied by animal helpers, sometimes transforming itself  into various animal shapes. The material of   study for Mads Kähler Holst is the barrows. His approach to  the Bronze Age religion is  via archaeological analyses of   barrow construction. In  this way, he is  able to  say something about the social aspects of   the religion, which are not related to  any possible myths and which do not take their model from the study of   religion. Rather, this social perspective – characteristic for archaeology as such – is one from which the study of  religion can learn much Klavs Randsborg offers a  third view on  the Scandinavian Bronze Age. Discussing Kivig, which is (the remains of) a barrow where the interior slabs are decorated with incisions, his contribution links to both that of   Kaul and of   Holst. Methodologically, Randsborg endeavours a  detailed interpretation of   the images, which he perceives as so precise that it can be paralleled to a kind of  writing. The third section (Text) takes us into historical time. From a theological perspective, Izaak de Hulster discusses the relation between material, pictorial, and textual representations of   the sacred in the tradition of  the Hebrew Bible. Here, aniconism and the attempt at minimizing materiality were further strengthened with the destruction of   the Jerusalem temple. Although this led to an increasing focus on textual images and symbols, materiality continued to represent a theological problem. With Trine Bjørnung Hasselbach’s contribution, we enter the first centuries of  our era. Her object of  investigation is the palimp­ sest manuscript Genesis Apocryphon from the Dead Sea scrolls. An analysis shows that the materiality of  the manuscript, the careful writing of   several texts onto one piece of   leather, changes the canonicity and the rigidity of  the stories, in the direction of  a relativizing of  patriarchal authority. Lars Östman’s final contribution compares those stumbling stones that are today commemorating victims of   Holocaust all over Germany with Roman Archaic religion as  this has been 22

INTRODUCTION

analyzed by Mario Perniola. Östman thus does not directly deal with religion in a traditional sense. Yet by viewing a modern art phenomenon against an ancient religious one, he shows how the sacred can appear in many forms, but also again that materiality seems to be its precondition. Like many conference proceedings, this one points in  many directions. And yet, like many conference proceedings, this diversity is due to the fact that a creative process is underway. Perhaps something new is on the horizon?

23

METHODOLOGY

LISBETH BREDHOLT CHRISTENSEN

BETWEEN MENTAL AND MATERIAL: LOOKING FOR THE ORIGINS OF  RELIGION IN ARCHAEOLOGICAL MATERIAL

Defining Religion ‘Islam is an idea, and as such it can be discussed’ said the Danish author Morten Hesseldahl some years ago in a television debate.1 This point of   view expresses a way of   viewing not only Islam but all religions, common also among scholars of   religion. It is often assumed that religion is  first and foremost an ideology or  a  set of   values, to be found in the mind. Secondly, religion is assumed to be a social practice. Only next in order is the assumption that religion is  linked to  and even based on  ‘things’, such as  sacred places, representations of  gods, tools, and paraphernalia. Also among archaeologists and anthropologists, religion is often described as  a  phenomenon of   the mind 2 or  as  a  kind of  cultural discourse. This goes for Christianity and Islam as well as  for other religions like the San, ancient Greek, Roman, and Egyptian religions. To scholars of   religion, since the linguistic turn in  the 1960s, religion has been studied primarily as  a  discursive practice and system, taking place in spoken and written language. This view of  religion was a reaction against a previously dominant view of  religion as an emotional phenomenon. Cognitive research 1  A precise source reference for the quote is not possible, but the same point is found in Hesseldahl ‘Farvel til fællesskabet?’, p. 133 (I thank Morten Hesseldahl for this reference). The sentence as formulated in the TV debate hits the nail on the head regarding the thematic of  religion as discourse and/or material culture. 2  For example Insoll, ‘Materialising Performance and Ritual’; Renfrew, ‘The Archaeology of   Ritual, of   Cult, and of   Religion’; Boyer, Religion Explained; Rappaport, Ritual and Religion in the Making of  Humanity. Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114426 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp.  27–50  © 

FHG

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has to  some degree departed from the discursive paradigm, situating instead (the predispositions for) religion in  the mind. Yet, also this tradition stresses the supernatural, the transcendent, or the holy as the main characteristics of   religion: features whose presence or  absence in  a  given material allows very well for distinguishing between what can be called religion and what cannot. This is the case for e.g. the following definitions (representing different research traditions): I.

II. III. IV.

V. VI.

‘[…] 1) a system of   symbols which acts to (2) establish powerful, pervasive, and long-lasting moods and motivations in men by (3) formulating conceptions of   a general order of  existence and (4) clothing these conceptions with such an aura of  factuality that (5) the moods and motivations seem uniquely realistic’ 3 ‘[…] a cultural system and a social mechanism (or institution) that governs and promotes ideal interpretations and ideal practices by referring to one or more trans-empirical agents’ 4 ‘[…] all explicit and implicit notions and ideas, accepted as true, which relate to a reality which cannot be verified empirically’ 5 ‘En religion er en forestillingsverden, der postulerer, at der findes to verdener – den ene og den anden – imellem hvilken en kommunikation er mulig […]’ ‘(A religion is an ideational world postulating that there are two worlds – this and the other – between which a communication is possible […])’ 6 ‘[…] all the ideas, actions, rules and objects that have to do with the existence and properties of   superhuman agents such as God ’ 7 ‘Une religion est un système solidaire de croyances et de pratiques relatives à des choses sacrées, c’est-à-dire séparées,

  Geertz, ‘Religion as a Cultural System’, p. 4 (italics by author).   Geertz, ‘The Definition of   Religion in  the Context of   Social-Scientific Study’, p. 446 (italics by author). 5  van Baal and van Beek, Symbols for Communication, p. 3 (italics by author). 6   Schjødt, ‘Definitionsproblemer i forhold til begrebet religion’, p. 21 (trans. and italics by author). 7 Boyer, Religion Explained, p. 9 (italics by author). 3 4

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interdites, croyances et pratiques qui unissent en une même communauté morale, appelée Eglise, tous ceux qui y adhèrent. Le second élément qui prend ainsi place dans notre définition n’est pas moins essentiel que le premier; car, en montrant que l’idée de religion est inséparable de l’idée d’Eglise, il fait presentir que la religion doit être une chose éminemment collective’ (‘A religion is  an unified system of   beliefs and practices relative to  sacred things, that is  to say set apart and forbidden – beliefs and practices which unite into one single moral community, called a  church, all those who adhere to  them. The second element thus holds a  place in my definition that is  no less essential than the first: In showing that the idea of   religion is inseparable from the idea of  a church, it conveys the notion that religion must be an eminently collective thing’) 8 VII. ‘Avant de […] essayer de comprendre la religion des anciens Mésopotamiens, il sera […] avisé d’en arrêter d’abord la structure commune avec les autres religions. […]. Ce qui saute en premier aux yeux  […] c’est son caractère social. […]  Mais  […] ce sont les individus qui la composent et sans lesquels elle n’existerait pas. […]  toute Religion n’est donc réelle  […] d’abord, que par et dans les individus qui la pratiquent. […]  Ce qui légitime et justifie de même la Religion ne se trouve pas, lui, à notre niveau […] mais […] au-dessus de nous. […]  Ce “ordre des choses” […] c’est ce que, faute de mieux, on  appelle le Surnaturel, mais aussi le Sacré, le Numineux, le Divin – objet premier de la Religion, et sans quoi elle n’existerait pas, n’ayant aucune raison d’être.’ (‘Before  […] attempting to  understand the religion of   the ancient Mesopotamians, it would be  […] prudent to  take a  look at the structures shared with other religions first. […]  What is  immediately striking  […] is its social character. […]  But  […] it is  the individuals who really constitute it, and without whom it does not exist. […Essentially, no] religion is  real  […] except by and in the individuals who practice it. […]  What really legitimates and justifies religion is  not to  be found on  our level  […]  Durkheim, Les formes élémentaires de la vie religieuse, p. 65 (italics by author).

8

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but […] above us. […] This “order of   things” […] is what, in the absence of   anything better, we term the “supernatural”, but also the “sacred”, the “numinous”, the “divine” – the first object of  religion without which it does not exist, not having any reason to exist’) 9 These definitions are very useful when working with verbal material, and the Study of   Religion has traditionally been a textual discipline; consequently, also definitions of   religion have been made on  the basis of   the study of   texts.10 Yet, when applying these definitions to  (prehistoric) material culture, it becomes clear that they are of   use mostly in relation to the material they were produced from (the textual) and that they cannot really help us in  identifying religion in  the archaeological material. In the texts we identify gods on the basis of   their names or attributes and temples on the basis of   their relation to gods. These are the foundations on  which religion is  most often studied. Yet, it is  not at all clear what the material indications of   superhuman or transcendent would be. It is not really possible, with the above definitions as  a  guideline, to  decide whether Venus from Willendorf  was a goddess or not. Just because gods in historical times are represented in  statuary and image, we cannot assume that prehistoric figurines also represent gods.11

The Problems of  Working with Prehistoric Religion The study of   religion is concerned with both contemporary religions and past religions. Contemporary religions are studied 9 Bottéro, La plus vieille religion, pp. 21–24 (trans. by David A. Warburton and italics by author). 10  I understand here text broadly, thus including also oral information. This means that also most ethnographic as well as sociological investigations are made on  the background of   texts. Yet, see e.g. Warmind, ‘Religion uden det transcendente’; Warmind, this volume, for a critique of  defining religion on the basis of  the transcendent and invisible. 11 Whereas previously Venus from Willendorf  and other figurines were often interpreted as  goddesses and thus as  indications of   religion at an early stage, more recent interpretations increasingly see them as constructions of   the feminine as a cultural ideal type. For innovative contributions, see e.g. Taylor, ‘The Willendorf  Venuses’; Porr, ‘The Hohle Fels “Venus” ’.

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via observation, interviews, and texts. Past religions are studied via observation of   left material and via their texts. When dealing with Egyptian, Babylonian, and Sumerian religion, it is clear from the outset that religion was there. It is  just a  question of  analyzing and interpreting it. Concerning prehistory it is  not only a  problem where to  find religion and how to  identify it. We should also leave room for the question whether it existed at all. Only few definitions of   religion have been formulated on the basis of   material culture, and of   these, to  my knowledge, none comes from the field of  the study of  religion. In 1964, the French paleontologist André Leroi-Gourhan suggested that in order to properly interpret archaeological material prior to  the Upper Palaeolithic, it required a definition that includes within religion all manifestations of   activities that stood outside material concerns: ‘les manifestations de préoccupations paraissant dépasser l’ordre materiel’ (‘the manifestations of   preoccupations that appear to go beyond the material order’).12 The Danish archaeologist P.  V.  Glob suggested that sacred things can be recognized by being characterized by ‘more work’ having been put into them.13 Thus, both definitions have been proposed in  an archaeological context. Until recently, however, none of   these definitions were actively used or  elaborated upon by other archaeologists or scholars from other disciplines, perhaps because they were considered too vague, to  broad, and/or too far away from what ‘really’ makes up religion. Instead, the discursive paradigm has ruled also among archaeologists, who have tried to  identify religion in prehistoric material on the basis of   definitions similar to those in the list above. The result of   this has, however, mostly been delusive. This is due to several factors: I. The definitions produced by scholars of   religion and anthropologists are made on  the basis of   the observation of   living cultures or  the study of   text. This means that they are made on the basis of   historical religions. Applying these definitions onto prehistoric material runs the risk of   making an anachro Leroi-Gourhan, Les religions de la préhistoire, p. 5.  Glob, Helleristninger i Danmark, p. 131.

12 13

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nism, projecting historical concepts on to a much older past. Thus, those origins to  which archaeology allows us an access remain undiscovered and unveiled. II. The mere application of   definitions on  to archaeological material ends up confirming the models or definitions rather than challenging, questioning, and regulating them. In  this sense also, archaeology confirms a  general prejudice towards archaeology from other disciplines, namely that it has nothing really new to  offer, because, in  fact, the past was merely a mirror of  the present. Yet, two tendencies in  the past decade have departed from the discursive trend. On the one hand, cognitive science has revealed the mental conditions for religion, placed in  our biological set-up. This makes it possible to  study non-verbal expressions of   religion through psychological observations and brain scans. On the other hand, material culture studies – with archaeology as a crucial contributor – have shown how images, places, objects, and bodily techniques are more than illustrations of   thought: these phenomena also generate practice, thought, and emotions. These two perspectives have opened up new possibilities for bridging gaps between history and prehistory and between the textual and non-textual sciences. Yet, whereas cognitive science has an interest in  the prehistoric mind and brings valuable new insights into this, it has difficulties in  contributing to the interpretation of   the archaeological material.14 This is a  crucial point, since the empirical material itself should not be dispensed from in the investigation of  religion. In what follows, I will therefore focus on the material culture trend.

The Role of  Material Culture In his essay ‘Lumbar Thought’, Umberto Eco described his experience with wearing blue jeans.15 Blue jeans have the image and reputation of   being casual, but in  fact, certain styles of   them 14 Wightman, The Origins of   Religion in  the Palaeolithic from 2015 excellently addresses the issue. 15  Eco, ‘Lumbar Thought’, p. 194.

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are everything else than relaxing. They are very tight, especially around thighs and crotch, and Eco realized how by wearing them his entire attention was on  his body: how he walked, how he sat, and how he moved. His body and behavior adjusted to  the jeans rather than the opposite. He was not able to  think, contemplate, analyze, or  let his thoughts wander the way he was used to. Instead, his thoughts were constantly brought back to his appearance and outfit. And it struck Eco how his academic career would not have evolved like it did without the more comfortable trousers he was normally wearing. Likewise, he realized the idea behind the loose outfit of   the clergy as well as the morning gown of   Balzac: both types of   clothing have allowed the wearers’ thoughts to  be free and wander. Contrary to  these comfortable garments, women’s corsets and high-heeled shoes must have set severe restrictions on  their freedom of   thought and creativity for ages. This means again that what women have managed to  produce is  even more admirable, because of  their outfit. The point illustrated so brilliantly in the article is that material culture is not a mere accessory, and not something that thought can ignore. Instead, material culture directs or triggers thinking (and behaving, cf.  Eco’s example of    the different ways of  moving one’s body conditioned by clothes and footwear), or, put in  another way, material culture provides conditions for what kind of   thoughts it is  possible to  think. Material change and material inventions are not just superficial or unimportant, but they influence behavior and thought, both by opening up for new possibilities and at the same time setting limits and restrictions for them. Thus, without his experience with the blue jeans, Eco would not have been able to  reflect on  the freedom of  thought provided by gowns. In so  far as  these conclusions can be applied to  the study of  religion and its origins, this suggests that we should consider: I. The degree to which religion may not only be a question of  ideas II. The degree to which religious thought is influenced by matter In order to  insert the discussion of   material culture in a theoretical framework, it may be useful to  make a  digression. Thus, 33

L. BREDHOLT CHRISTENSEN

below I will make a short excursus on the concept of  conditions of  possibility.

Excursus: Conditions of  Possibility The concept was introduced by Immanuel Kant and historicized by Michel Foucault.16 Of   interest for the context of   this paper is  that Peter  J. Wilson 17 applied the concept to  ethnographic material and showed its relevance for archaeology and therefore also the history of  religions. The idea of   the concept is  that every historical epoch and every culture has limits to what it knows and what it is possible to  know. In  Foucault’s thinking, the framework for the knowledge, or the historical a priori, which is not conscious or visible for the epoch or culture itself, is called episteme. When working along these lines, the idea is  to ask for and attempt to  recreate the space of   thought that was prevalent in  a  given epoch or culture. Foucault thus asked for the surrounding framework for concepts such as those of  sexuality, madness, and punishment.18 Wilson sets out asking to  which degree it is  possible to  use evidence from modern hunter-gatherers to  learn about life in the Palaeolithic. On  the one hand, they are obvious sources of  information, because their economic basis is  in many ways similar to that of   our forefathers. On the other hand, ethnography has, rightly, for decades, criticized direct analogies for being evolutionist. Modern hunter-gatherers live in  the present, just as people in industrialized societies do, and they have changed, evolved, and invented just as  everybody else has it.19 Wilson’s approach to the problem is that: … while the ethnographic analogy may not be entirely reliable it will display the effect of   limiting factors  […] The condi16   ‘What is found at the historical beginning of   things is not the inviolable identity of   their origin; it is the dissension of   other things. It is disparity’ (Foucault, ‘Nietzsche, Genealogy, History’, p. 142). 17 Wilson, The Domestication of  the Human Species. 18  Lars Albinus has shown how Michel Foucault can be used in the context of   the study of   religion, see Albinus, ‘Discourse Analysis within the Study of  Religion’. 19 Fabian, Time and the Other.

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tions of  life contingent on hunting and gathering indicate a minimal sociology, suggesting what is  absolutely necessary and sufficient for the survival and well-being of  a human society 20

If  there is something that modern hunter-gatherers do not have which other societies do have, it is  worth asking (a) whether this element is  necessary for the ‘wellbeing of   a human society’ and (b) whether there is  a  possibility this was not always there. Most importantly for Wilson, this goes for architecture: Whereas Paleolithic and modern hunter/gatherers were and are technically competent to build dwellings of   a permanent nature, the conditions of   their lives preclude settlement as a  ways of   life  […]. This means that the nature of  their thinking and symbolic representation cannot call on or be furthered by the house. So not only does domestication occur as  a  historical development, but the frames of   mind that rely on  architectural structures for their articulation are also historically developed and cannot be biologically determined human universals – as generalizations of  certain psychological theories have implied 21

In the course of  his investigations, Wilson observes that elements and concepts such as  kinship, taboos, morals, war, gossip, borders, and territory, whose existence and presence is  obvious in domesticated societies, look differently or  do not exist in many modern hunter-gatherer-societies. He takes this as  an indication that they are not ‘naturally’ human and not necessary for a human society to  survive and to  provide for the well-being of  its inhabitants.22 Given this visible, substantial difference of   architecture between open hunter/gatherer societies and the rest, we may wonder what other fundamental changes arise from (or may be correlated with) the transition from open to domesticated society? What aspects of   human behavior, and especially what aspects of  the ordering of  human behavior and activity,  Wilson, The Domestication of  the Human Species, p. 23.  Wilson, The Domestication of  the Human Species, p. 58. 22  See quote above. 20 21

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have evolved directly from the adoption of  the house and the village as the primary context of  social life? 23

Thus, ‘house’ is not necessary for the survival of  the human being, but a  constructed addendum. As the house was invented, it became ‘a tool for thought as well as a technology for shelter’ 24 In  this vein, architecture and living in  domesticated societies has shaped peoples’ minds to  a  degree that it is  a  precondition of  possibility for being able to  think and invent phenomena and concepts such as those mentioned, together with gardening, theatre, neighbors, and privacy. [End of  excursus]

Conditions of  Possibility in the Context of  Archaeology That matter is a condition of  possibility for certain kinds of  thinking is a conclusion also drawn by David A. Warburton in his study on  colour terminology.25 Via ancient Near Eastern languages, he has demonstrated how several colours known as  obvious today were constructed only in  the Bronze Age, with its valorisation and trade of   precious metals. Thus, the term ‘blue’, French ‘azur’ derives, via Sumerian, Akkadian, and Egyptian from the blue stone lapis lazuli. In  Persian and Arabic, azure means lapis-lazuli. Likewise, the term ‘yellow’ comes from ‘gold’. Thus the colours azure (blue) and ‘gelb’ (gold) derive from stone and metal. The principle is  the same as  what we still know today from ‘orange’ – that, although a  colour, still maintains its link to the concrete fruit. The points that can be drawn from this is that abstract terms – such as  colour – do not come ‘out of  the blue’, or naturally, as responses to a need in humans, or as a result of  philosophizing. For hundreds of   thousands of   years, humans had had the sun and the sky to look at – yet the names for the colours blue and yellow do not derive from these obvious natural phenomena, but from stone and metal. It was only with the naming of   the lapis lazuli and gold that the sky and the sun  Wilson, The Domestication of  the Human Species, p. 57.  Wilson, The Domestication of  the Human Species, p. 5. 25  Warburton, ‘The Theoretical Implications of   Ancient Egyptian Colour Vocabulary for Anthropological and Cognitive Theory’. See also Warburton, Architecture, Power, and Religion and Warburton, this volume. 23 24

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were attributed colours. In Egyptian art, the sky is made of   lapis lazuli and the sun of   gold. Warburton suggests that only when people had concrete and touchable objects (material culture) did they also name them. This suggestion can be supported by several ethnographical observations of   peoples with languages with only relatively few words for plants or places shared by the collective.26 Whereas natural phenomena have not immediately invited to  categorizations and naming, touchable objects have. Thus, the conditions of   possibility for thinking abstract terms such as colour are concrete objects. As these were not always there but have been invented at some point in  history or  prehistory, also abstract thinking was invented. What Wilson and Warburton point towards is not that, historically seen, humans have with time become cleverer or better at thinking, but that culture has opened up possibilities that were not there before. That culture not only opens up possibilities but also closes and delimits them is obvious. According to Mary Douglas: ‘Dirt was created by the differentiating activity of  mind, it was a byproduct of  the creation of  order. So it started from a state of   non-differentiation […].’ 27 Likewise, she refers to  the following passage by Durkheim and Mauss involving the invention of  categories: For us, in fact, to classify things is to arrange them in groups which are distinct from each other and are separated by clearly determined lines of  demarcation. […] Now one could almost say that this conception of   classification does not go back before Aristotle. […]  Not only has our present notion of  classification a history, but this history itself  implies a considerable pre-history. It would be impossible to  exaggerate, in fact, the state of  indistinction from which the human mind developed […] 28

The world as  such is  not categorized. We invent the categories, and do this primarily by the means of  language. Religion is categorization par excellence to a degree that religion and categorization 26 Wilson, The Domestication of   the Human Species, p.  31; Willerslev, Soul Hunters, p. 203, n. 2; Descola, Leben und Sterben in Amazonien. 27 Douglas, Purity and Danger, p. 162. 28  Durkheim and Mauss, Primitive Classification, pp. 5–6.

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cannot be separated. Religious discourse, practice, architecture, institutions, and imagery divides the world into ‘life’ and ‘death’, 29 ‘this World’ vs. ‘the Other World’, ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, ‘man’ and ‘woman.’ 30 Often categorizations are dual. One of   the prime functions of   religion is to prescribe rules for what is a ‘real man’ and what is a ‘real woman’, when are they allowed to marry, and whom, etc. To write a history of  religions also means to observe when these categories came into being, or, in the vein of   Wilson, to observe when the premises for the categories were invented or  entered the scene. Also Peter Pels 31 and Terje Oestigaard 32 have worked on the same lines as Warburton, but from slightly different perspectives. As an anthropologist Pels was invited by Ian Hodder to contribute to the analysis of  the Neolithic village Çatalhöyük. Pels’ point of   departure is  that the study of   religion is  erroneous in  always looking for symbols, gods, myths, dogma, etc. when wanting to  investigate religion. Instead, he argues, one should look for ‘the marked’. In  Çatalhöyük, what are marked are the houses. Particularly, some houses differ from the majority, and Pels calls these houses ‘history houses’. They are characterized by (a) containing more burials than most other houses, (b) having at least four re-buildings on  top of   each other, and by (c) re-using elements and objects (e.g., ovens or  teeth) from older houses and burials in younger houses and burials (e.g. the old teeth inserted 29   Even life and death are not biologically absolute. Although Boyer cites psychological experiments showing that even children distinguish between dead and alive, David Lewis-Williams refers to the Amazonian Piro (a nomadic or semi-nomadic people) on  whom Peter Gow says: ‘Dying, in  Piro thought, is  not the negation of   life, but a  further mode of   ontogenesis. Death is  thus one of   a series of   transformations. Piro ritual specialists also cross over into the dimension of   death: they see “other beings …hallucinatory experience [is] a  new way of   seeing” ’ (Lewis-Williams, Inside the Neolithic Mind, p.  125 citing Gow, An Amazonian Myth and its History, p. 135). The same point of  view is expressed in Humphreys and King, Mortality and Immortality: ‘death is seen by those still alive as  a  transformation, and is  not happening from one instant to another, but is a gradual process’. 30  See Nordbladh and Yates, ‘This Perfect Body, This Virgin Text’; FaustoStirling, Sexing the Body; Bagemihl, Biological Exuberance. 31  Pels, ‘Temporalities of  Religion at Çatalhöyük’. 32  Oestigaard, ‘The Materiality of  Hell’.

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into ‘new’ jaws). Furthermore, it characterizes history houses that the first house is  built on  top a  ‘charged event’, such as  a foundation burial. The particular markedness 33 was maintained in  that regularly identical or new actions were performed at the same place. Hereby, the markedness was transformed into a  sacredness or holiness, as Pels suggests. And thus we are back at Glob’s definition, although this is not remarked on by Pels. Or, put in other words and with Mary Douglas in mind, the category of  the sacred, or, in  the first instance, its conditions of   possibility, ‘came into being’ (and, again, this was not necessarily as  a  conscious act). It was only with the invention of   the houses and the village that the premises or  preconditions of   possibility for this category or concept were present. Whereas the average life expectance for inhabitants at Çatalhöyük was 30–50 years, the ‘life’ 34 of   a house was sometimes up to  80 years, and that of   a house sequence up to  500 years. In other words, the house was detached from human agency: an average house existed already before the birth of   the individual and it continued to ‘live’ after the death of   the individual. This fact makes the house transcendent in a human perspective: ‘The “house” is […] a transgenerational entity that was definitely marked for special attention by acts of   foundation and erasure. […]  this clearly indicates the house’s transcendental status’.35 Pels’ point is  that concepts basic to  the study of   religion have their roots not in contemplating thought but in material culture. First, something material (in this case the house) was constructed or  produced, and secondly, this new construction provoked new thoughts that were later formulated in words and language. At the same time, Pels revives Glob’s definition of   the holy as that which is linked to ‘extra work’.

33  For the concept, Pels refers to  Webb Keane, who speaks of    ‘degrees of  markedness of   attention’, see Pels ‘Temporalities of   Religion at Çatalhöyük’, p. 234. 34  In order to  investigate the relationship between people and things, Pels speaks about the life cycles and life spans of   the settlement, house sequences, houses, households, and human beings. 35   Pels, ‘Temporalities of  Religion at Çatalhöyük’, p. 245.

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Oestigaard,36 who is  an archaeologist, analyzes the Christian concepts of  hell and purgatory. Via the reading of  canonical texts on the one hand and medieval sources on the burning of  witches on  the other hand, he shows how the Christian hell was constructed as a burning fire only after the Inquisition and the witch burnings. Until the Inquisition, the image of   the Christian hell as  well as  the underworld of   several other religions had been attributed various forms of   content, but never that of   a burning fire. The Inquisition constituted a  ‘real life’-precondition for conceiving the idea of   hell as  burning. Oestigaard suggests a three-levelled dialectic: (1) the burning of   witches, (2) the construction of   a popular idea of   hell and purgatory, (3) the formulation of   this idea in theoretical and theological terms on the part of  the priestly elite. The conclusion of   Oestigaard is that the construction of   hell as  burning and a  place of   fire was a  non-intended consequence of   the witch burnings. Thus, in  a  larger perspective, also this analysis shows that ideas and concepts – mental ‘phenomena’ – are triggered by, and need, material objects and real events.37

Defining Religion on the Basis of  Material Culture The above examples all show how the mind is influenced by material culture and how material culture is  the precondition for certain thoughts.38 As Peter Wilson has pointed out, however, material culture to the extent that we know it today is not necessary for a well-functioning life and society. Most material culture was invented in the course of   the past few thousand years. Thus, many thoughts and concepts familiar to us today and in the past hundreds or  thousand years were not possible to  think before that, because the material preconditions or foundations were not yet there. On this basis, the importance of   material culture and archaeological material in  the investigation of   religion and its origins   Oestigaard, ‘The Materiality of  Hell’.   See also Bredholt Christensen and Warburton, ‘The Religons of   Prehistoric Europe and the Study of   Prehistoric Religion’; Bredholt Christensen and others, ‘Buchbesprechung von Material Religion’. 38  See also Warburton, this volume. 36 37

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becomes clear. Concepts and symbols – the main ‘ingredients’ of   religion, whether in discourse, practice, or imagery – presuppose a certain level of  material culture. Returning now to the definitions of   religion, it is possible, on a second look, to focus on other words than the ones emphasized in the beginning of  the paper: 1) ‘a system of   symbols which acts to (2) establish powerful, pervasive, and long-lasting moods and motivations in  men by (3) formulating conceptions of  a general order of  existence and (4) clothing these conceptions with such an aura of  factuality that (5) the moods and motivations seem uniquely realistic’ 39 II. ‘a cultural system and a social mechanism (or institution) that governs and promotes ideal interpretations and ideal practices by referring to one or more trans-empirical agents’ 40 III. ‘all explicit and implicit notions and ideas, accepted as true, which relate to  a  reality which cannot be verified empirically’ 41 IV. ‘En religion er en forestillingsverden, der postulerer, at der findes to  verdener – den ene og den anden – imellem hvilken en kommunikation er mulig  […]’ ‘(A religion is an ideational world postulating that there are two worlds – this and the other – between which a  communication is possible […])’ 42 V. ‘all the ideas, actions, rules and objects that have to do with the existence and properties of   superhuman agents such as God’ 43 VI. ‘Une religion est un système solidaire de croyances et de pratiques relatives à des choses sacrées, c’est-à-dire séparées, interdites, croyances et pratiques qui unissent en une

I.

  Geertz, ‘Religion as a Cultural System’, p. 4 (italics by author).   Geertz, ‘The Definition of   Religion in  the Context of   Social-Scientific Study’, p. 446 (italics by author). 41  van Baal and van Beek, Symbols for Communication, p. 3 (italics by author). 42  Schjødt, ‘Definitionsproblemer i forhold til begrebet religion’, p. 21 (trans. and italics by author). 43 Boyer, Religion Explained, p. 9 (italics by author). 39 40

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même communauté morale, appelée Eglise, tous ceux qui y adhèrent. Le second élément qui prend ainsi place dans notre définition n’est pas moins essentiel que le premier; car, en montrant que l’idée de religion est inséparable de l’idée d’Eglise, il fait pressentir que la religion doit être une chose éminemment collective’ (‘A religion is  a  unified system of   beliefs and practices relative to sacred things, that is to say set apart and forbidden – beliefs and practices which unite into one single moral community, called a  church, all those who adhere to them. The second element thus holds a place in my definition that is no less essential than the first: In showing that the idea of   religion is inseparable from the idea of  a church, it conveys the notion that religion must be an eminently collective thing’) 44 VII. ‘Avant de […] essayer de comprendre la religion des anciens Mésopotamiens, il sera […] avisé d’en arrêter d’abord la structure commune avec les autres religions. […]  Ce qui saute en premier aux yeux […] c’est son caractère social. […]. Mais  […] ce sont les individus qui la composent et sans lesquels elle n’existerait pas. […]  toute Religion n’est donc réelle […] d’abord, que par et dans les individus qui la pratiquent […]. Ce qui légitime et justifie de même la Religion ne se trouve pas, lui, à notre niveau […] mais […] au-dessus de nous. […]  Ce “ordre des choses” […] c’est ce que, faute de mieux, on  appelle le Surnaturel, mais aussi le Sacré, le Numineux, le Divin – objet premier de la Religion, et sans quoi elle n’existerait pas, n’ayant aucune raison d’être.’ (‘Before  […] attempting to  understand the religion of   the ancient Mesopotamians, it would be  […] prudent to  take a  look at the structures shared with other religions first. […] What is immediately striking […] is its social character. […]  But  […] it is  the individuals who really constitute it, and without whom it does not exist. […Essentially, no] religion is  real  […] except by and in  the individuals who practice it. […]  What really legitimates and justifies religion is not to be found on our level […] but […] above us.

 Durkheim, Les formes élémentaires de la vie religieuse, p. 65 (italics by author).

44

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[…]  This “order of   things” […] is  what, in  the absence of  anything better, we term the “supernatural”, but also the “sacred”, the “numinous”, the “divine” – the first object of   religion without which it does not exist, not having any reason to exist’) 45 Seen from this perspective, although the supernatural or  the divine is indispensable for religion, it is important that this alone does not make up religion. Visions, dreams, trance, and extraordinary experience are those ‘locations’ where the supernatural is  originally seen and constructed. From these visions, the gods from the myths and law have part of   their identity. Yet, these visions are not religious in themselves; 46 only their interpretation in  a  specific direction may make them religious. What it takes to  have religion is  on the one hand a  ‘spiritual’ or  ‘transcendent’ aspect, and on  the other an institutional aspect. The latter implies a  collective framework, order, rules, justification, legitimation, symbols, morals, etc., as  mentioned in  the definitions above. These elements, on  their part, all require the presence of  an external authority.47 In  fact, several researchers have pointed towards authority as the decisive element for religion.48 Accord­ ing to  Lincoln, ‘[…] religious claims are the means by which certain objects, places, speakers, and speech-acts are invested with an authority, the source of  which lies outside the human.’ 49 In so far as we consent to this claim, the next question is whether religious claims are to  be found universally, or  whether they are bound to context and history. It may be significant that the ethnographer Rane Willerslev reports of   a meeting with a Siberian hunter, who maintained that: ‘I believe in  those [spiritual 45 Bottéro, La plus vieille religion, pp. 21–24 (trans. by David A. Warburton and italics by author). 46  This point is further elaborated in Bredholt Christensen, ‘From “spirituality” to “religion” – Ways of  Sharing Knowledge of  the “Other World” ’. 47   This point, and the difference between power and authority, is  further elaborated in  Warburton and Bredholt Christensen, Approaches to  the Origins of  Religion. 48  For example, see Lincoln, Authority; Vernant, Mythe et religion en Grèce ancienne; Albinus ‘Autoritet, forfatter, tekst’; Warburton and Bredholt Christensen, Approaches to the Origins of  Religion. 49 Lincoln, Authority, p. 112.

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agents] I myself  have encountered. The rest I don’t know about. They might exist or they might not’.50 If  we take this utterance seriously, there is reason to question whether what this hunter expresses – and many modern hunters and hunter-gatherers with him – can be termed religion. The hunter is himself  his own authority and does not have any institution legitimating or  explaining whether what he sees belongs to  this or  the other world.51 Also, the spirits he encounters are not necessarily attributed more authority than the hunter himself. Thus, in the claim, a spiritual element is indicated, but not an institutional. With Pascal Boyer, it is important to have in mind that religion is not a monolith but a conglomerate of   different elements with origins in  different times and in  different contexts.52 Whereas the ability of   dreaming and going into trance is  biological (also animals do it), institutions, law, symbols, and morals (at least some of  it) are human, historically invented, and need not be there to lead a human life, as shown by both Wilson and Willerslev. To look for the origins of   religion means tracing something that was not developed out of   necessity and that not necessarily everybody has or has had. Religion lies between the mental and the material and is dependent upon the material as much as upon the mental.

Conclusion To return to the introductory quote about Islam, a moderation of   Morten Hesseldahl must be two-sided: first, religion does not only consist of   ideas. Although ideas need to  be there in  order to  have religion, they are not sufficient that something can be defined religious. What it requires is ideas about the supernatural, linked to  institutions implying authority. Second, religious thoughts as we know them have been influenced by the gradual  Willerslev, Soul Hunters, p. 160.   See Bredholt Christensen, ‘From “spirituality” to  “religion” – Ways of  Sharing Knowledge of  the “Other World” ’. 52 Boyer, Religion Explained; Bredholt Christensen, ‘ “Spirituality” and “religion” – Meaning and Origin’. 50

51

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invention of   material culture. This is then an answer to the first working question, as  posed in  the preface. The role of   material culture for religion is not just that of  a supplement or an appendix but fundamental for the upcoming and construction of  religion at all. For what regards the second question about what kinds of  material culture characterize religion, this requires further studies in order to be answered adequately. Apart from features such as burials and monuments, Peter Pels’ contribution shows that there may be good reason to  look in  other directions than the immediate obvious ones. At the same time, he also shows how the religious, or elements of  it, is not constant but moves: whereas in Çatalhöyük ‘transcendent’ originated with ‘house’, ‘house’ has today completely different connotations, and the transcendent has moved to the abstract sphere. As for the third question, it is  a  fact that archaeologists, scholars of  religion, and anthropologists, alone as  well as  in  co-operation, work on identifying the origins of   religion. When Pels has argued the condition of   possibility for the concept of   transcendence to  be constructed, it is  up to  further discussion whether in Çatalhöyük we already have the whole package of  religion, or still ‘only’ beginnings, or parts, of  it. History houses in  Çatalhöyük seem to  form foundations for the concept of  transcendence; yet, although perhaps a sine qua non for religion, it alone does not make up religion. Summing up, also Pels’ concept of   religion is  based on  the concepts of  transcendence and holy. This could be seen as a weakness, in that Pels does not define religion anew, and does not define religion on  the basis of  material culture alone, but follows traditional tracks. It can, however, also be seen as a strength, because Pels follows the criteria of  the study of  religion for what a proper definition should contain. What distinguishes Pels’ approach from many archaeological approaches is that he does not assume that the concepts of  transcendent and holy were always there and only need to  be discovered by the archaeologist. Rather, on  the basis of   the material, he argues how the concepts had an origin and that this origin can be identified in the archaeological material, more specifically in  ‘house’ and in  ‘burial’. Following this argument, the origin was not discursive and not something that 45

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could be discussed, at least not verbally. Important about the argument is also that it can be disputed and challenged. Pels’ approach can be described as  taking a  point of   departure in  familiar concepts and from there tracing their history. Concerning Çatalhöyük it turns out, or can be argued, that the concept of   the holy, which we today link with religion, has its origin in something that we today consider to be secular, namely the house. In  his analysis of   the history of   madness, Foucault showed that what we today define as  ill or  sick was previously defined as  criminal.53 In  the same vein, Pels shows us that the religious has made similar jumps. To trace its history is not to follow a  direct track but to  find its origins in  perhaps surprising localities. In the above I have been touching upon the working questions posed in the introduction. Yet, it is clear that they have not been answered satisfactorily. There is still immense work to do in the investigation of  early religions, the upcoming of  religion, and the relation between religion and material culture. However, the lid has come off  the box.

Bibliography Albinus, Lars, ‘Discourse Analysis within the Study of   Religion: Processes of   Change in  Ancient Greece’, Method & Theory in  the Study of  Religion, 9/3 (1997), pp. 203–32 Albinus, Lars, ‘Autoritet, forfatter, tekst’, in Litteraturen og det hellige, ed. by Ole Davidsen and others (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2005), pp. 359–75 van Baal, Jan and W.  E.  A.  van Beek, Symbols for Communication: An Introduction to  the Anthropological Study of   Religion (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1985) Bagemihl, Bruce, Biological Exuberance: Animal Homosexuality and Natural Diversity (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1999) Bottéro, Jean, La plus vieille Religion (Paris: Gallimard, 1998) Boyer, Pascal, Religion Explained: The Evolutionary Origins of  Religious Thought (New York: Basic Books, 2001) Bredholt Christensen, Lisbeth, ‘ “Spirituality” and “religion” – Meaning and Origin’, in  Les Expressions intellectuelles et spirituelles des  Foucault, Madness and Civilization.

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peuples sans Écriture: Colloqui UISPP-CISENP, Paris 22–23 Octobre 2007, ed.  by Emmanuel Anati (Capo di Ponte: Edizioni del Centro, 2007), pp. 23–32 Bredholt Christensen, Lisbeth, ‘From “Spirituality” to  “Religion” – Ways of   Sharing Knowledge of   the “Other World” ’, in The Principle of  Sharing. Segregation and Construction of   Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to  Farming. Proceedings of  a Symposium held on  29th–31st January 2009 at the AlbertLudwigs-University of   Freiburg, ed.  by Marion Benz (Berlin: ex oriente 2010), pp. 81–90 Bredholt Christensen, Lisbeth and David A. Warburton, ‘The Religons of   Prehistoric Europe and the Study of   Prehistoric Religion’, in The Handbook of   Religions in Ancient Europe, ed. by Lisbeth Bred­ holt Christensen and others (London: Acumen, 2013a), pp. 93–99 Bredholt Christensen, Lisbeth and others, ‘Review of   Materiality, Belief, Ritual: Archaeology and Material Religion, Material Religion: Journal of  Objects, Art and Belief, 5.3 (2009), Special Issue, ed. by Tim Insoll’, Zeitschrift für Religionswissenschaft, 21/2 (2013b), pp. 292–96 Descola, Philippe, Leben und Sterben in  Amazonien: Bei den JívaroIndianern (Berlin: Suhrkamp, 2011) Douglas, Mary, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of   Concepts of  Pollution and Taboo (London and New York: Routledge, 1966) Durkheim, Émile, Les formes élémentaires de la vie religieuse: Le système totémique en Australie (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1914) Durkheim, Émile and Marcel Mauss, Primitive Classification (London: Cohen & West, 1903) Eco, Umberto, ‘Lumbar Thought’, in Travels in Hyperreality: Essays, trans. by William Weaver (New York: Harcourt, Brace & Company, 1983), pp. 191–96 Fabian, Johannes, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes its Object (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983) Fausto-Stirling, Anne, Sexing the Body: Gender Politics and the Construction of  Sexuality (New York: Basic Books, 2000) Foucault, Michel, Madness and Civilization: A History of   Insanity in the Age of  Reason (New York: Vintage Books, 1988) Foucault, Michel, ‘Nietzsche, Genealogy, History’, in Language, Counter-memory, Practice, ed. by Donald F. Bouchard, trans. by Donald F. Bouchard and Sherry Simon (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977), pp. 139–64 47

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Geertz, Armin W., ‘The Definition of   Religion in  the Context of  Social-Scientific Study’, Historical Reflections  / Réflexions Historiques, 25, 3 (1999), pp. 445–75 Geertz, Clifford, ‘Religion as  a  Cultural System’, in  Anthropological Approaches to the Study of   Religion, ed. by Michael Banton (London: Tavistock, 1966), pp. 1–46 Glob, Peter V., Helleristninger i Danmark (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1969) Gow, Peter, An Amazonian Myth and its History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001) Hesseldahl, Morten, ‘Farvel til fællesskabet?’, in Den konservative årstid: Betragtninger og visioner efter 2001, ed. by Brian Mikkelsen (Viborg: Hovedland, 2004), pp. 124–37 Insoll, Tim, Archaeology, Ritual, Religion (London and New York: Routledge, 2004) Insoll, Tim, ‘Materialising Performance and Ritual: Decoding the Archaeology of  Shrines in Northern Ghana’, in Materiality, Belief, Ritual: Archaeology and Material Religion, ed. by Tim Insoll, Material Religion 5, 3, Special issue (London: Berg, 2009), pp. 288–311 Leroi-Gourhan, André, Les religions de la préhistoire (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1964) Lewis-Williams, David, Inside the Neolithic Mind: Consciousness, Cosmos and the Realm of   the Gods (London: Thames & Hudson, 2005) Lincoln, Bruce, Authority: Construction and Corrosion (Chicago: University of  Chicago Press, 1994) Mortality and Immortality: The Anthropology and Archaeology of  Death: Proceedings of  a Meeting of  the Research Seminar in Archaeology and Related Subjects Held at the Institute of   Archaeology, London University, in  June 1980, ed. by Sarah C. Humphreys and Helen King (New York: Academic Press, 1981) Nordbladh, Jarl and Tim Yates, ‘This Perfect Body, This Virgin Text: Between Sex and Gender in  Archaeology’, in  Archaeology after Structuralism: Post-Structuralism and the Practice of   Archaeology, ed.  by Ian Bapty and Tim Yates (London: Routledge, 1990), pp. 222–37 Oestigaard, Terje, ‘The Materiality of   Hell: The Christian Hell in  a World Religion Context’, in Materiality, Belief, Ritual: Archaeology and Material Religion, ed.  by Tim Insoll, Material Religion 5,  3, Special issue (London: Berg, 2009), pp. 312–31 48

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Pels, Peter, ‘Temporalities of   Religion at Çatalhöyük’, in Religion in the Emergence of   Civilization, ed.  by Ian Hodder (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), pp. 220–67 Porr, Martin, ‘The Hohle Fels “Venus”: Some Remarks on Animals, Humans and Metaphorical Relationships in Early Upper Palaeolithic Art’, Rock Art Research, 27, 2 (2010), pp. 147–59 Rappaport, Roy, Ritual and Religion in  the Making of   Humanity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999) Renfrew, Colin, ‘The Archaeology of  Ritual, of  Cult, and of  Religion’, in The Archaeology of  Ritual, ed. by Evan Kyriakidis, Cotsen Advanced Seminar 3 (Los Angeles: University of  California, 2007), pp. 109–22 Schjødt, Jens Peter, ‘Definitionsproblemer i forhold til begrebet religion’, in  Det brede og det skarpe: Religionsvidenskabelige studier. En gave til Per Bilde på 65-års dagen, ed. by Armin W. Geertz and others (Copenhagen: Anis, 2004), pp. 13–22 Taylor, Timothy, ‘The Willendorf  Venuses: Notation, Iconology and Materiality’, Mitteilungen der Anthropologischen Gesellschaft in Wien (MAGW), 138 (2006), pp. 37–49 The Handbook of   Religions in Ancient Europe, ed. by Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen and others (London: Acumen, 2013) Vernant, Jean-Pierre, Mythe et religion en Grèce ancienne (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1990) Warburton, David A., ‘The Theoretical Implications of  Ancient Egyptian Colour Vocabulary for Anthropological and Cognitive Theory’, Lingua Aegyptia, 16 (2008), pp. 213–59 Warburton, David A., Architecture, Power, and Religion: Hatshepsut, Amun & Karnak in Context, Beiträge zur Archäologie, 7 (Münster: LIT Verlag, 2012) Warburton, David A., ‘The Importance of  the Origins of  Abstraction and Discourse’, in  Religion and Material Culture, this volume, pp. 61–99 Warburton, David A. and Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen, Approaches to the Origins of  Religion (forthcoming) Warmind, Morten, ‘Religion uden det transcendente? Bronzealderen som muligt eksempel’, in Religion og materiel kultur, ed. by Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen and Stine Benedicte Sveen (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1998), pp. 94–106 Warmind, Morten, ‘What is a God?’, in Religion and Material Culture, this volume Willerslev, Rane, Soul Hunters: Hunting, Animism, and Personhood among Siberian Yukaghirs (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of  California Press, 2007) 49

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Wightman, Gregory J., The Origins of  Religion in the Paleolithic (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015) Wilson, Peter J., The Domestication of  the Human Species (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1988)

Abstract Various definitions of  religion stress the supernatural, the transcendent, or  the holy as  the main characteristic of   religion from which it is possible to distinguish religion from non-religion. This is useful when working with texts, and mirrors the source-material from which the definitions were made. Yet, when applying these definitions to (prehistoric) material culture, it becomes clear that they are only of  use in relation to the material they were made on – texts – and that they cannot help us in identifying religion in archaeological material. Yet, as  Pascal Boyer has pointed out, religion is  not a  monolith but made up of  various components. Some of  these have a biological origin and some have a cultural origin (in the Palaeolithic, the Neolithic, the Bronze Age, or later). Some of   the components are mental, some of  them are material. The question is how many of  these elements it takes to make up religion.

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WHAT IS A GOD? ‘But, they say, we do not fear the images themselves, but those beings after whose likeness they were formed, and to whose names they are dedicated. You fear them doubtless on this account, because you think that they are in heaven; for if they are gods, the case cannot be otherwise. Why, then, do you not raise your eyes to heaven, and, invoking their names, offer sacrifices in the open air? Why do you look to walls, and wood, and stone, rather than to the place where you believe them to be?… Wherefore it is undoubted that there is no religion wherever there is an image. For if religion consists of  divine things, and there is nothing divine except in heavenly things; it follows that images are without religion, because there can be nothing heavenly in that which is made from the earth.’ Lactantius (Divinarum Institutionum, 2.2, 2.19)

Pieces of   wood and stone, and not really gods, said the Church Fathers about the Hellenistic gods, thereby implying the ‘real’ gods were disembodied and that they were not depicted, nor (possibly) inhabited temples. Lactantius, who became the teacher of   the emperor Constantine’s son, was writing this apologetic treatise some time just before 311 ad at the beginning of   the Christian ascendancy. As we know, the deities worshiped by the Church Fathers were soon to  be made visible, fashioned of  both wood and stone and in  large-scale buildings with a  cult, which became more and more public. And images, temples, and public cult do indeed seem to  be hard to  separate from the concept of  gods. Actually in my early years of  studying the Science of  Religion, I  was told that a  god proper is  distinguishable from (merely) a  divine entity through precisely those attributes – public cult, a cult image, and a temple or at least a fixed place of  worship. Of  course, this only describes what a god requires, and I think it is possible to get a little closer to the essence of   what a god is. In  order to  do this, I  shall first present some different deities and gods and try to distinguish them from each other. This will result in a tentative typology. I shall then try to go a little further from that.

Examples of  Gods The present king of   Thailand is  a  god and this should warn us against making assumptions on  the nature of   gods as  mere Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114427 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp.  51–59  © 

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objects of   fantasy. They are not. They can be real living people. King Bhummiphol is not the only living god in the world today. If  anyone should find the claim preposterous that a human being could be a  god, it is  because that person nurtures impractical ideas about the nature of  god-hood. The katchina-dancers of   the pueblo-dwellers in  South-West America can be said to  ‘dress up’ as gods, but when they are active, it would be more accurate to say that they are the gods – in many ways just as the king of   Thailand. However, they are not active all year round, and to my knowledge, only among the Hopis does one single katchina receive cult the whole year. Santa Claus is  practically a  katchina-type masked dancer. And a person who is dressed up as Santa must be said to be just such a  dancer. People who ‘dress up’ as  Santa may not ‘dance’ but they do follow an orally transmitted prescribed set of  movements, and they say only things a Santa would say. Since Santa is also in a  sense the popular Saint Nicholas, he is  the object of  cult and there are numerous cult-buildings dedicated to worshiping him. A piece of  bread can embody a god in the right circumstances. And it is an important tenet that the bread then IS the god and not a  representation. This god, like the katchina, exists only in this form during the cult. But as we know, the bread is only one form of  this particular god. The Angakoq in Greenland would travel in spirit-form to the Sea-Woman or to the Man in the Moon. These two beings controlled the game and/or the weather, and would either be angered or  bothered by humans breaking tabus. These two beings did not receive cult, however, except maybe at Nunivak in  Alaska, where the Sea-Woman with the name Sedna seems to have been worshiped all year. I have chosen to leave out of  my discussion deities such as the so-called momentary gods from a famous list of   so-called deities that are actually the personified form of   various acts performed during the agricultural year and supposedly invoked when performing these acts. The list is  often attributed to  old Roman Historian Fabius Pictor. Neither would I  include the phallos praised in  hymns in  Greek processions, because in  my opinion both these phenomena are too tied to  a  specific moment to 52

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count as gods proper. It might be argued that the phallic Priapus, found in  Roman gardens is  the phallos in  god-form, but that merely stresses my point that the disembodied phallos is precisely not ‘a  god’ – it has to  have a  body attached to  it. As for the invocations in personified form of   the acts of   agriculture, while performing these acts, they might have been the beginnings of  ‘gods’, but did not quite make it. Further  I would point out, that in  Nordic sources it seems obvious that several different anonymous groups of   beings were important in  both ritual and lore. In  the medieval sources they are sometimes referred to  as ‘the beings’, vættir. As they are not personified nor individualized, I  do not think they count as ‘gods’.

Forms of  Gods Some main types of   deities can be deduced from the preceeding examples: 1. The indistinct ‘Man in the Moon’-type, who seems to be devoid of  cult and stories outside his function as guardian of  the wildlife 2. The dressed-up dancer who ‘becomes’ the god in  particular instances. The cult is closely tied to the season and to the dancer’s mask, suit, or general get-up 3. The cultic object or  focal point, which receives a  name and is thought of   as personal. This type overlaps with the dressed-up dancer, but I would also understand the Eucharist in this way 4. The deity who has a specific cult on an everyday/weekly basis in temples 5. Living rulers who are seen either as  gods or  as  perfect representations of   gods of   the type 4 (or 6). Obviously the dressed up dancer could be close to this type. Sometimes the god is the perfect representation of  the ruler instead 6. Indistinct all-encompassing deities without images and sometimes even no temples in the version 3 understanding of  the word. They might be seen as closest to type 1 53

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It must be emphatically stressed that there is  no linear direction of   change presumed, nor any qualitative judgements made. No type of   deity is  ‘better’ or  ‘more evolved’ than any other. Indeed, deities can be observed changing from one type into another or  even belonging to  several different types at the same time depending on  the circumstances of   worship. So just as there is  no staircase or  evolutionary ladder, there is  also no system of   pigeonholes. It is instead meant as a means to think about the deities and their functions in distinct contexts.

Temples Another manifest form of   deities are the temples. Sometimes, it can be a  vast building complex, or  sometimes it can be little more than just a  shed, but in  both variations physical evidence of   the cult and therefore the existence and possibly of   the presence of  a deity exist. We should be aware that temples are not always just the houses of   the gods that they are attached to. Sometimes the temples predate the gods as  places of   worship. A  thing, such as a  stone, may have been the object of   cult with rites such as libations or  periodic circumambulations before it was attached to – or became the seat of  – or simply became the god. Particularly, when dealing with Hellenistic cults, we sometimes refer to  these ‘original’ objects as  the god’s ‘cult object’. Famous is  the black stone, which embodied, somehow, the goddess Cybele  and which was brought to  Rome as  a  gift from Pessinus in 210  bce. You could construct a  temple for Cybele anywhere and put a  life-like statue inside, but without the stone it apparently was something less than a temple of   Cybele. Many of   the central Greek temples had such original objects of  worship, which were always present and sometimes far more important in ritual than the elaborate statues, which we tend to regard as ‘the gods’. In passing this point it is interesting to note, that Latin does not have a  word for ‘temple’, even though the word used in most European languages, namely of   form of   ‘temple’ is derived from Latin. To me, this is  a  poignant and therefore important sign that temples are secondary to  worship. When the Romans 54

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wanted to  talk of   that which we call a  temple, they said aedes religiosus, which would translate directly as ‘tabooed building’ – or ‘building where religiously grounded restrictions apply’. Leaving this point aside, we can see that temples most certainly play a role in the perception of  deities. One can see several of  our varieties in the various types of  buildings. There are unique temples, even for deities who are worshiped all over the world. One might say that the deity, or a particular aspect of   the deity, is more present, and more readily worshiped at a  specific location. Apollo provided oracles in  many places in Hellas, but at Delphi they managed to  promote this particular aspect of   the god in  such a  way, that Delphi came to be understood as  the best spot to  experience this particular ability – to the detriment of  other Apolline oracles. There are other reasons for a  temple being seen as  unique. We have mentioned that it may possess an object, which is particularly of  or tied to the deity. The palladion (wooden cult image of   the Greek goddess Athena) would be another such example – or the True Cross. Then there are temples, which strive for uniformity, no matter where they are constructed. Both the Christians and Mithrasworshipers seem to have wanted their temples to be as similar as possible with respect to  at least a  number of   variables. In India this is  also found with respect to  certain cults. The experience of   entering ‘the same’ room everywhere in  the world is  part of  the attraction and possibly a demonstration of  the ubiquitousness of  the deity. It is  an important point in  the discussion of   gods that the temples show their relative might, their ‘international-ness’, the power of   the builders – also with respect to ownership and control over the ‘cult-objects’. Temples may also be palaces, where the daily ritual concerning the deity is completely similar to that concerning the ruler. One awakens the deity, readies it for the day etc. until sundown when it is wished ‘good night’. It is difficult to say, whether it is the god that is being treated like a ruler or the ruler, who is being treated like a god. The ceremonial certainly stresses the close connections between the two functions and the sacrality of  ruling in the places where this is the case. 55

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Gods without Boundaries It is clear that the types of  gods mentioned above all have in common that they are spoken about and called upon at specific intervals. Undoubtedly the myths and stories about the gods are an important part of  their existence, chiefly because they ‘release’ the gods from whatever locality they might otherwise be tied to. But the stories might be transferred from deity to deity, or, more often, deities that have no original connection to the stories may be identified as the protagonists. What we (normally) mean when we say ‘god’ seems to  be a character from rituals and/or stories (very often about rituals), who has somehow transcended these stories and the place and the cult to  some degree. This happens as  a  result of   human agency of   course, sometimes carefully planned, sometimes as  a by-product of  other human activities such as travel or conquest. So most gods have a local origin, which they have left behind to  a  greater or  lesser degree and become international, which is an anachronistic term. It is perhaps better to say inter-ethnic or inter-linguistic. The mechanisms through which this happens are many and varied. Examples probably spring to  mind for most readers. The Romans adopted a more or less conscious policy of   adapting their own deities as much as possible to Greek types, which were already being worshiped outside their Greek ‘homelands’ and cultic places. This process began even before Rome had become an important player in  the Mediterranean world. This was probably a  process, which in  Italy began with the Etruscans (who had been exposed to  the process from the Greek colonial city-states). It is obvious for any student of   Roman religion that there were many salient differences between the ‘native’ Roman gods and their supposed Greek ‘counterparts’, which were glossed over by Roman poets and historians alike. The process may for the incipient imperial power of   Rome have been a  nod to  the Etruscan past as  well as  a  ticket to  participation in  broader Hellenistic cult, culture, and politics. It could also be used as  an imperialistic device. Declaring the deities of   conquered peoples to be their version of   a god already worshiped in  Rome, as  a  way of   understanding and ‘taming’ the foreign deities into a Roman frame of   worship. In the Celtic 56

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areas this process is extremely visible with more than a hundred local deities being interpreted as Roman gods.

An Important Aspect It is  precisely in  the process of   adapting one god into another culture that it becomes apparent what the important part of   the deity is. Sometimes, the process seems to  have been an unconscious one and not always a  matter of   policy. Perhaps, when one perceived gods the way the Hellenized Romans did, it was impossible to see them in  any other way. It was also unthinkable not to embody them in  human form that would be something which was originally alien to the Romans and which seems to have been alien to the Gallic Celts. A telling example, which shows how deities, perhaps of   type 1 to 3, could become embodied, is the small clay statuette of   Epona from Trier. The museum piece is a  copy of   an original, which is  in a  private collection but the copy shows the details well enough for the following reconstruction of  events: a buyer comes to a figurinemaker and asks for an Epona. ‘What does she look like?’, he is  asked. ‘She is  a  matrona riding a  horse sideways’. Unable or unwilling to make an Epona from scratch, the craftsman takes a  finished mother-goddess: throne, footstool and all – and plunges her into an unbaked horse. Plop! ‘There you are, Sir! One Epona all done!’ The clay statuette demonstrates an important aspect of  gods that they are primarily defined by their so-called attributes and by their gender and social role in  the society. If  you have an image of   a young man with a caduceus, it is Hermes. But if  you take away the caduceus and give him a  lyre instead, it is Apollo. The Epona statuette demonstrates that the social role of  mother/married woman, combined with a  mare, expresses all that is essential about the deity. The horse and the mother are signs rather than images – and I  believe that this is  one of  the essential things to  remember about gods. Like signs, gods in  themselves are carriers of   messages about gender and a social group.

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Names Gods are manifested not only as images and stories. It was pointed out at the conference that a god can also be understood as chiefly a  name. That the name embodies the god! This is  in harmony with my understanding of   gods as signs or even messages about social roles and social organization. My reluctance to  include names (or even words) is based on a worry that this understanding of   the nature of   deities has had an importance, which has not been congruent with its explanatory power or  relevance. From the language-theories of  Max Müller to the Indo-European constructions of  Dumézil, the idea of  taking words and language as a point of   departure has shown itself  to be overly reductionist and/or unfalsifiable. It is, however, of   great importance not to  leave language out, as  religious rituals very often create environments where not only actions, but also speech acquires the power to change things often through the deity or at least inside the sphere of   the deity. So the name is  certainly not unimportant, but I would claim that the name is not always the essence of   the deity. Hashem, ‘The Name’, as  Jahveh is  referred to  in Judaism is  a  counter-example of   a deity so  powerful that the name is never even mentioned. Somewhat akin to calling the god of  the Christians simply God, hence removing any reference to any name. In summing up, a  god appears to  be most often a  physical image connected to a particular social group (or function) as well as a ritual or a set of  rituals (often) connected to the social group of   function. There may be a large amount of   stories illuminating the rituals or other features of  the god, but it is not necessary and sometimes these stories are clearly of   a very secondary nature. Gods appear to have a local origin, but those that become popular become mobile and can become popular over vast areas, even if  they are still tied to  a  special object or  a  place. A  salient example is  the god of   the Jews, Christians, and Muslims, which is generally agreed to  be ‘the same’, but who, to  the Jews, actually to some degree inhabits the stones left over from the temple of  Herod in Jerusalem. To the Muslims he has a particular interest in  Mecca, and a  large number of   the Christians believe his representative abides in  Rome. It may be the hallmark of   the truly successful gods that they can be embodied and understood 58

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in practically all the different types mentioned above – simultaneously. However gods are perceived, they do require some form of  material projection. Even a god with no material being requires a  cultic focus. Lactantius’ idea, that only intangible worship is truly religious, may be philosophically pleasing, but it has never been true in the real world. Religion and even gods leave a trace and their existence can be deduced from material remains.

Abstract The classificatory and/or phenomenological term ‘god’ is  used very frequently, but very rarely discussed. In  definitions of   religion the  term is  studiously avoided in  favor of   far more vague beings(?) such  as transempirical powers if  the reference to  any beings at all is not completely left out. Obviously ‘gods’ are something more that  transempirical powers, and not necessary in  a  religion. But what is  a  god? What do we actually refer to, when we use the term?  The paper represents a step towards a hopefully more nuanced understanding of  the concept.

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My main interest here is  the relevance of   material culture for tracing and recognizing the development of   thought. The object is demonstrating that one can relatively clearly identify the social context and the earliest point in time when what we call religion could have appeared. The method is  based on  suggesting that one can read a good deal of   importance about the development of   thought, and in particular the importance of   the Bronze Age for the origins of   complex thought. I  argue (a) that the history of   writing and literature offers some interesting insights into the development of   myth; (b) that monumental architecture allows one to draw some conclusions about the development of  discourse; and (c) that material culture in  the form of   precious materials plays a  decisive role in  providing a  window into the era of  the beginning of  abstraction. Examining religion in  Prehistory demands that one understand the nature of   religion, and its origins and early forms. Approaching Prehistory means relying on  material culture for information. Virtually all of   the sophisticated definitions of  religion demand some kind of   discourse with references to abstract ‘supernatural powers’ and ‘ideal values’ clothed in some kind of  ‘symbolic’ representation with ‘shared’ meanings.1 This implies a  great deal of   intellectual activity. Demanding that material culture alone demonstrate these features involves stretching the evidence, speculation, or  heroic assumptions. Thus one would   Bredholt Christensen, this volume.

1

Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114428 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp.  61–99  © 

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be justified in  dismissing the matter where there is  no verbal evidence to support the argument. Hitherto, this logical situation has generally led to the conclusion that one could not study Prehistoric religion because of   the absence of   texts. However, I  pose the question in  the opposite fashion. When and how did abstraction begin, and can we trace the development of   discourse? What does the early history of   written language reveal about what might have been discussed earlier? And, does the history of  monumental architecture have any further information to offer? In this fashion, I aim to  show that concrete objects played a  fundamental role in  the development of   abstraction and that architecture may reveal something about the development of  discourse. My object is seeking an accord between evidence and definitions of  religion. I argue that abstract thought and discourse have their origins in the Bronze Age of  the Ancient Near East (c. 3000– 1200 bc), but that they did not really begin until the Iron Age in the Near East (i.e., after c. 1200 bc). It is highly probable that decisive developments in  the history of   what we understand as religion did not begin in the urban centres of   the Near East, but rather in the Levant and the Aegean. This does not, however, mean that one should dismiss the Bronze Age Near East. For me, the beginning of   history marks a  significant divide. Until recently, it was assumed that religion could not be studied using prehistoric materials. By contrast, it was widely assumed that the only interesting aspect of   the Ancient Near East and Egypt was the religion. This should have meant that the earliest Bronze Age religions should have been placed at centre-stage in the Study of  Religion – and have played a central role in resolving the issues of  the nature and origins of  religion. Yet in  reality, the Egyptian, Babylonian, and Sumerian religions were never really incorporated into mainstream instruction in the Study of   Religion, in  the sense of   employing authorities to instruct them as  obligatory classes (in contrast to, e.g., Islam or  Buddhism). In  fact, the opposite was the case: even research by professional Assyriologists and Egyptologists in  their interpretations of   their own material was influenced by the Study of  Religion. Indeed, this influenced scholarship as  authorities for these earliest religions did frequently find refuge in  institutes 62

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dedicated to Christian and Jewish theology – but their role there was to explain the context of   the origins of   the Judaic-Christian traditions rather than to  understand the nature of   these religions in  themselves. In  this fashion, the potential impact of  the importance of   understanding the prehistoric materials and the Near Eastern Bronze Age religions on the Study of   Religion was avoided. Obviously, recent decades have changed this situation slightly. Religion in  the Neolithic is  being investigated analytically. And the politics of  the ancient empires are also now allowed to emerge from the shadow of   the religious understanding of   the Ancient Near East. Among archaeologists and students of   religion alike, religion is beginning to be understood in ideological terms, and thus closely related to political discourse. Thus, the way is opening for a  clearer understanding of   religion, one which is  separated from ‘belief’ (a concept which has dominated the understanding of  religion for some time – particularly encouraged by the atmosphere of   theological faculties). Yet outside archaeology, the peripheral nature of   Early Antiquity and the oldest religions has not changed, and the influence of   the traditional Study of  Religion prevails. The result is a tacit accord (among archaeologists and historians of   religion) suggesting that the Bronze Age did not witness the origins of   religion, but rather that religion was older – yet could not really be studied because of   the absence of  texts. I thus argue that it is  highly significant that the developments of   the Near Eastern Bronze Age have never really been taken into account in discussions of   the origins of   religion. These tend to stress either Classical Antiquity & the Biblical tradition or  the Neolithic & Palaeolithic, albeit with frequent references to  the Indo-Europeans. The material evidence from Bronze Age and prehistoric contexts rarely plays a central role, being replaced or dismissed by conjecture and analogy. I argue that one of   the results of   this is  that many scholars of  religion tend to assume that what we know from Greece, Rome, and Israel allows them to  project religion as  corresponding to cognitive structures in the human mind, structures which can be traced back to the Palaeolithic. Strangely, most archaeologists tend to adopt this same attitude – although we have a considerable 63

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amount of   evidence that the Bronze Age was not like the Iron Age, let alone the Iron Age like the Palaeolithic. In contrast to  others, I  aim at demonstrating that the material and written evidence can be combined to  actually identify a sequence. My own conclusion is that the invention of   writing played a crucial role in the development of   a capacity to express and perceive thought, and (by diffusion) subsequently had an influence on  the development of   spoken language in  regions that were illiterate. Thus I argue that the modern definitions of  religion are probably adequate in the sense that texts offer a key means of   access to  religion, but also in  the sense that what is today understood as religion probably did not exist earlier.

Definitions To avoid misunderstandings, I offer some definitions, all my own minimal versions, which are probably acceptable to most. Religion At a minimum, religion is a set of   culturally developed symbols recognized by a community with a discourse including references to an inexplicable transcendental mystery linking this world with the Beyond through death and ritual.2 Abstraction Abstraction involves the creation of   categories (expressed in language or  written symbols) which do not exist in  the real world, but which can be discussed. Discourse Discourse is the exchange of   thoughts about abstract categories.

2 Warburton, Architecture, Power, and Religion, p.  xv; adapted version of  Warburton, ‘Psychoanalyzing Prehistory’, II, pp. 419–55, esp. II, p. 431.

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Architecture Architecture is  human construction with two main trends: (1) representational communal monuments and (2) domestic shelters.

The Argument The issue is: how did discourse come into the world, and can one trace its history? My argument is that discourse spread through diffusion, and that one can actually trace the origins back to the origins in the Bronze Age Near East. Abstraction I argue that physical objects played a  crucial role in  creating the platform for abstraction and expressing discourse, and that the crucial developments took place since the beginning of  the Bronze Age. In general, it is recognized that the religious texts of  the Ancient Near East and Egypt represent the earliest known stages in the expression of  philosophical reflection. Yet it is rarely appreciated that complicated texts involving myth and narrative date to at least centuries – and perhaps a millennium – after the invention of  writing. I argue that this is in itself  significant. The issue is far more complicated than merely piecing together the evidence for the direct expression of   thought. One must also take account of   the development of   abstraction in language, art, and architecture – and particularly the latter in both (a) reflecting and (b) determining the development of   abstract thought. One can trace developments in  a  fashion which would virtually preclude projecting certain features back to  the Neolithic and the Palaeolithic; indeed, it is possible that one cannot really even claim that ‘religion’ – at least as  currently – defined actually existed in the Near Eastern Bronze Age. The Early History of  Writing The ‘invention’ of  writing represented several simultaneous leaps, which took place in  rapid succession over perhaps a  century or 65

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so in Mesopotamia, around 3600 bc.  The basic breakthrough was the idea of   graphic representations of   sounds and ideas in a fashion, which could be read by those initiated into the system. It was initially a means of  recording information and not intended for the communication of  information. To understand the distinction between ‘recording information’ and ‘the communication of   information’, i.e., the process, which led to communication, one must look at our world: composed of   familiar letters, chains of   words one has never seen before can be grasped. The superficial ‘meaning’ of   a sentence such as  Lagarde Candidate au FMI is  clear.3 However, to ‘understand’ it one needs more. The initiated will know that it meant that Christine Lagarde, the French Minister of   Finance, had finally officially announced that she was interested in  the post of   managing director of   the International Monetary Fund; they will also know that the IMF is  one of   the world’s crucial financial institutions. Those with less interest in  finance may recall that the previous managing director had resigned under extraordinary circumstances. Yet, thanks to universal education, the superficial meaning of   the sentence itself  is clear to virtually anyone in the West: using magazines, dictionaries, and encyclopaedias will allow virtually anyone to  understand the complete meaning of  the sentence; literally in seconds if  using the internet, slightly longer for others. This is written information as communication, intended to convey information (and able to do so for all readers). By contrast, the terse texts on  one of   the earliest Mesopotamian tablets would remain incomprehensible to  most people with an average education (which was ‘zero’ at the time when the first texts were composed by several dozen select scribes). Even a  slight familiarity with some cuneiform signs would be of   no help as  there were no dictionaries and reference books. There was no system of   universal education and the complexity of  the writing system – which includes several different methods of  counting – would put the methodology beyond the intelligence of   most. To even superficially read the tablet one would have to  know virtually everything that could have been written   TF1 News, 25 May 2011 (= ‘Lagarde candidate for IMF’).

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at that time. Yet not only did the signs have to be read, but one would also have to  know how to  turn the tablet (horizontally or vertically) to  find the beginning. One would require an intimate knowledge of    writing, tablets, institutions, and their affairs to  be able to  get any sense out of   the text. And it was not foreseen that anyone outside the system would have had access to the tabets with a  view of   studying and understanding them. This is written information intended to record data, not intended for communication. At the time that they were composed, these were the only forms of   written communications in existence. Although simplified in  the following centuries – and adjusted to  write several different languages – the concept of  writing as a system of   communication in a generally informative sense did not really evolve very rapidly. This latter type of   writing is an example of   information; the former is  communication. The newspaper is  open to  all, given the resources available today, even a  semi-literate person could manage to  elucidate the entire meaning of   almost any article. The Archaic tablet is  reserved for insiders. Crucial is  thus that whereas newspapers published for the barely literate are among the most widely circulated media today, these tablets were the only written material at this period before the dawn of  history. Yet, by contrast, despite the availability of   texts and reference works today, any potential discourse about the role of   the IMF is  restricted to  a  relatively small mobilized elite: the critics and supporters of  Western finance. Most people in the West are concerned about unemployment, salaries and taxes: not the entrails –  let alone the institutional and theoretical underpinnings  – of   the financial system. The existence of   any kind of   debate about the role of   the IMF depends not only on published materials but also that those opposed to  the system have access to them and the education necessary to  understand the materials. Even so, there is  no real discussion about the institution and its role: officials are appointed and finance awarded or  denied to nation states without any real public discussion. Readers will be conscious that the debate about the IMF is  restricted to  a  very small group, even though the information is  readily available – and the activities of   the institution ultimately touch every person on earth. 67

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The bureaucrats in  Uruk administered the most advanced economic and social system the world had ever known at that time – and one which was decisive for everything that has since happened in history. Yet their activities are not well understood: they did not publish statistics for the peasants, nor did they offer working papers on  their analyses, nor courses about their institutions, nor a  postal system accessible to  the public by which people could exchange information about such minor issues as  wage rates. None of   this would come until thousands of  years later. They were not interested in  anyone discussing their information or  activities. There was not only no dialogue, but not even the intention of  communication.4 I stress (a) that at the time of   the Archaic Texts from Uruk, we still have no historical or  religious texts and (b) that this society was nevertheless far more complex than any that had ever existed on  earth before. It is  hardly an accident that the texts were found in  the foundations of   some of   the largest buildings erected up to  that point in  human history. Accompanied from the start by monumental architecture, the invention of  Information Technology represented one of   the most fundamental changes in human life. Yet in  these earliest texts there was no abstract system of  counting: specific systems were created for beer, milk, grain, oil, time, dried fish, sheep, etc. Some of  these systems were extremely complicated using combinations of   sexagesimal and decimal counting. In  this sense, they were not abstract since directly related to the elements being counted. Curiously, this extremely complicated system grew out of   a system with even less abstraction: conical clay tokens which had some numerical significance. In the earliest texts, the impressions of  such tokens give numerical

  The very concept of   a dialogue did not emerge until centuries – and even millennia later, dialogues (such as  those of   Socrates) were intended to  dictate and teach rather than exchange ideas in  the modern sense. Thus, although the invention of   writing represented the first and greatest Information Technology revolution, the communication aspect is incredibly different today. As an illustration, I  should anecdotally note that literally while writing these paragraphs, I involuntarily felt compelled to modify a couple of   minor details in the English version of   the Wikipedia article on Jacques de Larosière, one of   Lagarde’s predecessors as head of  the IMF. 4

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values: the value of   the impression of   the base, the vertical side, and tip could each have a value.5 This writing was invented to  keep account of   the economic activities of   the state. Significantly, it is  not clear that the signs on  these earliest tablets were consciously written in  any language. In  this sense, they were not just the expression of   pure data, but also of  pure political power, untrammelled by problems of  identity. As noted, in a couple of  centuries this cumbersome system was abandoned, and the complicated Sumerian cuneiform developed. This was a  dual system: on  the one hand, a  system of  writing, and on  the other, the representation of   a language with its proper grammar. One of   the principal ideas was to  write texts: names, names of   institutions, dates, etc. This was quite different from merely recording data and accidentally creating names for institutions and measures (which was what happened at Uruk in the earliest texts). Within a  couple of   centuries, this cuneiform system was adapted to write Semitic languages in Syria and Mesopotamia. Although the actual cuneiform signs were not adopted, the basic conceptual idea of   using graphic signs to  depict language was adopted in  Egypt (c.  3100 bc) almost immediately after its invention in Mesopotamia, and then in the Indus Valley during the third millennium. During the second millennium bc, the idea was adopted in the Aegean and China. The cuneiform alphabet was invented around the end of   the second millennium in  the Levant (possibly at Ugarit where it is  documented for the first time), and the concept of  letters further south on the Phoenician coast during the early part of  the first millennium. The Greeks adopted two different writing systems. The first was the Bronze Age Linear B used to  write Mycenaean Greek (using the values of   the Cretan Linear A system) and the second was the modified Phoenician alphabet used to write the various Greek dialects of   the Iron Age. Obviously, it is this latter alphabetic system of  letters that we have inherited today.6   For details, see Englund, ‘Texts from the Late Uruk Period’, pp. 15–233.   I note that I started to write a history of  the Chinese script, but was obliged to abandon the effort due to the limits of  space. This also has a substantial impact upon presenting the full argument about architecture, as the traditions of   Japa5

6

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The Early History of  Texts The earliest texts in Mesopotamia and Egypt are administrative, mathematical for Mesopotamia, bureaucratic for Egypt. These texts lack grammatical structure, and it is  centuries before texts with grammatical structure appear. Titles, names, institutions, numbers, dates, materials and similar details were the only items recorded in  those distant days. Among the earliest ‘literary’ texts – which appear centuries after the invention of   writing – are catalogues of   advice for budding bureaucrats, along with the literature of   despair, and the earliest fragments of   myths. Thus in  the second half  of   the third millennium we have the first signs of   a discourse about urbanism, the state, divinity, and bureaucracy. Strikingly, the third millennium catalogues of  advice are quite similar in  Egypt and Mesopotamia in  the sense of   having an urban context. Significantly, Q uack has demonstrated that the literary structures of  the Egyptian Admonitions and the Sumerian Lamentations are virtually identical.7 Since the two ancient Near Eastern languages and systems of   writing are different, and the historical developments likewise quite different, it is odd that the conceptual forms of  the two are closely related. During the third millennium, in  Egypt astronomical observations were clearly recorded, as  their traces are found in  the Egyptian Pyramid Texts, and on  some coffins. The relations between rulers and astronomical cycles were assumed in Egypt – and certainly so  centuries or  millennia later in  China and Me­ sopotamia. As the Assyriologists deny potential observations of   astronomical events and parallels relating astronomical events to rulers in the third millennium,8 one cannot claim that nese and Chinese architecture reflect a  different discourse. In  order to  come close to accommodating the space limits imposed, I have thus likewise renounced discussing other peripheral issues (such as  the Indo-Europeans) and even the central issue of   space in  monumental architecture (but, for this latter), see Warburton, Architecture, Power, and Religion. 7  Q  uack, ‘Die Klagen über die Zerstörung Ägyptens. Versuch einer Neudeutung der “Admonitions” im Vergleich zu den altorientalischen Städteklagen’, pp. 345–54. 8  The presence of   third millennium celestial observations in  Mesopotamia can be argued, but is denied by Assyriologists; yet clearly demonstrated for Egypt, cf. Warburton, ‘Egypt’s Role in the Origins of  Science’, pp. 72–94.

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this tradition was diffused in  the third millennium  – but the concept of   linking rulers and celestial events was common elsewhere later, and thus eventually diffused. The exact relationship between the development of   fragments of   myth in mid-thirdmillennium Egypt and the emergence of   myth in  third-millennium Mesopotamia remains to  be elucidated, but here the co-incidence is indispitable and thus diffusion can be argued. Thus one cannot demonstrate it, but the evidence can be plausibly interpreted as suggesting that exchanges between bureaucrats in Egypt and Mesopotamia led to the earliest literature. The fact that the stages of  the developments are virtually identical in both cultures is curious. The fact that the themes and structures march in  parallel would also suggest that there was mutual influence. Thus the fact that the two different urban civilisations shared the compendia of   advice, which led to  the origins of   literature can itself  be viewed as  suggesting a  kind of   discourse, but it must be admitted that these texts are decidedly disappointing in terms of   content. Thus it is  of   greater or  equal importance that the context is clearly urban. There is no trace of   an element inherited from the Prehistoric times. The earliest known witnesses to human discourse do not provide a platform for claiming an inheritance of   complex thought from before the invention of  writing. Significantly, even for something as  simple as  a  catalogue of  advice or  the description of   a catastrophe, the authors were dependent on outside verbal stimulation. I interpret this ‘outside stimulation’ as involving several different levels. The most obvious level is that of  actually adapting a foreign text for one’s own purposes. It is curious that the forms of  literature are virtually identical in  both societies: historical inscriptions, counsels, lamentations, religious spells, hymns, myths, etc. are what we find in both Mesopotamia and Egypt – and appearing at roughly the same points in  the sequences. This indicates to  me that the authors in  each civilization were copying from the works of   the others – and adapting them.9 9 I add that it is  probably not insignificant that what we understand as ‘oracles’ and ‘omens’ appear from the end of   the third millennium bc at the earliest, and that these then appear in  the second-millennium texts of   the Hittites in Anatolia and the Shang Dynasty in China. In all the civilizations with

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One can also see that in  the internal developments of   the Egyptian tradition of   ‘teachings’, each was influenced by an earlier written form, which was reworked. Remarkable is  the fact that the actual events, people and objects do not seem to have sufficed to  stimulate the writings of   the authors. Instead it was the written form, which was then used as an inspiration. Rather than describing the world around him, one Egyptian scribe even despaired that he would be able to  do so  as he was unable to  find ‘unknown expressions’ and ‘words that had not hitherto been used’ and thus left with an insurmountable task when he expected himself  to  describe what he saw.10 For me, this implies that in  the understanding of   the participants, (1) written verbal expression was far easier to  manipulate that the analysis of  the ‘things’ and ‘events’ themselves, and (2) yet even this was daunting in  the first half  of   the second millennium  bc. Nevertheless – albeit incredibly slowly – it was the ideas expressed in  written form which provided the stimulation for each successive creative step. The verbal stimulation is essential. But obviously, in  the Bronze Age real discourse was still some way off.11 The Early History of  Religion: Myth, Narrative, and Discourse There can be no doubt that what were later known as  gods already existed before the earliest texts in  Mesopotamia and Egypt as their names appear in these texts. Whatever a god is,12 which we are familiar, the earliest oracles and omens are used to interpret political issues. This not only stresses the importance of   the royal courts for the development of  religion, but also the nature of  the stimulation. 10 Q  uoted from the translation by Burkard, see Burkard and Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte I, p. 133. 11  In the same sense, I  assume that most scholars recognize that their own innovative ideas are generally the result of   reading a  contribution by someone or  having a  discussion with a  colleague. The number of   original ideas that appear in  academic journals is  quite limited: most are responses to  other writings. Yet today, this stimulus serves a  useful purpose in  inspiring new thought. In  the Bronze Age, this concept was still far off. Nevertheless, facit: analyzing the world itself  is too difficult: responding to a colleague is far easier – and leads to fruitful variations. Even today – in an age of   an infinite variety of  forms of  visual and social stimulation, it is still the nearly instantaneous communication which stimulates most. 12  See Warmind, this volume.

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gods were present. In  the same fashion, one can also argue that burial rites and divine offerings can be traced back to the period before the dawn of  the earliest states. The situation is not the same in the matter of   myth. Anyone familiar with the late-third-millennium Pyramid Texts – the oldest corpus of   religious texts in  the world – should appreciate that there is virtually no content in terms of   ideas. Probably the most original and important parts are those passages referring to the heavenly Beyond; and these appear as no more than mere descriptive identifications or fleeting glimpses of  episodes.13 Yet, as they are based on records of  long term astronomical observations, they cannot antedate the appearance of   the state, and thus cannot possibly be inherited from Prehistory. For the rest, there are no more than vague references to episodes which were later combined to form the myths of  Seth & Horus & Osiris. In a fundamental article, Assmann argued (a) that one could make a  case based on  the available texts for suggesting that the development of   myth and myth-making did not take place until the second and first millennia bc in Egypt – and (b) that there was utterly no proof  that myths were earlier.14 Curiously, even those opposed to  this radical viewpoint cannot project myth back before the middle of   early third millennium bc.15 This consensus should have had a  devastating impact on  the understanding of   the antiquity of   religion, since it confirmed that the written sources of   the third millennium demonstrated that myth would not have been inherited from Prehistory. From a  completely different standpoint – that of   oral lin­ guistic theory – Reintges argues that the Pyramid Texts are a  type of  discourse generated in  the royal court of   the first dynasties of  Ancient Egypt.16 Given the relative lack of   content

 Krauss, Astronomische Konzepte und Jenseitsvorstellungen in  den Pyramidentexten. 14  Assmann, ‘Die Verborgenheit des Mythos in Ägypten’, pp. 7–43. 15  Zeidler, ‘Zur Frage der Spätentstehung des Mythos in Ägypten’, pp. 85– 109. 16 Reintges, ‘The Oral-Compositional form of    Pyramid Text Discourse’, pp.  3–54. Readers will find abundant references to  the literature – and in  the same volume readers with also find Kawashima, ‘The Syntax of  Narrative Forms’, pp. 341–69 (aside from Alster, cited below). 13

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in the Pyramid Texts, the (unwitting) implications of Reintges’s argument are quite similar to  those of   Assmann: discourse emerged in the literary court circles of  the Bronze Age. In the following periods, the literary canon of  Egypt adapted: the Coffin Texts (first half  of   the second millennium) followed on  the Pyramid Texts, and the Book of   the Dead came as  the third variant (second half  of   the second millennium through Roman times). A  variety of   hymns to  kings and gods also appeared from the early second millennium onwards. Among the most curious phenomena were the hymns to the sun (of  the second half of  the second millennium): there would appear to be a  wide variety, but usually only one single textual attestation of  each variant is preserved and these versions do not really differ very much.17 Many of   the same phrases appear in  the praise of  the sun, Amun and the king. There is  thus intertextuality, but little discourse. Significantly, it is the major gods of   the imperial pantheon who play a  role in  the popular religion. Whatever popular gods there were, they were not the main players in the myths: it was the imperial gods who dominated both royal myth and popular magic. In his remarks on intertextuality and variations in one of  the oldest Mesopotamian myths, Inanna’a descent to  the Netherworld, Alster makes a number of   points: (1) the context of   the myth is  clearly urban: Inanna has officials and palaces, (2) the variations were added as a matter of   entertainment, not because of   content; and finally, (3) he reminds historians of   religion that Oppenheim was quite correct in  his understanding of  Mesopotamian myths as literature, concluding: ‘So this is my answer to what Inanna’s Descent is: an innovative and original literary conglomerate of   several features taken from hymns and cultic literature, incantations, perhaps also royal court literature’.18 Beyond this, Alster is  also more precise, suggesting that it may have been written sometime during or  shortly after the   See Warburton, ‘The True Path of  Error’, pp. 263–87.   Alster, ‘Variation in Sumerian Myths as a Reflection of  Literary Creativity’, pp.  55–79, esp. p.  71. This significant article offers abundant references to  the literature, including on-line resources. For the text of  Inanna: http://etcsl.orinst. ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=c.1.4.1&display=Crit&charenc=j. 17

18

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period of   the Third Dynasty of   Ur, which was around 2000 bc. He notes that: ‘the creative period of   Sumerian literature started even earlier, in  the Early Dynastic period (middle of   the third millennium bc), when proverbs and other examples of   distinct literary creativity first appeared’.19

Thus, myth did not emerge until the end of  the third millennium bc, and was drawing on discourse and rites, which were emerging from the middle of    that millennium. Furthermore, I  add that neither these earliest myths nor the later variations offer much that is  related to  ‘ideal social values’. To some degree, the early ‘myths’ may be viewed as having been aetiological, i.e., explaining why things are the way they are, rather than offering guidleines for correct social behaviour. The Sumerian myths were subsequently translated into Akkadian (with significant variations), and new myths composed and copied for almost two millennia. Various elements subsequently appear in the Hebrew Bible, the Ugaritic myths and even in the Aegean. During this period, one can cite intertextuality, copying errors and the occasional moment of  inspiration. To speak of discourse would be exaggerated; or  rather the discourse is  a  matter of  citation. Significant is that any real inspirational transformatory input may have come in  the eastern Mediterranean in  the first millennium bc, and certainly not the the Bronze Age Near East. Abstraction: The Example of  Colour Terminology There are two fundamental aspects of   abstraction, which are relevant here. On the one hand, I am interested in the development of   abstraction. I  argue that simple issues such as  ‘colours’ and ‘prices’ reflect abstraction – and that even these were only gradually being developed during the Bronze Age. On the other I am interested in the degree to which exchange is relevant to such a process.20   Alster ‘Variation in Sumerian Myths’, p. 57.  For summaries of   different aspects, see Warburton, ‘The Theoretical Implications of   Ancient Egyptian Colour Vocabulary for Anthropological and 19

20

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It is impossible to go into the details here, but abstract colour terminology did not simply appear; instead it owes its origins to physical objects, frequently of   high value. Examples are gold (for yellow in  Egyptian and other languages), lapis lazuli (for blue in Akkadian and Egyptian), carnelian (for red in Akkadian), turquoise (for light blue in  Egyptian), and silver (for white in Egyptian); it is  possible that jade and/or greenstones played a similar role (for green) in some languages (but not Chinese!). None of  these object categories was known before the Neolithic, and few were common until the Bronze Age. In the Ancient Near East, where the vocabulary first crystallised, virtually all were imports – with high prices. Loan words also play a role. Khashmanum, one of  the Akkadian words for light blue, was derived from the Egyptian hsmn (for ˙ the semi-precious stone amethyst). The Mycenaean Greek word for dark blue glass paste became kyaneos, a  word for ‘dark’ and ‘blue’ derived from the Akkadian uqnu for lapis lazuli – and gave birth to  the English cyan; the Italian azzurro is  derived from the Persian lazuward for lapis lazuli. The original objects had a high value, and the words were exchanged on that basis. Actual abstract words with exclusively colour meanings existed in Greek and Chinese from the middle of   the first mil­ len­nium onwards – but were unknown before. Colour was not a category in the Bronze Age – and the precious metals used to designate colours in the Bronze Age were unknown in the early Neolithic. There is no way that one can argue that something as simple as  colours was unambiguously identifiable with abstract words before relatively recent times. Thus the concept of   verbal abstraction in  colour terminology is  something that emerged as  a  consequence of   the economies created by the elites of   the Bronze Age Near East. I have taken issue with the Berlin & Kay theory of   the development of   colour terminology. However, my own work does not fundamentally contradict the chronological implications of  their claim that abstract colour terminology does not appear Cognitive Theory’, pp. 213–59; Warburton, ‘Colourful Meaning’, pp. 183–208; or  Warburton, ‘The Origins, Development, Diffusion & Significance of   Early Color Terminology’, pp. 65–94.

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in (what were once called) primitive languages, meaning that it has not existed for more than a couple of   millennia at the most. Most archaeologists are oblivious to  the fact that the prevailing theory of   colour cognition denies even such elementary conceptual abstraction before the Bronze Age. It is  recognized that virtually all of   the languages existing in the world today share a  certain number of   fundamental common words (10 or  100 or  200, depending upon the scholar), and thus that they are all related. Following the methods of  historical linguistics, one can follow language history back no more than 10,000 years. This takes us back to roughly the Pre-Pottery Neolithic B of   the Levant (from c.  8000 bc). Thus, logically, it would be recognized that language is  not more than 10,000 years old. However, it is  also noted that the earliest Archaic texts from Uruk do not betray a language affiliation – and thus language could be still younger.21 Based on  data – rather than   I note that the argument that language must be older than 100,000 years is based on mistaking ‘speech’ and ‘language’. The claims are usually self-contradictory since it is assumed that our most distant ancestors could not speak, and thus that language must be recognized more recently. Yet the biological building blocks to  which appeal is  made (potentially favouring dates of   500,000 or so years) have been clearly evolving for at least some two million years, and thus speech (based on the physical capacity for expressions through vocalization and perception through hearing) must have been present – and somehow pushed by evolutionary constraints long before language appeared. The argument in favour of   50,000–100,000 years ago fails to  recognize other evidence (and is likewise based on  speculation). The idea that languages as  such can be dated by glotto-chronological analysis amounts to  mere speculation in  my view. Given the rate of   change in  recent millennia – well after the invention of  writing – it would be reasonable to  assume that change took place at a  slower rate earlier. However, projecting little or  no change over millennia is unreasonable. This was the basic assumption of   a recent suggestion proposing a date for the origin of   the Indo-European languages around 10,000 years ago (with Hittite unchanged between the Neolithic and the Bronze Age, which itself  was based on several heroic assumptions). There were also several other dubious assumptions in the method. In any case, I would argue that the Indo-European languages be dated to after the Semitic languages. But given current research an earlier date cannot be excluded. Until recently, it was assumed that the AfroAsiatic languages (to which Semitic belongs) originated somewhere between 7,000 and 16,000 years ago. Recently, it has been suggested that Semitic might have appeared perhaps after 7,000 years ago. Under the circumstances it would appear reasonable to  suggest that prevailing systematic methods (which I personally view sceptically) cannot project the origins of  the oldest documented language families (Indo-European and Semitic) much before 10,000 years ago. I would argue that these families may be younger, but this is of   no importance 21

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speculation – it would be logical to  propose that the kinds of  words, which would eventually contribute to  the first language were beginning to  be created during the PPNB. In  this case, the scribes at Uruk may have been experimenting with a  writing system to express thought without language – but that they accidentally created the preconditions for language. This would also explain why colour terminology would have appeared relatively soon thereafter – along with all known features of  language (including sentence syntax and grammatical inflections). Abstraction: The Relevance of  Objects From the end of  the fourth millennium onwards, we can perceive changes in  the objects produced in  the earliest urban societies. It is  clear that many of   the objects produced from the end of  the Neolithic onwards were made of   precious materials such as jade and gold – but the continued use of   these precious materials in the urban societies is distinguished by their increasingly complex character. During the Neolithic, the form and the precious materials seemed to have sufficed to render objects pleasing. From the Bronze Age onwards, the form and the materials continued to  play a  role – but the ‘content’ of   the scenes depicted changes radically. Instead of   individual objects alone with virtual uniformity in  the imagery, there is  more variety and complexity. In the third millennium, the illustrations on  the cylinder seals of   Elam and Mesopotamia reveal social hierarchies, and the inlays confirm the same. These scenes show ‘banquets’, ‘war’, and ‘weaving’ (etc.), but also figure the images of   community leaders and gods. Specific objects become attributes of  rulers and gods (crowns, spades, lightning-bolts, stars, rays, wings, etc.). The imagery directly reflects the increasing complexity of society – and the objects have new roles – meaning that the objects themselves begin to take on new forms. Obviously, the imagery and the objects play a  role in  the development of   discourse, here. Certainly, any proposal that language is  tens of   thousands of   years older has no basis in  current research. This is  an important point when comparing speculation with methodology – but one rarely taken into consideration.

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providing stimulation for verbal expression – and probably also reflecting some kind of   incipient (if  highly primitive) verbal discourse. When viewing the earliest artistic masterpieces of  the Ancient Near East, it is  very important to  realise that the illustrations of  biblical motifs found in  the architectural ornamentation of  Romanesque churches reflect the creation of   images corresponding to  the content of   tales, which were preserved in written form. These latter continue a  tradition which can be traced back to Classical and Late Antiquity – and this is the major stream of   what is considered to be art: a form of  imagery or plastic which represents a  visible counterpart to a  verbally expressed idea. Studying the art, narratives can be reconstructed from sequences of  images. The situation is quite different in the Ancient Near East: in the earliest era, it is  relatively rare that one can make direct relations between the artistic expressions and written texts. The two seem to reflect different traditions. It is only with Classical Antiquity that the two begin to  merge into that form which can be recognized in  the Romanesque churches. Yet the proposition that ‘oral’ traditions could explain the absence of   the written records ‘explaining’ the scenes is  weak in  light of   the evidence that the earliest languages were quite poor in  words that could convey complicated social information. Furthermore, the rare potentially narrative scenes from Prehistory (before the emergence of  myth) are not remotely comparable to the complexity of   the Near Eastern scenes in the late third millennium. It is  far more probable that the imagery depicted matters which were not yet verbally expressed, and that the development of    language provided the means of  analysing these scenes verbally only later. Socially and artistically, the scenes may have been understood, but not necessarily verbally. Thus there was no means of   establishing a  dogma about what exactly was meant. In  this sense, personal social experience will have been more important than verbal com­ munication. Writing and verbal discourse probably played a different role. Among the most important hints for this are the word lists, which developed in  Mesopotamia from the era of   the earliest 79

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writing onwards. These lists aimed at presenting the world in verbal form – but as  list and not narrative.22 The narratives came later. In  these lists, we have the first system of   social ranking in human history, including ‘professions’, ‘officials’ and ‘priests’, etc. It could be argued that these were inherited from the depths of   Prehistory. However, many of   the professions and tools (e.g., farmers and ploughs) did not exist much earlier. Furthermore, many other elements in  the lists imply that the lists are describing a  new world, one emerging after 5000  bc. These elements not only include metals hardly known much earlier, and farm animals and grain (only introduced in  the course of   the Neolithic), but also ‘cities’, which did not exist significantly earlier than the lists themselves. Thus, the lists themselves can hardly have been much older – and narrative only emerged much later. The ruling courts of   the Ancient Near Eastern Bronze Age societies were the place where the hierarchies and power structures were consolidated and where the terminology and imagery for the description of   complex social activity emerged. The discourse about royal legitimacy and the role of   the different members of   society to  one another emerged from that time onwards. When speculating about the use of   language for expression, it is important to note that the written traditions can be linked into a  continuous sequence – and that sequence can be traced back to the urban Ancient Near East. Later on, these traditions flowed in  written, spoken and artistic forms, with each form of   expression influencing the others. In  terms of   representing narratives and complex social situations, these forms cannot be projected further back – and the origins of   the representations of   complex social activity appear to lie in the urban Bronze Age of  the Near East. In particular, when speculating about the possible use of  imagery to  represent verbal thought before the complementary use of   the two can be corroborated with written sources (as is the case since the Romanesque churches, but not even certain 22  Englund and Nissen, Die lexikalischen Listen der archaischen Texte aus Uruk.

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for Classical Antiquity), one should be wary of   falling victim to an anachronism, projecting the medieval use of   imagery back to  the origins of   civilization – and before. Furthermore, one should recognize that the complexity of   the imagery takes an enormous leap with the earliest urban civilisations. Earlier, it would be impossible to  argue that narrative scenes are being depicted, let alone copied and altered in a fashion, which reflects discourse. In  this sense, the objects and imagery tell the tale of  the birth of   artistic expression and the gradual combination of  the threads of  artistic and verbal traditions. Intermediate Summary: Abstraction, Writing, Discourse From the lack of   variety in the early texts, and the clear practice of   copying evident in Egypt and Mesopotamia, it is evident that the world itself  did not offer the stimulation for the creation of   a myriad of   different forms of   literary creation as  it does today. Although the possibility of   exploiting writing for the development of   poetry opened the way, it did not go far. During the first few millennia, variation consisted of   altering texts as one translated. I argue that the early history of   colour terminology and the evident copying of   literary structures not only implies that the ordinary world does not offer adequate stimulus, but also stress that on  the contrary, language based expressions of   thought by others allows one to  expand. In  the absence of   thoughts by others, there is  an eerie silence in  which the world only offers stimulation to  the most gifted who have great difficulty understanding what they seek to  express let alone persuading others to  adopt it. With the invention of   writing, one genius in  one city in one culture could communicate with a genius of   another generation in another city in another culture. Even if  the results are disappointing to  us, it was a  revolution. Previously, any stimulation would have required several geniuses in each village to be thinking the same way so that they could understand each other. This is improbable. By contrast, in Uruk, the bureaucrats urgently required everyone who was intelligent enough to understand their system, and they could comb the countryside, looking for such individuals who would anonymously support the state. 81

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As noted, at this time – that of   the earliest texts of   the fourth millennium – we have little evidence of   grammatical inflexions. This would mean that although the scribes were employing the most advanced IT technology available (i.e., writing), they were not using language in the supple fashion to which we are accustomed. Once the writing of   texts encoded in  language became common (from the mid-third millennium onwards), upper-class idiots with the benefits of   a good education could copy the texts without understanding and thus act as bridges. Thus most of   those writing will not have made major contributions to discourse as  even the reproduction of   texts was challenging, let alone profiting from the stimulus on  offer to  deliberately create new texts (rather than merely producing confusion and stimulation through copying errors). Thus by the second millennium bc, the stage was set – but there was still no dialogue. For our purposes, this has two different meanings. Firstly, it would imply that there was not really much chance of   an ideological discourse before the Bronze Age. Secondly, it means that people have great difficulties when faced with the analysis of   raw data. It is easier for people to grasp ideas than to analyse data. But somehow the system of  discourse had to be born. Architecture Temples

In contrast to  Heinz (at the conference), I  am more certain about distinctions between temples and palaces.23 Nevertheless, the issue is  not whether the earliest buildings at Uruk were temples but rather appreciating what a  temple is. Today, some people may imagine that a  temple is  a  place of   worship, like a mosque, or a church. However, in  terms of   religious practice, the worship may not be as important as the building itself. Monumental religious architecture is  typical of   the religions of   major civilisations: China, Japan, Babylonia, Egypt, and Angkor, quite aside from  It is  not without importance that the earliest texts identify Inanna and her abode while kings and palaces only appear much later, making it more probable that these earliest buildings are in fact related to Inanna and her kind. 23

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Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam and Christianity. The necessity of  stressing architecture should be evident since neither Christianity nor Islam require monumental architecture as  part of  their discourse – yet these two religions have been among the most innovative in  developing monumental architecture. The ancient temples of   the pagan gods served as shelters for the images of   those gods – but the gods of   Islam and Christianity do not require shelters. Yet the architecture these religions has produced is extravagant in its symbolism. Strangely, the concept of   monumental constructions dedicated to  gods was elaborated in  the pagan world in  a  fashion which did not stress the shelter so  much as  the altars, and the multiplication of    enclosed courtyards with decorative gates. By contrast, Christianity and Islam tended to  increase the enclosed space to  incorporate believers. The pagan tradition stressed exclusion (separating the gods and the holy from the world at large), the Christian and Islamic tradition stresses inclusion (drawing the believers into a  common space). Both traditions were programmatic and monumental – and neither was necessary in terms of  the customary definitions of  religion.24 Monumental Representative Architecture

I would argue that the creation of   monumental space to accommodate the believers had an impact upon the idea that religion involved discourse and worship. The divine temples of   the pagan world are not necessarily places of   worship, and there is  little space for discourse in the texts of   these religions. There is no need for a  meeting place, and discourse is  superfluous. Yet the divine temples of  the pagan religions are among the most notable types of   monumental architecture before modern times. The remains – discovered or reconstructed – testify to monumental construction filled with treasure. The gold, silver, lapis lazuli, carnelian, rock crystal, turquoise, amethyst and (diverse) ‘greenstones’ which first appear as metaphors in  the earliest texts mentioning colour (from the late   Due to  the space limits, it was impossible to  discuss the traditions of Crete, Mycenaean Greece, Japan, China, Cambodia, Denmark, Bahrain, and various other regions, see Warburton, Architecture, Power, and Religion. 24

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third millennium onwards) were among the treasures accumulated in the temples (and palaces). Aside from the treasures found in temples across the Near East (or known to have been there), the earliest texts in Uruk demonstrate that the temple of  Inanna had enormous economic power, in terms of  land, people, animals, and products. The earliest known written records were found in the foundations of   the enormous buildings that reflected the wealth and prestige of   the temple at Uruk. Clearly Inanna had her wealth, recorded in  the earliest texts ever written. A  thousand years later, the temple of   Shamash at Sippar lent silver to  merchants.25 More than two thousand years later, the Athenians stored small change in  the Parthenon.26 As  I write, the Indians report finding goods worth literally billions of  Euros, last touched less than two centuries ago, in a  temple some five thousand years after Inanna’s temple rose to prominence. The texts assure us that from the middle of   the third millennium onwards, the temples in  Egypt and Mesopotamia had enormous economic power. Although the degree of   that power is  subject to  debate, and the relations between temples and palaces are not entirely clear, the state institutions were certainly the greatest single participants in  the economies of   the various states of  Egypt and Mesopotamia. This economic power was thus unrivalled around 3000 bc. Over the centuries, however, the economic and political power of  the temples and palaces was reduced and thrown into question. Cities were conquered; statues of   gods were overthrown; kings were displayed in  chains; new temples and new gods appeared – along with the new states and new palaces. Never again would a  deity have the unrivalled power that Inanna enjoyed in the late fourth millennium. Although monumental architecture preceded the state, the appearance of   the state institutionalized and transformed the   Veenhof, ‘Trade with the Blessings of  Shamash’, pp. 551–82.   According to  all of   the versions of   Thucydides, the largest quantity of  coined silver on the Acropolis was 10,000 talents (see Cohen, Athenian Economy & Society, p.  28 n.  7) or  300 tonnes. At today’s prices, this would be about US$ 277,782,540.00. Just for comparison, when Alexander the Great plundered the Persian treasuries, he acquired more than 120,000 talents of   silver. (And, as  will later come in  handy to  know, at last corrections – June 2012 – the IMF has reserves of  2,814 tons of  gold, and the gold:silver ratio is 1:57). 25

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dimensions of   monumental architecture. The exceptional monumental structures of   Prehistory – at Göbekli, Malta, Newgrange and Stonehenge, etc. – did not establish that tradition which dominates monumental communal architecture in our own time. By contrast, the state inherited and instituted traditions such that one can trace the development of   monumental architecture back to  the Middle Uruk period, as  at Eridu where a  modest temple was transformed and becomes part of   an unbroken series that can be linked to the present day. From the third millennium onwards, architecture followed different routes. In Mesopotamia and the Levant, temples ceded space to monumental palaces. In Egypt, the royal tombs gradually declined and the temples grew more awesome. Thus, once written discourse discussed the responsibility of   kings and gods, one can recognize an unspoken architectural discourse expressed in  the relative dimensions of  palaces, temples and tombs. This discourse then dominated the skyline, having an overwhelming impact on minds and human behaviour.

Discussion of  the Definitions After this survey of   some of   what I  consider to  be the relevant material, we can return to a discussion of  the definitions presented above, and then move on to the conclusions. Religion Of  particular importance in  some definitions of   religion is the concept of   ideal social practices. Significantly, Eliade assumes that it is a characteristic of  myths that: The principal role of   myth is  to reveal ideal models of   all the rituals and all meaningful human activity: food and marriage as much as work, education, art and wisdom. This conception is  not unimportant for the understanding of  mankind in archaic and traditional societies […] 27

 Eliade, Aspects du mythe, pp. 19–20. Trans. of  Eliade by the author.

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In fact, as  noted, evidence of   such myths and values is  lacking in Egypt and Mesopotamia, and yet the existence of   religion in these societies has never been thrown into doubt. As noted, I suggest that ‘early myth’, if  anything, is aetiological rather than prescriptive. In the definition proposed above, I stressed ‘death’ and the ‘Beyond’ because the discourse about death (whether the mortality of   man or  the immortality of   gods or  prophets) is  probably the oldest form of   what one could call religion – and this part is clearly present in Egypt.28 As it would be difficult to  deny the existence of   the Bronze Age Near Eastern religions, one must modify the definition. If, however, students of   religion are unwilling to  accept this and insist on  ‘myths with ideal practices’, then we would have to change the identification of  the religions of  the Ancient Near East to ‘Proto-religions’. This in  itself  would have significant consequences for understanding the antiquity and origins of   religion, as it would change the question and the methodology. Thus evidence of  burials and/or rituals alone cannot testify to the idea of  a discourse involving shared verbal understanding: mere ‘burial rites’, ‘hunting magic’, ‘banqueting’, abstruse concerns with ‘fertility’, or  adoration of   the female human body cannot be viewed as  sufficient testimony to  assert religion according to current definitions. Furthermore, one must struggle with the methodological and historical reality that the discourse about the Beyond distinguishes religion from other ideologies. The pursuit of  power and legitimacy exploit religious conceptions, but legitimacy alone is  not a  religion. Yet the ‘religious’ discourse in  Egypt is certainly a political discourse, about power rather than ideal values. The ideal social values that did emerge from this discourse of  power did become part of   religion later. However, at the time, this was the entire ideology.

28  Curiously, even the temple rituals can be traced back to  the royal mortuary cult of   the third millennium, meaning that these were likewise not inherited from Prehistory, see Warburton, ‘The Significance of   Shared Aspects of  the Daily Temple Rituals’, pp. 205–11.

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Abstraction To my mind, abstraction involves the development of  concepts and establishing categories. ‘Divisions of   time’, ‘numbers’, ‘measures’, ‘colour’ terms, and ‘prices’ can be applied to landscapes, flowers, or  automobiles (etc.). These are among the most elementary ordinary abstract concepts, far removed from ‘immortality’, ‘morality’, ‘legitimacy’, ‘democracy’, ‘justice’ or ‘philosophy’. Certainly there are no arguments like those of  the Church Fathers in  the Bronze Age – let alone anything as sophisticated as  the Hebrew Bible and certainly nothing like Thucydides. Since the earliest times (and for once the phrase is not an exaggeration), humans have been confronted with the yellow sun, the blue sky and green & yellow vegetation. Yet some of   the terms for the relevant colours in  the earliest languages were derived from the precious materials (gold, lapis lazuli, turquoise, and greenstone≈jade), which appear only gradually from the Neolithic onwards, and were accumulated in  the palaces and temples; the terms were not drawn from the surrounding world. Significantly, these terms remained concrete, related to the objects throughout the Bronze Age, and only began to  be abstract gradually from the first millennium onwards – and beyond the realm of   the distribution of   lapis lazuli and after the disappearance of   jade in Europe. Thus one can see the difficulty involved in transforming an object into an abstract term.29 I suggest that the more advanced abstract concepts are dependent upon the development of  the basic abstract concepts. Colour theory opens a  window into cognitive development, revealing aspects of   the process of   abstraction on  the lowest level. Certainly colours were by no means clearly defined even in Classical Greek, let alone Akkadian and Egyptian. Even in  more advanced societies, people rarely share the same vision of   any given concept: even among ‘believers’, such elementary issues as ‘justice’ and ‘god’ are contentious. Therefore 29  The importance of    this issue is  exemplified in  recent research on colours in  Classical Antiquity revealing that materials were still very important, cf. e.g., Grand-Clément, ‘Gold and Purple’, pp.  121–37; and Stager, ‘Materiality of  Color’, pp. 97–119.

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one is  in the strange position of   grasping that somehow verbal ‘meanings’ lose their value when exposed to  analysis. Thus the entire concept of   ‘shared meanings’ for abstract concepts seems impossible in  Prehistory, since they are not even present in the Bronze Age. This allows two conclusions: firstly that abstraction is recent, and secondly that it is extremely difficult for even an intelligent human to  draw abstract conclusions from data. One needs stimulus, but evidently that stimulus has got to  be something like a  precious stone rather than a  landscape – and it is  a  rare person who can transform poetry based on  precious materials into philosophy without any verbal stimulus. Discourse Discourse can take place in  direct confrontational discussion or  involve parties living in  different places and different times. However, for it to  transcend time and space, it depends upon writing. The evidence of   the Bronze Age is  that even a  highly limited discourse was dependent upon written versions, which stimulated translation, change, etc. Discourse thus depends upon the capacities (a) to  analyse the perception of   (social and natural) phenomena and (b) to express this perception in a fashion, which can be understood by others. Discourse also requires exchange, and thus (c) complex language (or languages) and (d) a social atmosphere conducive to leisure and free expression. One can thus suggest that discourse is predicated on  the existence of   verbal targets, which can be assaulted. However, regardless of   the incapacity of   individual humans to understand either abstraction or discourse, for the individual humans in  a  community, the process creates and transforms meanings, which in  turn determine their lives. I  am persuaded that this involves intense and prolonged exchange, along with political power. This began in the Bronze Age.

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Architecture Pevsner assumed that ‘architecture’ was distinguished from constructed space by its ‘aesthetic appeal’.30 By contrast, for Kostof  virtually every building (including a  peasant’s hut) is architecture.31 Inoue also included menhirs and rock shelters in his definition of   architecture, and thus allowed for ‘architecture without space’ and ‘architecture without construction’.32 I  opt for the condition of   construction and thus include obelisks and temples, but exclude rock shelters. Monumental architec­ture is distinguished from shelter as  it depends upon a  community and a shared ideology. Significantly, space plays a  far greater role in  Christian and Islamic monumental architecture than most other types of  religious architecture. While monumental, neither Japanese nor Hindu religious architecture relies on  space to accommodate ‘believers’ whereas Durkheim uses the word église – derived from the Greek ekklesia – in his definition, virtually demanding place for the ‘community’; a  place which is  not required in  the architecture of   other religions.33 I assume that modern students of   religion have been led astray by the ‘community’ and the discourse, neglecting the monumental architecture and the links with power and legitimacy. Thus, one could think of  adopting a  very different definition of   religion – and propose a very different course of  study.

Conclusions It is  now generally recognized that there is  a  close relationship between myth and political power. The Bronze Age Near Eastern myths emerged in  the royal courts as  a  means of   creating and assuring legitimacy. The concept spread from there and was transformed into the role to which Eliade assigns it – as a system of   belief  related to  ideal social practices. From the evidence of   Pevsner, An Outline of  European Architecture.  Kostof, History of  Architecture. 32 Inoue, Space in Japanese Architecture. 33 Durkheim, Les formes élémentaires de la vie religieuse, p. 65. 30 31

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Bronze Age myth and colour terminology I conclude that there cannot have been anything like abstract concepts of   ‘values’ before the Bronze Age. Thus whatever religion there was in the Bronze Age had a  different foundation: the development of  political systems. Obviously, it would be rather bold to imagine ‘politics’ with discourse in  royal courts in  Prehistory and thus this pushes the debate in  completely different directions. What emerged in the Near Eastern Bronze Age was the non-verbal discourse of   architecture. This betrays a  tilt in  favour of   exploiting the gods to provide state legitimacy, and yet the state eventually came out victorious, with religion relegated to  a  ‘niche’ role in  modern society. In Uruk, the entire literate élite were bureaucrats who belonged to  the crowd that kept the peasants at bay. It was quite convenient for them to explain that they were doing this for Inanna, and in this fashion to transform the goddess’s house into a treasury. At the same time, they could engage the peasants as soldiers to police the cities and to conquer foreign countries. These same scribes were the ones who wrote poems celebrating Inanna and assuring that her rituals were adequately provisioned. While doing this, they developed the beginnings of  economics, political philosophy, theology, science, administration, poetry, history, abstract colour terminology, and much else besides. What they did not do was to  publish statistics and explanatory models for the masses let alone claim to  champion the rights of   some neglected groups. Thus in Uruk there will have been little stimulus for anyone outside the elite. Significantly, what little stimulus there was did not immediately lead to the emergence of   discourse. Only centuries later in a different context did discourse begin to appear, and initially in the form of   dreary compendia of   advice. Yet it was a beginning, and based on the exchange of  ideas. I argue that the importance of   stimulation in  the generation of   thought is neither recognized nor appreciated – for two reasons. Firstly, the difficulties of   actually finding a  pattern in data without a  theoretical viewpoint are generally neglected. Surveying data without a  theory is  virtually impossible. Usually, no clear pattern emerges. However, surveying data with 90

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a  theory frequently leads to  the confirmation of   the theory (regardless of  the data). Strangely, however, surveying the data to  demonstrate that an opponent’s theory is  wrong is  the best means of  being sufficiently stimulated to find a more appropriate theory. Thus, secondly, I suggest that in the matter of   stimulation, the human mind responds to  opposing ideas better than mere chaotic data. Yet the emergence of   the initial ideas depends upon recognizing a  pattern in  the data. If  it literally takes thousands of   years for lapis lazuli to  be transformed into ‘blue’ – and the sky did not serve the purpose in  the preceding millennia – then it would be difficult to argue that any kind of   serious ideas could have emerged in  the era before the invention of   writing. Especially if  one takes a look at the disappointing material that did appear once the court discourse did arise. And the court did not stress the dominant contest between government and temple. And this leads to a further question – about the degree to which significant ideas really are debated. At the start, the temple of   Inanna at Uruk was central. Just how the scribes assured that this institution achieved and maintained such power is  not evident. Three aspects rapidly become apparent: (a) there was probably little competition (for ideas or anything else), and (b) whatever internal discourse was conceivable will have been muted by the difficulty of   having ideas, and (c) the dominance was unquestioned. Just how legitimacy became an issue is  the relevant question. Clearly, this is what dominated the episodes of   what later became the myth of  Osiris. And even so, this was merely a  question of   the inheritance of  kingship. When the catastrophes overtook Egypt and Mesopotamia around the end of   the third millennium, the world the bureaucrats had created and known was gone forever. Thereafter the discourse among themselves was about the relationship between power and divinity. The responses were radically different in Mesopotamia and Egypt: in  the land between and beyond the banks of   the two rivers, palaces were erected and state power stressed; along the Nile, the kings paid increasingly more attention to  temples and less to  their own mortuary monuments. At the beginning of   history, it had been possible for the incipi91

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ent states to  erect monumental temples (in Mesopotamia) and monumental tombs (in Egypt). During the third millennium, the palaces became more important. Whatever discourse took place was about mortality and the maintenance of   power in the Beyond. Changes in monumental architecture reflect a discourse – but one that has only been expressed verbally by us today. And it has taken two centuries of   archaeology to  begin to  understand how we can use the stimulus of   that architecture to  allow us to reach reliable political and social conclusions about the meaning of  the architecture. Even an historian of   architecture was obliged to admit that he could not grasp the meaning of  ancient architecture, as Kostof  clearly states. Today, we know that political legitimacy was one of  the primary concerns of  early religious thought, and the beneficiaries of   the texts are the same as the patrons of  the architects. The development of  ideas in  verbal form was dependent on writing, literature, and abstraction – but also on a  public with dissident thought. Yet the architecture reveals the change as  kings build temples for gods, which are larger than their own tombs and temples. A good part of   the discussion of   cognitive developments in Prehistory has concentrated on  the creation of   objects.34 It is indeed a  remarkable achievement to  conceive of   a Levallois flake in  advance and then to  take a  flint nodule to  actually make one. I  admit this, but I  stress that it is  a  testimony to a  phenomenal lack of   imagination that people continued –  unthinkingly – to  make the things for literally hundreds of  thousands of   years. The construction of   barrows is  another similar feat, one, which – thankfully – did not endure as long as Levallois flakes. It would be interesting to  know why. Yet, in dealing with this question, archaeologists have tended to neglect the phenomenal difficulties of   trying to  identify a  meaning in a  pattern perceived in  data. Obviously, discourse is based upon the generation of   this sort of   idea rather than the mechanics of  producing a  pyramid or  a  Levallois flake. This issue of  identifying meanings in  patterns in  material culture is  the major   See Mithen, The Prehistory of  the Mind.

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challenge in  our work. Recognizing a  discourse in  the material, which was not verbally expressed is challenging. Expressing that meaning verbally even more difficult – and persuading a  colleague to  accept our interpretation is  probably inconceivable. Virtually all of   our discourse is  on this level: comparing ideas and explanations. Yet the earliest conceptual ideas had to  be generated verbally in order to have a discourse. In the three thousand years between the beginnings of   the intensive exploitation of   south Mesopotamian peasants by the bureaucrats of   Uruk and the division of   Alexander’s empire by his generals, there were radical social changes in  Mesopotamia, Egypt, and Greece. Yet from the beginning, the principle of   the state endured, and the religious and literary discourse rarely accommodated the social changes, except to adjust the relations between kingship and the divinities. Thus the discourse about the conflict between the two was played out in the architectural history of  palace, tomb and temple – not in language. Even when the Christian Church subverted Rome, the concept of   sovereignty remained with the powerful elite. And the state erected churches in  the tradition of   the temples. It was only with the fall of   the Roman Empire, the Reformation, the Renaissance and the Enlightenment that a  world of   discourse emerged. The Gothic churches and cathedrals expanded the space beyond that offered by the early basilicas – but the Reformation hit the Church. Yet just as the palaces arose in Versailles, Vienna, Berlin and elsewhere, the discourse dominated by power itself  (in the form of   Church or  State) was being thrown into doubt by the Revolutions inspired by a discourse on paper. From some time after St  Thomas Aquinas, literary discourse took a very different turn and the architectural discourse became irrelevant. Where we must follow the traces of   the end of   the temples at Uruk and the rise of   new architectural forms in Early Dynastic and Old Babylonian Mesopotamia in order to identify the discourse, the architecture of   the modern era has become a form of   individual artistic expression. Where we can read the growing dependence of   Egyptian kingship on  the sanctions of  divine legitimacy in  the growth of   the temples themselves, the conflicts of   the Reformation and Enlightenment were inscribed in ink on paper. 93

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The contradictions of   the state were the origin of   discourse: motivating bureaucrats, subduing peasants, claiming legitimacy. Yet the early history of   religious texts confirms that the verbal expression of   complexity only came slowly: narrative and myth are latecomers, long after architecture. One can infer from the earliest texts that there are human complaints about royal mortality, but consciousness of   death was hardly a  novelty in the Bronze Age or  the Neolithic. By contrast, the complicated theological systems, which bound the kings and gods together were the results of   the historical developments in  the Bronze Age. The evolution of   that system to  the point where the gods were separated from the political system allowed the survival of  Christianity after the fall of   the Roman Empire. That led to a different discourse. Yet even today, most people are more interested in  royal marriages and world cup football than in any kind of   discourse about the IMF and the Neoclassical Synthesis. The IMF and the Neoclassical Synthesis serve as  a  useful mystery to  explain why people should work and spend more in  economies where jobs are scarce and wages declining (sic). This is  nonsense, but most people do not notice – because they are trying to  make ends meet and do not have time for reflections on the theoretical foundations of   our world.35 Although the information is readily available, any serious discourse about interpretations of   the world is still restricted to  a  very small minority. For the vast majority of  the educated people of   the Western world, there is no discourse, just the bizarre expectation that the governments of the world should solve the problem. Obviously the governments and their lackey economists created it. Why should they be able to solve it? Why should people have been different in Antiquity? And how could it have been different if  the preconditions for any verbal discourse did not exist? To project any serious verbal discourse or  narrative back to the Neolithic or  Palaeolithic is  an anachronism, which fails to take account of   the evidence. Certainly, it would be impossible   For a  discussion of   the inconsistencies of   thought in  economics, with references, see Warburton, ‘Taking a Stab at Archaeological Thought on Ancient Near Eastern Economics’, pp. 233–59, esp. pp. 240–41. 35

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to project anything resembling religion back to  an era before the Bronze Age. During this era, the rights of   the wealthy and powerful to remain dominant were not thrown into doubt. Thus I propose the following: 1. That it is easier for the human mind to create an object than to define its meaning verbally. 2. That developing abstract categories from the real world (whether natural or man-made) is a challenging process for the human mind. 3. That the human mind generally prefers one single simple explanation and is displeased with alternatives. 4. That the human mind is usually receptive to the ideas which it accepts and unreceptive to those which are alien. 5. That it is easier for a human mind to set two ideas in opposition to each other than to relate each of   the ideas to the data and then compare ideas and data. 6. That the appearance of   ideas is  slowed by the mechanism of   developing a means of   observing the patterns in the source data, which allows them to form. 7. That discourse depends upon an environment including leisure, authority, wealth, and challenges in  which alternative ideas are available. 8. That power structures provide an atmosphere where thoughts can be developed and doubts dispelled but not one conducive to dissident thought. 9. That power structures can exploit monumental architecture to awe and expect trust confidence based on power. 10. That power structures will exploit all means to claim legitimacy and eliminate doubt. 11. That monumental architecture obscures the issue of  ‘meaning’ and ‘discourse’. 12. That power attracts the skilful and intelligent by offering interesting work and an easy life. 13. That court life made the fundamental contribution to  the beginnings of  abstract thought. 95

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14. That power structures can be exploited by intellectuals for their own purposes, but that this will more probably lead to catastrophe through poetry, corruption, laziness, and neglect rather than revolution through dissidence. Based on this I would suggest that before the appearance of  royal courts with lazy poets masquerading as  efficient bureaucrats, it is  highly improbable that there was any possibility of   anything resembling discourse. And thus religion dates from this period. I  would also argue that architecture plays a  crucial role in expression – one that has been unjustly neglected. Yet, based on  the incapacity of   the human mind to  analyse data, I conclude that archaeologists will say whatever they believe will guarantee funding and that the evidence they find will always support their argument.

Bibliography Alster, Bendt, ‘Variation in Sumerian Myths as a Reflection of Literary Creativity’, in  Narratives of   Egypt and the Ancient Near East: Literary and Linguistic Approaches, ed.  by Fredrik Hagen and others, Orientalia Lovaniensa Analecta, 189 (Leuven, Paris and Walpole, MA: Peeters Publishers, 2011), pp. 55–79 Assmann, Jan, ‘Die Verborgenheit des Mythos in Ägypten’, Göttinger Miszellen, 25 (1977), pp. 7–43 Bredholt Christensen, Lisbeth, ‘Between Mental and Material: Looking for the Origins of  Religion in Archaeological Material’, this volume Burkard, Günter and Heine J. Thissen, Einführung in die altägyptische Literaturgeschichte I: Altes und Mittleres Reich (Münster: Lit Verlag, 2003) Cohen, Edward E., Athenian Economy and Society: A Banking Perspective (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997) Durkheim, Émile, Les formes élémentaires de la vie religieuse: le système totémique en Australie (Paris: Presses Universitaires de la France, 1914) Eliade, Mircea, Aspects du mythe (Paris: Gallimard, 1963) Englund, Robert K., ‘Texts from the Late Uruk Period’, in Mesopotamien: Späturuk-Zeit und Frühdynastische Zeit, ed.  by Pascal Attinger and Markus Wäfler, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, 160/1 = 96

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Annäherungen, 1 (Freiburg: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1998), pp. 15–233 Englund, Robert K. and others, Die lexikalischen Listen der archaischen Texte aus Uruk = Archaische Texte aus Uruk, 3, Ausgrabungen der Deutschen Forschungsgemeinschaft in Uruk-Warka, 13 (Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag, 1993) Grand-Clément, Adeline, ‘Gold and Purple: Brilliance, Materiality and Agency of  Color in Ancient Greece’, in Essays in Global Color History: Interpreting the Ancient Spectrum, ed. by Rachael. B. Goldman (Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2016), pp. 121–37 Inoue, Mitsuo, Space in Japanese Architecture (New York: Weatherhill, 1985) Kostof, Spiro, A  History of   Architecture: Settings and Rituals, 2nd ed. (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995) Krauss, Rolf, Astronomische Konzepte und Jenseitsvorstellungen in den Pyramidentexten, Ägyptologische Abhandlungen, 59 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1997) Mithen, Steven, The Prehistory of   the Mind: The Cognitive Origins of  Art, Religion and Science (London: Thames and Hudson, 1999) Pevsner, Nikolaus, An Outline of   European Architecture (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1963) Q uack, Joachim F., ‘Die Klage über die Zerstörung Ägyptens. Versuch einer Neudeutung der “Admonitions” im Vergleich zu den altorientalischen Städteklagen’, in  Ana šadî Labnāni lū allik: Beiträge zu altorientalischen und Mittelmeerischen Kulturen. Festschrift für Wolfgang Röllig. Kevelaer/Neukirchen-Vluyn 1997, ed.  by Beate Pongratz-Leisten and others, Alter Orient und Altes Testament, 247 (Kevelaer/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Butzon und Bercker/Neukirchener Verlag des Erziehungsvereins, 1997), pp. 345–54 Reintges, Chris H., ‘The Oral-Compositional Form of   Pyramid Text Discourse’, in Narratives of   Egypt and the Ancient Near East: Literary and Linguistic Approaches, ed. by Fredrik Hagen and others, Orientalia Lovaniensa Analecta, 189 (Leuven, Paris and Walpole, MA: Peeters Publishers, 2011), pp. 3–54. Stager, Jennifer M. S., ‘The Materiality of   Color in  Ancient Mediterranean Art’, in  Essays in  Global Color History: Interpreting the Ancient Spectrum, ed.  by Rachael. B. Goldman (Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2016), pp. 97–119 Veenhof, Klaas R., ‘Trade with the Blessing of   Šamaš in Old Babylonian Sippar’, in  Assyria and Beyond: Studies Presented to  Mogens 97

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Trolle Larsen, ed.  by Jan  G. Dercksen, PIHANS, 100 (Leiden: Dutch Institute, 2004), pp. 551–82 Warburton, David A., ‘Psychoanalyzing Prehistory: Struggling with the Unrecorded Past’, in New Approaches to the Study of  Religion 2: Textual, Comparative, Sociological, and Cognitive Approaches, ed. by Peter Antes and others, Religion and Reason, 42/43 (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 2008a), pp. 419–55 Warburton, David A., ‘The Theoretical Implications of   Ancient Egyptian Colour Vocabulary for Anthropological and Cognitive Theory’, Lingua Aegyptia: Journal of   Egyptian Language Studies, 16 (2008b), pp. 213–59 Warburton, David A., ‘The True Path of  Error’, in Stückwerk. Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte des Alten Orients, ed.  by Thomas Hofmeier and Oskar Kaelin (Berlin: Leonhard-Thurneyser Verlag, 2008c), pp. 263–87 Warburton, David A., ‘The Significance of   Shared Aspects of  the Daily Temple Rituals’, in  8. Ägyptologische Tempeltagung: Interconnections between Temples, ed.  by Monika Dolinska and Horst Beinlich, Königtum, Staat und Gesellschaft früher Hochkulturen, 3/3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2010), pp. 205–11 Warburton, David A., ‘Taking a  Stab at Archaeological Thought on Ancient Near Eastern Economics’, in Correlates of  Complexity: Essays in  Archaeology and Assyriology dedicated to Diederik J.W. Meijer in Honour of   his 65th Birthday, ed. by Bleda S. Düring and others, PIHANS, 96 (Leiden: Dutch Institute, 2011), pp. 233–59 Warburton, David A., ‘Colourful Meaning: Terminology, Abstraction, and the Near Eastern Bronze Age’, in Excavating the Mind: Cross-sections through Culture, Cognition and Materiality, ed.  by Niels Johannsen and others (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2012a), pp. 183–208 Warburton, David A., Architecture, Power, and Religion (Berlin: Lit Verlag, 2012b) Warburton, David A., ‘Egypt’s Role in the Origins of  Science: An Essay in  Aligning Conditions, Evidence, and Interpretations, Journal of  Ancient Egyptian Interconnections, 9 (2016a), pp. 72–94 Warburton, David A., ‘The Origins, Development, Diffusion & Significance of   Early Color Terminology’, in  Essays in  Global Color History: Interpreting the Ancient Spectrum, ed. by Rachael. B. Goldman (Piscataway: Gorgias Press, 2016b), pp. 65–94 Warmind, Morten, ‘What is a God?’, this volume Zeidler, Jürgen, ‘Zur Frage der Spätentstehung des Mythos in Ägypten’, Göttinger Miszellen, 132 (1993), pp. 85–109 98

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Abstract It is  generally agreed that the Neolithic and Urban ‘Revolutions’ are misnomers, oversimplifying highly complicated socio-economic developments, which required millennia rather than the years or decades which we would prefer to  allow a  ‘revolution’. In  general, it is  also tacitly agreed that there were no major cognitive changes in the capacity of   humans to  conceptually analyse and describe the world between the European Upper Palaeolithic and the present era. On a  purely genetic basis, it would be illegitimate to  assume that any great difference in  cognitive abilities separates us from our European Upper Palaeolithic ancestors, who appeared sometime around 50,000 years ago (but may have been genetically identical to their own ancestors who appeared more than 200,000 years ago). Yet the evidence from the Near Eastern Bronze Age and the world of   the eastern Mediterranean in the first millennium bc (i.e., the first millennia of   the use of   writing, developed in an urban environment) seems to  imply that there were real differences in  human cognitive capacities, differences which were far more significant than mere problems of   expression – but differences which cannot be accounted for genetically. The genetic material that we have must have been identical a  couple of   millennia ago. Yet the archaeological and textual sources of   recent eras indicate that certain aspects of  human cognition – particularly apparent in  the understanding of  colour – are of  very recent date. Of    particular importance here is  the question of  ‘abstraction’: is  this a  biological, genetic feature of  human thought, or is it instead an historical product? Answering this question in the affirmative would mean that our own modern cognition may be a  socio-historical artefact, the origins of   which would lie in social life in the last few millennia, rather than in  our genetic makeup. Without the genetic preparations (which began millions of   years ago), this leap would have been impossible – but only emerging from the Neolithic and Urban prelude onwards, and continuing to  develop today. If  one can date significant cognitive changes to  the last few thousand years, it would have significant implications for our understanding of   human cognition. This argument – presented here – could be viewed as justifying an understanding of   the Neolithic and Urban Revolutions as deserving this designation.

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Preamble Visual art reflects the needs of   three main human pulsations: communication, externalization, and memorization. The same ingredients are found in religion. Visual art is conceptualization: it gives a visual shape to ideas and ideas to visual shapes; religion gives conceptual shapes to  visible (or invisible) material. Visual art is  synthesis because it selects aspects of   the visual reality. It is  a  subjective vision and the same may be said for religion since it is  an attempt to  synthesize and therefore, it is  a  subjective vision. They both reflect the universal values of   subjective concepts. Art and religion reflect the same need of   synthesis and abstraction, which emerged in  the human intellectual process at a certain moment of   its mental evolution. Therefore, we may postulate that they derive from the same cognitive cores and both came into being as results of   the same acquisitions in the human cognitive system. Visual art, and especially rock art, is  the record of   beliefs, cults, and myths. It is the picture-writing of  the tribal world. It is ‘the holy book’ written on stone. A major role of   art is the transmission of  doctrine from generation to generation. According to  our present knowledge, the most ancient visual art that we know of   today was produced by Homo sapiens some 50,000 years ago in  regions far distant from each other such as Africa and Australia. Before then figurative art is  absent or doubtful, we know of   marks and signs on stone, which may have Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114429 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp. 103–119  © 

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been executed with some functional purpose of   memorization or communication.1 Theoretically, visual art may have been produced before on perishable materials like leaves, wood, sand, mud, or  even the human body but we have no record of   it. As discussed below, religion may have existed already at the time of   the earliest recorded visual art.

Early Evidence for Religion The first material evidence of   religion, to the best of   our knowledge, consists of   the funerary practices and the accompanying goods put in the burials near the dead body. These goods included tools used daily and food.2 They imply the concept that the dead man, who was buried and thus recognized as  dead, and could not materially move with his body, still needed tools and food. So, did they consider death the end of   life? The burial habits, besides illustrating ritual practices, reveal the concept of  an afterlife. The dead body was abandoned by his vitality, which left the physical body to go to another world.3 What did this other world look like, of   which no living person had a real direct memory? From tribal mythologies we know that different people figured it out in different ways, but the idea of   a world after death is  widespread among tribal people of   all continents. Such concepts imply an idealized view of   how this afterlife world looked like. It seems that we may consider that when accompanying goods were put in  a  tomb, mythology, a vision of  the invisible, as well as cult and worship were already present. The long-established habit of   burial customs and of  accompanying the dead with funerary goods implies the transmission from generation to  generation of   myths and beliefs about an afterlife and the world beyond terrestrial life. The presence on all continents of   such beliefs and their persistence imply indoctrination and the transmission of  a catechism, which would include the widespread process of   repetition of   rituals, the com Anati, World Rock Art.  Leroi-Gourhan, Les religions de la préhistoire. 3  Anati, Les origines de l’art et la formation de l’esprit humain. 1 2

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mon core of   myths, the presence of   instructors or preachers able to  teach the rituals and to  transfer the knowledge, necessary to  maintain a  behavioural pattern of   the cult of   the dead over five continents. It may be added that the archeological record also includes sporadic documentation of   animal burials and related ceremonies already over 50,000 years ago.4 Several tribes of   hunter-gatherers in  Australia, Africa, and the Arctic zones maintain the concept that all living beings have what Western societies define as a soul. ‘It is not just a privilege of   human beings. Animals also have a  soul’. This concept may not be shared by recent monotheistic religions but it is shared by hunter-gatherers of   five continents and is  a  common archetype of  hunters.5 Patterns of   forms of   burials with burial goods are present in the Middle Paleolithic period at least 100,000 years ago in Africa, Asia, and Europe. In both Oceania and the Americas the same patterns arrived with the first humans, who touched the two continents of   the New World (believed to have been Homo sapiens), according to our present knowledge, in Australia at least 60,000 years ago, and in America 50,000–40,000 years ago. We may conceive a  primordial universal religion, primarily based on faith in the existence of   an afterlife, on a vision of   life and death, of   a journey to the world of   the afterlife that implied rituals, mythical traditions, beliefs, and believers. The ancient persistence of   these concepts and material practices could not have survived without coordinators of  ceremonies and representatives to transmit the doctrine, some sort of  instructors for the initiation of   the young generation, as existed among more recent hunter-gatherers. Other documentation of   rituals performed with animal bones and other practices indicate that other forms of  religious behaviour may have existed.6 The dimension of   the documentation of   religion acquired a totally new dimension with the appearance of  art and sanctuaries and with the dissemination of   Homo sapiens. From a primordial core dating from more than 100,000 years ago in Africa and the  Anati, La religion des origines.  Eliade, The Q uest: History and Meaning of  Religion. 6 Anati, La religion des origines. 4 5

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Near East, our direct forefathers reached Australia 60,000 years ago, America shortly thereafter and Europe 40,000–35,000 years ago.7

Religion and the Intellectual Adventures of  Homo sapiens Homo sapiens developed a cluster of  intellectual capacities, which included visual art, complex articulate language, and religion.8 These three elements of   culture reflect a  specific mental trend displaying the skills of   analysis, synthesis, symbolization, and sublimation, which characterize the cognitive system of   Homo sapiens. Their presence in  the form of   visual art implies their potential use in  other sectors of   human culture. However, the vast documentation of   visual art on  myths, beliefs, rituals, and formal religious behaviour allows us to go far beyond the simple theoretical framework. In the book La religion des origines,9 I  discussed a  series of  conceptual and archeological elements hinting at the presence of   a package of   religious thoughts, beliefs, and rituals, which developed before 30,000 years ago, out of   which all subsequent religions developed. At that time the academically accepted idea was that religion came into existence in the Neolithic period less than 10,000 years ago and that hunter-gatherers had spirituality but no proper religion. Despite the fact that my proposal then provoked opposition, subsequent discoveries and research make me consider now that the core of   religion may be more ancient than I thought at that time.10 The package, which included the cult of   ancestors, the cult and rituals for the dead, rituals of  initiation, the belief  in survival after death, a vision on creation, a rich mythology, the presence of   teaching and indoctrination etc., reflects a  core of   concepts going back to  predecessors of   Homo sapiens, Neanderthals, and other proto-sapiens. It acquired a  widespread formalization in the formative stages of   Homo sapiens. This package of   ideology  Anati, Aux origines de l’art.  Anati, Les racines de la culture. 9 Anati, La religion des origines. 10  Anati, ‘Ripensamenti sulle origini delle religioni’. 7 8

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illustrates the identification of   powers beyond the human ability of  mastering them, a search to understand, to explain, and to dialogue with the behaviour of   nature, and the belief  in the actions of  ancestors in shaping daily life. The visual art of   early hunter-gatherers provides a vast repertory of   beliefs and practices, which must have existed at the time in which they were depicted. Religion, according to  the present conception of   this term, is an assemblage of   rituals related to  beliefs, which imply an association among people sharing the same behavioral patterns. The core is in the primary package. Rituals and beliefs are cultural elements, which accumulate and grow with time. Besides rituals and beliefs, religion also implies today accumulated social and moral rules, which are transmitted through initiation. Long before the Latin word religio was invented, rituals and beliefs were a  common heritage accompanied by myths, which synthesized the historical memory. The word religio has the same root as  legare (to bind) and relegare (to isolate). And the contradiction between these two meanings may indicate the social role of   religion: it legates together people belonging to the same faith and separates them from those of  other faiths. Religion is  one of   the most widespread and deep aspects of  social identity. This fact may partly answer one of   the major queries about its success: human societies favoured such ideological confraternities as  a  means of  identity and of  maintaining solidarity.11 This, however, is  an acquired value; it is  not the reason for the birth of  religion.

The Rock Art Shrines Indications of   a structured religion with precise canons appear to  be the earliest known shrines and the artistic phenomena left by man in the Upper Paleolithic. In cave sanctuaries, in the womb of   the earth, in sheltered areas under rocks and on crude rock surfaces in  the open air, Homo sapiens created, on  various continents, ritual objects and marvellous works of   art inspired   Anati, ‘Definire l’identità’.

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by myths and other aspects of   conceptuality already 50,000 years ago, and practiced the rites associated with these beliefs, such as  funerary rites, initiation rites, commemorative rites, rain-making rites, rites connected to fertility, and hunting rites. Whether the visual art is  produced on  immobile rocks or on movable objects, the finds that have come to  light in these sanctuaries reveal to  us the existence of   beliefs already more complex and more evolved than those related to  the cult of the dead and of  the ancestors known from the Middle Paleolithic. Their contents indicate a  mythology rich and alive with educational and ethical teaching. In  the decorated caves, which have been defined as the cathedrals of   prehistory, one finds evidence of  constant widespread practices for the rehearsal of   mythology, totemic identities, dialogues with ancestors, and the powers of  nature.12 With the arrival of   Homo sapiens we witness, in  Europe as well as on other continents, the presence of   places, which today we would call sacred, adapted for rites of   initiation, and for attempts to  establish a  communion with occult forces, places reserved for activities of   an intellectual character such as artistic creativity, social assembly, the search for communication with ancestors or spirits, and reaching agreements with the powers of  nature. Prehistoric art is  today the principal source of   information that we have for rediscovering the mythology, ideology, and beliefs of   prehistoric man. It reveals an immensely rich intellectual life and illustrates the way of   reasoning and the logical mental processes of  the makers. Most of   the early expressions of   figurative art are recordings of   myths and other memories of   sacred events. Recent huntergatherer peoples still produce similar works. Art and religion may have accompanied one another from the beginning. They are forms of   human expression that spring from a  common source. They use the same language and the same logic. Both are attempts at figuring out a  missing link between the visible body and the invisible soul of   the world in which we live.  Anati, World Rock Art.

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As mentioned already, art and religion are produced by the same cognitive matrix. They are the fruit of   a combination of  human faculties: analysis, speculation, attempts at synthesis, and emotion requiring the spirit of   observation, the imagination and the capacity for abstraction and idealization. Both are speculative and subjective: if this were not the case, there would only be one religion and one form of   visual artistic expression. This seems to  have been possible in  the very beginning, thus hinting at the common origin of   language, art, and religion. Variations and differences were the issue of   subsequent adaptations to different conditions and experiences. In these three expressions of   our intellect, language, art, and religion, we may witness a  process of   gradual diversification, which may be theorized, on  a  general level, as  stemming from the examination of   various evolutionary horizons that have taken place through time. In  visual art (and also in  music), a  primordial style may be hypothesized, which then diversified to the point of  forming different styles and tendencies based on mechanisms of  standard conceptual development, which can be reconstructed. In  language, it is  presumably an analogous process from a  primordial idiom of   Homo sapiens, the so-called ‘Sapiens mother-language’ out of   which dialects were formed that developed into languages, which then formed more dialects from which developed more languages and so  on. Regarding religion, can we suppose an analogous process? A number of  myths, some cults, like the cult of  mythical ancestors, and different beliefs such as those concerning the soul and the afterlife, are traceable to common archetypes. We may therefore postulate the existence of   an archetypal, primordial religion of   Homo sapiens with principles, basic concepts, and essential canons, whose blood-line is  preserved in  all of   the religions still in  existence. In  such a  case the history of   religion acquires a new time range and a new logic.

The Function of  Rock Art The sites where the works of   art were executed, caves, shelters, or  rocky ravines often show a  conceptual topography in  which the place where the art is found is separate from the surrounding 109

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areas, yet still joined to them by a passage-way. In obscure caves as  well as  in  rock art sites in  the open, access to  the decorated area served as  a  transition and a  passage between two different worlds. Still today, among tribal societies producing rock art, such as  the Nyau of   Malawi, the Sandawe of   Tanzania or the Aborigines of   Arnhem Land, the areas where the art is  found are considered ceremonial and access is  restricted. Sometimes they are accessible only to those, who have been initiated; in some cases only to  one of  the two sexes, or  only on  specific occasions. Only less sacred decorated sites are accessible to all. In the tribal world it is often difficult to distinguish between sacred and profane. The meal is  sacred, sleep is  sacred, dreams are sacred, hunting is sacred, the seat or position of   the father is sacred. One often gets the impression that in tribal conceptions there is very little, which is considered profane. However, there is  a  clear distinction between the ceremonial space where no hunting takes place, and the rest, which is usually defined as the hunting-ground. They are conceived as  two worlds that act as an analogy of   the co-existential relationship between the world of   the living and the world of   the dead. Sometimes this also concerns the relationship between the past and the present. The past is more sacred than the present. Memory is identity and identity is sacred. The locations to  which man returned over centuries and even millennia to engrave and paint his own messages had functions, which today we would describe as both sacred and social. They were places where man searched for communication with other beings, mainly with dead or  mythical beings, with their own imaginary world, or  with the invisible forces of   nature. Nevertheless, the structures and spaces, which they chose as their particular sacred ‘studios’ were not made by man but rather created by nature. It is  exactly the particular features formed by nature that are, for man, the indication of   the power and energy, which they hold and emanate. These energies reveal themselves through certain signals of   colour and form, which constitute clues to the decoding of  global order and cosmic equilibrium. Often the places are narrow and the passages to  reach them are difficult.

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The First Sanctuary The rock art sites, decorated caves, and rocks are widespread over five continents and some of  them may number up to several million figures each, produced over thousands of   years. Man contributed his pictures to  the landscape but did not change the architectural shape of   the landscape. These sites are defined as  ‘natural sanctuaries’ and are differentiated from ‘artificial sanctuaries’, where the forms and structures of   landscape are at least partially fashioned by man. The latter are common in the Holocene, later then 12,000 years ago. Only a few of   them, less than ten, are known to have an earlier date. The oldest such sanctuary known today is  located at Har Karkom, a  mountain in  the Israeli desert of   the Negev in  the northern section of   the Sinai Peninsula, along a major migration route from Africa to  Asia. A  group of   42 dark standing flintstones have been erected by human hands in  a  small, partially concealed ravine, on the edge of  a precipice (Site HK/86B). Seen from the Paran desert below, the edge of   the mountain, for nearly 1 km, has the shape of   a pair of   wide-open legs, which join at the ravine where the standing stones are located. To the west the dominant view is that of  the two summits of  the mountain, which rise towards the sky like two breasts. The landscape appears as an immense female image with legs wide open and the breasts forming the top of  the mountain. The blocks of  flint, several of  which are over 1 meter in height, have natural shapes that recall the form of   a human bust, mostly female. Others recall animal shapes. The dark, closely placed monoliths in a white ravine on the edge of  a cliff  are surrounded by an almost lunar landscape, and create an environmental architecture that takes the breath away. They appear to spring out from the vagina of the mountain. Some of   these ‘natural statues’ weigh several hundred kilograms each. A  great deal of   energy must have been invested to  transport them to  the site, where they were grouped around a central area inside the ravine. Some of   them have been slightly modified by man with occasional flakes and with thin incisions of  parallel and criss-cross lines. Within the sanctuary, which is roughly 400 m2, along with numerous pieces of   worked flint, have been found several flint pebbles having natural zoomorphic 111

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and anthropomorphic shapes with occasional modifications, man-made by flaking and retouching. They vary in size between 5–30 cm. There are also geoglyphs or alignments of  stones, which form non-figurative patterns on the fossil ground.13 The flint industry belongs to the Karkomian culture, an archaic phase of   the Upper Paleolithic, which is  considered to  date back 40,000–30,000 years ago. Within an area of   2  km2, the sanctuary is surrounded by 23 sites. They have the same material culture and presumably belonging to  the same period. It seems that the sanctuary served these various sites.14 From its location on the mountain, the sanctuary faces a sweeping panorama, which takes in  valleys and hills as  far as  a  chain of   mountains 70  km to the east. What was the function of   this site? It was not a living place, nor does it seem to  have played any economic role. It focused on the black stone ‘ancestors’ reborn from the vagina of   the mountain. Obviously it illustrates a rich package of  beliefs. This sanctuary presents three significant characteristics. Firstly, it is an excellent observation point from which to control the low-lying areas and hunting territories. Secondly, it shows a particular interest in  the natural forms of   the rocks, as if  it were envisioned as  a  meeting place of   natural forces between the summits of   the mountain on one side and on the other side, the great hilly land beyond the precipice. Finally, it reveals that man collected and organized stones with forms that were naturally anthropomorphic or zoomorphic. The association of  the fundamental forms of  human and animal for the next 20,000 years would be a constant concern and the main theme in the art and concepts of   Homo sapiens, which displays the totemic conceptual system of   hunter-gatherers.15 We find it expressed in  the funerary figurines of   Siberia, in  the wall art of   cave-sanctuaries, in  the mobiliary art of   Europe, and in the rock art of   hunting populations around the world.16 In  the surroundings of   the Har Karkom sanctuary there are   Har Karkom e Monte Sinai, ed. by Mailland.   Mailland and Anati, HK/86B, Paleolithic Ceremonial Site at Har Karkom, Holy Mountain in the Desert of  Exodus. 15  Anati, ‘Engraved Rocks of  La Ferrassie Style’. 16 Anati, Lo stile come fattore diagnostico nell’arte preistorica. 13 14

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habitation sites with the foundations of   huts still clearly visible. These include traces of   fireplaces, workshops of   flint tools, and innumerable flint instruments of   the same type of   material culture. The importance of  the interpretation of  the landscape among Stone Age people is  stressed by the analogy of  the Har Karkom sanctuary with some sites of   Australian Aborigines, Central African Pygmies, or  the North Canadian Inuit. In  the case of  the recent hunters, and probably also in  the prehistoric cases, the interpretation of   the shapes of   nature has a  paramount relevance for the concepts and the related rites.17 Still today, among hunter-gatherer people, nothing in nature is meaningless. Every shape must be interpreted and understood. According to an Australian Aboriginal wise man, ‘The landscape is the way by which the spirits of   the dreamtime conveyed their messages’ (Northern Territories, Notes, 1974). In the ethnographic cases mentioned above, such places are sacred because of   their special landscape. They are believed to shelter ancestral spirits and serve as places of  communion between the living people and the dead. The installation at Har Karkom may turn out to  be the earliest known testimony of   human interpretation and explanation of  landscape.18

Some General Considerations Religion implies the presence of   rites and cults, which are performed collectively. This pattern has been present since human groups gathered to perform burial practices, to request the help of  ancestors to get water or food, or to stop drought. It is not just spirituality, it is religion. The younger generation was instructed for their initiation by memorizing the myths and traditions of   the clan. These practices appear to  be at the root of   religion and are present already in the Middle Paleolithic.  Eliade, Australian Religions.  Anati, The Riddle of   Mount Sinai, Archaeological Discoveries at Har Karkom; Cottinelli, ‘Il santuario più antico del mondo’; Har Karkom e Monte Sinai, ed. by Anati and Mailland; Mailland, ‘Witness of  Palaeolithic Conceptual Expressions at Har Karkom, Israel’; Mailland, ‘Geoglyphs on  the Har Karkom Plateau (Negev, Israel)’. 17 18

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One of   the main aspects of   the Paleolithic religion consists of   the reiteration of   roots. The rock art reveals a major concern for providing, preserving, and teaching the myths of  origin based on the deeds of   mythical ancestors. A  major role of   millions of  rock art images was the transmission of  the intellectual heritage of myths, rituals, and beliefs from generation to generation. The mythology aims to  explain life and give an identity to the present by giving a dimension to the past. Its aim is to give logic to a  global story describing who you are and where you come from. The cult of  ancestors, the evocation of  myths of  origin, and the myths of   migration are represented over and over again in the rock art of   five continents. The evocation of   the dreamtime is the patrimony of   knowledge, beliefs, and rites, which were transmitted for hundreds of  generations. A most important rite concerned the execution of  the immense patrimony of   rock art, which was carried on at the same sites for thousands of   years (sequences of   layers and styles dated by C14 and other scientific methods to 50,000 years ago in Kakadu and Kimberley in Australia, and to over 30,000 years ago in Tanzania, Namibia, Azerbaijan, the Côa valley in  Portugal, and Capivara in Brazil). Over 70 million figures have been recorded so far. They make gigantic records of  symbolic expression. In such a perspective the rock art sanctuaries imply the presence of   a long tradition of  a well-developed religion, which included myths, rites, beliefs, instructors, or  priests, and communal social participation. The need to  assure the indoctrination of   the young generations indicates the role of   the holy story as a paramount aspect of  the cultural tradition, beliefs, and rituals. The figurative explosion took place some 50,000 years ago and reached Europe 40,000 years ago. Through art man depicted animals, human beings, and beings that are half human and half  animal. Some of  the figures may appear realistic. A bison is a bison according to our way of   thinking, but for the men who depicted it 30,000 years ago what was the significance of   the bison? And if  there are figures of   beings half-bison and half-human, what was the significance of  this anthropo-bison?19  Anati, La struttura elementare dell’arte.

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The content of   rock art was a  sacred book, a  ‘Bible’, which memorized the stories and the identity of   ethnic groups. It is the main patrimony to which the tribal people dedicated more time and more energy than those invested to  gather their economic resources and to assure their physical survival. The rock pictures reveal a cult and worship of   animals, which were believed to  have souls just like humans. There are burials of   animals using the same burial customs as  those reserved for humans.20 For hunting people the relation with the animal world is essential. The hunters maintain a dialogue with the spirit of  their totemic animals as well as with that of   animals that were hunted and used for food. Still today hunters believe that without such a dialogue there would be a dangerous antagonism between their own spirits and the spirits of   hunted animals. The diplomacy of  relations with the spirits of   animals included complex beliefs and rituals. In various regions, in Africa, Asia, Europe, and Australia, Stone Age rock art includes four fundamental aspects of mythology: 1. The myths of   origin and of   creation concerned semi-human supernatural beings, which vary in shape and conception from one region to another, but are present all over 2. The myths of   afterlife conceive a  second world for the dead where the ancestors observe and judge the life of  the living 3. The myth of  an epic migration from the land of  origin or from a  ‘Garden of   Eden’ to  the land of   arrival is  another recurring subject, which is  repeated in  an obsessive way on  five continents 4. The totemic animistic myth of   interchangeability of   being and soul between man and other animals is  rooted in  the populations of  five continents Such universally diffused conceptual patterns are archetypes and are likely to  have one origin before the dispersion of   the core that made the present world population that is before or during

  Bonifay, ‘Un ensemble rituel mousterien à la grotte de Regourdou’.

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the first great exodus of   Homo sapiens from his land of   origin ca. over 100,000 years ago. Shamanism developed early in the Upper Paleolithic in Asia and Europe. It reached the American continent later. It never reached Australia and Oceania. Prehistoric rock art and findings in  archeological excavations reveal, among other aspects, the presence of   shamanism and illustrates situations of   shamans abandoning their body and travelling into the world of  the spirits. Such representations are common in  South Africa, Siberia, and America from about 12,000 years ago, but some cases in Europe seem to indicate the presence of   shamanism from about 30,000 years ago.

Conclusion To conclude, religion appears to  be one of   the main pillars of  human culture from early times. The cult of   the dead and the mythology concerning the afterlife and related rituals and practices existed already among the people of   the Middle Paleolithic 100,000 years ago. Dedicated and formal burial grounds showing recurring non-functional burial practices were also present at the same time (judging by the grave-goods). Sanctuaries and sacred sites, as far as we know, go back at least 40,000 years. Some of   these sites were chosen because of   their meaningful landscape. According to  ethnographic comparisons, they were characterized by the powerful emanation of   energies. They were placed where living people could communicate with the spirits of   the dead or  of   mythical ancestors. The spirits had the tremendous power of   shaping the land and the climate, of  helping the hunt or  causing calamities, of   giving life and death. The concept of   the world after death, the presence of   sanctuaries and holy places, the myths of   origins, and the myth of   exodus, are still present today after thousands of   years. Our prehistoric roots are still alive. What happened when societies became sedentary and the economy became more complex with the development of  agriculture? Human society was not satisfied with natural sanctuaries and developed the use of   architecture to  give shapes invented by man to the houses of   spirits and then to  those of   gods. 116

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Temples were the sumptuous courts built by humans for their supernatural lords. Megalithic monuments were other kinds of  installations dedicated to the glory of  ancestral spirits. Another aspect of   the development of   religions in  the Neolithic is the growth of   the priestly class; faith developed a  bureaucratic structure. The size of   temples implies a  strong priestly class and a  large number of   people attending the religious structure and its practice. But the main characteristic of   Neolithic religion is the birth of   divinities. Ancestral spirits connected by genealogy to blood relations are replaced by supernatural beings coming from the sky or  from the underworld that have no blood relation with the tribe, and dominate as lords coming from outside. They obtain the unconditional submission of   mortals. Their emissaries, the priests, coordinate human behaviour and tell the believers the will of  their ‘extraterrestrial’ lords. The Paleolithic religion of   Homo sapiens was then an assemblage of   beliefs and cult practices without a temple architecture. Shamans and wise men were lonely operators, perhaps with apprentices, and a priestly class did not exist. It was a non-theistic religion, an immense heritage of  symbolic expressions and performances, which included beliefs, rituals, myths, and exegesis. The roots of   belief  in the afterworld, myths connected to a well-conceived structure of   life after death and related practices, go back even further. Religions differ from each other in beliefs and rituals, and each religion modifies its practices in the course of   time, but the longevity of  religion as a human widespread universal pattern testifies to  its archetypal character as  a  fundamental aspect of   culture, having its roots in the cognitive system already before the emergence of  Homo sapiens. The significance of  such a conclusion for the nature and functioning of   the cognitive system is of   paramount importance for the understanding of  the human mind. Whether the longevity of   religious behaviour is  or is  not a guarantee of  its survival remains an open question.

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Bibliography Anati, Emmanuel, Les origines de l’art et la formation de l’esprit humain (Paris: Albin Michel, 1989) Anati, Emmanuel, Les racines de la culture (Capo di Ponte: Edizioni del Centro, 1995) Anati, Emmanuel, La religion des origines (Paris: Fayard, 1999) Anati, Emmanuel, The Riddle of  Mount Sinai, Archaeological Discoveries at Har Karkom (Capo di Ponte: Edizioni del Centro, 2001) Anati, Emmanuel, La struttura elementare dell’arte (Capo di Ponte: Edizioni del Centro, 2002a) Anati, Emmanuel, Lo stile come fattore diagnostico nell’arte preistorica (Capo di Ponte: Edizioni del Centro, 2002b) Anati, Emmanuel, Aux origines de l’art (Paris: Fayard, 2003) Anati, Emmanuel, ‘Engraved Rocks of  La Ferrassie Style’, in XXII Valcamonica Symposium 2007, Rock Art in the Frame of   the Cultural Heritage of   Humankind, Papers, ed.  by Emanuel Anati (Capo di Ponte, BS: Edizioni del Centro, 2007), pp. 37–52 Anati, Emmanuel, ‘Ripensamenti sulle origini delle religioni’, Bollettino del Centro Camuno di Studi Preistorici, 35 (2009), 7–42 Anati, Emmanuel, World Rock Art: The Primordial Language (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2010a) Anati, Emmanuel, ‘Definire l’identità’, Bollettino del Centro Camuno di Studi Preistorici, 36 (2010b), pp. 9–40 Bonifay, E, ‘Un ensemble rituel mousterien à la grotte de Regourdou’, Actes VI Congress UISPP (1965), pp. 136–40 Cottinelli, L, and others, ‘Il santuario più antico del mondo’, Archeologia Viva, 15/56 (1996), pp. 26–38 Eliade, Mircea, The Q uest: History and Meaning of   Religion (Chicago: University of  Chicago Press, 1969) Eliade, Mircea, Australian Religions (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1973) Har Karkom e Monte Sinai: Archeologia e Mito, Atti del Convegno di Studi, Associazione Lombarda Archeologica, 18 January 1997, Milan, ed. by Federico Mailland (Milan: Comune di Milano, Settore Cultura e Musei, Civiche Raccolte Archeologiche, 1998) Les expressions intellectuelles et spirituelles des peuples sans écriture, ed. by Emmanuel Anati and Jean-Pierre Mohen (Capo di Ponte: CISPE and Edizioni del Centro, 2007) 118

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Leroi Gourhan, A, Les religions de la préhistoire (Paris: PUF, 1971) Leroi Gourhan, A, I  più antichi artisti d’Europa (Milan: Jaca Book, 1981) Mailland, Federico, ‘Witness of   Palaeolithic Conceptual Expressions at Har Karkom, Israel’, in Les expressions intellectuelles et spirituelles des peuples sans ecriture, ed.  by Emmanuel Anati and Jean-Pierre Mohen (Capo di Ponte: CISPE and Edizioni del Centro, 2007), pp. 76–82 Mailland, Federico, ‘Geoglyphs on the Har Karkom Plateau (Negev, Israel)’, Valcamonica Symposium, Papers, 2009 (Capo di Ponte: Edizioni del Centro, 2009), pp. 208–14 Mailland, Federico and Emmanuel Anati, HK/86B, Paleolithic Ceremonial Site at Har Karkom, Holy Mountain in  the Desert of Exodus, XXIII Valcamonica Symposium 2009 (Capo di Ponte: Edizioni del Centro, 2009), pp. 41–45

Abstract Prehistoric art provides unique documentation about prehistoric beliefs and cult practices. Paintings and engravings on  rock surfaces served as records of   myths and stories, as places of   worship and tribal identity, to  preserve and teach the knowledge of   sacred narrations and prepare the next generation for initiation. The immense heritage of prehistoric art describes myths and beliefs, which were the intellectual patrimony of   human society; they display details of   the worship of  mythical ancestors. They show the images of   supernatural beings and reveal the cult role of   rock art, sacred sites, and the processes of  initiation. Recent studies indicate that in  different areas of   the world rock art played the role of   holy books of   pre-literate societies for over 50,000 years. Prehistoric art, however, is  not the oldest testimony of  the presence of  religion in human culture.

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MAKING THE INVISIBLE VISIBLE: STEPS TOWARDS A RITUALIZED CORPORATE IDENTITY

Introduction Many distinguished scholars have tried to  reconstruct changes in  early Neolithic religion and ideology in  order to  explain the transition from foraging to  farming.1 Trevor Watkins, citing the works of  Jacques Cauvin, Anthony Cohen, and Merlin Donald, even suggested that at the beginning of   the Neolithic there was a  major step in  the evolution of   mental capacities for storing information externally by the use of   symbolic devices.2 Recent excavations at Göbekli Tepe, Wadi Faynan, and other ritual sites seem to  underline the importance of   rituals and communality during this transitional period.3 But many attempts to interpret *  I am very thankful to Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen and Jesper Tae Jensen for the invitation to the conference and for the opportunity to contribute to this interesting volume. This article represents the version which was handed in September 2011, with only minor revisions where new archaeological data required an up-date. Many thanks are due to Craig Crossen for his thoughtful editing and to Moritz Kinzel and Lee Clare for their invaluable criticism. Large part of the research for this contribution was done during a two-year research project at the University of Freiburg. I  am grateful to Marlies Heinz, head of the Department, for her support. I  am also indebted to the BadenWürttemberg Stiftung for the financial support of this research project by the Elite-programme for Postdocs. 1   For example Cauvin, Naissance des Divinités – Naissance de l’Agriculture; Hodder, The Domestication of  Europe. 2   Watkins, ‘Changing People, Changing Environments’, pp.  106–14 (esp. pp. 110–11). 3 Schmidt, Sie bauten die ersten Tempel; Finlayson and others, ‘Architecture, Sedentism, and Social Complexity at Pre Pottery Neolithic A WF16, Southern Jordan’, www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1017642108; Güler and others, Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114430 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp. 121–167  © 

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the mythological content of   the symbolic traditions run the risk of  projecting modern or  rather pre-modern concepts onto early Holocene societies. I hope to avoid this by focusing on two neglected aspects of  the symbolic material remains: mediality and the emotions evoked by the symbolism. The title of   my contribution, ‘Making the Invisible Visible’, has two meanings. The first is methodological: I will show how we can gain more information from the material culture by focusing on the mediality by which symbols4 were presented in public, and on the emotional reactions these symbols probably brought about. There are basic anthropological patterns that make such interpretations possible despite culturally determined differences. These two features implicit in  the material remains will help us understand social and psychological processes not directly observable in the archaeological record. The second is empirical. Here, I will focus on the phenomenon of  the increase of   symbolic representations during the early Holocene in the Near East and argue that the so-called ‘revolution of  symbols’ (Cauvin) was above all a  revolution in  mediality. With increased sedentarism it became necessary to  make a  corporate identity5 visible and thereby manifest it in some concrete manner. This does not mean that symbols had not previously existed, but that they had earlier been fixed on  bodies, wood, or  other perishable materials. Until this time it had not been considered necessary to  enhance social commitment by means of  a fixed repertoire of  symbols engraved for ‘eternity’ on durable objects. ‘New Pre-Pottery Neolithic Sites and Cult Centres in  the Urfa Region’, pp. 292–97. 4   The definition of   ‘symbol’ varies widely, see e.g. Bader, ‘Was ist eigentlich ein Symbol?’; Wagoner, ‘Introduction’, pp.  1–15 (esp. pp.  13–14). I  will use Wagoner’s basic idea of   a symbol as something that ‘is used to represent another’, wherein the main aspect of   the symbol is  person-centred. A  symbol can only exist when at least two people have a  convergent opinion about its meaning. The characteristics of   the represented can, but need not, be inherent in the symbol itself. Anything (persons, objects, actions, space, etc.) can be turned into a symbol. 5  The concept of   Neolithic corporate identities was elaborated during a workshop at the 9th ICAANE in 2014, at Basle, see Neolithic Corporate Identities, ed. by Benz and others.

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Definitions If  we wish to learn more about how material culture might have triggered the development of   religion during the early Neolithic, it is necessary to give some definitions. For conventional reasons I  will continue using the terms Pre-Pottery Neolithic A and B, even if  it has been shown that the early Holocene cultures of  the Middle and Upper Euphrates-Tigris region have their own cultural characteristics. PPNA does not necessarily imply any domestication of   plants and animals: in a strict biological sense, the term Neolithic would thus be misleading. But if we understand Neolithisation as  a  long process of   increasing commodification, as has recently been convincingly argued,6 it is possible to retain the terminus Pre-Pottery Neolithic. The second expression requiring a  definition is  mediality. ‘Media’ is a term reserved in the social sciences for the modern mass media. However, ‘mediality’ concerns not only the characteristics of  a medium itself  through which information is communicated to a  public, but it also includes the relationship of   the people to a  medium, and the context in  which a  certain medium can be used.7

6 Gebel, ‘Commodification and the Formation of    Early Neolithic Social Identity. The Issues as Seen from the Southern Jordanian Highlands’, pp. 35–80. 7 The discussion on  the influences of    different media on  the human construction of   reality has been going on for more than 2500 years. This everexpanding debate is  beyond the scope of   the present paper. Most important for our analysis is  the often-quoted statement of   Marshall McLuhan: ‘medium is the message’ (cited in  Sale, ‘Do Media Determine Our Situation? Kittler’s Application of  Information Theory to  the Humanity’, pp.  136–48, esp. p.  140). Although mediality is  only one way in  which communication (which includes symbolic behaviour and therefore world making) is  influenced, it is  clearly visible in  the archaeological record. Other important influences on  communication, such as  discourse networks, are very difficult to  reconstruct without written sources and require precise information on  who used which media and symbols, and what these symbols meant in  different contexts. Such a  contextual analysis would be desirable, but the requisite data are not systematically available in  the strictly material record of   prehistoric Near Eastern communities For an overview and some critiques on  communication theory and mediality, see Eliassen, ‘Remarks on  the Historicity of   the Media Concept’, pp. 119–35; Neumann and Zierold, ‘Media as Ways of  Worldmaking’, pp. 103–18.

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The third term under consideration is  much more difficult to define, namely religion. I will not venture to review all the different definitions given by more qualified specialists in religious research but simply focus on  some aspects of   the recent definition of   religion given by Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen, which might be of  relevance for the interpretation of  Neolithic material remains. She pointed out that: ‘Religion’ […] can be said to  consist of   a system of  symbols, where something is  being said in  myths and acted out in rituals that pertains to the moral order and cosmological structure of  the world, as sanctioned or determined by transcendent powers. […] religion involves an in­stitutional aspect: morals, dogma, hierarchy. Supernatural powers are often gods. They inhabit the ‘other world’. Our knowledge of  the supernatural powers and the cosmological system comes primarily from myths and visions from authorities. Communication with powers takes place via rituals. Rituals function symbolically.8

From the point of   view of   this definition of   religion, the only aspects of   religion manifest in  a  material way are its symbols, rituals, authorities/hierarchies, modes of   communication, and institutions. All of  its other features are invisible or intangible. Another perhaps implicit point (‘dogma’) in  this definition is the relation of   religion to  time: one of   the characteristics of  communities based on a common ideology is their creation of   a foundation myth describing their formation, and prophesying their future prosperity. In such myths, past, present, and future are blurred into one ‘eternity’, giving the sense of  stability despite personal and political mutability. This illusion of   stability is visualized and enhanced by a fixed code of   symbols, rituals, and standards in how to use space.9

8  Bredholt Christensen, ‘ “Spirituality” and “religion” – Meaning and Origin’, pp. 23–31 (esp. p. 24) (italics by author). 9  Halbwachs pointed to this important aspect of   religion (Wetzel, Maurice Halbwachs, p. 82). The creation and (ab-)use of   ‘history’ by ideologically based communities would deserve its own book and cannot be elaborated here (see Benz, ‘ “Little Poor Babies” – Creation of   History Through Death at the Transition from Foraging to Farming’, pp. 169–82.

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I will therefore begin my analysis by examining the various symbolic and ritual archaeological remains. I will consider three types of  symbols: 1. Constructed symbols, here focussing on  communal buildings, because the analysis of  domestic buildings as  symbolic devices is fraught with difficulties 2. Ritual symbols. Rituals are symbols in action. Normally every step of  a ritual is fixed, loaded with meaning, and has the purpose of  making invisible things visible 3. The displayed symbols used during the beginning of  the Holocene

Methodology The analysis of   these three types of   symbols will not focus on the iconography and meaning of  the representations. Many researchers have tried to determine the meaning, or idea, behind a symbol. But when attempting to do so, we risk projecting modern or ancient literary concepts on prehistoric material, especially because written sources are not available to guide us. As research on symbols has shown, there are many hurdles that must be cleared. The idea that the meaning of   a symbol depends on its context is, of   course, not new.10 But I would like to point out that symbols are also intersubjective: 11 not only does every individual perceive each symbol in a different way – which is in fact one of   the strengths of   symbols 12 – but symbols principally gain their strength from their effect on  people. And this effect can be quite different depending on  the context, on  the mood, and on  who communicates the symbol to  whom. Therefore the idea and the meaning, behind our symbolic actions do not only depend on  personal perception, cultural conventions, and experiences, but they are also intersubjective. To comprehend

10   For an illustrative discussion on the problems of  interpretation of  symbols in archaeology, see Gallay, L’Archéologie Demain, pp. 183–200. 11  Gillespie, ‘The Intersubjective Nature of   Symbols’, pp. 24–37 (esp. p. 29). 12 Cohen, The Symbolic Construction of  Community, p. 55, p. 73.

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Fig. 1 Beside context and intersubjectivity, meaning, mediality, and emotions influence the impact of  symbolic actions on society. Drawing by the author.

the meaning of   a prehistoric symbol is – in my view – therefore very difficult, if  not impossible. However, there is a way out of  this dilemma. Not only the meaning of  a symbol determines its impact on society – mediality and emotions do so as well (Fig. 1). By adding considerations of  mediality and the emotions evoked by the symbols to  iconographic analyses, we can gain some information on their impact, even if we do not know their actual meaning. According to recent cognitive research, emotions have long been underestimated in  cognitive 126

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science.13 Of  course, emotions also depend on the context and the relation of   subjects; yet, there are some features that will be perceived in  a  similar way or  will have similar effects on  most humans. The structural aspects of  symbols include the following: 1. Iconic repertoire: the degree of   standardization, of   abstraction, and of  ubiquity/exclusivity 2. Mediality: the scale of  the medium, its permanence, the standardization, the material, production efforts and quality, ubiquity and exclusivity and reflexivity (by which I mean the ability and opportunity for people to interfere with the medium) 3. Emotions: the perception of   and emotional reactions to  the symbols This list could probably be expanded; but for our analysis it will suffice to  concentrate on  the three points listed above. In  the following, I  will investigate the material remains of  symbolic behaviour in  the PPNA and PPNB cultures of   the Near East.

Constructed Symbolism As was mentioned above, I  will focus on special buildings (Fig.  2) because it is  easier for us to  perceive the conventionalized world views implicit in  such buildings than in domestic architecture, influenced by individual preferences and site requirements.14 13  Salvatore and Venuleo, ‘The Unconscious as Symbol Generator – a Psychodynamic-Semiotic Approach to Meaning-Making’, pp. 59–74. 14   This is  not to  say that the shape of   domestic houses is  not often based on  ideological concepts. Indeed, in  traditional societies domestic houses may represent the cosmic order (Kent, ‘A Crosscultural Study of   Segmentation, Architecture and the Use of   Space’, pp. 127–52 (esp. p. 128). But the risk that individual styles skew the picture is very high. Thus the number of  private houses required for a  meaningful statistical analysis concerning the cosmological concept of   domestic architecture would have to be very large. Although public and private buildings cannot always be easily differentiated for the early Neolithic in the southern Levant, the architecture of   all of   the above mentioned buildings clearly differs from typical dwellings.

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Fig. 2 Communal or special buildings of  Upper Mesopotamia: I. Round ‘polyvalente’, II. Round to oval without room division a. with wooden pillars, b. with stone/ clay pillars, III. Rectangular with pillars. PPNA-Middle PPNB. I  2–IIa 2 and IIb 2 are reproduced at the same scale as I 1. Where possible orientation has been standardized to the north. For figures without a  north-arrow, no orientation was given in  the original publication. I  1. Mureybet M 47, Syria; I  2–3; IIa  1.  Jerf  el-Ahmar, EA 7, EA 30, EA 53, Syria. Modified after Stordeur and Ibañez 2008, fig. 26 and Stordeur and others 2000, fig. 5, fig. 9; I. 4. Wadi Tumbaq, EA-6, niveau 4, Syria. After Abbès 2014: fig. 8.2; I. 5. Dja’de, Syria. Schematic redrawing after Coqueugniot 2014: fig. 7; IIa 2. ‘Abr 3. After Yartah 2005, fig. 8.2; IIb 1. Göbekli Tepe, Turkey. Modified after Schmidt 2006, fig. 76; IIb 2. Çayönü, BM1, Turkey. Modified after Schirmer 1990, fig. 11; IIb 3–III 1. Nevalı Çori, Turkey. After Hauptmann 1999, fig. 9); III 2. Göbekli Tepe, Lion-Pillar-Building. Modified after Schmidt 2006, fig. 76; III 3. Çayönü, Flagstone Building, Turkey. Modified after Schirmer 1990, fig. 11.

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Some of  the earliest special or (as they have been termed by Danielle Stordeur) communal buildings were excavated at Mureybet15 and Jericho16 in  the 1950s and 1960s. The tower and wall of  Jericho remain unique in  the southern Levant. The same holds true for the large oval placa or  building (for the moment it is not clear whether or not the 22 m × 19 m oval structure was covered by a  roof) found recently at Wadi Faynan.17 However, the round compartment building of   Mureybet is  duplicated by two other, nearly identical, round compartment buildings at Jerf  el-Ahmar, just about 40 kilometres north of   Mureybet; 18 and two exemplars at Wadi Tumbaq 3, in the Bal’as Mountains in central Syria.19 They all have diameters of   roughly 6–7.40  m and include several smaller chambers assumed to have been used for storage, though they are almost devoid of   material (which makes this interpretation problematic). At Jerf el-Ahmar other special buildings have been excavated, and the chronological sequence shows a  development from compartment buildings to buildings with one very large room (Fig. 3).20 The special round building of   Dja’de 21 about 20  km north of  Jerf el-Ahmar represents a transitional type. Its compartments are separated by impressively painted buttresses but no walls. Buildings of  the second type of  the more recent transitional phase from the PPNA to the PPNB were found in ‘Abr 3, about 45 kilometres upstream on the Euphrates.22

15  Stordeur and Ibañez, ‘Stratigraphie et répartition des architectures à Mureybet’, pp. 33–95. 16  Ronen and Adler, ‘The Walls of  Jericho Were Magical’, pp. 97–103. 17  Finlayson and others, ‘Architecture, Sedentism, and Social Complexity at Pre-Pottery Neolithic A WF16, Southern Jordan’, p. 2. 18  Stordeur and others, ‘Les bâtiments communautaires de Jerf  el-Ahmar et Mureybet’, pp. 29–44. 19  Abbès, ‘Bal’as: un autre scénario de la néolithisation du Proche-Orient’, pp. 17–20, fig. 8. 20   Stordeur, ‘Symboles et imaginaire des premières cultures néolithiques du Proche-Orient (Haute et Moyenne Vallée de l’Euphrate)’, pp. 15–37, fig. 2. 21  Coqueugniot, ‘Dja’de (Syrie) et les représentations symboliques au IXe millénaire cal. BC’, pp. 97–101, fig. 7. 22  Yartah, ‘Les bâtiments communautaires de Tell ‘Abr 3 (PPN A, Syrie)’, pp. 3–9.

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Fig. 3 Development of  communal buildings in relation to domestic architecture, Jerf  el-Ahmar, Syria. PPNA. Modified after Stordeur 2003, fig. 2.

Further east, near the modern town of   Şanliurfa, the monumental hill-top constructions of   Göbekli Tepe,23 to  which we will refer later, give important clues for our analysis. On typological grounds the special buildings of   Nevalı Çori, despite their rectangular shape, can be seen as the successors of   Göbekli Tepe.24 The oldest phase of   the ‘Skull Building’ at Çayönü resembles the round construction of   Göbekli, although instead of   the large stone pillars, buttresses subdivide the wall. The ‘Flagstone Building’ is similar to  the later ‘Lion-Pillar’ Building of   Göbekli and the communal building of  Nevalı Çori.25 Most of   these special buildings have in  common that they lay on  the edge of   their settlement. There may have been some space between these structures and the normal dwellings, but the distance was not great. The only exception so far seems to be the early phase of   Göbekli Tepe. Its dominating position on a  hilltop without access to  water makes it a  rather exceptional site, seemingly a territorial symbol of   power and/or spiritual authority. But already during the later phase the Lion-Pillar Building – which is similar to the large round construction, but square and smaller – is surrounded by many smaller buildings. Interpretation  Schmidt, Sie bauten die ersten Tempel.   Hauptmann, ‘Nevalı Çori’, pp. 99–110. 25   Özdoğan, ‘Çayönü’, pp. 35–63 (esp. pp. 41–54). 23 24

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of   these smaller buildings has to await the final publication, but they might have been normal dwellings. It has been proven that in Jerf  el-Ahmar the communal buildings outlasted the other structures and were still round when other structures became rectangular. This means that there was a  fixed plan, a  regional building tradition, reserved for this kind of  building.26 Access to  these buildings could easily have been controlled and restricted to a limited number of  people. Their interiors must have been quite dark because most of   them were dug into the ground or the flank of   a hill. Again, Göbekli Tepe might be an exception, because it is uncertain, whether or not, it was covered. The plan of   these buildings was standardized in  any given region, but there were differences between regions. Even Göbekli Tepe was not unique: at least five other sites in this region seem to  have had architectural elements similar to, though smaller than, its T-shaped pillars.27

Ritual Symbolism The most striking ritual of   the early Holocene is  skull burial. I  will therefore focus my analysis on  this specific subject.28 The practice of  detaching skulls from the dead and reburying them in groups or singly existed from the Natufian to the PPNB. According to our present information, this burial tradition began in  the Levant and spread south to  the far southern Levant and north to southeast Anatolia. It was later practised also in central Anatolia, but that region and period is outside the scope of   my analysis.29   A similar observation for the Upper Tigris region has already been made by Özdoğan, ‘Çayönü’, p. 47. 27  Most of    these sites have not been explored archaeologically, except for Nevalı Çori. Thus, it is  not clear whether they were located near a  village or whether they were isolotated on hill tops, see Güler and others, ‘New Pre-Pottery Neolithic Sites and Cult Centres in the Urfa Region’, pp. 292–97. 28  A detailed description of   these burials has been published elsewhere, so it will be sufficient here simply to  summarize the main points (Benz, ‘Beyond Death – the Construction of   Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to Farming’, pp. 249–76). 29  Kodas, ‘Contexte Architectural des Crânes Surmodelés’, pp. 13–19. 26

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Fig. 4 Group of  plastered skulls associated with the skeleton of  a newborn, Aswad, Syria. PPNB. Photo courtesy of  the Fouille franco-syrienne de Tell Aswad. Co-directed by Danielle Stordeur and Bassam Jamous. Mission El Kowm-Mureybet du Ministère des Affaires étrangères France. Photo by Laurent Dugué.

During the middle PPNB the old tradition of   skull burial was elaborated by the plastering of  the skulls (Fig. 4). Plastered skulls have been found exclusively in the Levant and nowhere in upper Mesopotamia. Because of   the striking reality of   the plastered faces, skull burials have been excavated and recorded in  great detail. Thus we know much more about these burials than about normal burial practices. The skulls were separated from the rest of  the bodies sometime after interment. Some of   them were then painted and/or plastered. Some were also decorated with collagen, to which perishable organic materials probably had been fixed. After a  period of   display, the skulls were reburied singly 132

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or in caches of   two or more. Grouping by age and sex was common, but groups of   different sexes and ages are also recorded. Most of  the plastered skulls are from young adults. Analyses of   ancient a-DNA so far have failed to confirm familial relationships within the skull groups.30 For our analysis the important point is that these skulls were venerated and even after their reburying remained a  community focus.31 In  some cases an association of   skull burials with skeletons of  babies or small children has been observed.32 It might be that the reburying of   a skull was the occasion for an infant sacrifice; but it seems more plausible that the death of   a beloved child was one possible reason for the reburial of   the skulls or that the child was placed above these skulls long after in  order to demonstrate a  relationship. In  any case a  trans-generational ‘affiliation’ – which could be independent of  blood relationship – was intentionally affirmed. This veneration of   special persons was a more common practice in the Levant than in upper Mesopotamia, and the plastering of   the skulls was a  quite conventionalized ritual over the large region from the southern Dead Sea to the Damascus Basin.

Representations of  Symbols Finally, I will describe some of  the wealth of  symbols used during the PPNA and early PPNB. The decorated shaft-straighteners and pebbles from the Levant and the Upper Euphrates provide good examples of  the symbolic repertoire. In  Upper Mesopotamia they are quite standardized in size and shape (Figs 5–6), but in the Levant none of   the published pebbles and shaft straighteners has naturalistic decorations 30  A familial relationship due to  an epigenetic morphological skull marker has been suggested by Röhrer-Ertl, Die Neolithische Revolution im Vorderen Orient, p. 244, but the a-DNA is so badly preserved that no systematic analysis could be done (Bonogofsky and Malhi. ‘Sex-based DNA Analysis of   8,500 Year Old “Ancestor” Skulls from the Levant’). 31   Stordeur and Khawam, ‘Les crânes surmodelés de Tell Aswad (PPNB, Syrie). Premier regard sur l’ensemble, premières réflexions’, pp. 5–32. 32  Benz, ‘ “Little Poor Babies” – Creation of   History through Death at the Transition from Foraging to Farming’.

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Fig. 5 Figurative decoration of  shaft-straighteners and pebbles from Upper Mesopotamia. PPNA-EPPNB. All items are reproduced at the same scale. 1. ‘Abr 3. After Yartah 2004, fig. 18.3;  2. After Yartah 2005, fig. 7.3;  3. Göbekli Tepe. After Köksal-Schmidt and Schmidt 2007, p. 107;  4.-9. Jerf el-Ahmar. After Akkermans and Schwartz 2003, fig. 3.18.

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Fig. 6 Decorated pebbles and shaft-straighteners, Tell Q aramel, Syria. PPNA. All items are reproduced at the same scale. 1.–2. After Mazurowski and Yartah 2001, fig. 11; 3.–4. After Mazurowski 2004, fig.  10; 5.–6. After Mazurowski and Yartah 2001, figs  10.630,  10.636; 7. After Mazurowski 2003, fig.  12; 8. After Mazurowski and Yartah 2001, fig.  10.638; 9. After Mazurowski 2002, p. 328.

but only geometric patterns (Fig.  7); 33 however, naturalistic images on  pebbles and shaft straighteners from the Middle and Upper Euphrates-Tigris region are very common. As I will show, the latter are based on a collective repertoire common from the Middle Euphrates to South-Eastern Anatolia. 33   Some decorations interpreted as  representations of   faces might instead be parts of   geometric patterns (Noy, ‘Art and Decoration of   the Natufian at Nahal Oren’, pp. 557–68, esp. p. 563, fig. 4.5). Pebbles decorated with geometric shapes have also been found in Upper Mesopotamia, e.g. at Mureybet, Çayönü, Cafer Höyük, and Tell Q aramel (Cauvin, ‘Le Néolithique de Cafer Höyük’, pp.  123–33, fig.  2; Cauvin and others, ‘The Pre-Pottery Site of   Cafer Höyük’, pp.  114, fig.  32; Akkermans and Schwartz, The Archaeology of   Syria, fig.  18.3; Mazurowski, ‘Tell Q aramel Excavations, 2003’, pp.  355–70, fig.  11). Some of  the pebbles with figurative decorations from Tell Q aramel have been found in a  secondary Bronze Age context and are therefore of   uncertain date. Except for one, they are not considered in  this study (Mazurowski and Jamous, ‘Tell Q aramel. Excavations 2000’, pp. 327–41, esp. pp. 338–41, figs 7–8).

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Fig. 7 Geometrically decorated shaft-straighteners and pebbles, the Levant. Natufian to Late PPNB. All items are reproduced at the same scale unless otherwise stated. 1. Netiv Hagdud. After Ofer Bar-Yosef  and Avi Gopher 1997, fig. 5.18; 2. Zahrat Adh-Dhra’ 2, limestone. After Edwards and others 2002, fig. 5; 3. Nahal Oren. After Noy 1999, fig.  2.5; 4. Ghuwayr  I. After Simmons and Muhammed Najjar 2003, fig.  8; 5.–6. Shkârat Msaied, steatite, objects 51201 and 51304. After Harpelund 2011, drawing 16; 7.–8. Basta, steatite. After Gebel and others 2004, figs 14.4, 14.6; 9.–10. Ramad R 66.131, basalt, R 65.252, limestone. After Contenson 2000, figs 89.1, 92.4; 11. Aswad Ad 71.115, limestone. After Conentson 1995, fig. 111.

The Variety of  Threatening Animals and Abstract Symbols During the PPNA snakes become a  ubiquitous symbol represented on a variety of   media, including pebbles at Jerf  el-Ahmar, Tell ‘Abr 3, and Tell Q aramel and stone vessels at Körtik Tepe.34 They are shown crawling up the pillars of   Göbekli and Karahan Tepe, on a totem pole of   Göbekli,35 and on the back of   the 34  Stordeur, ‘Symboles et imaginaire des premières cultures néolithiques du Proche-Orient (Haute et Moyenne Vallée de l’Euphrate), p.  28; Mazurowski and Yartah, ‘Tell Q aramel. Excavations, 2001’, pp.  295–307, esp. p.  305; Özkaya, ‘Excavations at Körtik Tepe. A  New Pre-Pottery Neolithic A Site in Southeastern Anatolia’, pp. 3–8, fig. 8; Coşkun and others, ‘Living by the Water – Boon and Bane for the People of  Körtik Tepe’, pp. 59–71. 35 Schmidt, Sie bauten die ersten Tempel, p. 91, p. 96; Köksal-Schmidt and

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Fig. 8 Nevalı Çori, southeastern Turkey, Head with snake; limestone. Şanlıurfa Müzesi. Early to Middle PPNB. Photo courtesy of   Euphrat-Archiv, Berlin-Heidelberg.

head of   a near-human-size figure at Nevalı Çori (Fig.  8).36 Vultures, lions/panthers, foxes, and scorpions belong to this animal repertoire as  well, and are again represented on  a  variety of  media.37 Less common but present are aurochs (mostly in the very abstract form of  the bucranium), sheep, and goat/gazelle/ibex. Schmidt, ‘The Göbekli Tepe “Totem Pole”. A  First Discussion of   an Autumn 2010 Discovery (PPN, Southeastern Turkey)’, pp. 74–76, esp. pp. 74–75. 36  Hauptmann, ‘The Urfa Region’, pp. 65–86, esp. p. 75, fig. 10. 37  For a  possible interpretation of    this figurative repertoire, see Benz and Bauer, ‘On Scorpions, Birds, and Snakes – Evidence for Shamanism in Northern Mesopotamia during the Early Holocene’, pp. 1–15.

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A circular, ‘sun-like’ sign is  common too, appearing on  pebbles at Tell Q aramel west of   the Euphrates, on  two large stone slabs at Tell ‘Abr 3 on  the Euphrates,38 and on  stone vessels at Körtik Tepe39 (Fig.  9). It should not be automatically assumed to  be a  solar or  lunar sign: it might also represent something like a  settlement or  a  waterhole (and thus perhaps be a  symbol for life) with paths leading to it.

Fig. 9 ‘Sun-like’ symbols on different media. Early to late PPNA. 1. ‘Abr 3. After Yartah 2004, fig. 14.1; 2. Tell Q aramel. After Mazurowski and Jamous 2000, fig. 7; 3. Körtik Tepe. After Coşkun and others 2010, fig. 2a.

Thus, there is a shared tradition of  symbols throughout northern Mesopotamia during the early Holocene. During the Epipa­ laeolithic, naturalistic representations had been rare, small,

38  Yartah, ‘Tell ‘Abr 3, un village du néolithique précéramique (PPNA) sur le Moyen Euphrate. Première approche’, pp. 141–58, fig. 14. 39  Coşkun and others, ‘Living by the Water – Boon and Bane for the People of  Körtik Tepe’, fig. 2.

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individualistic, and almost exclusively of   animals.40 But in  the early Holocene a  great variety of   representations/of  symbols appears, displayed on everything from very tiny scrapings to very large, labour-intensive, stone reliefs. Some of   the stone reliefs of   Göbekli Tepe and Jerf  el-Ahmar are exceptional.41 They are carved in such a three-dimensional way that they seem to come out of   the pillar, thus enhancing their presence and dominance of   the space created around them. The panther or lion crawling downwards on  Pillar P27 of   Göbekli Tepe is  lurking, its head sunken between the shoulders, baring its teeth as if about to jump on its victim (Fig. 10). The degree of  abstraction is highly variable: some of  the snakes are depicted with heads, eyes, and a forked tongue or ‘antennae’; 42 others are simply a  zig-zag line with a  stylized triangle for the head. The position of   some zig-zags within a standardized combination of   signs on stone vessels from Körtik Tepe implies that they, too, represent snakes (Fig. 9.2). Some abstract symbols are used at some sites so  frequently that they have been suggested to represent the first ‘hieroglyphs’.43 Most animals are either represented in a threatening attitude, such as the boars and the lions/panthers of  Göbekli Tepe, or they are intrinsically dangerous creatures like scorpions or  snakes.44 This makes a  strong contrast to  the Epipalaeolithic figurines, which represent mostly game animals. Finally, I will consider the representations of  humans. A small clay female figurine from Mureybet suggested to  Cauvin the ‘birth of   the gods’ before the advent of   the Neolithic. There are 40 Cauvin, Naissance des Divinités – Naissance de l’Agriculture, p.  38; Noy, ‘Art and Decoration of  the Natufian at Nahal Oren’, pp. 564–67. 41 Schmidt, Sie bauten die ersten Tempel, figs  25–26, fig.  86; Hauptmann, ‘Urfa Region’, figs  27,  29,  31; Schmidt, ‘Animals and a  Headless Man at Göbekli Tepe’, pp.  38–40, figs  1a–1b; Stordeur, ‘Symboles et imaginaire des premières cultures néolithiques du Proche-Orient (Haute et Moyenne Vallée de l’Euphrate)’, fig. 7.3. 42  Stordeur, ‘Symboles et imaginaire des premières cultures néolithiques du Proche-Orient (Haute et Moyenne Vallée de l’Euphrate)’, p. 28. 43 Schmidt, Sie bauten die ersten Tempel, pp. 221–26. 44  Stordeur, ‘Symboles et imaginaire des premières cultures néolithiques du Proche-Orient (Haute et Moyenne Vallée de l’Euphrate)’, pp. 22–30; Schmidt, Sie bauten die ersten Tempel, p. 235.

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Fig. 10 Relief  of  a lion or panther, in a crouching position on pillar P27, Göbekli Tepe, southeastern Turkey. Late PPNA/Early PPNB. Photo courtesy of  the German Archaeological Institute, Nico Becker.

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other, approximately contemporary, figurines from elsewhere in the Levant, but their sex is  not always clear and some of   them were probably male.45 Although it is not obvious whether these human figures represent gods or simply powerful persons, Cauvin is  correct that there was an increase in  human representation. Some human figures were made already during the early phases of   Göbekli Tepe: a  headless human depicted on  a  stone pillar is possibly a  symbol of   death, and a  1.90  m-high totem pole of  stone shows at least two humans threatened by either a predator (feline or bear) or a human dressed in a cape of  fur with the head of  such a predator – variations on the threatening-animal theme depicted elsewhere at the site.46 At Jerf  el-Ahmar a headless human corpse is carried by a bird with a large beak, probably a vulture.47 Some – if  not all – of  the pillars also depict humans or humanoid creatures (supernatural beings?).48 The pillars with arms, fingers, and sometimes a  scarf  are called the ‘Nevalı Çori type’ because they were first discovered at that site. From the initial phase at Göbekli Tepe three pillars exist of  this type, all of  them in Round C, and two of   them at its centre. These pillars are surrounded by an army of  dangerous animals. From the later phase, at least 9 of   53 pillars have arms; and many fragments of   other pillars with arms were found, though not in situ.49 In addition many small figurines as well as miniature pillars have been found. During the PPNB at Nevalı Çori, the size of   the representations of   humans increase to  near-human size, but many small human figurines also exist.50 At Göbekli Tepe a  30  cm tall woman, probably giving birth, was scratched into one of  the stone 45 Benz, Die Neolithisierung im Vorderen Orient. Theorien, archäologische Daten und ein ethnologisches Modell, pp. 90–96. 46  Schmidt, ‘Animals and a  Headless Man at Göbekli Tepe’, pp.  39–40; Köksal-Schmidt and Schmidt, ‘The Göbekli Tepe “Totem Pole”. A First Discussion of  an Autumn 2010 Discovery (PPN, Southeastern Turkey)’, pp. 74–75. 47  Stordeur, ‘Symboles et imaginaire des premières cultures néolithiques du Proche-Orient (Haute et Moyenne Vallée de l’Euphrate)’, p. 30. 48   Morenz and Schmidt, ‘Große Reliefpfeiler und kleine Zeichentäfelchen – Ein frühneolithisches Zeichensystem in Obermesopotamien’, pp. 13–31. 49  Schmidt (personal communication). 50  Hauptmann, ‘Urfa Region’, pp. 75–76, figs 10–19; Morsch, ‘Magic Figurines? Some Remarks About the Clay Objects of  Nevalı Çori’, pp. 149–58.

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slabs of  a bank in the Lion-Pillar Building.51 A near-human-size figure of  a man was found many years ago in the centre of  Urfa.52 It is similar to the discoveries at Nevalı Çori and Göbekli Tepe and may therefore be dated to the early Neolithic, too. Summing up, there is  throughout the area a  common repertoire of   symbols, with some local variations. For example, many birds are represented at Göbekli Tepe, while deer and some images that might be larvae are unique to Körtik Tepe.53 Every site has its own style, but within each style there seem to  have existed firm rules of  design. Köksal-Schmidt and Schmidt remark regarding Göbekli Tepe ‘[…], so  gibt es doch viele Wiederholungen, die in  ihrer Gleichartigkeit wie einem Musterbuch entnommen oder wie nach Schablone gearbeitet erscheinen.’54 ‘[…] there are many repetitions, which in  their similarity seem to have been taken from a pattern book or drawn from a stencil.’

In contrast to  the Epipalaeolithic ones, Neolithic symbols are integrated into compositions that are perhaps whole narratives. The high degree of   abstraction of   some signs underlines the existence of   conventions for their interpretation and hints at a network of  collective cultural memory. It is striking that in the Levant geometric patterns dominate the iconographic repertoire, whereas in  Upper Mesopotamia a great variety of   naturalistic figures appears. Especially relevant for our purposes is  the fact that the mediality of   these symbols changes from perishable materials to stone and clay, and in size from small to monumental, thus increasing both temporal durability and spatial extent. This holds true not only for the special buildings and the symbolic engravings and reliefs in  stone, but also for the secondary skull burials, which should possibly link  Schmidt, Sie bauten die ersten Tempel, pp. 238–39.  Schmidt, Sie bauten die ersten Tempel, p. 199, pp. 201–03. 53  Özkaya and San, ‘Körtik Tepe: Bulgular Işığında Külturel Doku Üzerine Ilk Gözlemler’, pp. 21–36, fig. 19. 54   Köksal-Schmidt and Schmidt, ‘Perlen, Steingefäße, Zeichentäfelchen – Handwerkliche Spezialisierung und steinzeitliches Symbolsystem’, pp.  97–109, esp. p. 97. 51 52

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generations and thus create a sense of   personal relationship over an extended time. Labour investment in  the creation of    collective symbols increased dramatically in the Near East, during the early Holocene and, at least in the case of   the monumental buildings of  Göbekli Tepe, community effort became necessary. The emotional effects of   the figurative representations clearly show that the increase of   human representations was only a second step. At first, during the early Holocene, the representations of   animals became threatening and dangerous. Men were surrounded by animals. It has also been shown that personal relations probably played a  more important role in  the Levant than in  Upper Mesopotamia, where territorial commitment was demonstrated by large cult centres like Göbekli, Karahan, Hamzan, and Sefer Tepe.55 Only in a second step humans emancipated themselves from their natural environment.

Discussion Two fundamental changes can be observed in the symbolic material remains of  the early Holocene: The first is a change in mediality, especially regarding the materials used in  buildings, burials, and figurative representations. Whereas mobile hunter-gatherers had probably used natural sacred places, now buildings for ritual or political assemblies were planned and built of   stone and clay. The buildings were placed either at the edge of   the village, or  on  an eminence, as  Göbekli Tepe. Access to  the new communal buildings could be controlled or  restricted. Thus, they became a  symbol of   the power of  a circumscribed group. Membership of   this group may have been defined by territorial, familial, or  other criteria, which are difficult to determine without any written sources.56 Once the architecture had been fixed it fostered conventionalized behaviour by those who wanted to  belong to  the 55  Benz, ‘Beyond Death – the Construction of  Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to Farming’, pp. 262–70. 56  Alt and others, ‘Earliest Evidence for Social Endogamy in the 9,000-YearOld-Population of  Basta, Jordan’.

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community and practice its rituals.57 Every ritual follows a conventionalized choreography, yet, changes are easier in contexts without fixed space because built space reduces flexibility.58 Similarly, burial rituals have a  fixed sequence of   behaviour, material equipment, and investments in the burial itself. The burial rituals of   the PPNA were deeply rooted in the traditions of   the Epipalaeolithic, but during the Pre-Pottery Neolithic there was an increase in secondary collective burials (e.g. in Abu Hureyra 59) and in detached skulls reburied in groups. This trend culminated during the middle PPNB in the displaying and reburial of   single or  groups of   plastered skulls.60 Thus, the reburial of   skulls was nothing new; but the plastering attempted to preserve the social status quo beyond death. The exhibition of  skulls probably aimed at a communal veneration. This veneration of  selected individuals, the ritualized treatment of  the plastered skulls, and the communal efforts to  perpetrate the special status of   these individuals even after death also hint at the existence of  at least some authorities. Thus in the Levant, collective memory was not guided by collectively fixed symbols but by relations among people. This does not necessarily mean that the plastered skulls were intended to  perpetuate the memory of   specific individuals; the purpose might also have been to exalt the memory of   an anonymous collective of  ancestors. And even after reburying, there seems to have been intentional efforts to  perpetuate memory.61 For example, on the PPNB site of   Tell Aswad Danielle Stordeur and her colleagues proved that the place where the skulls were reburied must 57  I will not argue that architecture imposes a  certain kind of    behaviour. As the change of   use of   many churches proves, form does not entirely dictate content: churches may become music halls or  museums, even if  nothing is changed on  their facade. However, their architecture favours large assemblies, access to the building can be controlled, and, if  the architecture is closed, people can be excluded from participating in  – and even from watching – the rituals. On the other hand, a structure of   small rooms, which cannot be used for communal rituals will never become a temple or a town hall. 58 Watkins, ‘Architecture as  “Theatres of    Memory” in  the Neolithic of  Southwest Asia’, pp. 97–106. 59   Molleson, ‘The People of  Abu Hureyra’, pp. 301–24. 60  Benz, ‘Beyond Death – the Construction of  Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to Farming’. 61  See Kuijt, ‘The Regeneration of    Life. Neolithic Structure of   Symbolic Remembering and Forgetting’, pp. 171–97.

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have been visible as a small elevation, and some later inhumations were clearly positioned in relation to the skulls.62 At other sites, e.g. Ramad and Jericho, the skulls were often reburied in relation to  architectural features, which were probably visible.63 Some of   the isolated skulls were reburied inside the houses, others were reburied in  open, probably public, spaces. Also, the time invested in burial practices and permanence was increased by the plastering of  the skulls. At only a few sites of  the Middle and Upper Euphrates-Tigris – such as  Körtik Tepe,64 Halula,65 Dja’de,66 Abu Hureyra,67 Nevalı Ҫori,68 and Ҫayönü 69 – a sufficient number of  burials have been excavated to conduct a reliable analysis of   burial traditions in that region, and most of   these sites await a detailed, final publication of  their burials. For the moment, we can only notice that although the tradition of  skull burials existed there too, a regionwide tradition of   skull-plastering did not.70 And in  contrast to the Levant, every site had its own particular burial traditions. An interesting trend can be observed in the Euphrates-Tigris region concerning the mediality of  the figurative representations. Besides painted pictures, which probably existed long before the Neolithic, during the a-ceramic Neolithic, many representations are worked in  stone, either incised or  in  high relief. In  contrast 62   Stordeur and Khawam, ‘Les crânes surmodelés de Tell Aswad (PPNB, Syrie). Premier regard sur l’ensemble, premières réflexions’, pp. 5–32. 63  Benz, ‘Beyond Death – the Construction of   Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to  Farming’, pp.  254–61, p.  265. It should be noted that many skull burials were excavated in  the 1950s to  1980s, without clear descriptions of   the surrounding deposits. Thus, a  more precise documentation of  the context might prove, that the observations made at Tell Aswad are the rule rather than the exception. 64  Özkaya, ‘Excavations at Körtik Tepe. A New Pre-Pottery Neolithic A Site in Southeastern Anatolia’, p. 5. 65  Guerrero and others, ‘Seated Memory’, pp. 379–91. 66  Coqueugniot, ‘Dja’de el Mughara (Ja’det al-Moghara)’, pp. 65–70. 67  Molleson, ‘The people of  Abu Hureyra’, pp. 301–24. 68  Hauptmann, ‘Urfa Region’, pp. 70–74. 69  Özdoğan, ‘Çayönü’, pp. 35–63. 70   This does not mean that the methods of   plastering were identical everywhere in the Levant (Goren and others, ‘The Technology of   Skull Modelling in the Pre-Pottery Neolithic B (PPNB)’, pp. 671–90), but simply that the ritual of  skull-plastering was a common practice in the region from the southern Dead Sea region to Damascus Basin.

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to  paintings, which can be simply painted over, it is  difficult to erase a  relief. Klaus Schmidt observed a  small number of  alterations and erasures on the pillars of   Göbekli Tepe,71 but in most cases carved stones in ritual places were made for ‘eternity’. Changes could be made only through deliberate destruction, as  happened to  many of   the communal buildings, or  abandonment.72 Collective memory was thus fixed in  stone and could be erased only by intentional, time-consuming, effort. The past became a  created medium actively influencing the present and the future, unless it was intentionally erased or  destroyed. Yet to do so demanded a high degree of   self-confidence: fixing symbolic traditions in stone fosters conservative thinking by making change difficult. This establishment of   a fixed repertoire of   symbols on  stone had important effects on  the behaviour of   the people. In  the same manner that architecture influences the perception of   a landscape and the behaviour of  people, a fixed collective symbolic repertoire influences the behaviour and the memory of   people. The fixing of   symbolism on stone and the plastering of   the dead restricted the flexible and reflexive use of   symbolic actions and dictated more ritualized and standardized social interactions.73 Recent neurobiological studies show that memory can be guided and even falsified by representations of   collectively accepted memory.74 This means that by collective repetition and public demonstration of   some distinctive symbols and topics, the perception and the focus of  people can be influenced and channelled in certain directions. Control over the representation of  symbols is  thus one of   the most important means of   creating corporate identity. 71  Schmidt, Sie bauten die ersten Tempel, p. 125, p. 141, p. 184; Morenz and Schmidt, ‘Große Reliefpfeiler und kleine Zeichentäfelchen – Ein frühneolithisches Zeichensystem in Obermesopotamien’, p. 22. 72  Özdoğan, ‘Çayönü’, p. 47, p. 52; Yartah, ‘Tell ‘Abr 3, un village du néolithique précéramique (PPNA) sur le Moyen Euphrate. Première approche’, p.  142; Rollefson, ‘Ritual and Social Structure at Neolithic ’Ain Ghazal’, pp. 165–90, esp. p. 179. 73 Interestingly, this trend is  also mirrowed in  other accessories: the use of   semi-precious stones for jewellery increased and other stone objects were recylced for jewellry; see Alarashi, ‘Epipalaeolithic and Neolithic Personal Adornments from Syria (12th–7th Millennium BC)’, pp. 46–47. 74  Edelson and others, ‘Following the Crowd’, pp. 108–11.

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But this is  only one aspect of   the observed change in mediality. As has been shown above, the same symbols or signs were represented on  very different media: large stone pillars, stone vessels and plates, and even small bone amulets. The presence of  the same motives on several media and in many different places not only increased their influence on the collective memory, but also implied a  large communicative network and a  fixed basic common sense. The high degree of   abstraction of   some symbols underlines this. Within this network every group developed its own unique figures. A third aspect concerning the new mediality should not be forgotten: investment of   time and work. Not only was permanence increased but also the investment of   time and work in symbolic behaviour. This was especially true for the large stone pillars of  Göbekli Tepe; but the plastered skulls and the elaborate decorated stone vessels of  the Upper Euphrates-Tigris region were also labour-in­tensive objects. Investment in  something enhances one’s relationship to  it; and if  this work is  done collectively, it also enhances collective relationships and memory. Collective activities in common symbolism enhance collective cultural memory.75

Power and Fear – Emotional Aspects The second change concerns the emotions evoked by the representations. Most of   the animals depicted at ‘PPNA-’sites in the Middle and Upper Euphrates-Tigris region are frightening and display power, especially male power, with sharp teeth, wide opened mouths, erect penises, or aggressive poses. Some of  them, such as  scorpions and snakes, are intrinsically lethal. Details of  interpretation of   such animals can differ from one culture to another: snakes, for example, were sometimes associated with reincarnation or with the cycle of  death and life.76 But in general, these creatures are always viewed as dangerous, threatening ani75  The importance of   symbols for the collective memory has already been emphasized by Maurice Halbwachs, see Wetzel, Maurice Halbwachs, pp. 76–77. 76  Bader, ‘Was ist eigentlich ein Symbol?’, pp. 18–19.

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mals, especially if  one thinks about the ‘highly venomous vipers from the Urfa region’.77 Whereas in  the Palaeolithic, wild animals for hunting and pregnant/well-fed women (perhaps originally symbols of  fertility and reproduction) were pictured, in the Holocene we see, besides carnivores and hunted wild animals such as boars, small animals like snakes, spiders, or scorpions – all bound to the ground. These animals did not appear in  the repertoire of  Palaeolithic huntergatherers but are nearly ubiquitous in the early Holocene cultures of  the Euphrates and Tigris region. Even if  these representations were actually not frightening (anymore), there may have been emotional reactions because once in  human history such encounters, e.g. with a  poisonous snake, were frightening.78 Even the mere picture of  a lion rearing up with wide-open jaws can create a sense of   respect or a certain amount of  fear. By contrast, the presence of  a lion cub, with its round eyes and small mouth, causes in most people a warm sense of  affection. None of   these figurative themes has been found so  far in the symbolic repertoire of    the PPNA communities in  the Levant. Figurative representations there are mostly restricted to three-dimensional clay, plaster, or  stone figurines. This is of  importance when it comes to  the different ways in  which corporate identity and collective memory were created in  the Euphrates-Tigris region and in  the Levant – a  topic I  have discussed elsewhere.79

The Process of  Sedentarization as Seen from the Perspectives of  Neurobiology and Social Science The advent of   the Holocene is characterized by a concentration of   sites, especially near permanent water sources, and an increase

77 Peters and Schmidt, ‘Animals in  the Symbolic World of    Pre-Pottery Neolithic Göbekli Tepe, South-eastern Turkey’, pp. 179–204, esp. p. 183. 78  Andreas Mühlberger cited in Kraft, ‘Der Angst auf  den Fersen’, pp. 33–38, esp. p. 34. 79   Benz, ‘Beyond Death – the Construction of  Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to Farming’.

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in average site size.80 In these villages communal structures were very common,81 and at the same time the mediality and emotional content of   the symbols changed. Fear, power, and permanence are expressed in  the symbolic repertoire of   the early Holocene in the Euphrates and Tigris region. From a  psychological point of  view, the changes in  mediality and emotional commitment at the beginning of   the Holocene are striking. In  the following I  will interpret these changes in  the light of   recent research in the social sciences and neurobiology. Both the fear of   relative deprivation and its actual condition are two motors of   our motivations and behaviour.82 Whether or  not we experience actual social or  material deprivation, if  our situation is  at odds with our expectations, we normally try to change it. Therefore, what matters is not the actual situation, but our perception of   it. Expectations are created by personal experience, by past events, or  by comparison with the situation of   others. Consider, for example, a  wealthy person born into a rich family and educated in an exclusive prep school. For such an individual, wealth is ‘normal’ and if  he would lose it he would feel hardship and he might be afraid of   being excluded from his peer-group. Presumably he will do all he can to  avoid this. By contrast, an individual who never had true wealth would probably not feel deprived unless brought into close social contact with wealthy people. It would then depend on the social system whether or  not this relatively poor individual would be shunned by his new associates or  socially accepted and treated with respect. Hardly less important than material deprivation is  social deprivation. By constitution, humans are not able to live without the cooperation of   other people. Many studies show that social deprivation has fundamental biological and social consequences for our lives, from the first glimpse of  light (probably even before  Benz, Die Neolithisierung im Vorderen Orient, pp. 68–69.   Finlayson and others, ‘Architecture, Sedentism, and Social Complexity at Pre-Pottery Neolithic A WF16, Southern Jordan’; Yartah, ‘Les bâtiments communautaires de Tell ‘Abr 3 (PPN A, Syrie)’; Stordeur and others, ‘Les bâtiments communautaires de Jerf  el Ahmar et Mureybet, Horizon PPNA. Syrie’; Schmidt, Sie bauten die ersten Tempel. 82  Giddens, Sociology, p. 628. 80

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birth) until the days before death. Babies lacking someone upon whom they can rely will have difficulties forming long-lasting social relationships later in  life. This is  not only a  psychological effect but it changes the physiology of   our brain.83 It is  well known, that people who experience social deprivation, who are being bullied, or  excluded from their peer groups, will react with fear or  aggressiveness. A  loss of   confidence, for example because of  increased anonymity or  misbehaviour, leads to a decrease in our capacity for empathy. The physiological effects are very illuminating: confidence promotes the flow of  oxytocin, a hormone that enhances the capability for empathy, whereas distrust inhibits the flow of   oxytocin and increases the flow of  testosterone, which is  well-known for enhancing the level of  aggression.84 If  we properly understand the social consequences of   sedentarization and increased population density (Fig. 11), we may be able to interpret the symbols in a more fundamental way. Immediate, probably unintended, consequences of    sedentarization may (inner grey ring) include: 1. An increase in  illnesses, and the rise of   new illnesses resulting from the increase in population density. This would have in­ creased the fear of  the unknown, since the real cause of illnesses was unknown 2. Anonymity would have increased because of   the increase in population and settlement area. In consequence, fear of  social isolation, and aggressive behaviour due to  depersonalisation might have increased 85  Bauer, Prinzip Menschlichkeit. Warum wir von Natur aus kooperieren.   Although several studies demonstrate that the administration of  oxytocin enhances abilities in  affective ‘mindreading’ in  both sexes, sexual dimorphism in  reactions to  social stimuli have to  be expected. Whereas an attenuating effect of   oxytocin on  the amygdala activity has been observed for men, further research is needed to determine the reactions of   women, who seem to react with an increased amygdala activity when presented with fearful faces (Domes and others, ‘Oxytocin Improves “Mind-Reading” in  Humans’, pp.  731–33; Domes and others, ‘Effects of   Intranasal Oxytocin on  Emotional Face Processing in Women’, pp. 83–93, esp. p. 84, pp. 92–93; Bauer, Schmerzgrenze. Vom Ursprung alltäglicher und globaler Gewalt, p. 188). 85  Bauer, Schmerzgrenze. Vom Ursprung alltäglicher und globaler Gewalt, p. 176, pp. 187–88. 83

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Fig. 11 Possible social and mental consequences of  increased sedentarism. Drawing by the author.

3. A reduction in birth spacing within sedentary hunter-gatherer societies has been observed in ethnography.86 If  this was also the case for prehistoric hunter-gatherers who became sedentary, it may have resulted in  a  decrease of   the intensity and duration of  infant care.87 If  babies cannot establish a confidential relationship to  other persons, a  decrease in  neurological capacities to  establish permanent social relations may be the consequence.88 This may have led to  an increase of   anxious,

 Benz, Die Neolithisierung im Vorderen Orient, pp. 111–14.   This effect does not depend on the total number of  children in families, it depends on the number of   children delivered within a short period of   time, and it may also occur with an increased workload of   the adults responsible for infant care. For example, a social organisation of   extended families may have absorbed this effect. 88  Bauer, Prinzip Menschlichkeit. Warum wir von Natur aus kooperieren, pp. 36–37, p. 80. 86

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aggressive, and impulsive behaviour.89 The consequence would be an increase in  fissional tendencies and an increase in  the number of  people searching for social acceptance: such people are vulnerable to religious and political manipulation90 4. Misconduct against the local mores became easier as  social control decreased in larger groups91 These basic changes may have led to important social challenges with interdependent emotional reactions: 1. Sharing, which is a basic, culturally trained behaviour in small mobile groups of   hunter-gatherers,92 was no longer possible with everybody, and was probably restricted to  a  smaller group within larger communities.93 The decrease of   social control and the increase of   anonymity made it easier to cheat. The social networks/risk management was threatened, hence the fear of   social deprivation and material deprivation increased for some persons/groups living in  less favourable conditions 2. The ability of    sedentary hunter-gatherers to  store goods resulted in the decline of   the moral of   sharing and made it possible to establish social inequality permanently. Yet, when material inequality is  allowed to  develop indepen­ dent of  personal merit, this inequality will be experienced as unfair. Humans have an innate sense of   justice. If  this sense is  not satisfied, feelings of   aggression will arise. The process of  commodification  94 – the assignment of   values not only to material goods, but also to  services, landscapes, etc. by convention – increased this trend. Both, the sense of   injus-

89 Bauer, Schmerzgrenze. Vom Ursprung alltäglicher und globaler Gewalt, p. 86, pp. 119–20. 90 Krohne, Psychologie der Angst. Ein Lehrbuch, p. 366. 91 Benz, Die Neolithisierung im Vorderen Orient, pp, 127–28. 92   Property and Equality – Ritualisation, Sharing, Egalitarianism, ed.  by Widlok and Tadesse; Guenther, ‘Sharing among the San, Today, Yesterday, and in the Past’, pp. 105–36. 93  Benz, ‘The Principle of  Sharing – An Introduction’, pp. 1–18. 94  Gebel, ‘Commodification and the Formation of    Early Neolithic Social Identity. The Issues as Seen from the Southern Jordanian Highlands’, pp. 44–45.

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tice and the denial of certain commodities, probably resulted in increased aggression 3. Confidence decreased, with behavioural and biological con­ sequences,95 and the fear of  the ‘other’ increased 96 Fear, aggression, and a  sense of   deprivation would have made the new system unbearable for those living under it, unless new morals and social systems absorbed the aggressiveness. It should be emphasized that the above listed consequences are hypothetical considerations, not established facts. Every effect may have been counteracted by new social and moral rules.97 But even if  traditional moral and social systems, like the ‘principle of  sharing’, would still have survived increased population density and increased territorial commitment would probably have led to  conflicts, frustration, as  well as  other, major social problems. However, the material remains suggest that the use of   a conventionalized repertoire of   symbols and ritual practices helped ameliorate the social stress resulting from an increased population density.

Making the Invisible Visible How does all this relate to  the increased use of   symbols, the increase in  fear-evoking images, and the establishment of   a common symbolic repertoire during the early Holocene? 1. A  general feeling of   fear and uncertainty because of   the loss of   social relations might be the reason for the increase of threatening animals in  the symbolic repertoire. As elaborated elsewhere, the transition from a  weak to  a  strong commitment to a place was not possible without the reduction of   the principle of   sharing to  include only a  small, circumscribed group.98 This meant the loss of   secure social bonds and material equality  Bauer, Schmerzgrenze. Vom Ursprung alltäglicher und globaler Gewalt, p. 119. 96  Lacan cited in Widmer, ‘Angst und Furcht’, pp. 18–22. 97  For evidence of    conflict mitigation in  early Neolithic communities, see Gebel, ‘Conflict and Conflict Mitigation in  Early Near Eastern Sedentism. Reflections’, pp. 32–35, esp. p. 34. 98 Benz, Die Neolithisierung im Vorderen Orient, pp. 122–32. 95

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for some people. The threatening attitude of   some depicted animals, like e.g. the boars, might be explained by the damage they can cause in the fields or to the herds of  incipient farmers. In the same vein, the representations of   snakes and scorpions might be explained by a  changed focus of   former hunter-gatherers to farmers working the earth. Yet, the threatening gestures of  many of  the animals cannot be explained solely by this. The represented animals – be it their threatening gestures or their death-bringing nature – might be interpreted as  symbols for a  different type of  fear: transfer of   fear and guilt is  a  common psychological phenomenon.99 The darkness in  some of   the communal buildings may have increased the aggressive and threatening appearance of   the animals. Fear not only makes people aggressive, but insecure people look for acceptance and assistance from more dominant people; therefore they will more easily and willingly accept the authority and control of  such individuals.100 Maybe the hunters and gatherers of  the Early Neolithic tried to liberate themselves from these fears by the depiction of   dangerous animals, thus demonstrating their power over them. These representations of   threatening animals fit well with the increasingly numerous representations of   humans, because in a dangerous situation fearful people concentrate more on themselves and their reactions, as  they search for solutions to  the problems confronting them.101 On the other hand, powerful agencies might have realized the role of   fear in human motivations and intentionally used the threatening animals to create a climate of  fear in order to enhance the need felt by the group for the assistance of   that person or clique. This scenario seems less probable in  a  world of  huntergatherers and shamans, in which the personal dominance of  one person outside his/her personal range and skills is unimaginable. Such political reasoning has only been proven for social systems

  Krohne, Psychologie der Angst. Ein Lehrbuch, pp. 200–01.   Krohne, Psychologie der Angst. Ein Lehrbuch, pp. 365–67. 101  Krohne, Psychologie der Angst. Ein Lehrbuch, pp. 343–44.

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with already established inequalities.102 Nevertheless, it cannot be excluded for early Holocene communities that an ambience of  fear was intentionally created for political reasons. Anthony Cohen has noted that the use of   symbols, regardless of  type, is enhanced if  communities perceive a threat to their socio-political or  geophysical order in  times of   fundamental change.103 2. The above mentioned social consequences of   increasing site permanence and population density carry a  high potential for dissatisfaction and aggression. This aggression and the resulting tendency for social groups to  fission can only be avoided through cultural means. Even if  deep feelings of   aggression arise, our rationality, which is  guided by moral and social conventions, can keep us from reacting on the basis of   those feelings.104 If  new moral and social systems were applied to influence emotional reactions, negative emotions could be at least partly diminished. People in  the Neolithic saw themselves challenged by the new living conditions and had to  prevent aggressive behaviour. I therefore argue that they had to find new moral and social systems and that the increase of  symbols – the search for a common imagery to make communication in larger networks possible and meaningful – can be explained as a first step in creating permanent commitment and in  accepting social and material inequalities. Once the symbolic repertoire (architectural, ritual, and figurative) had been fixed, people had to accept these codes in order not to be ostracised from communication and social networks. Watkins attributes the increase of   symbols to enhanced cognitive capacities.105 Yet, the flexible social structures of  modern hunter-gatherers106 rather suggest that symbolic devices only became necessary when sedentary life was adopted. Only then did

  See e.g. Assmann, ‘Altägyptische Ängste’, pp. 59–73, esp. p. 68.  Cohen, The Symbolic Construction of  Community, pp. 99–109. 104 Bauer, Schmerzgrenze. Vom Ursprung alltäglicher und globaler Gewalt, p. 107. 105  Watkins, ‘Changing People, Changing Environments’, pp. 110–11. 106  For example, see Guenther, ‘Sharing among the San, Today, Yesterday, and in the Past’, p. 127. 102 103

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it become necessary to find social media for increased mediation and group commitment. I suggest that prehistoric hunter-gatherers in  transition to a Neolithic way of   life decided to demonstrate their social commitment to  others and fix their communal commitment for ‘eternity’ in order to prevent their communities from breaking up. Above all, fear and possibly the exploitation of   this fear by some potent individuals, be it shamans, priests or  other mediators, became a topic of  public discourse. Therefore, it is not important to  our understanding of   them whether the threatening animals were depicted in order to demonstrate the danger itself  or rather the overcoming of   the dangers, whether the animals represented (apotropaic) symbols of/against an invisible danger (illness, death, demons), or  rather a  demonstration of   human dominance over these dangerous animals. What is important is that people experienced a  collective fear (whether real or  not) that had to  be overcome collectively. The ethologist Tomasello has pointed out that ‘the best way to motivate people to collaborate and to think like a group is to identify an enemy’107 and we may add that the successful collective victory over such a  danger/enemy is  an even stronger argument for an increased commitment to  a  group or  even for the acceptance of  social hierarchies.

Conclusion Returning to  the question of    the visible and the invisible, I  have argued that we can learn more about the religious and spiritual aspects of   prehistoric life if  we do not limit ourselves to the content of   symbolic behaviour – in which I include constructed, ritual, and representational symbolism – but instead also consider mediality and the emotions evoked by the symbols. Anthropological and neurobiological theories help us interpret and better understand two fundamental changes at the beginning of   the Holocene: the change in  mediality from a  rather flexible use of  symbols to a fixed repertoire in stone, plaster and clay; and the change in  symbols from emotionally rather neutral (or  not   Tomasello and others, Why We Cooperate, p. 100.

107

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openly aggressive) symbols to symbols that represent power and/ or evoke fear. Whether this fear was caused by social instability or  was intentionally created or  enhanced by self-interested individuals or power-blocs in the community, remains an interesting but academic question. In any case, a powerful individual or  more probably a  group of   individuals108 could have used the socially fragile situation to their own advantage by exploiting the fear of   the other group members and their sense of   the need for strong leadership respectively.109 In an interdependent process, sedentarization created new morals and social values. In a sedentary community, the potential of   aggression was enhanced. Yet, as long as no cooperative workloads were necessary to  guarantee survival, spontaneous fission was not problematic. However, with increased social differentiation and/or incipient farming, dependence on  other group members increased. Additionally, as population density increases, generalized reciprocity must be limited to  a  certain group of  people. It thus became necessary to create media, which enhanced the corporate identity of   a circumscribed group, in  order to avoid uncontrolled fissions. Social instability and resulting fears probably favoured the acceptance of   some kind of   authority. By the creation and expression of   a fixed repertoire of   symbols, these fears could be made visible and extended from a  personal psychological problem to a collective external one. The corporate identity could thus be enhanced above the level of  ‘intimate’ or ‘effective cooperation’.110 108  Benz, ‘Beyond Death – the Construction of    Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to  Farming’, pp.  269–70; Rollefson, ‘Blood Loss’, pp. 183–202. 109 Krohne, Psychologie der Angst. Ein Lehrbuch, p. 379. 110  Watkins, ‘Changing People, Changing Environments’, p.  111; Krämer, ‘Einige Überlegungen zur “verkörperten” und “reflexiven” Angst’, pp.  25–34, esp. p.  29. There is  no need to  posit an increase in  brain capacity to  explain the increase in the use of   symbols. The danger of   circular reasoning in such an evolutionistic argument is  obvious: archaeological data are used for the reconstruction of   the development of   social capacities of   homo sapiens sapiens, and then archaeologists use the hypotheses of   neurobiologists to explain the changes in archaeological data. There is an on-going discussion especially concerning the appearance of   art between 40,000–30,000 (For example Gamble and others, ‘The Social Brain and the Shape of  the Palaeolithic’, pp. 115–35). The new social challenges caused by permanent cohabitation required new mental capacities. Our brain and our genes are not immutable, and thus in  a  dialectical process

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In the Levant, collective memory relied basically on personal relationships, whereas in the Middle and Upper Euphrates-Tigris region collective commitment was expressed through a  fixed symbolism in  architecture and figurative art. Although without any written sources we will not be able to  prove that any particular image represents a  deity (Warmind, this volume), the material remains from the earliest Holocene suggest that the new mediality linked to fear paved the way to the rise of   powerful authorities with the exclusive power to  create and interpret symbols, memory, and moral codes, which of   course is  the base of   religious institutions.111 Collective memory became a dictum. The sedentary hunters and gatherers of   the early Holocene thus paved the way to religion through the acceptance of  standardization and authority, and by making the invisible visible and even tangible.

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Abstract Ever since Robert Braidwood coined his phrase ‘culture was not ready’, mental, religious, and social factors have often been emphasized as the conditions necessary for the adoption of  farming. Well-known authorities like Jacques Cauvin,112 Ian Hodder,113 and Brian Hayden114 suggested that religious and socio-ideological changes prompted the domestication of  plants and animals, and tried to reconstruct the content of  early Neolithic religion and ideology. But their conclusions were based upon a projection of  much later conditions back into early Holocene societies and are thus highly speculative. I will argue that the mediality of, and the emotions evoked by, the symbolism of  the early Holocene societies can tell us much about those societies’ mental conditions. In  the Middle and Upper Euphrates and Tigris regions at the beginning of  the Pre-Pottery Neolithic A, a fairly standardized repertoire of  architectural and figurative symbols appears. In  the southern Levant, the elaborate plastered skull burials point to  large networks of  communication from the southern Dead Sea to  the Damascus Basin. An increase in  the permanence of  symbolism and its public display, as  well as  an increased investment of   labour and time in  symbolic activities (architecture, rituals, figurative art) can be observed. On the basis of  new anthropological and neurobiological research, I will argue that this increased use of   symbolism not only created a  corporate identity above the group level, but it was also a first step toward the institutionalisation of   moral and social codes, and toward authority, domination, and ultimately religion.

 Cauvin, Naissance des Divinités – Naissance de l’Agriculture.  Hodder, The Domestication of  Europe. 114 Hayden, ‘Contrasting Expectations in  Theories of    Domestication’, pp. 11–19. 112 113

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DEATH, FEASTING, AND MEMORY CULTURE AT EARLY NEOLITHIC SHKĀRAT MSAIED, SOUTHERN JORDAN *

There is  strong suggestive evidence for an explosion of   symbols during the early West Asian Neolithic or, as Marion Benz coins it elsewhere in  this volume,1 for a  vastly increased quantity and intensity of   ‘mediality’. This inspired Jacques Cauvin to suggest that the Early Neolithic witnessed nothing less than the ‘Birth of   the Gods’.2 The evidence includes a  wide variety of   architecture, visual imagery, and mortuary evidence, found in  contexts suggestive of   highly ritualized practices. I am not going to review the evidence here, partly because Benz does so in her contribution to this volume, partly because much of   it seems to have bypassed the Early Neolithic site of   Shkārat Msaied, which is the subject of  discussion here (Fig. 1).3 Nevertheless, there does seem to be some evidence at Shkārat Msaied of   relevance to  our quest, which is  to be presented and discussed in  the pages that follow. Apart from a  single figurine, *  I owe a debt of  gratitude to Aiysha Abu-Laban, Pernille Bangsgaard, Mette Marie Hald, Merete Pryds Helle, Anne Mette Harpelund, Charlott Hoffmann Jensen, Marie Louise Jørkov, Lea Kaliszan, Susanne Kerner, Mikkel Bille, Moritz Kinzel, Niels Lynnerup, and Ingolf  Thuesen, with all of   whom I shared the burdens and pleasures of   fieldwork at Shkārat Msaied. Their insights contributed to  the development of   the ideas presented here. I  am also grateful to Pernille Carstens, Trine Björnung Hasselbalch, Niels Peter Lemche, Michael Perlt, and Lars Östmann of   the BiCuM, for discussion and suggestions. Thanks are likewise due to  the organizers and conference participants for discussion of  important issues. Finally, I thank Ingolf  Thuesen and Moritz Kinzel for reading and commenting on  the manuscript and Stephen Lumsden for correcting my English and for stimulating discussions about the contents of  the paper. 1  Benz, this volume. 2 Cauvin, The Birth of  the Gods and the Origins of  Agriculture, trans. by Watkins. 3  Shkārat Msaied mainly dates to the Middle Pre-Potery Neolithic B (MPPNB) c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114431 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp. 169–197  © 

FHG

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Shkarat Msaied

Fig. 1 Map showing the location of  Shkārat Msaied. Drawing by Moritz Kinzel. Drawing courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project.

which will not be discussed here,4 the evidence is highlighted in three find categories: 1. There is human skeletal material indicative of   elaborate, prolonged, and highly transformative mortuary practices 2. There is evidence to suggest that feasting on early domestic animals was associated with mortuary practices 3. There is evidence to suggest that some architectural elements served as mnemonic devices I will attempt in the following pages to review this evidence and to  offer an interpretation that brings these three categories of  evidence together in a cohesive totality.   For example, see Jensen and others, ‘Preliminary Report on the Excavations at Shqarat Al-Musayid, 1999–2004’, p. 130, fig. 21. 4

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Shkārat Msaied Shkārat Msaied is situated in the sandstone-mountains near Petra, in Jordan, and c. 1000 m above sea level. Presently, the vegetation is  dominated by a  low density of   stone oak, some juniper and pistachio as well as shrubs and other sparse vegetation. No permanent spring is located within less than two hours walking distance, but during our work at Shkārat Msaied, we have observed that under today’s conditions water is  sometimes close to  the surface of   the seasonal wadi-bed nearby which the site is  situated, even in  late summer. Hence ‘harvesting’, or  as  formulated by Hans Georg K. Gebel ‘domestication’ of   water during the Early Neolithic is a distinct possibility.5 Because of   the erosion of   the southern and western edges of   the site, as well as recent construction, the area of   the settlement during the Neolithic is  not known. However, more than 1000  m2 of   well-preserved oval to  circular architectural units are still preserved, of   which approximately 600  m2 have been excavated to date (Fig. 2).6

Fig. 2 Site plan of  Shkārat Msaied. Drawing by Moritz Kinzel. Drawing courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project.   Gebel, ‘The Domestication of  Water’, pp. 25–36.   Kinzel and others, ‘Insights into PPNB Architectural Transformation, Human Burials, and Initial Conservation Works’, p. 42. 5

6

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Members of  the small community who lived at Shkārat Msaied in the Early Neolithic seem to have practiced a transhumant pattern of   seasonal movement. The village was apparently a  main campsite for the inhabitants, whereas seasonal movements would have taken them up to  the plateau at c.  1500  m, and down to Wadi Araba. They were herders of   sheep and goats, of   which the latter were predominant. According to Pernille Bangsgaard 7 these animals were still in  an early state of   domestication. In  addition to  herded animals, scant skeletal evidence suggests the hunting of   large and small game, such as  cattle, gazelle, pig, wild ass, and cape hare in  small quantities. A  few specimens of   wolf, Asiatic jackal, fox, wild cat, and leopard have also been identified; and there are a  relatively high proportion of   bones from birds of   prey, as well. Further, there is evidence for gathering or  harvesting of   seasonally available plants, including cereal grasses identified as emmer, although, according to Mette Marie Hald, it cannot yet be determined if  these are genetically wild or domesticated.8 One or  two villages that may overlap chronologically with Shkārat Msaied, are located within one day’s journey, i.e. Beidha 9 and, possibly, Ghwair I.10 Additionally, the trip from the plateau to the east, to the bottom of   Wadi Araba to the west, could be traversed in one or two days, depending on destination and the chosen path. Ongoing investigations at Shkārat Msaied indicate collective burial practices, which involved feasting on goats and sheep, to be discussed in  some detail below. There is  also evidence of   internal differentiation of   activities amongst production units in the village. This differentiation concerns a  variety of   activities, such as  the manufacture of   chipped stone tools and of   objects in ‘exotic’ materials like turquoise, possibly from the Sinai, and shells from the Red Sea, as well as seemingly more formalized activities. 7  Jensen and others, ‘Preliminary Report on  the Excavations at Shqarat Al-Musayid, 1999–2004’, pp. 131–34. 8 Jensen and others, ‘Preliminary Report on  the Excavations at Shqarat Al-Musayid, 1999–2004’, p. 131. 9  For example, see Byrd, Early Village Life at Beidha, Jordan. 10   For example, see Simmons and Najjar, ‘Ghwair I’, pp. 77–95.

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The most frequent category of   chipped stone tools is arrowheads of  various types, which will not be listed here in detail.11 A minor proportion of   these are nicely retouched. The significance of   this is  not clear, but if  indeed the nicely retouched arrowheads of  the period are to  be understood as  ‘prestigious’, as  suggested by Cauvin,12 the prestige is likely to have been in the acts of  receiving, displaying, and passing them on, more than in simply possessing them. If  indeed arrowheads played important roles, both as a category of   weapon and as a status symbol, one would certainly feel tempted to  follow Cauvin and others in  the notion that warfare may have played a  role in  interaction.13 Especially, considering the generally reduced significance of  hunting in the Early Neolithic, as is clearly suggested by the frequency of   wild animal bones in our sample.14 Consequently, together with the evidence for the exchange of   exotic materials and goods this implies that exchange was probably not only a  matter of   maintaining social ties, but also a  matter of   competition, within and between groups, which may have been regularly or  occasionally resolved through warfare.15

Architecture Some 18 housing units were recovered in the excavated area, plus additional architectural features. The architecture consisted of  oval or circular stone built houses with smaller rooms, stone-built enclosures, and partition walls in  between (Fig.  2). The houses are constructed on terraces. Those in the northern section of  the excavated area have floor areas of  roughly 9–11  m2, whereas those in the southern part have floor areas of c. 15–25 m2. Some structures, such as Units E and F, were built on top of earlier cir-

11 Jensen and others, ‘Preliminary Report on  the Excavations at Shqarat Al-Musayid, 1999–2004’, pp. 125–34. 12  Cauvin, ‘The Symbolic Foundations of   the Neolithic Revolution in the Near East’, p. 243. 13   Hermansen, ‘Supra-regional Concepts from a Local Perspective’, p. 36. 14 Jensen and others, ‘Preliminary Report on  the Excavations at Shqarat Al-Musayid, 1999–2004’, pp. 131–34. 15  Hermansen, ‘Supra-regional Concepts from a Local Perspective’, p. 36.

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cular buildings, suggesting a  multi-phase occupation of the site.16 All structures appear to  have had a  flat roof, and we can document that at least one building had walls standing to a  height of   2.12  m, or  perhaps as  much as  2.28.17 The finds in and around the smaller buildings in  the northern and eastern parts of   the site suggest that these units were associated with craft production and domestic activities. At least some of   the larger houses in the central and southern parts of   the excavated area would seem to have been employed for communal purposes. This is especially the case for Unit F, which contained just about all of   the burials recovered at the site, except for a  single burial in  association with Unit  R. Other structures, such as  Units  H and  K, reveal no evidence for their use and significance during the Early Neolithic, although the entryway to the latter has a distinctly monumental appearance, as will be shown below. House clusters were separated by narrow passages, some of  which were paved with stone slabs. These passages could originally have facilitated a  free flow of   movement throughout the village, but over time, they were blocked by dividing walls, which led to  a  compartmentalization of   formerly communal space. This progression also led to a reorganization of   craft production from being freely dispersed in communal space to being confined to  these more private spaces.18 These changes suggest an ongoing negotiation of   boundaries within the village, and possibly increasing social segregation. The houses in  the northern, eastern, and central parts of  the excavation all featured a peculiar architectural installation.19 This installation is constructed of   stone in all cases and is always located next to  the entrance inside the oval or  circular architectural units that characterize the habitation (Units A, B, C,

 Kinzel, Am Beginn des Hausbaus – Studien zur PPNB-Architektur von Shkārat Msaied und Ba’ja in der Petra-Region, Südjordanien. 17  Hermansen and others, ‘Shkārat Msaied’, p. 5. 18  Jensen, ‘Production Areas at MPPNB Shkārat Msaied, Southern Jordan’, pp.  22–26; Jensen, ‘Workshops and Activity Areas in  the PPNB-period’, pp.  331–44; Kinzel, ‘Überlegungen zur Wegeführung und Raumgestaltung in der neolithischen Architektur Südjordaniens’. 19  Hermansen and Jensen, ‘Notes on Some Features of  Possible Ritual Significance at MPPNB Shaqarat Mazyad, Southern Jordan’, pp. 91–101. 16

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D, F, and R). Characteristic of   the well-preserved examples is a vertical slab that extends above the installation itself, providing a focus of  attention for anybody entering or already inside these structures.

Fig. 3 Interior of  Unit A. Notice the stone installation next to doorway. Middle Pre-Pottery Neolithic (MPPNB) c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project.

In the best-preserved case, Unit A (Fig. 3), the installation is in the form of  a bench or table – perhaps an altar, if any difference was perceived. A  particularly large example was found inside Unit F (Fig.  4), which has been interpreted as  a  communal building set aside for mortuary rites, at least in part because the remains of a  c.  25–35 year old individual, probably a  woman, were found on top of  this installation,20 to be described in more detail below. 20 Jensen and others, ‘Preliminary Report on  the Excavations at Shqarat Al-Musayid, 1999–2004’, p. 125.

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Fig. 4 Interior of  Unit F. Notice the stone installation next to doorway. MPPNB, c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project.

The quite uniform location of  these installations will constitute an important part of   my argument, since it may be understood in terms of  what Hillier and Hanson have called a trans-spatial system.21 The excavations also uncovered the complete plan of   a large stone-built structure in the southern part of  the excavated area, Unit K (Fig. 5).22 This is one of  the most well preserved Early Neolithic buildings at Shkārat Msaied. Unit K has a floor area of  c. 18 m2 and the walls are preserved to a height of  c. 1.60 m, although the collapse fill indicates that the house walls originally stood somewhat higher. This building was constructed around a  wooden frame consisting of  a circle of  posts supporting the stone wall (Fig. 6).

Hillier and Hanson, The Social Logic of  Space, p. 144. Hermansen and others, ‘Shkārat Msaied’, pp.  5–7; Jensen and others, ‘Preliminary Report on  the Excavations at Shqarat Al-Musayid, 1999–2004’, pp. 119–34. 21

22

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Fig. 5. Interior of  Unit K. Notice staircases. MPPNB, c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project.

Fig. 6 Reconstruction drawing by Moritz Kinzel. Drawing courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project.

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A central post supported a  frame of   roof beams on  which was laid a construction of  wickerwork, mortar, and fist-sized stones, much as  can be observed in  more recent Bedouin stone architecture in  the area. This construction formed either a  flat roof or the floor of   a second storey, with a  fireplace. Unit K has two stone-built staircases set in  mortar (Fig.  5): One rather monumental staircase, to  the right on  the illustration, made from monolithic slabs and more than a  meter wide, leads six steps and roughly 1  m down from the Early Neolithic surface to the ground floor of  the structure. The other staircase, to the left, leads eight steps upwards from the ground floor along the wall, which supports our interpretation that this house had a substantial flat roof or a second storey. While it is impossible to calculate the absolute height of   the walls of   Unit K, the fill of the neighbouring Unit H (Fig. 7) suggests that the latter building would have stood to  a  height of   between 2.12  m and 2.28  m, as mentioned above.

Fig. 7 Unit H. Notice the collapsed wall in upper part of  the section. MPPNB c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project.

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The collapse fill of  many buildings at the site suggests that they were set deliberately on fire at the end of  their use life, and doorways were usually blocked.23 The details and significance of  this is to be dealt with elsewhere.24

Burial, Feasting, and Memory Excavation in  the building designated as  Unit F (Fig.  4), mentioned above, uncovered a  large structure with a  floor area of c. 25 m2. Unit F was built on top of  an earlier, smaller, and likewise circular house, part of  which was sealed beneath the floor of Unit F and part of  which was incorporated into its interior space as a visible architectural feature (Fig. 8). Hence as a reminder of

Fig. 8 Vertical stone slabs along the interior wall of  Unit F. Belonging to earlier (earliest?) house and incorporated in the visual field of  the interior of  Unit F. MPPNB c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project.

23 Kinzel and Hermansen, ‘The Built Environment of  the PPN – Changing Spaces for Changing Practices? The Case of  Shkārat Msaied’. 24 Kinzel and Hermansen, ‘The Built Environment of  the PPN – Changing Spaces for Changing Practices? The Case of  Shkārat Msaied’.

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the earlier building on  the spot, perhaps indeed a  reminder of village origins.25 This peculiar feature of  the past signifies Unit F as a palimpsest of  past and present. No surprise, therefore, that at some point in its use life Unit F was also set apart as an architectural frame for disposal of   the dead. Niels Lynnerup and especially Marie Louise Jørkov 26 have identified the remains of   a large number of   individuals inside this building, while only one additional burial was found outside of  it. As noted above, the remains of   a c.  25–35 year old person, probably a female were found on top of  the large stone installation just inside the doorway of  Unit F (Fig. 9).27 The arms had been placed inside the rib-cage, the legs in front of  it, and the skull and mandible had been severed from the body,

Fig. 9 Human remains on top of  stone installation in Unit F. View from the South. Notice that skull and mandible are missing. MPPNB c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Drawing by Niels Lynnerup, courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project. 25 For the power of   ‘the first wall’ in  a  more generalizing perspective, see Wilson, The Domestication of  the Human Species. 26 Jensen and others, ‘Preliminary Report on  the Excavations at Shqarat Al-Musayid, 1999–2004’, pp. 124–35; Hermansen and others, ‘Shkārat Msaied’, pp. 3–7; Kinzel and others, ‘Insights into PPNB Architectural Transformation, Human Burials, and Initial Conservation Works’, pp. 44–49. 27 Jensen and others, ‘Preliminary Report on  the Excavations at Shqarat Al-Musayid, 1999–2004’, pp. 124–35.

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probably, or at least possibly, having been removed in order to be subjected to  some sort of   ritual manipulation, as  was afforded some special individuals in the Early Neolithic.28 The preserved parts of   arms, legs, and rib cage were in  full articulation, sug­ gesting that soft tissue had not decayed completely when the body was fragmented. However, the placement of  the arms inside the rib cage suggests that intestines had been removed.

Fig. 10 Cist 1 with skeletal remains. MPPNB c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project.

As noted above, this was not the only burial in Unit F; at some time in  its use life several sub-floor stone cists, constructed of  sandstone slabs, had been placed beneath the original plaster floor.29 One of  these cists (for present purposes Cist 1) contained the bones of   around eight individuals (Fig.  10), six adults, and

28  For example, see Kuijt, ‘Keeping the Peace’, pp.  137–64; Benz, ‘Beyond Death – the Construction of   Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to Farming’, pp. 249–76. 29  Hermansen and others, ‘Shkārat Msaied’, p. 4; Kinzel and others, ‘Insights into PPNB Architectural Transformation, Human Burials, and Initial Con­ser­ vation Works’, p. 44.

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two sub-adults. The bones were sorted most carefully, so  that individual bodily identity was totally dissolved: 30

Fig. 11 Seven skulls arranged in the southern part of  Cist 1. MPPNB c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project. 30

30 The description that follows is  identical with Hermansen and others, ‘Shkārat Msaied’, p. 4.

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Seven skulls were placed in the southern part of  Cist 1 (Fig. 11), all but one standing upright and facing north. An eighth skull (of   an adult) was already fragmented when buried, since the fragments were found scattered in  the grave. A  rib cage and vertebral column were found at the bottom of   the cist in  fully anatomical order. Lower extremities of   one individual were found to  be lying in  an articulated position; however, the left and right side had been separated. Most of   the long bones had been placed in a north-south orientation together with the flat bones such as hips and scapulae. Mandibles were mostly strewn in the centre and surrounded by a scatter of   ribs and vertebrae. The last skull to  have been deposited in  this cist, with articulated mandible, was resting on the other skulls in the southern section. Three additional sub-floor cists were excavated. Two were empty, except for a  few fragmented bones and a  single large greenstone bead.31 The third (for present purposes, Cist 2) contained a messy scatter of   human bones.32 This is interesting, because the fill in between the cists revealed additional human bones, likewise scattered without any form of   articulation. The bones in  these two contexts had been deposited indiscriminately, and as opposed to the well-sorted bones in Cist 1, described formerly, there is no evidence of   body parts in articulation.33 It seems clear then that: 1. The ‘decapitated’ corpse found on  the stone installation in Unit F was relatively fresh with soft tissue still holding body parts together 2. The well-sorted bones found in Cist 1 stemmed from bodies in different states of   decomposition and hence perhaps, from people who died over a span of  at least some time 3. The bones scattered in  Cist 2 and in  the floor fill stemmed from bodies with little if  any soft tissue left. This of   course   Hermansen and others, ‘Shkārat Msaied’, p. 4.   Kinzel and others, ‘Insights into PPNB Architectural Transformation, Human Burials, and Initial Conservation Works’, p. 44. 33  Kinzel and others, ‘Insights into PPNB Architectural Transformation, Human Burials, and Initial Conservation Works’, p. 44. 31 32

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makes one wonder if  these scattered bones had originally been placed in  well-sorted condition inside stone cists, and then taken out once more after complete decay, to be manipulated before they were finally collected and deposited in this ‘messy’ way Thus, it would seem that disposal of   the dead in  this small community may have been a  prolonged and perhaps cyclically repeated affair. Perhaps one may see evidence for an instantiation of  Arnold van Gennep’s three stage model of   rites-de-passage.34 If   so, the stage of   separation from the community of   the living would probably have taken place before bodies were cut into pieces, possibly somewhere outside Unit F, such as  individual housing units. The dismemberment performed on  the headless body, and on those in Cist 1, may have demarcated the promotion to a  liminal existence ‘in between and betwixt’, in  which it was important to  keep the bones of   the dead in  strict order to avert pollution and cosmic disaster. If  so, the smell of   rotting tissue, likely to have been associated with these bones, may have signified that the transformation of   the dead was not yet completed. Finally, the disorderly bone fill might suggest a  stage in which bones were no longer required to be kept in strict order, perhaps signifying that the transformation of   these dead had been completed. It may be that the headless corpse resting on the installation of   Unit F (Fig. 9) was awaiting a treatment like the one given to the skeletons found inside Cist 1. Something else is also possible, however. As Benz shows elsewhere in  this volume, throughout Early Neolithic Syro-Palestine and beyond, there is evidence that some individuals were afforded special treatment at burial. At many sites contemporary with Shkārat Msaied, there is evidence, in the form of   skull deposits, that a few deceased persons were subjected to  this form of   special treatment.35 The skulls were removed from their bodies and manipulated in  mortuary   van Gennep, Les rites de passage.   Kuijt, ‘Keeping the Peace’; Benz, ‘Beyond Death – the Construction of  Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to  Farming’; and Benz, this volume. 34

35

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contexts. In  some cases they were painted or  covered in a  layer of  plaster with modelled facial features, as if they were destined to  act as  a  temporary embodiment of   these dead during the apparently quite prolonged mortuary rites. At Shkārat Msaied no such skulls or  skull deposits have actually been found, but the corpse discussed here was missing skull and mandible, possibly indicating that such practices may in  fact also have been practiced here. Deposited with this skeleton were four ovi-caprine (sheep/ goat) mandibles (Fig. 12), suggesting that feasting may have been part of  the practices associated with burial.36

Fig. 12 Ovi/caprine mandibles next to headless skeleton. MPPNB c. 8340–7960 cal bc. Photo courtesy of  the Shkārat Msaied Project.

The animals may well have been butchered in  connection with the mortuary treatment of  this corpse and collectively consumed on  that occasion. All this suggests that the inhabitants of   the village would butcher one or more sheep or goats as an element 36 Jensen and others, ‘Preliminary Report on  the Excavations at Shqarat Al-Musayid, 1999–2004’, p. 124.

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of   their funerary practices, and possibly as  part of   other social events of   importance as  well. The mandibles of   these animals would seem to  have had a  special significance for the Neolithic people at Shkārat Msaied, since they were sorted out and deposited separately, while the remainder of   bones of   these animals were apparently discarded quite unsystematically. It will be noted that only the mortuary disposal of   adults and sub-adults has been discussed. There were, however, a few infant burials as  well.37 These were all separate from burials of   adults and sub-adults, but they do suggest a  multi-stage treatment of  dead infants as well. Incidentally, the only burial outside Unit F, so  far, is  exactly that of   a child.38 We expect, of   course, that a  complete analysis of   this material will allow us to  gain more detailed insights into the practices associated with burial in this Early Neolithic community.

Ritualized Practices at Shkārat Msaied 39 It is  time to  address the question of  how these material remains may help us understand some aspects of  the ritual practices of  the people who lived in  Early Neolithic Shkārat Msaied. In  order to do so, let me summarize the mortuary and faunal evidence: 1. All recovered burials have been found in Unit F, except for one child burial 2. The adult and sub-adult skeletons found in  Unit F have all been deliberately dismembered 3. The corpses were apparently in different states of   decay when subjected to this treatment 37  Hermansen and others, ‘Shkārat Msaied’, p. 4; Kinzel and others, ‘Insights into PPNB Architectural Transformation, Human Burials, and Initial Con­ser­ vation Works’, pp. 44–49. 38  Kinzel and others, ‘Insights into PPNB Architectural Transformation, Human Burials, and Initial Conservation Works’, p. 45. 39  For a review of   ritual and its investigation in prehistory, see Verhoeven, ‘Ritual and Its Investigation in  Prehistory’, pp.  5–40. For a  theoretical outline and discussion of   ritual and ritualization, see Bell, Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice.

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4. With the exception of   the headless skeleton on  the stone installation in Unit F, all adult and sub-adult skeletons were deposited collectively 5. The human bones in  Cist 1 had all been sorted carefully, whereas the bones in Cist 2 and the floor fill were completely randomly deposited 6. The corpse on  top of   the stone installation of   Unit F had been dismembered while soft tissue still kept the skeleton together. Intestines had been removed, and head and mandible had been removed, before the body was reassembled as described above 7. Four ovi-caprine mandibles were associated with the headless body on the installation in Unit F 8. Goat and sheep were still in  an early state of   domestication at Early Neolithic Shkārat Msaied These observations suggest that at some point in  its use life, 1. Unit F was set apart as  an architectural frame for action specifically related to  the disposal of   the dead. 2–4. That the bodies buried here were those of   persons who had died over perhaps a  considerable span of   time, and that collective disposal of  the dead was cyclically repeated at more or  less regular intervals. 5. It also suggests that the dead human body was considered to  be partible, and that this partibility was important in the final disposal of   the dead.40 6. Within a broader context of  Early Neolithic religion, the headless corpse on  the stone installation in Unit F suggests that a few persons may have been singled out for the removal and special treatment of   their skulls; 41 finally: 7–8. It indicates that mortuary practices involved the butchering and feasting on animals in an early phase of  domestication. A summary of  the architectural evidence reveals that: 1. A  stone installation demarcated by an upright, monolithic slab was placed just inside the entrance to Unit F 40  For partibility, see Fowler, The Archaeology of   Personhood, pp.  23–37; Strathern, Partial Connections. 41  For example, see Kuijt, ‘Keeping the Peace’; Benz, ‘Beyond Death – the Construction of  Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to Farming’.

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2. The remains of  the c. 25–35 year old person, probably a woman whose skull and mandible were deliberately removed, and who was deposited with four ovi-caprine mandibles, were placed on this installation in Unit F 3. A similar, and similarly located, architectural feature has been found in  other structures, with no direct association with burials 4. This installation would seem, in  all cases, to  have been the most obvious architectural focus of   attention inside these buildings 5. In addition, Unit F incorporates visible fragments of  an earlier building on the same spot and contains most of   the mortuary remains of  human beings at the site This evidence suggests to me that, 1.–4. Many houses reproduced the same basic layout, which was oval/circular, with a stone installation next to  the doorway. This trans-spatially employed feature may well have served, in one capacity at least, to link houses conceptually with Unit F, and hence to the events which unfolded there, such as the decapitation, dismemberment, and placement of   the female body on  this installation in Unit F. 5. Unit  F, acting as  an architectural frame for mortuary practices and as a palimpsest of  past and present architecture, seems to have served as a  highly emotionally charged vehicle of   memory-production for the community that lived at Early Neolithic Shkārat Msaied (see further, below). All of   these observations and proposals have important implications concerning the spiritual life of   the people who lived in  Neolithic Shkārat Msaied. The fact that dead bodies were divided, sorted and reassembled collectively, and strictly according to  bone categories suggests that each body part may have been considered a  discrete building block of   the human body. The human body may have been considered to  be a  partible entity, which could be fragmented at death and then reassembled in new combinations.42 In  this way any individual bodily iden  See Fowler, The Archaeology of  Personhood, pp. 23–37.

42

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tity could be dissolved, ensuring that death was an irreversible event. The body parts could then be sorted and reassembled according to  categories and emerge as  a  collective body, for a  while to  be kept confined within small sub-floor stone cists inside Unit  F and thus solidly fixed in  place until the transformation of   the dead had been completed. It is  likely that such elaborate mortuary practices were associated with the idea of  finally transforming the dead onto a new mode of  being, perhaps as a collective body of  ancestors, from which a few select persons might have been singled out and remembered, at least temporarily, by their actions, status, and possibly by name. One such person might have been the one whose corpse was found on  top of   the stone installation in  Unit F with missing skull and mandible. This would seem to  fit well into a  broader context of   Early Neolithic mortuary practices, in  which the skulls of   some special persons were severed from the corpse and afforded special treatment during mortuary rites. What category of   person was afforded such special treatment in these early village societies is, of   course, unknown, but it is  of   interest that some modelled skulls had been artificially deformed during early childhood,43 suggesting that a special status was recognized very early in  the lives of   these people and marked on  their bodies through cranial deformation. Are we dealing with inherited status here, such as membership of   a particular ‘house’? Or are we dealing with a  status ascribed due to  special physical attributes, personality, or special circumstances at birth? Again, we do not know.44 Neither do we know the scope of   power or  influence associated with this special status. We do know, however, that at least in  the case of   individuals with deformed skulls, their special status was marked on their bodies throughout their lives, and that many such skulls were subjected to  special treatment   Kuijt, ‘Keeping the peace’, p. 157.  For a  definition of   ‘house’, and for a  broader discussion of   the social structure of   MPPNB-society, see Kuijt, ‘Keeping the Peace’, pp.  140–64. For more recent developments, see the contributions to  The Principle of   Sharing. Segregation and Construction of  Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to Farming, ed.  by Benz. For an encompassing view, see Gebel, Grundzüge sozialen Wandels im Neolithikum der südlichen Levante. http://freidok.uni-freiburg.de/ volltexte/466. 43

44

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during mortuary rites.45 So, possibly we are dealing with persons, who during their lives were considered to be mediators between worlds and forms of   existence. Thus, it may be that the headless corpse in Unit F would have belonged to such a person, a ‘ritual specialist’. It must be remembered, however, that we have not found any separate skull deposits at Shkārat Msaied so far. Next, butchering one or  more sheep on  such occasions and consuming them collectively would no doubt have had a bonding effect on  the Early Neolithic community, in  the context of  renegotiating social relations after the loss, real, and perceived, experienced at death, especially in  cases where the final deposition of   the dead had awaited perhaps months or  even years. Here it is  worth noting what has already been stated above, i.e. that domestication was apparently in  an early stage at Shkārat Msaied. Thus, humans had only recently become animal masters. This shift of   people’s place in the universe, i.e. to be empowered as  animal masters, most probably occupied a  very prominent place in their self-understanding at this early point. Hence, with domestication, their animals may actually have been understood not simply as property, but as inalienable to people or relations, and hence, perhaps, to  have been endowed with some form of  personhood. Finally, all, or  most structures in  the village reproduced the same basic layout, which was oval/circular with a  stone built installation as focus of  attention, next to the doorway. It has been suggested by Charlott Hoffmann Jensen and the author that this trans-spatially employed feature linked individual housing units conceptually, and perhaps functionally, with each other and with the installation in Unit F with the headless corpse on top.46 Thus, it would also have associated individual housing units and their inhabitants with the events, which unfolded in Unit F and with those dead who were disposed of   there. It is  also worth noting in this context that Unit F incorporated the visible wall remains of  an earlier building on the same spot, which must thus have had a special significance for the villagers. This Unit, then,   Kuijt, ‘Keeping the Peace’, p. 157.  Hermansen and Jensen, ‘Notes on  Some Features of   Possible Ritual Significance at MPPNB Shaqarat Mazyad, Southern Jordan’, p. 92. 45 46

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must have been a  force- and powerful vehicle of   memory, an actant in its own right, highly charged with the extreme sensory stimuli related to radical mortuary practices, with deep emotion related to the loss experienced at death, and with its solid rooting in a, possibly, foundational past.

Concluding Remarks on ‘Ritual’, ‘Authority’, and ‘Names of  Gods’ The dismembering, sorting, and reassembling of   dead bodies, the possible manipulation of   the skulls of   a few selected individuals, the feasting on domesticated goats and sheep at burial, the way that all housing units were trans-spatially linked to Unit F, and the way that Unit F will have appeared as a palimpsest of   past and present, suggest that death was considered to be a transformation to new forms of  existence, rather than to simply be the termination of  existence. The combined evidence also suggests that personhood, or some other capacity for agency, was not so  much considered to  be located in individual human bodies, but rather to be distributed through networks of   relations, which included both people, animals, and things (e.g. stone installations, Unit F 47), living as well as dead, wholes as  well as  parts, and probably at all levels of  the collective. This could perhaps be understood in  terms of  a fractal comprehension of   the cosmos, as  implied in  the work of  scholars such as Marcel Mauss, Marilyn Strathern, Roy Wagner, Alfred Gell, and Chris Fowler.48 All the evidence indicates what Jan Assmann, has termed ‘memory culture’.49 By this Assmann means ways of   relating to the past as  a  social obligation. According to  Assmann, then, memory culture originated with the conscious experience of  47  This will be a subject of   Kinzel and Hermansen, ‘The Built Environment of  the PPN – Changing Spaces for Changing Practices? The Case of   Shkārat Msaied’. 48 Mauss, Essay sur le don; Strathern, Partial Connections; Wagner, The Anthropology of   the Subject; Gell, Art and Agency; Fowler, The Archaeology of  Personhood. See also Thinking Through Things, ed. Henare and others. 49  Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis, pp. 29–83.

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death as a  radical and irreversible termination of   life as  we know it.50 Only with this conscious experience could the past come to acquire that otherness on which a memory culture can grow. Such a past in Assmann’s words ‘must not have completely disappeared, there must be relics… these relics must show a distinct difference to the “present” ’ (my translation).51 It is argued here that these conditions appear to  be fulfilled in  the findings at Shkārat Msaied. As Assmann then states, it is often said that the dead live on in memory, but according to him we are in fact dealing here with a  deliberate act of   revival due to  the collective will of   the community.52 And this is exactly what the Early Neolithic community at Shkārat Msaied would seem to  have attempted through the way they incorporated the past in their present architectural setting; and through the highly formalized mortuary rites performed in secret within such a  highly charged space as  the interior of  Unit F. An act of  reviving the dead or promoting them to a new state of  being in  which they might be approachable through the mediation of   ‘ritual’ specialists, possibly the very same as  those who performed the mortuary rites and whose skulls were given special treatment during such rites. It may be suggested, then, that the power to mediate between the living and the dead, between ‘this world’ and ‘the other’, rested in  the hands of   a number of   ‘ritual’ specialists acting on the ‘authority’ of   the forces objectified in  the interior of  Unit  F. Additionally, the domestication of   animals and plants (though the latter is  not securely demonstrated at Shkārat Msaied) is most likely to  have been associated with narratives about origin and regenerative cycles. Such narratives would have related people, animals, plants, and things, as  well as the dead and other cosmic entities, in  meaningful constellations with each other; and it  is, indeed, likely that ‘names of   gods’ would have originated in such narratives, or  ‘myths’. Thus, alongside other Early Neolithic communities, the community that

 Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis, p. 33, pp. 60–61.  Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis, p. 32. 52 Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis, p. 33. 50 51

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lived at Shkārat Msaied was apparently well advanced in  the transition from ‘spirituality’ to ‘religion’, recently outlined by Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen.53 Perhaps, then, there may have been a  close association between the emergence of   memory culture, the domestication of   plants and animals, and early ‘religious’ conceptions of   an ‘other’ world, distinct but accessible through the mediation of   ‘ritual’ specialists, such as  we know it from the much later, textually documented religions of   the Bronze Age.

Postscript Since the text for the present contribution was finished, three seasons of   excavations (2014, 2015, 2016) have been undertaken at Shkārat Msaied with Moritz Kinzel as  field director (and without the aurhor’s participation). Especially the results of   the 2015 season54 have been interesting in  terms of   how to interpret the human remains in  Unit F. In  2015, a  stone cist was found, which contained a  deposit consisting of    three human skulls. This merits the conclusion that such a  mortuary practice was indeed performed at Shkārat Msaied. The skull deposit was found near the entrance to  Unit F and the stone feature on which the headless female skeleton was resting (Fig.  9). Additionally, the 2015 season of   excavations revealed that there is  a  close association between some human remains in Unit F and animal bones. A  fact, which may well turn out to be of   interest to my ideas of  how relations between humans and animals were conceptualized by the inhabitants of   the Neolithic village (Fig. 12). Finally, it should be mentioned that the stratigraphy of  Unit  F has not yet been fully clarified, and new insights about the ‘memory house’ can be expected during future work.

53  Bredholt Christensen, ‘From “spirituality” to “religion” – Ways of  Sharing Knowledge of  the “Other World” ’, pp. 81–90. 54  Kinzel and others, ‘Shkārat Msaied, the 2014 and 2015 Seasons’.

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Bibliography Assmann, Jan, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in  frühen Hochkulturen (Munich: Verlag C.H. Beck, 1992) Bell, Catherine M., Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992) Benz, Marion, ‘Beyond Death – the Construction of   Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to Farming’, in The Principle of   Sharing: Segregation and Contruction of   Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to Farming, ed. by Marion Benz, Studies in Early Near Eastern Production, Subsistence, and Environment, 14 (Berlin: ex oriente, 2010), pp. 249–76 Benz, Marion, ‘Making the Invisible Visible: Steps Towards a Ritualized Corporate Identity’, this volume Byrd, Brian F., Early Village Life at Beidha, Jordan: Neolithic Spatial Organization and Vernacular Architecture: The Excavations of  Mrs. Diana Kirkbride-Helbæk. Beidha Excavations No. 2, British Academy Monographs in Archaeology, 14 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005) Cauvin, Jacques, ‘The Symbolic Foundations of    the Neolithic Revolution in the Near East’, in Life in Neolithic Farming Communities: Social Organization, Identity, and Differentiation, ed. by Ian Kuijt (New York: Kluwer Academic/Plenum Publishers, 2000a), pp. 235–51 Cauvin, Jacques, The Birth of   the Gods and the Origins of   Agriculture, trans. by Trevor Watkins, New Studies in  Archaeology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000b) Christensen, Lisbeth B., ‘From “Spirituality” to “Religion” – Ways of  Sharing Knowledge of   the “Other World” ’, in  The Principle of  Sharing: Segregation and Construction of   Social Identities at the Transition from Foraging to Farming, ed. by Marion Benz, Studies in Early Near Eastern Production, Subsistence, and Environment, 14 (Berlin: ex oriente, 2010), pp. 81–90 Fowler, Chris, The Archaeology of   Personhood: An Anthropological Approach, Themes in Archaeology (London and New York: Routledge, 2004) Gebel, Hans Georg K., Grundzüge sozialen Wandels im Neolithikum der südlichen Levante. Doctoral thesis, http://www.freidok. uni-freiburg.de/volltexte/466. (Freiburg: Universitätsbibliothek, Albert-Ludwigs-Universität Freiburg, 2002) 194

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Gebel, Hans Georg K., ‘The Domestication of   Water: Evidence from Early Neolithic Ba’ja?’, in  Men of   Dikes and Canals: The Archaeology of   Water in  the Middle East, ed.  by Hans-Dieter Bienert and Jutta Häser, Orient-Archäologie, 10 (Rahden: Marie Leidorf, 2004), pp. 25–36 Gell, Alfred, Art and Agency: An Anthropological Theory (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998) Gennep, Arnold van, Les rites de passage, Rééditions, Maison des sciences de l’homme, 5 (New York: Johnson Reprint Corporation; Paris, La Haye: Mouton 1909/1969) Hermansen, Bo D., ‘Supra-regional Concepts from a  Local Perspective’, Neo-Lithics, 1 (2004), pp. 34–38 Hermansen, Bo D. and Charlott  H. Jensen, ‘Notes on  Some Features of  Possible Ritual Significance at MPPNB Shaqarat Mazyad, Southern Jordan’, in Magic Practices and Ritual in the Near Eastern Neolithic, ed. by Hans Georg K. Gebel and others, Studies in Early Near Eastern Production, Subsistence, and Environment, 8 (Berlin: ex oriente, 2002), pp. 91–101 Hermansen, Bo D. and others, ‘Shkārat Msaied: The 2005 Season of Excavations. A Short Preliminary Report’, Neo-Lithics, 1 (2006), pp. 3–7 Hillier, Bill and Julienne Hanson, The Social Logic of   Space (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984) Jensen, Charlott H., ‘Production Areas at MPPNB Shkārat Msaied, Southern Jordan’, Neo-Lithics, 2 (2004), pp. 22–26 Jensen, Charlott H., ‘Workshops and Activity Areas in  the PPNBperiod: The Excavations at Shkārat Msaied’, in Proceedings of   the Fourth International Congress on the Archaeology of   the Near East. Berlin 2004, ed.  by H.  Kühne and others (Berlin: Harrassowitz, 2008), pp. 331–44 Jensen, Charlott H. and others, ‘Preliminary Report on the Excavations at Shqarat Al-Musayid, 1999–2004’, Annual of   the Department of  Antiquities of  Jordan, 49 (2005), pp. 115–34 Kinzel, Moritz, Am Beginn des Hausbaus – Studien zur PPNBArchitektur von Shkārat Msaied und Ba’ja in  der Petra-Region, Südjordanien, Studies in Early Near Eastern Production, Subsistence, and Environment, 17 (Berlin: ex oriente, 2013). Kinzel, Moritz, ‘Überlegungen zur Wegeführung und Raumgestaltung in der neolithischen Architektur Südjordaniens’, in Die Architektur des Weges – Gestaltete Bewegung im gebauten Raum. Architektur195

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referat des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Diskussionen zur Archäologischen Bauforschung, 11 (Schnell und Steiner: Regensburg, forthcoming), pp. 289–307 Kinzel, Moritz and Bo  D. Hermansen, ‘The Built Environment of  the PPN – Changing Spaces for Changing Practices? The Case of  Shkārat Msaied’, Paper Presented at an International open Workshop at Kiel University, Socio-Environmental Dynamics over the Last 12,000 Years, 15th–18th April 2013 (forthcoming) Kinzel, Moritz and others, ‘Insights into PPNB Architectural Transformation, Human Burials, and Initial Conservation Works: Summary on the 2010 Excavation Season at Shkārat Msaied’, NeoLithics, 1 (2011), pp. 44–49 Kuijt, Ian, ‘Keeping the Peace: Ritual, Skull Caching, and Community Integration in  the Levantine Neolithic’, in  Life in  Neolithic Farming Communities: Social Organization, Identity, and Differentiation, ed. by Ian Kuijt (New York: Kluwer Academic/Plenum Publishers, 2000), pp. 137–64 Mauss, Marcel, Essai sur le don. Forme et raison de l’échange dans les sociétés archaïques. Sociologie et Anthropologie (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1950) Simmons, Alan H. and Mohammad Najjar, ‘Ghwair I: A Small, Complex Neolithic Community in  Southern Jordan’, Journal of   Field Archaeology, 31 (2006), pp. 77–95 Strathern, Marilyn, Partial Connections, ASAO Special Publications, 3 (Lanham MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 1991) Thinking Through Things: Theorising Artefacts Ethnographically, ed. by Amiria Henare and others (London and New York: Routledge, 2007) Verhoeven, Marc, ‘Ritual and its Investigation in Prehistory’, in Magic Practices and Ritual in  the Near Eastern Neolithic, ed.  by Hans Georg K. Gebel and others, Studies in Early Near Eastern Production, Subsistence, and Environment, 8 (Berlin: ex oriente, 2002), pp. 5–40 Wagner, Roy, The Anthropology of  the Subject: Holographic Worldview in  New Guinea and Its Meaning and Significance for the World of  Anthropology (Berkeley: University of  California Press, 2001) Wilson Peter J., The Domestication of  the Human Species (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1988)

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Abstract Since 1999, a Danish expedition has excavated the early Neolithic site of   Shkārat Msaied in  Southern Jordan. Among the finds recovered from the site are the skeletal remains of   a large number of  human individuals, in many cases carefully dismembered, sorted, and interred in different states of   decay. Also associated with some of  this human skeletal material are some systematically selected remains of   domesticated ovis/capra. These finds seem to  be associated with specific architectural features. This presentation investigates these findings as an integrated field, suggestive of   spiritual life and framed ritual action associated with major life crises in the Neolithic community of  Shkārat Msaied. Indeed, the evidence suggests that the Neolithic inhabitants of   Shkārat Msaied may well have shared a  belief  system with associated institutions that would have qualified their spiritual life as ‘religion’.

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THE SHAPE OF  THE DIVINE POWERS IN NORDIC BRONZE AGE MYTHOLOGY

Introduction The Nordic Bronze Age culture should be considered as  one of  the richest Prehistoric cultures expressing figural art, where the ship being the most prominent motif. Due to the rich iconography both represented on stone – rock carvings – and on bronze objects, it has been possible to reveal parts of  a central cosmological myth of   the Bronze Age: the eternal voyage of   the Sun through the heavens at day and through the underworld at night. My method when attempting to understand some of  the basic themes of   the Bronze Age imagery was to  carry out an analyses of   more than 800 ‘Danish’ images of   ships on  more than 400 Late Bronze Age objects with ship images dating 1100–500 bc.1 With the help of   a (picture) data base with a  large number of  features listed, it has been possible to find some specific correlations between the motifs, seemingly related to  a  left-right logic, which enables us to  read or  crack the code of   the many images and to  read a  sequence of   the motifs. Some motifs are related to the direction towards right and some motifs are related to the direction towards left. For instance, there are no ships sailing left, where we find a  sun image, whereas there are many, more than fifty, with ships sailing towards right. This is  a  significant observation, which deserves further explanation. It should be mentioned that it must have been of   great importance to mark

 Kaul, Ships on Bronzes; Kaul, Bronzealderens religion.

1

Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114432 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp. 199–225  © 

FHG

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the directions of, for instance, the ships, where the prow being shown by its raised keel extension. It became clear that the direction or movement towards right was related to the day-time voyage of  the Sun, whereas the direction towards left was related to  its nocturnal and thereby the underworld voyage. In  the sense of   cosmological order, right means up with heavens and day and light, while left means down meaning underworld, night and darkness. It should be underlined that this left-right-logic, which seems to  work well on  portable bronze objects such as razors can not immediately be transferred into the interpretation of   rock carvings. Whereas there is a relation to the human body (left and right) on the portable objects, matters are more complicated when considering rock art, where relations to landscape and the actual geographical directions were also of  importance. My analysis is built solely upon the Danish or Nordic Bronze Age material and its context. It is important to note that as far as  the Nordic Bronze Age culture with its rich iconographical material is  concerned, the written sources have never existed. It cannot be expected that a written source material exists, which just has not yet been found. The iconographic material is  the primary ‘solid’ expression of   the religion in  question, while written sources with the images somehow related to never have existed. The transcendent elements in  the Bronze Age religion can hardly be found in  written sources, since these are distant both in  time and space from the Nordic Bronze Age. And this is the case whether one refers to a distinctive (though postulated) Indo-European religious and social communality, to  cultural similarities over (too) great distances, to a proto-Celtic community, or  whether the myths of   the Viking Age are brought into play. We  must admit that we are dealing with Prehistoric religion as  such, and thereby taking the word Prehistoric serious. This means that we are in a time and at a place devoid of  written sources. However, this does not mean that we should not include written sources in  our research. But for my part the written sources far away should only be used secondarily as a comparative material and only be used after the primary analyses. Consequently, in my research I have deliberately tried to avoid written sources as a primary explanation, but letting an internal 200

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analyse of   the structure of   the imagery being my primary task. The pictures themselves are the primary sources that we should try to read as a sort of   written text, for instance, by cracking the left-right-code mentioned. In  this respect, parts of   the imagery of   the Bronze Age could be considered as written texts referring to transempirical matters rather than merely objects of   material culture with a ‘social’ and ideological meaning.

The Chariot of  the Sun In September 1902, one of  the most important finds of  the European Bronze Age came to light. In Trundholm Bog, Northwest Zealand, Denmark, new arable land was opened, and Trundholm Bog was ploughed for the first time. The Chariot of   the Sun was saved, and it has become an emblem of   European Prehistory and of   prehistoric religion. The Chariot of   the Sun belongs to the Early Bronze Age, probably made in the decennia around 1375 bc. The spiral decoration of   the sun disc informs us of   its Nordic manufacture, which was probably made not far away from the find-spot (Fig. 1). The Chariot of  the Sun consists of  three main parts: 1. The plastic horse figure 2. The solar disc decorated with concentric circles and complicated spiral patterns, where one side of  the disc being covered with thin gold foil 3. The chassis with six four-spoked wheels on  which both the solar disc and the horse figure are placed Already as S. Müller (1903) noted in the primary publication, it is  important to  distinguish between the horse and the sun-disc on  the one hand and the chassis with its wheels on  the other hand. The solar disc and the horse illustrate the belief  that the Sun on its eternal journey was pulled by a divine horse. The carriage was clearly not part of   this notion. The sun image and the horse were placed on  wheels in  order to  demonstrate (or control) the movement of   the Sun in the rituals of   the Bronze Age. Thus, the name Chariot of   the Sun is  actually a  misleading one that was introduced in  Germany during the 1930s (German: 201

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Fig. 1A–B The Chariot of  the Sun. The day-side is directed towards right and the night-side towards left, Trundholm Bog, north-western Zealand, Denmark. C. 1375 bc. Photo by Juraj Liptak.

Sonnenwagen).2 In  the primary publication Müller did not employ this term (Danish: Solvognen) but refers to  it as  the 2   Sprockhoff, ‘Sonnenwagen und Hakenkreuz im nordischen Kreis’, p.  2; Kaul, ‘The Sun Image from Trundholm (“The Chariot of  the Sun”)’, p. 527.

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Sun image from Trundholm (Danish: Solbilledet fra Trundholm). Furthermore, he also argued that what was represented by the Sun image from Trundholm was the mighty, though non-personified Sun, and that the sun worship of   the Bronze Age was not related to a personified god.3 The Chariot of   the Sun renders intelligible the idea that the Sun was pulled by a  divine horse, and the Sun controlling this horse by means of   a string. On  the rim of   the sun-disc the remains of   a fragile eyelet can be seen, and a  corresponding eyelet is to be found under the horse’s neck. A string must have passed through the loops to link the disc with the horse.4 From both Nordic rock carvings and renderings on  Late Bronze Age bronze objects we are familiar with representations of   a horse and a  sun with a  line running from the horse’s neck to the sun, the sun-horse. The finest examples are the sun-horse from the rock carving at Balken in  Bohuslän, Western Sweden (Fig.  2) and the sun-

Fig. 2 Sun-horse from the rock carving at Balken, Tanum, Bohuslän, Sweden. Late Bronze Age. Rubbing by Laurine Albris in collaboration with Tanums Hällristningsmuseum, Underslös.

3 Müller, Solbilledet fra Trundholm, pp. 114–15; Kaul, ‘The Sun Image from Trundholm (“The Chariot of  the Sun”)’, p. 524. 4 Müller, Solbilledet fra Trundholm, p. 110; Kaul, Ships on Bronzes, p. 32.

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horse on a Late Bronze Age razor from Neder Hvolris, Northern Jutland, Denmark (Fig. 3).

Fig. 3 Sun-horse on a razor from Neder Hvolris, northern Jutland, Denmark. C. 800 bc. Drawing by Bjørn Skaarup.

We are dealing with a re-occurring phenomenon and no wagon is  seen. Often this sun-horse appears in  a  rather stylized form, as a ‘lying’ S-shape with horse-elements (such as legs, ears, or mane) only slightly marked (Fig. 4). How can we allow ourselves to speak about a horse being the divine sun-horse, as already Müller maintained in 1903, when no literary sources yield direct information? It is, of  course, a matter of   reading or  interpreting the renderings themselves. When we look at the Chariot of   the Sun and similar representations, then we must realize that nowhere in our physical or empirical world do we see a  large horse pulling the Sun over heaven. We must consequently be dealing with a  transempirical or  transcendent creature. Following this logic, then we can already at this point say that we are working within a definition of   religion in a narrow sense that includes transempirical powers. The sun-horse is a creature of  another world. The same goes, as we shall see below, for the fish pulling the Sun up at sunrise, the divine morning fish. The Chariot of  the Sun yields further information as to worldview of  the Bronze Age. Here it is the right-left-logic that works. The two sides of   the sun-disc are not completely identical. Some differences of   the lay-out of   the spiral decoration can be observed. But most important is  that one side is  covered with gold foil, and on the same side a row of   short radial grooves can be seen marking the edge of   the gold covering (see Fig.  1). The 204

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Fig. 4 Stylized sun-horses, Nordic Late Bronze Age bronzes. After Sprockhoff  1954, p. 48, fig. 10B.

other side is not covered with gold, and there are no radial grooves and no marked halo. When looking at the golden and radiant side of   the sun-disc we notice that the horse is  facing to  the right and moving to the right together with the Sun. This is the direction of   the travel of   the Sun as  seen from the Northern hemisphere, where it goes from east to  west. When we turn the sun-image round so  that we can see the darker, non-golden side of   the sun-disc without halo, then the horse is  facing left. In  our physical world, however, the Sun never moves to  the left. But if  in  the worldview of   the Bronze Age the earth was considered to be flat, then these directions make sense. The observable ‘travel’ direction of   the Sun at daytime is from left to right. This direction changed when the Sun met the horizon at sunset. After sunset, the Sun had to return to its starting point at sunrise by moving left through the darkness of   the underworld, and here in extinguished state and not radiant. 205

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The Razor and the Neck ring: Male – female Even though the basic components of   Bronze Age figural art materialized in  the Early Bronze Age, it is  the complex renderings of   Late Bronze Age bronze objects, particularly the razors (1100–500 bc) that yield the best material as to the understanding of  parts of  the mythology. But why is it particularly the razors that carry the most complex and rich scenery? It has been suggested that the Nordic razor would have been given to a young man of   sufficiently high rank on  the occasion of   his first shave and then accompanied him for the rest of   his life.5 Furthermore, it is  reasonable to  suggest that the razor was given to  the young man in  connection with or as a conclusion of   the rites that took place to mark his transition from boyhood to  manhood. When the young man had received his razor and had been given instruction in  the myths, stories, and traditions – the mythological and cosmological conception of  the world – in connection with the rites of  transition, then the transference of  sacred knowledge to the next and future generations was ensured. Thus, the razor served as both a symbol of  adult status and a symbol of  religious and cosmological knowledge. Signs of  wear and re-sharpening show that the razors were used, and we must assume that they remained with their owner throughout the life, to end by accompanying him in the grave.6 The razors decorated with ship motifs and also by the connection with rich grave furniture must have belonged to the Bronze Age elite. It was probably persons, who might have served as religious specialists. It is only around 10% of  the men having razors at all, who possessed richly ornamented razors. Thus, the razors must have had many layers of   meaning both in  a  social and religious sense. After the razors, the neck-rings with oval end plates are the objects on  which ship-representations occur most frequently. Whereas the razors belong to the burial category the neck-rings occur in sacrificial deposits, primarily in wetlands, bogs, and lakes.   Thrane, ‘Bronzealderbarbering’, pp. 26–27.  Kaul, Ships on  Bronzes, pp.  154–55; Freudenberg and Kaul, ‘Sonne und Schiff. Die Schiffdarstellungen des Nordens in der Bronzezeit’, p. 84. 5 6

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The many deposits of   neck-rings, first and foremost from per. V (900–700 bc) correspond to  the peak of   such deposits, where the neck-rings occur with other bronze objects, which can be described as female belt ornaments.7 When compared with the best works on the razors the shiprepresentations on  the neck rings are very uniform, almost stereotype, and here we do not find the same artistic dynamism and creative zest.8 We see the same configuration of  ships repeated time and time again. On each plate there are two symmetrical ships with S-shaped stems (Fig. 5). In a  few cases the ships have simple, inward-turned, lightly spiral-shaped stems. Only most exceptionally the stems carry specific details such as  ears or  mane informing us of   what kind of   animal’s head that we are dealing with. Generally, the rather simple S-shaped stems resemble some of   the Central European bird-headed sun-ships. On  a  number of   neck-rings there

Fig. 5 Neck-ring with ship decoration, Fjellerup, Island of  Funen, Denmark. C. 600 bc. After Madsen 1876, pl. 19, fig. 11.

  Jensen, ‘Metal Deposits’, pp. 156–57.  Kaul, Ships on Bronzes, pp. 157–60.

7 8

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are sun motifs over the ships, some times more than one sun. In  a  single case a  stylized S-shaped sun-horse is  seen. The ship-representations on  the neck rings should probably be considered as  general symbols of   the journey of   the sun across the sky in the course of   the day. This should be compared to  the best razors, where specific times of   the day or night are marked. Thus, the iconography of   the necklaces is  more uniform, where the left-right-logic is  toned down (as  on  the central European sun-ships), and the horse’s heads in  their specific Nordic style are barely present. Why did the people of   the Late Bronze Age choose to  create a  sun iconography related to  the female neckrings that was simpler and more uniform, but on the same time more ‘internationally’ orientated than on the razors? I will here leave the question open, and matters are not that ‘black-and-white’ when looking at the richly decorated female belt ornaments. Furthermore, it should be underlined that when looking at the small figurines from Grevensvænge, Zealand, Denmark, and Fårdal, Northern Jutland, Denmark, and rock art renderings of   rituals from Bohuslän, western Sweden, it become clear that women took active part in  the rituals of   the Late Bronze Age, not just as  a  sort of   dancing back-up for the males, but with their own independent roles. Some Late Bronze Age finds (both votive and burial) of   female ornaments in combination with horse gear may indicate that women during the performance of   rituals could drive the twowheeled chariot. This role as charioteer is normally understood as a male prerogative.9

The Cyclical Voyage of  the Sun The sun-horse and the Sun from Trundholm seem to  reflect the world scheme of   the Bronze Age.  The image expresses the belief  that the Sun was pulled or helped by the divine sun-horse through the bright heavens at day-time (right) and through 9  Varberg, ‘Frau und Pferd in  der Spätbronzezeit. Ein Versuch zum Verständnis einiger Aspekte der spätbronzezeitlichen Kosmologie unter besonderer Berücksichtigung  der südskandinavischen Votivdepots’; Varberg, ‘Kvinden og hesten’; Kaul, ‘Guldringe fra Boeslunde, Borgbjerg Banke som samlingssted’.

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the sinister underworld during the night (left). Let our starting point be the morning: the crucial time of   sunrise, the rebirth of  the Sun, life and light. One of   the most illustrative razors, without find provenance, though probably from Jutland, gives interesting evidence as to how sunrise was perceived in the cyclical myth of  the Bronze Age (Fig. 6). By means of   the raised keel extensions it is  possible to  read the directions of   the two ships and to  see the right-left logic work. The night-ship at the bottom is sailing to the left and over that the day-ship (or morning-ship) is  sailing to  the right. It is seen that the night ship from the top of   its prow has just handed over the Sun to  the fish, which is  on its way upwards and to the right towards the day-ship. In  other words we here see the extremely important role of   the fish that pulls the Sun from the night-ship to the morning-ship. This razor also clearly gives evidence that the night-ship is under the day-ship with the night-ship belonging to the sphere beyond, the underworld, the day-ship belonging to the sphere above, the heavens. Here right and left, up and down, day and night, light and darkness meet, the mythological fish being the mediator between the night-ship and the morning-ship. Other razors show that the fish, for a  time, could have been allowed to sail on with the ship until it was devoured by a bird of   prey. When the fish was out of   the story, then the horse had its finest hours. The role of   the horse is best seen on a razor from Neder Hvolris at Viborg, Northern Jutland, Denmark, where a  fine horse pulls the Sun away from a  ship. It is  the sun-horse

Fig. 6 Sunrise. A divine fish is pulling the sun up from the night ship to the morning ship, provenance unknown, probably Jutland. C. 800 bc. Drawing by Bjørn Skaarup.

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that at midday takes over the transport from the morning ship (see Fig.  4). On  yet another Danish razor, from Vandling at Haderslev, Southern Jutland, Denmark, the horse seems actually to land on a ship and this motif  is consequently interpreted as  the sun-horse landing on  the afternoon-ship giving over the transport of   the Sun to this ship. Finally, at sunset, a snake took over the Sun from the afternoon ship. This snake probably helped the extinguished Sun into its nightly underworld and left-turned voyage. During the night we once again meet the fish and here in connection with a left sailing ship as seen on a  razor from the Danish island of   Møn just south of  Zealand. It could help or  assist the darkened Sun at the voyage through the dangers of   the underworld. It was also ready to  perform its important task of   helping the Sun from the night-ship to  the morning-ship at dawn. Including motifs from some other Danish razors a  full dayand-night-journey of   the Sun, which is  the central myth of  the Nordic Bronze Age, is  shown graphically (Fig.  7). It is the horizon and the surface of   the earth, which is  linear, while the line of  the voyage of   the Sun is  expressed through two semicircles meeting at the horizon. We see the sun-ship as transporter of   the Sun, and we see divine zoomorphic helpers of  the Sun. It should be noted here that the horse can not bring the Sun to the snake, or  the fish can not bring the Sun to  the horse. Always we need a  ship in  between, as  some sort of  a mediator. There seem to  have been different versions of   this system. For instance, the snake could have had a  role in  the morning, here also helping the Sun.  The horse could also have had a  role during the night, perhaps at the deepest point of   the underworld. This cyclical-mythological system seems to  work well without the involvement of  anthropomorphic gods. We are dealing primarily with the sun as  a  non-personified manifestation of  the highest power. It should not be excluded that gods in  human form were appearing in  the Late Bronze Age, not as  a  full Parnassus of  gods, but in the shape of   one single deity, the Sun-god. Renderings of  human-like figures on  the bronze objects are extremely rare. The most illustrative example of   human-like creatures is 210

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Fig. 7 Motifs from Danish razors showing different points of  the cyclical movement of  the Sun. Late Bronze Age, between 1100–500 bc. 1. Sunrise. The fish pulls the rising sun up from the night-ship to the morning ship. 2. For a while, the fish was allowed to sail on with the ship. 3. The fish is to be devoured by a bird of   prey. Stylized sun-horses (S-figures) are ready to fetch the sun. 4. Two sun-horses are about to pull the Sun from the ship. 5. At noon, the sun-horse has collected the Sun from the ship. 6. In the afternoon the sunhorse lands with the Sun on the sun-ship. 7. Some time after the sun-horse has landed, the Sun is taken over by the snake from the afternoon-ship. 8. The snake is  concealing the Sun in  its spiral curls. It will soon lead the sun down under the horizon. 9.  Two night-ships sailing towards left. The Sun is  not visible, extinguished and dark on  its voyage through the underworld. 10.  A  night ship followed by a fish swimming to the left. The fish is ready to fulfill its task at sunrise. Drawing courtesy by the Danish periodical Skalk.

seen on a razor from the southern part of   the Jutland Peninsula, where two figures are paddling a ship (Fig. 8). The heads are shaped like sun images with a halo. This could be the Sun-god in its human-like appearance with a head shown as  the Sun with its rays where the Sun-god is  being the Sun itself. Since there are two identical figures, the one could stand for the Sun in  daytime, and the other for its nocturnal phase, which could be the Nordic version of   the Greek Dioscuri. 211

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Fig. 8 Razor from southern Jutland showing two human-like figures, probably two aspects of  the Sun-god paddling the sun ship, unknown provenance. C. 800 bc. Photo by the author.

Another possibility is  that the two sun figures could represent two periods of   the day-time, for instance, the sun before and after noon.

Personified Gods The presence of   personified gods in the Nordic Bronze Age has been widely discussed.10 Some have been of   the opinion that some of   the larger human figures on the rock carvings could be images of  gods in human form.11 Others have thought that most human figures on the rock carvings must be pictures of  humans of  flesh and blood in a ritual situation.12 Based on a general impression from the art on the bronzes, there is no need for personified deities to  make the cosmological worldview function. It is  necessary, though, to  keep the nuances in  mind and it can not be ruled out that transcendent beings such as the souls of   the dead or mythological ancestors in some cases can be seen on the rock carvings. Even though much speaks for the view that many of   Kaul, Bronzealderens religion, p. 342.   See, e.g., Glob, Helleristninger i Danmark, p.  197; Hultkranz, ‘Hällristningsreligion’, pp. 54–57; Larsson, Materiell kultur och religiösa symboler, p. 88; Fredell, Bildbroar, pp. 246–54. 12  See, e.g., Almgren, Hällristningar och Kultbruk; Schier, ‘Skandinavische Felsbilder als Q  uelle für die germanische Religionsgeschichte?’; Warmind, ‘Aspects of   Bronze Age Religion From the Point of   View of   a Historian of  Religion’; Warmind, ‘Religion uden det transcendente? Bronzealderen som muligt eksempel’; Kossack, Religiöses Denken in dinglicher und bildlicher Überlieferung Alteuropas aus der Spätbronze und frühen Eisenzeit, pp. 174–78. 10

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the complex carvings depict rituals this does not mean that all carvings should be placed in this category; in each case a careful assessment should be possible.13 Renderings on the rocks of   sunhorses for instance, must belong to  the transempirical world. Depictions of   ships without relation to  the large ritual compositions need not to  be regarded as  the ships used in  the rituals. To an equally high degree such ships may be regarded as symbols carrying the associations, which the ship conveyed, i.e. as images related to  the Sun and its journey. In  some cases ‘discmen’ on the rocks may be seen as anthropomorfized renderings of  the Sun.14 Anyway, in my opinion, it does not seem possible on bronzes to  find pictorial evidence of   a Parnassus of   gods in  human form, as  we know them for instance from Medieval written sources on  Viking Age mythology. According to  the pictorial evidence of  the bronzes the only anthropomorfization that can be detected is the very sun itself  taking a human shape, or as we shall see, partly human, partly zoomorphic. However, others have challenged this view. K. Kristiansen and T. B. Larsson write as follows: Other researchers have doubted whether there existed a divine pantheon in the Bronze Age, that is gods and godesses… This proposition also rests on several false premises: it assumes that European and Nordic Bronze Age societies were too primitive to  adopt and maintain an advanced religious system, and it implicitly assumes an obsolete evolutionary perspective on European Bronze Age societies and on religion.15

Those who maintain that an absence of   a ‘classical’ pantheon of  human-like gods should be particularly primitive (and too primitive for our notions of   Bronze Age society) seem themselves to  have become victims of   old-fashioned evolutionary thinking as to the ‘development’ of   the religions of   the world, when it is claimed that a  relatively complex society is  not entitled mostly   Bengtsson and Hygen, Hällristningar i Gränsbygd, pp. 94–100.  Kaul, Bronzealderens religion, pp. 348–52. 15  Kristiansen and Larsson, The Rise of   Bronze Age Society, p.  353. For the same view, see also Melheim, ‘Gjonnom ild og vann. Graver og depoter som kilde til kosmologi i bronsealderen i Øst-Norge’, p. 115. 13 14

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to  worship non-personified deities or  gods (and I  have never claimed that there were no gods in the Bronze Age, for instance, representing the most important celestial bodies; but who says that gods should have the primary appearance in  human shape, see also below). In  this case patterns of   social structure and a  presence of   personified gods are closely connected and then consequently a  balancing of   the pictorial evidence as  to  the absence or presence of  (a number of) personified gods has become linked to  our thoughts of   the general social or  civilized level of the Nordic Bronze Age communities. There is  no reason to infer that a cyclic or ‘cosmoteistic’ worldview as presented above should be classified as  primitive or  being related to  a  certain low level of  civilization. On  the contrary, the glimpses of   the cosmology and mythology of   the Nordic Bronze Age seem to tell us about a codified, complex, and ‘advanced’ religion, and discussions about more or  less primitive of   such a  system may seem somehow meaningless. When looking on the basic structure of  the central myth of  the voyage of   the Sun, then it is possible to point out some striking similarities with the basics of  the religion of   ancient Egypt, which is a religion that we do not regard as particularly primitive. Here we are also dealing with a  cyclical voyage of  the Sun during day and night and with a  number of  animal helpers or  even manifestations of   the Sun itself  such as the scarab, the falcon, and the snake as well as day and night ships.16

Transformations of  the Gods In fact, the divine powers or  gods could in  many religions including Egyptian religion take a lot of   shapes such as human form, animal form, or  mixed shapes. And what particularly characterizes a  god seems to  be this mystical ability of   changing appearance. In  Nordic (Viking) mythology for instance, Odin and Thor could change themselves into eagles, and probably the raven should be considered as a manifestation of   Odin too. Loki could change himself  into a  salmon, while Loki and Heimdal could be seals. Among the ancient Greek gods Zeus   Q uirke, The Cult of  Ra, pp. 44–48.

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could manifest himself  as a  bull or  a  swan, and particularly Poseidon could take many shapes such as a horse, a bull, a bird, a  ram, or a  dolphin. Gods could also turn into plants or ‘natural phenomena’ such as raindrops (Zeus showing himself  for Danaë). This means that we should not necessarily define a god as being primarily of  human shape. But if  ‘the true nature’ or  the appearance of   a god or  the gods was not like a human being but something else, how could we then define or  understand a  god. Perhaps a  god could be defined as  something, which can not be clearly defined and we shall never be able to find a ‘true’ appearance of   a god. This may be the mystery of  many religions, namely that the ‘true nature’ or appearance of  a god was a well-kept secret that was only to be revealed for the enlightened dead. Only when you are dead, you will know the truth. As to  Egyptian religion Hornung writes as follows: Aber alle diese Tiere, Pflanzen und Dinge, die mit der Erscheinung der Götter verbunden waren, sagen nichts über die wahre, eigentliche Gestalt einer Gottheit aus. Diese ist nach den Texten “Verborgen” und “Geheimnissvoll”, nach den Sargtexten darf  nur der wissende Tote die wahre Gottesgestallt schauen. … wie Horus sich im Bilde des Falken, der den Himmel mit seinem Schwingen überspannt, als der zu erkennen, der er ist… Jedes Bild ist ein unvollkommendes Mittel, eine Gottheit überhaupt anschaulich zu machen, sie in ihrer Wesenart zu kennzeichen und von anderen zu unterschieden.17

The Egyptian Sun-god could assume a  large number of   shapes. Basically he was Re, the Sun itself. Re could also be referred to  as simply ‘The Great Spirit’, the great BA, and the Sun that animated everything. Re could also take shape of   the scarab, and he could be the falcon or he could even manifest himself  as a snake. In the Late Period of   Egypt the sun was represented in forms to  every hour of   its daily journey. For example it might be a  child in  the first and second hours and an old man in  the eleventh and twelfth hours, often with the head of   a ram. Thus  Hornung, Der Eine und die Vielen, p. 128.

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Re, the Sun, or the Sun-god was certainly not understood solely as a  personified god, only occasionally represented in  human form, often in animal shape or in a shape of  half animal and half  human. When Re was unified with the falcon god Horus, then the sun god is represented as a man with a falcon head crowned by the solar disc. During the night Re could merge in  the underworld with Osiris. Another mystical ‘ability’ or  ‘character’ of   gods seems to  be that the helpers of   a god could also be a  manifestation of   the very same god.18 The scarab, Khepri, is  sometimes depicted as the helper of   the Sun bringing Re up at sunrise. On  the other hand, Khepri, is  also the Sun-god, or  one of   his manifestations. According to  Amduat (here from the burial chamber of  Thutmosis  III), in  the morning the Sun-god was transformed into Khepri, his new-born form, and is  lifted by the arms of  Shu to  the eastern horizon.19 In  a  mystical way the words: ‘To  have’ and ‘to be’ become the same. The Sun has the scarab as a helper, and the Sun is in a certain manifestation the scarab. This characterisation could also go for other religions. Probably, the Sun-horse could at the same time be the helper of   the Sun and the Sun-god itself. Does this mean that the horse is a  god, or even another god, which the Sun-god diffuses with? Is a manifestation of   a god, the god itself? We could also talk about an amalgamation of   an attribute of  a god and its human-like manifestation. There is  not any formal logic in  this. Everything can go into everything. To be and to have is the same. With this in mind it could be suggested that the divine helpers of the Sun of  the Nordic bronze Age, the fish, the horse, and the snake were more than just helpers. In fact, they may at the same time be regarded as both helpers and manifestations of   the Sun. In other words, the Sun-horse (or even a horse on earth) is one of the manifestations of  the Sun and in a mysterious way actually being the Sun-god. The snake could also be such a manifestation even though it should not be excluded that in the representation of the snake, it could also be a manifestation of  an unknown god of  the underworld.  Hornung, Der Eine und die Vielen, p. 252.   Abt and Hornung, Knowledge for the Afterlife, p. 140.

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Fig. 9 Razor from Voldtofte, south-western Funen, Denmark. C. 800 bc. Drawing by Thomas Bredsdorf.

On a  razor from Voldtofte, south-west-Funen, Denmark, a ship with horse headed stems is  depicted, which carries a curious winding mixture of   shapes (Fig.  9). This is  obviously very difficult to  interpret.20 A possibility of   interpretation is  that the Sun-god could show himself/herself  in  different forms or manifestations with both human and zoomorphic elements. Then we can separate three interconnected figures. From left to right there is  a  figure with human legs, an S-shaped and horselike body ending in what seems to be a curled neck with a stylized aquatic bird head. The next figure seems to have a raised stylized horse shaped head with an incurled snout, and finally the third figure looks like a dancing or jumping person with an animal head. These three figures can be regarded as three renderings of  exactly the same figure, namely the Sun-god at different times of  the day showing both anthropomorfic and zoomorfic elements. All the many S-shaped symbols surrounding the ship could be renderings of   exactly the same; they can be regarded as stylized sun-horses.21 The motifs on  the razor from Borgdorf, Kr.  Rendsborg, Schleswig-Holstein, Germany, could be interpreted along the same lines,22 perceiving the figures as being renderings of  differ20 Thrane, ‘Bronzealderbarbering’; Kaul, Ships on  Bronzes, cat. no.  105; Kaul, ‘Bronze Age Tripartite Cosmologies’; Kaul, ‘Slangen i bronzealderens mytologi. Orden og kaos’; Kaul, ‘En solguds mange skikkelser. En mystisk kosmologisk rejse’. 21  For the stylization of    the sun horse motif, see Sprockhoff, ‘Nordische Bronzezeit und frühes Griechentum’, pp. 46–51. 22  Kaul, ‘Bronze Age Tripartite Cosmologies’; Freudenberg and Kaul, ‘Sonne und Schiff. Die Schiffdarstellungen des Nordens in  der Bronzezeit’; Kaul, ‘En solguds mange skikkelser. En mystisk kosmologisk rejse’.

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ent appearances of   the very same Sun-god. Perhaps it represents different times of   the day. Let us then try to  ‘read’ this razor (as a  text) from left to  right: the direction of   the Sun during day-time (Fig. 10). First, over the stem aft of   the ship we see a snake. In this case it could be a  morning snake that has the same role as  the fish as seen on some other razors, but it could also be understood as a  symbol or a  manifestation of   the sun itself  in  its morning shape. The next figure seems to be very enigmatic, like a fantastic animal. But once again, if  we analyze its different elements, we could very well be dealing with a  stylized horse figure with a curled muzzle, where the extra spiral could be a representation of   an ear or the mane. The S-shape of   the figure and its decoration is not far away from the rendering of   sun-horses from other razors. Here, on  the Borgdorf  razor, the hind leg of   the horse is  not a  leg of   an animal, but a  leg of   a human being. We are dealing with a mixed figure. Just underneath this figure we find an S-shaped figure that could be a  stylized or  symbolic rendering of   the sun-horse. In  other words, the Bronze Age artist has by means of   the little extra-stylized sun-horse-symbol made it possible to  understand that we are dealing with a  sun-horse and thus a  symbol or  manifestation of   the divine Sun.  Then at far right we find the Sun-god in the shape of  a human body with the head of   the horse or perhaps even a bird of   prey, which might be a falcon? (Fig. 11).

Fig. 10 Razor from Borgdorf, Schleswig-Holstein, Germany. C. 800 bc. After Schwantes 1939, p. 557, fig. 879.

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Fig. 11 Detail from the razor from Borgdorf, Schleswig-Holstein, Germany. C. 800 bc. Photo by the author.

This concept of   depicting the Sun as  partly human and partly animal should not be totally alien to  us, when we remember the different shapes that the Egyptian gods – here particularly the Sun or  the Sun-god (Re) – could take. The three figures dominating the ship of  the Borgdorf razor could be seen as three figures representing quite the same, namely the Sun at three different stages of  the day, in three different shapes, with the human form increasingly dominant with a shift from zoomorfication to anthropomorfization. Consequently, the ‘either-or’ discussion as  to  anthropomorphic gods seems meaningless. In  fact, the divine powers or gods can in  many religions take a  lot of   shapes such as  human form, animal form, or  mixed shapes. From this it follows that anthropomorphic manifestations or  representation of   the gods should not be regarded as more advanced or ‘finer’ than zoomorphic manifestations.

The Dead in the Afterlife? When dealing with the ‘inhabitants’ of   cosmos of   transempirical nature, the souls of   the dead are of   great interest since notions as to the afterlife are known to be of   overwhelming importance 219

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in any religion.23 It can not be excluded that some or many souls did have a  permanent home somewhere in  the underworld. But in this case, the pictorial texts of   the bronzes do not seem to  demonstrate a  permanency related to  the different spheres. When accepting that the ships represented on the bronzes basically are mythological ships related to  a  central myth of   the Nordic Bronze Age concerning the eternal voyage of   the Sun, then we must seriously consider the meaning of   the strokes representing the crew. The crew on  these ships can not be living members of   society of   the earthly sphere. Consequently, it does not seem unreasonable to  regard these strokes on  the obviously mythological ships as  the souls of   the dead, humans ‘deified’ by death. The souls of   the dead became the crew of   the sun-ship. Also, the souls of   the dead or  at least those, who were related to the honorable task of   being part of   the crew of   the sun-ship, thus had an important role in the daily cycle. And a mutual dependency between the life-giving Sun and the souls of  humans were created in Bronze Age mythology. Thus the Sun, in a  certain degree, became dependent on assistance from the souls of human beings, but the souls on their side were naturally deeply dependent on the divine Sun. When suggesting such a mutual dependency, then phenomena as  death cult get a  rather enlarged meaning. If  the dead were honored in the right way, for instance in cult houses at the burial mound, then the souls of   the dead could assist the Sun in the best way, which could certainly benefit the living humans of   the surface of   the earth. The ancestors were intimately related to the eternal journey of   the Sun. The soul shared the fate of  the Sun on its eternal journey round and round and up and down through the sky and the underworld. The Sun sets every evening, but also during the night the souls could help the extinguished Sun during its nocturnal voyage through the underworld and also on left sailing night-ships the strokes representing the crew are seen (Fig. 12). The souls themselves became a guarantee for cosmic order and securing the return and rebirth of  the Sun and life. The afterlife of  human beings could be connected to a basic cosmological myth.   Gräslund, ‘Prehistoric Soul Beliefs in Northern Europe’.

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Fig. 12 Example of   mythological ships with strokes representing the crew. Here two night ships sailing towards left are seen on top of  each other, from Jerne, western Jutland, Denmark. It should be noted that the strokes representing the crew are carefully placed in pairs. C. 800 bc. Photo by the author.

But can we allow ourselves to  call these human beings in their afterlife for gods or is the more neutral denomination ‘transempirical being’ a  better solution? This is  of   course a  matter of  definitions. When we do not know whether the souls could manifest themselves in  different shapes as  seems to  be the matter when dealing with ‘general gods’, then we should perhaps be cautious. Furthermore, since we could assume that such, albeit important, transempirical actors in  the cosmological going round-and-round-theatre of    cyclical time, before their dead had a ‘historical’ life in history and linear time as human beings (and perhaps were even known as  a  father or  grandfather), they did not had a  transempirical existence from the beginning of   time. Perhaps these strokes representing the crew could be compared with Christian saints, who often had a  ‘historical’ life as human beings. On  the other hand many saints could be regarded as function-determined gods and they appear often as personified deities. At any rate, this presentation demonstrates that with a point of   departure in  the imagery of   material culture of   the Nordic Bronze Age it is  possible to  discuss the nature of   the gods, also on a broad philosophical or theological level.

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Bibliography Abt, Theodore and Erik Hornung, Knowledge for the Afterlife: The Egytian Amduat – A Q  uest for Immortality (Zurich: Living Human Heritage Publications Zürich, 2003) Almgren, Oscar, Hällristningar och Kultbruk: Bidrag till belysning av de nordiska bronsaldersristningarnas innebörd, Kungl. Vitterhets historie och Antikvitets Akademiens Handlingar, 35, Stockholm: Kungl. Vitterhets historie och Antikvitets Akademiens Handlingar, 1927 Bengtsson, Lasse and Anne-Sophie Hygen, Hällristningar i Gränsbygd (Sävedalen: Warne Förlag, 1999) Fredell, Åsa, Bildbroar: Figurativ bildkommunikation av ideologi och kosmologi under sydskandinavisk bronsålder och förromersk järnålder, Gotarc, Serie B, Gothenburg Archaeological Thesis, 25 (Gothenburg: Göteborgs Universitet, 2003) Freudenberg, Mechtild and Flemming Kaul, ‘Sonne und Schiff. Die Schiffdarstellungen des Nordens in der Bronzezeit’, in Es war einmal ein Schiff. Archäologische Expeditionen zum Meer, ed. by Claus von Carnap-Bornheim and Christian Radtke (Hamburg: Marebuch­ verlag GmbH & Co. KG, 2007), pp. 77–110 Glob, Peter V., Helleristninger i Danmark, Jysk Arkæologisk Selskabs Skrifter, 7 (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1969) Gräslund, Bo, ‘Prehistoric Soul Beliefs in Northern Europe’, Proceedings of  the Prehistoric Society, 60 (1994), pp. 15–26 Hornung, Erik, Der Eine und die Vielen. Altägyptische Götterwelt (Darmstadt: Primus Verlag, 2005) Hultkranz, Åke, ‘Hällristningsreligion’, in Hällristningar och Hällmålningar i Sverige, ed.  by Sverker Janson and others (Helsingborg: Bokförlaget Forum, 1989), pp. 43–58 Jensen, Jørgen, ‘Metal Deposits’, in  Digging into the Past. 25 Years of  Archaeology in Denmark, ed. by Steen Hvass and Birger Storgaard, trans. by John Hines and Joan F. Davidson, Jysk Arkæologisk Selskabs Skrifter (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1993), pp. 152–58 Kaul, Flemming, Ships on Bronzes. A Study in Bronze Age Religion and Iconography, Publications from the National Museum, Studies in Archaeology and History, 3 (Copenhagen: National Museum of  Denmark, 1998) Kaul, Flemming, Bronzealderens religion. Studier af  den nordiske bronzealders ikonografi, Nordiske Fortidsminder, Serie B, 22 (Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Nordiske Oldskriftselskab, 2004) 222

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Kaul, Flemming, ‘Bronze Age Tripartite Cosmologies’, Praehistorische Zeitschrift, 80/2 (2005), pp. 135–48 Kaul, Flemming, ‘Slangen i bronzealderens mytologi. Orden og kaos’, in  Det 10. nordiske bronzealdersymposium, Trondheim 5.–8. okt. 2006, ed. by Terje Brattli, Vitark, 6, Acta Archaologica Nidrosiensa (Trondheim: Tapir, 2009a), pp. 80–97 Kaul, Flemming, ‘En solguds mange skikkelser. En mystisk kosmologisk rejse’, Nationalmuseets Arbejdsmark (Copenhagen: National Museum of  Denmark, 2009b), pp. 199–214 Kaul, Flemming, ‘Guldringe fra Boeslunde, Borgbjerg Banke som samlingssted’, in  Danefæ. Skatte fra den danske muld, Til Hendes Majestæt Dronning Margrethe 2, ed.  by Michael Andersen and Poul Otto Nielsen (Copenhagen: Nationalmuseet and Gyldendal, 2010a), pp. 69–74 Kaul, Flemming, ‘The Sun Image from Trundholm (“The Chariot of  the Sun”): A  Commented History of   Research’, in  Der Griff  nach den Sternen. Wie Europas Eliten zu Macht und Reichtum kamen. Internationales Symposium in Halle (Saale) 16.–21. Februar 2005, ed. by Harald Meller and François Bertemes, Tagungen des Landesmuseum für Vorgeschichte Halle (Saale), 5 (Halle (Saale): Landesamt für Denkmalpflege und Archäologie Sachsen-Anhalt, 2010b), pp. 521–36 Kossack, Georg, Religiöses Denken in dinglicher und bildlicher Überlieferung Alteuropas aus der Spätbronze und frühen Eisenzeit (9.–6. Jahrhundert v. Chr. Geb), Werke des Verlags der Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-Historische Klasse, Abhandlungen, Neue Folge, 116 (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1999) Kristiansen, Kristian and Thomas B. Larsson, The Rise of   Bronze Age Society: Travels, Transmissions and Transformations (New York and Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005) Larsson, Thomas B., Materiell kultur och religiösa symboler: Mesopotamien, Anatolien och Skandinavien under det andra förkristna årtusendet, Arkeologiska Studier vid Umeå Universitet, 4 (Umeå: Department of   Archaeology and Sami Studies, Umeå University, 1997) Madsen, Andreas Peter, Afbildninger af  danske oldsager og mindesmærker (Copenhagen: Gyldendals Boghandel, 1876) Melheim, Anne Lene, ‘Gjonnom ild og vann. Graver og depoter som kilde til kosmologi i bronsealderen i Øst-Norge’, in Myter og religion i Bronsealderen. Studier med utgangspunkt i helleristninger, graver og depoter i Sør-Norge og Bohuslän, ed. by Anne Lene Melheim and 223

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others, Oslo Arkeologiske Serie, 5 (Oslo: Unipub Forlag – Oslo Academic Press, 2006), pp. 13–194 Müller, Sophus, Solbilledet fra Trundholm, Nordiske Fortidsminder, I, 6 (Copenhagen: Det Kgl. Nordiske Oldskriftselskab, 1903) Q uirke, Stephen, The Cult of  Ra: Sun-Worship in Ancient Egypt (London: Thames & Hudson, 2001) Schier, Kurt, ‘Skandinavische Felsbilder als Q uelle für die germanische Religionsgeschichte? Einige Einführende überlegungen über Möglichkeiten und Grenzen der Religionswissenschaftlichen Felsbildinterpretation’, in Germanische Religionsgeschichte. Q uellen und Q uellenprobleme, ed.  by Heinrich Bech and others, Ergänzungsbände zum Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde, 5 (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 1992), pp. 162–228 Sprockhoff, Ernst, ‘Sonnenwagen und Hakenkreuz im nordischen Kreis’, Germania, 20 (1936), pp. 1–9 Sprockhoff, Ernst, ‘Nordische Bronzezeit und frühes Griechentum’, Jahrbuch des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz, 1 (1954), pp. 28–110 Schwantes, Gustav, Die Vorgeschichte Schleswig-Holsteins (Stein- und Bronzezeit) (Neumünster: Karl Wachholtz, 1939) Thrane, Henrik, ‘Bronzealderbarbering’, Fynske Minder (1987), pp. 15– 31 Varberg, Jeanette, ‘Frau und Pferd in  der Spätbronzezeit. Ein Versuch zum Verständnis einiger Aspekte der spätbronzezeitlichen Kosmologie unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der südskandinavischen Votivdepots’, Altertum, 54 (2009a), pp. 37–52 Varberg, Jeanette, ‘Kvinden og hesten’, Skalk, 2 (2009b), pp. 18–27 Warmind, Morten, ‘Aspects of   Bronze Age Religion From the Point of  View of  a Historian of  Religion’, Adoranten (1994), pp. 5–9 Warmind, Morten, ‘Religion uden det transcendente? Bronzealderen som muligt eksempel’, in Religion og materiel kultur, ed. by Lisbeth  B. Christensen and Susanne  B. Sveen (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1998), pp. 94–106

Abstract Via an analysis of   the images on  Danish late-Bronze Age objects, it seems possible to  set up a  sequence concerning the myth of   the daily and nightly voyage of   the Sun. In this mythological narrative, which can be read on bronze objects, the divine Sun is accompanied 224

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by zoomorphic helpers such as a fish, a horse, and a snake. Apart from these manifestations or  helpers of  the Sun, the ship played an important role as  conveyor of   the Sun. This cyclical-mythological system seems to  work well without the involvement of   anthropomorphic gods. On  the other hand, in  some cases the Sun seems to  be represented in the shape of   a human being. The presence or non-presence of   personified deities in  the Nordic Bronze Age has been widely discussed. However, this ‘either/or’ discussion may seem meaningless. In  fact, the divine powers or  gods can in  many religions take a lot of   shapes such as human forms, animal forms or mixed shapes. What particularly characterizes a god is this mystical ability of  changing appearance. It is  argued that the powerful Sun god first and foremost appeared as the very Sun, but it could assume a number of  different shapes and at times even being anthropomorfized, or  at other times manifest itself  as for instance the sun-horse. The Sun could have the horse as a divine helper and be the horse at the same time. On a couple of  razors the imagery seems to show the transformations of  the Sun god. Also the souls of   the dead could have been actors in the mythological world of   the Bronze Age.  Even though transcendental beings could take human shape it does not seem possible on bronzes to  find pictorial evidence of   a Parnassus of   gods in  human form, as we know them for instance from Medieval written sources on Viking Age mythology.

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AT THE SCENE OF  COSMOLOGY CONSTRUCTION: THE RELIGIOUS EFFECTS OF  BARROW BUILDING IN THE NORDIC BRONZE AGE

Social Religion A re-emerged interest in  prehistoric religion can be recognized within archaeological research beginning with the late 1990s. This religious revival has been closely associated with a theoretical attention to symbolic significance and meaning content of  material culture. Consequently, there has been a  considerable focus on trying to  unveil mythological and cosmological significance of  finds, which are assumed to  be linked to  a  religious sphere. This applies not least to the Nordic Bronze Age, where the plentiful iconography on bronzes and rock carvings appear to provide a  tantalizing proximity to  narratives and cosmology.1 Also, the numerous and occasionally complex wetland depositions as well as  the burial record has been drawn into this discussion of   the narrative content of  Bronze Age religion.2

1  For example Randsborg, ‘Kivik. Archaeology and Iconography’; Randsborg, ‘Bronze Age Universitas. Kivig/Kivik revisited’; Kaul, ‘Ships on  Bronzes’; Kaul, Bronzealderens religion; Kaul, ‘Bronze Age Tripartite Cosmologies’; Fredell; Bildbroar. Figurativ bildkommunikation av ideology och kosmologi under sydskandinavisk och förromersk järnalder; Goldhahn, Från Sagaholm till Bredarör – hällbildsstudier 2000–2004; Kristiansen and Larsson, The Rise of   Bronze Age Society; Kristiansen, ‘The Twin Rulers as  a  Religious and Political Institution during the Bronze Age’; Bradley, ‘Danish Razors and Swedish Rocks’. 2 Goldhahn, Från Sagaholm till Bredarör – hällbildsstudier 2000–2004; Kristiansen and Larsson, Rise of   Bronze Age Society; Kaliff, Brandgravskick och föreställningsvärld. En religionsarkeologisk discussion; Kaliff, Grav och kultplatz. Eskatologiska förestillningar under yngre bronsålder och äldre järnålder i Östgötland; Kaliff, ‘Grave Structures and Altars’; Kaliff, ‘Fire, Water, Heaven and Earth’. Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114433 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp. 227–251  © 

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Beyond the meaning content, there is also a social and practical aspect to  prehistoric religion. This, however, has played a less prominent role in  the study of   Bronze Age religion. Often it is  addressed with reference to  assumed hierarchical social structures and institutions in the form of   religious specialists or priests, although alternatives have appeared sporadically in connection with studies of   rituals in  the form of   what can be broadly defined as agency approaches to ritual activities.3 Still, it is my claim in this contribution that the social approach to religion holds considerable unexplored potential for the understanding of  prehistoric religion, which may provide significant correctives also to  the interpretations of   meaning content. This applies not least when we study the social organisation of  knowledge in  the Bronze Age, which allows a  consideration of   the generative principles behind cosmology and mythology as well as the possibilities of  maintaining the knowledge.4 In the following, I will attempt to explore some social aspects of  Nordic Bronze Age religion starting from the burial record, and more specifically the barrows of  the South Scandinavian Early and Middle Bronze Age. It is my claim, that we can deduce a specific and relatively institutionalized form of   social forum, which for a couple of   generations played a crucial role in the development of   Bronze Age religion in the region, and which indicate a much higher degree of   dynamics in the religious expressions over time than is apparent from the iconography.

Religious Monumentality When considered as a social phenomenon, religion involves communities or  networks of  shared practices with codes of  conduct and at least a  partly shared corpus of   religious knowledge and apprehensions as well as an associated material culture. Included 3  Goldhahn, Sagaholm: hällristningar och gravritual; Goldhahn, ‘Från landskapens monument till monumentens landskap – om döda och efterlevande med eksempel från äldre bronsålder, 1700–1100 cal bc’; Goldhahn, Dödens hand. En essä om brons- och hällsmed; Skoglund, Vardagens landskap; Skoglund, ‘Stone Ships’; Oestigaard and Goldhahn, ‘From the Dead to the Living’. 4  Barth, ‘An Anthropology of  Knowledge’.

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in  the shared practices is  a  temporal dimension. Practices and knowledge are maintained and modified over time through more or less formalized and structured gatherings. In the study of  prehistoric religion the material culture aspect is obviously particularly important, as  through this we may approach the religious expressions of  the past. It involves objects, architecture, and selected settings, and it works in very varied ways. Religious objects may constitute symbolic storage, aids of  abstraction, and references to  external powers or tradition. Settings frame activities and participants, establish atmosphere, influence the perception of  events and provide concrete spatial fix points for the intangible. Architecture functions as purposively modified settings with enhanced, structuring effects on behaviour and perception. These effects are obtained by providing basic classifications (inside/outside), associating and ordering symbolically significant things in  space, regulating movement and activities, and thereby sometimes also generating a  sequence of   activities and significances.5 The mentioned properties of   architecture are most often discussed in  connection with completed buildings and their use. As such, the architecture appears as  a  stable framework for activities. But architecture also represents a  dynamic process in the form of  its construction. It is in this process that the purposes of  the buildings are defined and implemented. Thereby, religious knowledge and the expected practices may become thoroughly integrated with the architectural expression. The construction may also operate as a ritual practice in itself  and involve a wider part of   the religious community. This is  particularly evident in connection with burial monuments, where often an integration of  burial ritual and monument construction is seen.6

5 Barth, Cosmologies in  the Making; Barth, ‘The Guru and the Conjurer’; Boyer, Tradition as Truth and Communication; Mithen, ‘The Supernatural Beings of  Prehistory and the External Storage of   Religious Ideas’; Renfrew, ‘Mind and Matter’; Sørensen and Bille, ‘Flames of  transformation’. 6 Barret, Fragments from Antiquity; Barret, ‘The Living, the Dead and the Ancestors’.

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The Barrows of  the South Scandinavian Bronze Age Barrows are by far the most common form of  prehistoric burial monument in  South Scandinavia. Within the Danish area about 86,000 mounds excluding megalithic tombs were recorded in a systematic survey of  all parishes taking place in the late nineteenth century and first decades of  the twentieth century. The recorded barrows represent a very long time span from the beginning of the Single Grave Culture around 2800 bc until the Late Viking Age and the introduction of  Christianity in the late tenth century ad. However, we cannot speak of  a steady accumulation of monuments. If we consider the dates of  the establishment of the mounds it becomes apparent, that the overwhelming majority of the monuments actually belong to just two, relatively short-lived periods of  very intense mound construction (Fig. 1). The first period can be detected at the very beginning of  the mound tradition in the Single Grave Culture in which almost half  of  the dated mounds in the Danish area were erected within a few centuries starting around 2800 bc. The emphasis on the barrows during this period may be seen as part of   a geographically more widespread barrow tradition, which at this time characterized large parts of   east and central Europe and is associated archaeologically with the Corded Ware Culture. The Single Grave Culture is followed by a period in the Late Neolithic where very few new mounds were established. The second period of   intense mound construction belongs in the Early and Middle Bronze Age from around 1500–1200 bc. In addition to the establishment of  new barrows, old monuments were also re-used and often accompanied by an extension of the monument itself. Again, it appears to be part of  the flourishing of  a much wider European barrow tradition, which in central Europe was associated with the Tumulus Culture. To the northwest, in Sweden, a similar flourishing can be recognized, although, in this region the mounds were not only constructed as turf-mounds as in Southern Scandinavian but also as stone constructed cairns. In general, the barrows appear to have been erected over one burial, and most often reused for secondary burials afterwards. There are, however, some examples of  the barrow covering several primary burials.7   Holst, ‘The South Scandinavian Early Bronze Age Barrows – A Suvery’.

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Fig. 1 Table and graph of  the intensity in establishment of  barrows through prehistory based on the recorded number of  primary burials per year for each period. For data and a more detailed account of  the calculations, see Holst 2013, pp. 42–44.

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The evident fluctuations observed in  the intensity of   the mound construction suggest that within a  few generations the building of   barrows changed from being a  very unusual affair, which only few people ever experienced, to being a regular occurrence for everyone, and with a  significant proportion of  the population being interred in mounds.8

The Great Mounds The majority of   the barrows were relatively small in  size with diameters of   5–20  m and heights of   less than 4  m. However, the increased intensity in use of   mounds in the Bronze Age was accompanied by a  general increase in  the size of   the individual monuments, and a  few monuments reached considerable proportions with diameters of  more than 30 m and heights of more than 5. These larger mounds are often named ‘great mounds’. The largest Bronze Age mounds have diameters of   up to 50–70  m and heights of   up to  10  m. Hohøj at Mariager Fjord and the Kivik-cairn Bredarör in Scania are probably the most spectacular examples.9 In terms of   volume the large mounds constituted a  very considerable increase. Compared to  the most frequent mound size of   10  m in  diameter and 2  m in  height a  large mound of  30  m in  diameter and 6  m in  height had a  volume more than 25 times larger. This increase in  scale would obviously have changed the organisational and economically challenges significantly. It would have reflected on the required labour investment and thereby probably the number of   participants necessary, the duration of   their involvement in the construction as well as the logistical challenges of   providing for the participants during the construction. The increase in  monument size also changed the scale of   operation in the landscape linked to the acquisition of   turves for the mound as the area required was extended from a few hundreds square meters to several hectares of   land. It fur  Holst and others, ‘Bronze Age “Herostrats” ’.  Randsborg, ‘Kivik. Archaeology and Iconography’; Randsborg, ‘Kivig – Kivik: A  Bronze Age Collage’, this volume; Goldhahn, ‘Bredarör on Kivik’; Nordén, Kiviksgraven och andra fornminnen i Kivikstrakten; Bech, Fra fortidsminder til kulturmiljø – hvad Alstrup Krat og Hohøj gemte. 8

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thermore increased the challenges of  controlling the builders, the building process, and the constructional outcome. The great mounds are the largest type of   construction we know from the Nordic Early Bronze Age, so  far, both in  terms of   size and required labour effort. In  that respect, the large mounds were not just an elaboration of  an existing form of  practice but a  new form of   organisational challenge, which called for an exploration of   the capacity of   existing social structures and the development of   new organisational principles.10 In  the same period, as  the construction of   the large mounds, we also see a development in the long house architecture with a significant increase in  the scale of   the buildings. This indicates that the period saw a  general increase in  the emphasis on  collective operations directed towards specific construction tasks.11 The organisational challenges and the responses to them can occasionally be recognized in  the architecture of   the barrows. Under fortunate circumstances the turves of   which the barrows were constructed are still recognizable today, and allow a  detailed reconstruction of   the building sequence. In  this way, basic organisational principles can be identified. One of  the most detailed insights into the construction was obtained at the barrow Skelhøj at Tobøl in south-western Jutland north of   Ribe (Fig.  2). Here a  complete excavation of   a relatively well-preserved great mound was conducted between 2002 and 2004. The barrow measured 30  m in  diameter and 5  m in  height, but was originally at least 1.5  m taller. It had been erected over one single burial and was constructed entirely of  turves stripped from the surrounding fields. Since the barrow was situated in a landscape with varied subsoil conditions there was a  considerable variation in  the appearance of   the turves dependent on  their area of   origin. This allowed us to  distinguish separate building episodes and the use of   different turf  acquisition areas.12   Holst and Rasmussen, ‘Herder Communities’.  Artursson, Bebyggelse och Samhällsstruktur. Södra och mellersta Skandinavien under senneolitikum och bronsålder 2300–500 f.Kr.; Bech and Olsen, ‘Early Bronze Age Houses from Thy, Northwest Denmark’. 12   Holst and Rasmussen, Skelhøj and the Bronze Age Barrows of   Southern Scandinavia. 10

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Fig. 2 Skelhøj in Southern Jutland under excavation. Photo by Per Poulsen.

The construction of   Skelhøj was organized around two principles; a  building procedure and a  division of   labour between different work groups (Fig.  3). The building procedure can be deduced from the stratigraphic sequence of  the turves. The overall concept appears to have been based upon an initial establishment of  a relatively ordinary core mound of   15  m in  diameter and 3.2 m in height around the burial. This was followed by a series of  four extensions of   regular 1.5  m-wide turf  covers, which gradually increased the size of   the mound. These shells were constructed according to rigid principles with very regular sized turf  blocks being laid in concentric rows, which together formed well-defined layers in the shells (Fig. 4). These principles appear to  have supported the work-flow and shape maintenance. The procedures entailed a  clearly defined progression allowing the workers easily to  identify the place to  put the next turf. They provided a horizontal working surface throughout the construction, and they helped control the shape by expanding the size in controlled incremental stages, and using the existing part of  the barrow as a template for the next part of  the construction. The other organisational principle of  the mound construction was a  radial division of   the mound into eight equally sized segments. These segments appeared in the mound as boundaries between turves with different colour and soil characteristics 234

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Fig. 3 Schematic representation of the organizational principle of Skelhøj. The progress of the construction was structured by a series of concentric extensions of the mound around the burial. The builders were organized by a segmenting, radial division of the mound into eight equal parts. Graphics by Peter Jensen.

Fig. 4 The nested building procedure at Skelhøj with rigid turf-laying principles forming rows, layers, and shells. Graphics by Peter Jensen.

indicating that the turves for the individual segments were acquired in  different parts of   the surrounding landscape. These boundaries can occasionally be followed all the way from the top of   the barrow to its base, and they are seen repeated in each 235

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new shell. At the base of   each of   the segment boundaries a form of  approach paths or  ramp can be identified in  the form of  a mix of   erosion deposits and obliquely laid turves. This indicates that each segment was associated with its own pathway for the transportation of  the turves. In the detailed recording of   the turf  laying procedures, small but systematic variations between the segments have also been observed. In  some segments the building directions were altering between clockwise and counter-clockwise in each layer, whereas in  others there was a  continuous clockwise building direction throughout the segment. These differences indicate that the radial segmentation reflect a division of   the work force on the barrow into different groups. These groups followed the same overall building procedures, but they operated on each their part of   the mound and procured the turves and with separate pathways up into the mound. The strong segregation of  the groups is conspicuous. There are no clear traces of   collective activities across the segment boundaries, and the objectives and operations of  the individual segments are completely parallel.13 In  this respect there appears to  have been a strong respect for the group division and a far-reaching distribution of  control to the individual groups. Considering the strength of   the group division in the organisation of   the barrow building it seems likely that the groups referred to structures in society beyond the barrow event with household groups being one of  the most obvious candidates. All in  all, the organisation of   the barrow construction can be seen as designed to facilitate the construction process. It supported cooperation by respecting existing group structures and utilizing these in the division of   labour with an emphasis on the autonomy and equality of   the groups. It provided clear and detailed procedures for the individual builders, and in  addition the building procedures supported the shape maintenance and thereby entailed an element of  self-regulation so that supervision could be reduced.

  Holst and Rasmussen, ‘Combined Efforts’.

13

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The Cosmological Significance of  the Barrows The fact that barrows are so  closely connected to  burial events has always made it near at hand to  interpret them as  a  form of  ritual structure. Most attention has been given to the burial; the significance of   its alignment, the symbolic connotations of  the oak log coffins, and the ritual nature of   the activities having taken place there. However, the barrow construction in  itself  may also be viewed as  part of  a ritual sequence. The Skelhøj barrow demonstrates that there was evidently a strongly prescribed and repetitive aspect to  the construction process, and there have been several suggestions as  to  potential meaning content of  the mound itself  and its various structures. The round shape, the concentric structures within the mound, and the spherical profile has been seen as  representations of  the sun or  the setting sun. The use of turves has been interpreted as references to fertility in line with interpretations of   the ard marks often encountered underneath barrows. The construction sequence has been seen as a  form of   rite de passage narrative, and the final monument as a focal point for ancestral awareness or cult.14 There are mounds where these symbolic aspects appear particularly evident. From the Late Neolithic, before the marked increase in  mound construction, a  monument at Hjordkjær in southern Jutland contained stone setting of   fist-sized stone forming a five-part radial division of  the circle and with a double burial in the hub (Fig. 5).15 Rock carvings with different motifs have been observed on kerb stones of  several barrows, and draw a connection to the wider iconography of   the Bronze Age.  Furthermore, various stone settings and traces of   activity along the periphery of   the eastern and southern side of   the barrows suggest the significance of  the barrows as focal points for ritual activities after their completion.16 14  Kristiansen and Larsson, The Rise of   Bronze Age Society; Goldhahn, Sagaholm – hällristningar och gravritual; Brøndsted, Danmarks Oldtid  II. pp.  28 passim. 15  Jørgensen, ‘To gravhøje ved Hjordkjær i Sønderjylland. Om særprægede senneolitiske gravanlæg’. 16   Holst, ‘The South Scandinavian Early Bronze Age Barrows – A Survey’; Clemmensen, ‘Bronzealderens kultanlæg – en undersøgelse af  anlæggene uden for gravhøjene’; Aner and Kersten, Die Funde der älteren Bronzezeit des nordischen

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Fig. 5 Hjordkjær burial with a stone setting shaped like a five-spoked wheel surrounding the burial structure, Late Neolithic. After Aner and Kersten 1981, p. 62, fig. 37.

Also at Skelhøj a  symbolic component in  the construction can be recognized. A  plan of   all segment boundaries and approach pathways in  the mound reveal that similar to  the situation at Hjordkjær the radial division form a distinct eight-spoked-wheel structure with the central burial placed in  the hub and aligned with the east-west axis (Fig.  6). The fact that the burial is incorporated into the pattern suggests that the division was established from the very onset of   the construction, or perhaps even before Kreises in Dänemark, Schleswig-Holstein und Niedersachsen, Vol. 4, no. 2245; Aner and Kersten, Die Funde der älteren Bronzezeit des nordischen Kreises in Dänemark, Schleswig-Holstein und Niedersachsen, Vol.  5, no.  2751; Aner and Kersten, Die Funde der älteren Bronzezeit des nordischen Kreises in Dänemark, SchleswigHolstein und Niedersachsen, Vol. 7, nos 3421 I, 3602; Geschwinde, Die Hügelgräber auf  der Großen Heide bei Ripdorf  im Landkreis Uelzen.

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Fig. 6 Plan of  Skelhøj with the eight-spoked wheel structure defined by the segmentation of  the mound. Plan by the author.

the burial, and was maintained throughout the building process. Within the kerb, the direction of  the spokes appears to have been marked with particular large stones, which judging from stone supports may have been free-standing, and thus could have served as guiding points during the construction. The spoked-wheel is  a  prominent element in  the iconography of  the Bronze Age. It appears both as  motif  on  rock carvings and as plastic representations in  bronze. It is  generally assumed that it refers to central aspects of  the Bronze Age cosmology, such as the sun, its daily or  annual journey or  other cyclical aspects of   life and time.17 It is  in this way, it appears to  be a  powerful 17 Kaul, Bronzealderens religion; Kristiansen and Larsson, The Rise of   Bronze Age Society; Glob, Helleristninger i Danmark; Tilley, Metaphor and Material

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icon that was implemented in the mound. However, the implementation may have been more extensive and abstract than just iconic. The radial division of  the circle is highly precise with only a  few degrees of   deviation from a  perfect eight-part division. The precision is  particularly impressive when considering the scale of   operation, and it indicates that the spoked-wheel structure was defined by use of  some form of  geometric operations. If  we compare the plan of  the barrow with the most advanced contemporary geometric ornamentation of  the Bronze Age as  it is depicted on the belt plates and other disc shape surfaces, there seems to  be a  striking resemblance (Fig.  7). The ornamentation of   the disc-shape artefacts is  based upon a  layout of   concentric circles, and within these the ornament elements in  the form of  stamps and spiral motifs are distributed. In  the best executed examples, the distribution can be demonstrated to follow a six- or four-part division of   the circles, corresponding to the geometric operations of  traversing a circle with a length corresponding to its radius or a construction of  right angled cross through the centre. In this way, the concept of   the artefacts can be seen as identical to that of   the barrows; that is, a concentric pattern that is subdivided in equal parts by a geometric construction. In this way, there appears to be a basic conceptual link between the geometry on the metal artefacts and the geometry of  the barrow. A geometric bronze ornamentation is seen on artefacts, which are considered symbolically significant, and ornament elements, such as the spiral and the circles also draw connections to other parts of  the iconography of  the period. It has been suggested that the systematic regularities reflect uses as  calendars.18 However, when analyzing the general ornamentation of   bronzes, a  considerable variation is  also evident, which questions the calendar interpretation. Instead, the variation suggests an exploration of  geometric principles and possibilities, as  well as  a  significance Culture; Liungman, Symbols – Encyclopedia of   Western Signs and Ideograms; Moorey, ‘The Emergence of   the Light, Horse-drawn Chariot in  the Near East c. 2000–1500 bc’. 18  Randsborg, ‘Opening the Oak-coffins. New Dates – New Perspectives’. See also Menghin, ‘Der Berliner Goldhut und die goldenen Kalendarien der alteeuropäischen Bronzezeait’; Menghin, ‘Goldene Kegelhüte – Manifestationen bronzezeitlicher Kalenderwerke’.

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Fig. 7 The belt plate from the woman’s burial in the great mound Borum Eshøj and the geometric principle behind its layout, Borum Eshøj, Eastern Jutland. Bronze Age. After Müller 1921, p. 11.

of  the geometry in  its own right. The link between symbolic elements, simple icons, and an exploration of   geometric principles thereby suggest that there could be a  significance for the geometric properties in their own right, as we see in other early geometric traditions, where geometric operations and regularities are understood as revelations of  cosmological order.19 However, it is  evident that in  the barrows the significance of  the geometry did not only reside in its possible meaning content. It was employed as  active means of   structuring the construction of  the barrow. Thereby the builders linked the organisation of  the building process to the symbolically significant geometry. The geometric order was maintained throughout the building process by adhering to  rigid and strongly repetitive procedures. In  this way the builders were incorporated into the geometric order and symbolism. Their organisation and operations were   Seidenberg, ‘The Ritual Origin of  Geometry’; van der Waerden, Geometry and Algebra in Ancient Civilizations; Boyer, A History of  Mathematics; Burnyeat, ‘Plato on Why Mathematics is Good for the Soul’. 19

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defined by the potent structure laid out in  the initial stages of  the burial event, and the success of   the efforts was dependent upon their compliance with the structure.

The Impact of  Barrows on Religious Knowledge When we consider the observations presented above, the great barrows appear as special occasions assembling several groups of  people with very specific regulations of  engagements between the groups, and on a scene with potentially strong religious references concerning life, death, and afterlife. With reference to  Mauss, it can be seen as  a  form of   total social phenomenon in  which social, economical, and religious aspects of   society were brought together at a  specific place for a  limited period of   time.20 This constellation offered extraordinary possibilities for linking different domains and composing more complex ideological and cosmological constellations. The overriding structure of   the event was articulated by the spoked wheel structure that physically defined and linked the geometric regularities with the group identities, structured the ritual sequence, and inscribed the significance of   the burial, including its connotations of   life and death into a  wider cosmological symbolism. In  other words, the burial ritual, barrow construction, and social organisation were inserted into a  cosmologically potent geometric structure, which established a form of  overall meaning structure to the event. The fact that the event involved a  concrete constructional task had a  number of  significant effects. First of  all, it provided a tangible objective for the participants supporting an alignment of their actions. The architectural end objective in  the form of  the spherical barrow was relatively simple and easily conveyed, but the means of  getting there were relatively complex involving an elaborate organisation and a  complex procedure closely interwoven with the geometric structure of   the mound. As the organisation relied on a  distributed structure with parallel objectives, the fulfilment of  the architectural intents required a certain understanding of  the overall idea and plan of   the bar Mauss, The Gift.

20

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row including the geometric principles among the participating groups. The constructional requirements thereby necessitated an explicit explanation of   the geometry and how it would link to the procedures. In this way, the barrows also involve an element of  knowledge dissemination. The strong segregation and respect for the autonomy of   the groups seen in  the barrow organisation suggest that the groups were not accustomed to  an integrated form of   cooperation.21 This suggest that the barrow event brought together otherwise separately operating groups. Taken together with the required alignment of   actions and the intertwined character of   the cosmological references, this made the barrows an evident forum for the adjustment and conciliation of   different cosmological apprehensions. We may see a  hint of   this role of   the barrows in the rapid spread of   the barrow tradition, where also complex knowledge on  constructional principles are dispersed over large distances within a very short period of  time.22 In this way, barrow building included a  number of   aspects with a potential impact on the development of   religious knowledge. By linking different, cosmologically significant rituals and symbols to  each other and to  a  social organization, it enabled an elaboration of   cosmological knowledge. Via the logistical and constructional requirements of   the barrow building, it supported a  comparison and harmonization of   knowledge. Finally, by gathering large groups of   people on  a  relatively frequent basis, at least during the peak of  the barrow construction period, the barrow building entailed a  dissemination and maintenance of  knowledge. All of   these properties contributed to  making the barrows a significant scene for the development of   religious knowledge. The barrow provided a  forum in  which knowledge could be exchanged and negotiated. Taking into account the many thousand monuments constructed within a few centuries, it is evident that this process occurred on  a  massive scale. Seen from this perspective, it appears plausible that the barrows formed an important scene for the development of   those relatively com  Holst and Rasmussen, ‘Combined Efforts’.   Holst, ‘The South Scandinavian Early Bronze Age Barrows – A Survey’.

21 22

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plex, cosmological apprehensions glimpsed in  the iconography and depositions of  the Bronze Age.23 The large, collective efforts invested in  the barrows created a unique social situation with very specific practices that quickly spread over large areas. However, the large-scale barrow construction was a  short-lived phenomenon, just like many other monumental manifestations seen through prehistory. This raises the question of   the effect of   the decline of   the barrow building. Evidently, it created a  significant change in  the ritual practices, and, as  a  minimum, the ideas and knowledge on  the barrows would have changed character. However, the consequences may have been even more far-reaching. With the decline of   barrow building, the structuring effects of  the concrete tasks and objectives of   the construction were reduced. There was no longer any strong, organizationally bound necessity for the rigid alignment of  the religious knowledge, and the construction process no longer linked the various rituals and symbols in  a  meaningful sequence. The effects on  the religious knowledge may not have been immediate. Icons and myths may have survived, but in a long-term perspective the coherency would have been difficult to  maintain, and a  door to  diversification of  the content had been opened. Following this line of   reasoning, I  would suggest that the fluctuations in monumentality indicate the possibility of a significantly larger change and variation in the content and character of  religious knowledge in  the Bronze Age than has generally been acknowledged in studies of   mythological narratives. Complexity and uniformity over large areas may be properties, which were not stable but relying on  the establishment of   specific, social conditions, and practices in  the form of   recurring, open, social events. These included and aligned the varying, cosmological apprehensions of  the participants. This form of  religion, however,   Randsborg, ‘Kivik. Archaeology and Iconography’; Kaul, Ships on Bronzes; Kaul, Bronzealderens religion; Kaul, ‘Bronze Age Tripartite Cosmologies’; Kristiansen and Larsson, The Rise of  Bronze Age Society; Kristansen, ‘The Twin Rulers as a Religious and Political Institution during the Bronze Age’; Randsborg, ‘Opening the Oak-coffins. New Dates – New Perspectives’; Larsson, Materiell kultur och religiösa symboler: Mesopotamien, Anatolien och Skandinavien under det andra förkristna årtusendet. 23

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required considerable, collective investments for its maintenance, and so may have been the exception rather than the rule in a longterm perspective.24 In short, the character of   Bronze Age religion was dependent upon its social and material setting, and this underwent considerable changes during this period. The construction of   the monumental Bronze Age barrows was one manifestation of   an extraordinary character. As such, it may have had a strong impact on  the shaping of   Bronze Age religious ideas and practices for a period of   time. It is, however, questionable to what extent this impact lasted beyond the forum of  the barrow building.

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Scandinavia, Vol.  I: The Bronze Age Barrow Tradition and the Excavation of   Skelhøj, ed.  by Mads  K. Holst and Marianne Rasmussen, Jysk Arkæologisk Selskabs Skrifter, 78/1 (Højbjerg: Jutland Archaeological Society, 2013), pp. 27–127 Holst, Mads K. and Marianne Rasmussen, ‘Combined Efforts: The Cooperation and Coordination of   Barrow-building in the Bronze Age’, in  Excavating the Mind: Cross-sections through Culture, Cognition and Materiality, ed.  by Niels Johannsen and others (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 2012), pp. 255–79 Holst, Mads K. and Marianne Rasmussen, ‘Herder Communities: Longhouses, Cattle and Landscape Organization in  the Nordic Early and Middle Bronze Age’, in Counterpoint: Essays in Ar­chae­ol­ o­gy and Heritage Studies in Honour of  Professor Kristian Kristiansen, ed. by Sophie Bergerbrant and Serena Sabatini (British Archae­ol­ ogical Reports: International Series, 2508 (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2013a), pp. 99–110 Holst, Mads K. and Marianne Rasmussen, Skelhøj and the Bronze Age Barrows of   Southern Scandinavia, Vol.  I: The Bronze Age Barrow Tradition and the Excavation of   Skelhøj, ed.  by Mads  K. Holst and Marianne Rasmussen, Jysk Arkæologisk Selskabs Skrifter, 78/1 (Højbjerg: Jutland Archaeological Society, 2013b) Holst, Mads K. and others, ‘Bronze Age “Herostrats”: Ritual, Political and Domestic Economies in Early Bronze Age Denmark’, Proceedings of  the Prehistoric Society, 79 (2013), pp. 265–96. Jørgensen, Erik, ‘To gravhøje ved Hjordkjær i Sønderjylland. Om særprægede senneolitiske gravanlæg’, Kuml: Årbog for Jysk Arkæologisk Selskab (Aarhus: Aarhus University Press, 1984), pp. 155–89 Kaliff, Anders, Brandgravskick och föreställningsvärld. En religionsarkeologisk diskussion, Occasional Papers in Archaeology, 3 (Uppsala: Uppsala University, 1992) Kaliff, Anders, Grav och kultplats. Eskatologiska förestillningar under yngre bronsålder och äldre järnålder i Östergötland (Uppsala: Uppsala University, 1997) Kaliff, Anders, ‘Grave Structures and Altars: Archaeological Traces of  Bronze Age Eschatological Conceptions’, European Journal of  Archaeology, 1/2 (1998), pp. 177–98 Kaliff, Anders, ‘Fire, Water, Heaven and Earth: Ritual Practice and Cosmology in Ancient Scandinavia – an Indo-European Perspective’, Time and Mind: The Journal of   Archaeology, Consciousness and Culture, 2:1 (2009), pp. 99–102 Kaul, Flemming, Ships on  Bronzes: A  Study in  Bronze Age Religion 248

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and Iconography (Copenhagen: National Museum of   Denmark, Department of  Danish Collections, 1998) Kaul, Flemming, Bronzealderens religion. Studier af  den nordiske bronzealders ikonografi, Nordiske Fortidsminder, Serie B, 22 (Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Nordiske Oldskriftselskab, 2004) Kaul, Flemming, ‘Bronze Age Tripartite Cosmologies’, Prähistorische Zeitschrift, 80/2 (2005), pp. 135–48 Kristiansen, Kristian, ‘The Twin Rulers as  a  Religious and Political Institution during the Bronze Age’, Cosmos. The Journal of  Traditional Cosmology and Society, 19/2 (2006), pp. 181–213 Kristiansen, Kristian and Thomas B. Larsson, The Rise of   Bronze Age Society: Travels, Transmissions and Transformations (New York and Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005) Larsson, Thomas B., Materiell kultur och religiösa symboler: Mesopotamien, Anatolien och Skandinavien under det andra förkristna årtusendet, Arkeologiska Studier vid Umeå Universitet, 4 (Umeå: Department of   Archaeology and Sami Studies, Umeå University, 1997) Liungman, Carl G., Symbols – Encyclopedia of   Western Signs and Ideograms (Lidingö: Hme Publishing, 2004) Mauss, Marcel, The Gift: The Form and Reason for Exchange in Archaic Societies, trans. by Wilfred  D. Halls (New York and London: WW Norton, 1990) Menghin, Wilfried, ‘Der Berliner Goldhut und die goldenen Kalendarien der alteuropäischen Bronzezeit’, Acta Praehistorica et Archaeologica, 32 (2000), pp. 31–108 Menghin, Wilfried, ‘Goldene Kegelhüte – Manifestationen bronzezeitlicher Kalenderwerke’, in Gold und Kult der Bronzezeit, ed. by Tobias Springer and others (Nürnberg: Germanisches Nationalmuseum, 2003), pp. 221–37 Mithen, Steven, ‘The Supernatural Beings of  Prehistory and the External Storage of  Religious Ideas’, in Cognition and Material Culture: The Archaeology of   Symbolic Storage, ed.  by Colin Renfrew and Chris Scarre (Oxford: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research, 1998), pp. 97–106 Moorey, Peter R.  S., ‘The Emergence of   the Light, Horse-drawn Chariot in  the Near East c.  2000–1500 bc’, World Archaeology, 18/2 (1986), pp. 196–215 Müller, Sophus, Oldtidens Kunst i Danmark, II. Bronzealderens Kunst (Copenhagen: Reitzel, 1921) 249

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Nordén, Arthur, Kiviksgraven och andra fornminnen i Kivikstrakten, 4th edn, Svenska Fornminnesplaster, 1 (Stockholm: Kungl. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien, 1942) Oestigaard, Terje and Joakim Goldhahn, ‘From the Dead to  the Living: Death as  Transactions and Re-negotiations’, Norwegian Archaeological Review, 39/1 (2006), pp. 27–48 Randsborg, Klavs, Kivik. Archaeology and Iconography, Acta Archaeologica, 64/1 (Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1993) Randsborg, Klavs, ‘Opening the Oak-coffins. New Dates – New Perspectives’, Acta Archaeologica, 77 (2006), pp. 1–162 Randsborg, Klavs, ‘Bronze Age Universitas. Kivig/Kivik Revisited’. Acta Archaeologica, 82/1 (2011), pp. 163–80 Randsborg, Klavs, ‘Kivig – Kivik: A Bronze Age Collage’, this volume Renfrew, Colin, ‘Mind and Matter: Cognitive Archaeology and External Symbolic Storage’, in  Cognition and Material Culture: The Archaeology of   Symbolic Storage, ed.  by Colin Renfrew and Chris Scarre (Oxford: McDonald Institute for Archaeological Research, 1998), pp. 1–6 Seidenberg, Abraham, ‘The Ritual Origin of   Geometry’, Archive for the History of  Exact Sciences, 1/5 (1975), pp. 488–527 Skoglund, Peter, Vardagens landskap: lokala perspektiv på bronsålderns materiella kultur, Acta Archaeologica Lundensia Series altera in 8°, 49 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 2005) Skoglund, Peter, ‘Stone Ships: Continuity and Change in Scandinavian Prehistory’. World Archaeology, 40/3 (2008), pp. 390–406 Sørensen, Tim F. and Mikkel Bille, ‘Flames of   Transformation: The Role of   Fire in  Cremation Practices’, World Archaeology, 40/2 (2009), pp. 253–67 Tilley, Christopher, Metaphor and Material Culture (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 1999) van der Waerden, Bartel L., Geometry and Algebra in Ancient Civilizations (Berlin, Heidelberg, New York and Tokyo: Springer-Verlag, 1983) Whitehouse, Harvey, Modes of   Religiosity: A Cognitive Theory of   Religious Transmission, Cognitive Science of   Religion Series (Walnut Creek, Lanham, New York, Toronto, Oxford: Altamira Press, 2004

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Abstract Monumental burial architecture often enters the archaeological discourse on  prehistoric religion as  a  significant source to  ritual practices and with an assumption of   an architectural manifestation of  cosmological references. However, besides this role as a  reflection of  various aspects of   past religions the monuments may also be seen as playing a  more active, generative role in the formation of  complex or cognitively costly forms of   religion. The building of  the burial monuments generally constituted an extraordinary but still relatively regularly repeated event with particular social and material properties. It involved the assembly of   a large group of  people in a  collective and cooperative effort focused on  a  materially tangible constructional task, often involving strongly routinized, ritual-like behaviour and performed on a scene where expressions of  apprehensions of  afterlife were natural. These situational properties entailed an incentive towards an articulation, comparison, alignment, linking and elaboration of ideological and cosmological apprehensions. The South Scandinavian Early Bronze Age barrows of  the early second millenium bc represent an example of  a very marked intensification in monumental construction, which concurs temporally with other indications of  a growing complexity in mythology and ritual practices. Recent excavations of  barrows provide a  detailed insight into the symbols, plans and organisations of  the barrow event, which allows the exploration of  the potential role of   the monument construction in the expansion of  religious ideas, organisation and practices.

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KIVIG – KIVIK: A BRONZE AGE COLLAGE *

Monument and Finds The huge Bronze Age cairn (‘Bredrøse’, Swedish Bredarör) at Kivig (Swedish Kivik) on the very east coast of   Skåne is famous for its very long research history (Randsborg 1993; Tilley 2004 (with various entries); Goldhahn 2009 is possibly the most recent communication) (Fig. 1).1 The monument is 75 metres in diameter; the original height is  unknown but was probably considerable. The cairn was first excavated in  1748; a  few years later it was depicted in  detail (Fig. 2).

*  I am grateful to Dr Inga Merkyte & Søren Albek, MA, both SAXO Institute, University of   Copenhagen for comments on a draft of   this paper and for IT work on the illustrations. 1  The cairn is placed on top of   Stone Age settlements; later finds have also been made (Randsborg, Kivik, pp. 50 passim). Eight small fragments of   human bones, mostly from outside the cist, two of   which were cremated, have recently been C-14 dated to  the period fourteenth–ninth centuries bc (Goldhahn, ‘Bredarör on  Kivik’). Apart from problems in  C-14 dating of   cremated bones, it should be mentioned that (Late) Bronze Age burial was taking place immediately to  the east of   the heavily disturbed cairn. The cairn itself  may also have seen secondary burial, as  well as  other events, resulting in  items sinking down into the remains of   the monument with ongoing removal of   stones. The cairn was pillaged for rocks ever since at least the early eighteenth century  ad. On  the basis of   the C-14 dates of   the small human bones, Goldhahn suggests multiple uses of   the decorated (open) cist for burial right into the Late Bronze Age, rather than a single primary use; an untenable position when considering the circumstances of   find and burial customs in  general in the Early Bronze Age. Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114434 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp. 253–277  © 

FHG

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Fig. 1 The Kivig stone cairn, stone cist grave chamber, and the images on the inner side of  the cist in 1756. After Randsborg 1993, p. 11, fig. 3.

Fig. 2 The Kivig cist and cairn, not later than 1780. After Randsborg 1993, 18, fig. 7.

The cairn covers a  unique three metres long and one metre tall stone cist, a  veritable chamber grave. The eight stones of   the long sides carry rock-carving panels, very shallow in  execution, 254

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though, and only detected in 1756 or slightly earlier; seemingly, the end stones did not carry images (these stones have since disappeared, as have the cap stones). Stone cists are particular common in  coastal areas, probably due to  lack of   large tree trunks for so-called oak-coffin graves; a  great luck when considering the unique images on the Kivig cist. Artefacts from the cist date the find firmly to  the decades around 1300 bc, a  date, which is  confirmed by details of  the images, for instance the particular pose of  the horses.2 In archaeological chronology we are at the end of   Period  II/beginning of  Period III of   the Early Bronze Age; the very transition between the two periods being dendro-dated to approximately 1330 bc, or about 3330 years ago! 3 The images, however, shallow in execution, present a carefully composed program encompassing cosmological knowledge and beliefs, manipulation of  symbols, religious and social organization and political action, including distant travels and links with the eastern Mediterranean, both the Aegean, Egypt, the Levant, and Anatolia. Since the publication of   the find a couple of   decades ago only a  few new observations have been made.4 Nevertheless, it has proved worthwhile to discuss the Kivig images anew in the light of recent literature on rock-carving images, beliefs, use of  symbols in the Bronze Age, social organization and the whole new understanding of   the Bronze Age, as  this field of   research is moving from chronology to interpretation; and from fancy back to basics, although still with imagination.5 Indeed, this process has proved more fruitful than anticipated. Unfortunately, the stones of   the cist are not fully preserved (fragments may still be found, as well as cap and end stones); for the full composition we are dependent on  a  number of  drawings from the late eighteenth century (Fig. 3). The cairn is built on the very beach of   the Baltic, not, as is otherwise common, on   See Randsborg, Kivik, fig.  49 (a small bronze horse with shining eyes of  amber – the shine is divine, see the Sun). 3  See Randsborg and Christensen, ‘Bronze Age Oak-coffin Graves’. 4 Randsborg, Kivik; Randsborg, ‘Kivik Powers of  Communication’. 5  For example, Kristiansen and Larsson, The Rise of  Bronze Age Society. 2

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Fig. 3a Panels 1–4 (left page), the eastern or seaward side of  the stone cist.

Old and recent drawings of   the images on  Panels 1–8 of   the Kivig stone cist arranged with the most recent ones nearest to the central axis of  the cist’. Various scales. After Randsborg 1993, pp. 15–17, figs 4–6, pp. 19–21, figs 8, 9, 10 with further references (the most recent drawings by Burenhult 1973). South is up. Note: Drawings that have served as models for copper plates, and thus for known prints, are considered more original than the pertaining prints. Among the drawings from 1756, obvious all linked, it is difficult to establish priority. Possibly, the drawings of  Panels 1, 2 and 8 rendered here with an asterisk are the very originals, or first copies of   the very originals, made in connection with the Swedish gentlemen’s visit to Kivig in 1756.

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Fig. 3b Panels 5–8 (right page), the western or landward side of  the cist.

Images (Fig. 3a and 3b) The eight rock-carving images – incidentally a traditional magic number in many cultures – are each framed by single and double lines; ribbons of   zig-zag ornaments were also employed (Panels 3–5). The frames may indicate that the motives originally were embroidered on  tapestries or  painted as  wall paintings. The zig-zag ornament most likely carried a  reference to  ‘water’ or  the sea. Zigzag lines are an archetype indicating ‘water’ in several ancient writing systems, for instance in Egypt.

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a  natural hill. The stone cist is  orientated north-south with the northern end and the eastern long side towards the sea, the western long side and the southern end are towards a back-drop of   hills in  southern direction, crowned by the massive rock of  Stenshoved (‘Head of   Stone’), rising almost 100 meters right out of  the Baltic and offering a  very wide view from Blegind (Swedish Blekinge) in the north-east to the island of   Bornholm towards the south-east. The orientation of   the stone cist is also unusual, coffins normally being placed in east-west directions. The beautiful micro-region of   Kivig, to the north-west of   the cairn, has a rather warm microclimate and is today one veritable apple plantation. Following the construction of  the cairn around 1300  bc, the area to  the east of   the Kivig monument saw continual burial into the Late Bronze Age, including a large shipsetting in stone and a couple of  enclosures, so-called cult-houses.6 Unfortunately, no significant traces of   Bronze Age settlements have been recorded from the micro-region. The bronze artefacts recorded and preserved from inside the cist include fragments of  a pommeled dagger (rather than a sword), a fibula (for fastening the cloak), a large double button (likely for a weapons belt), some ‘nails’ (possibly even for a folding chair), and a large cast bowl of   about four or even five litres decorated with bosses and a  central star-ornament at the bottom (Fig.  4). Evidently it is  a  matter of   a male interment, even though no skeletal remains with certainty belonging to the interment have been recorded.7 A fine, strictly contemporary parallel to the Kivig grave comes from a  large late Period  II/early Period  III grave in  a  very large mound at Gyldensgård on  Bornholm, including a  very heavy bracelet of   gold (114 grammes – the heaviest in any Bronze Age grave in Denmark), a dagger (without bronze pommel), a fibula, a  large double bottom, a  razor, a  fine knife, and the tooth of  a dolphin (hardly a guest of  the Baltic or the North Sea). Finally, a much better preserved cast bronze bowl of the same appearance as  the one in  the Kivig grave was included in the Gyldensgård grave (volume of   4.34 litres or  exactly 18 ‘pælgs’   See Larsson, ‘Relationer till ett röse – några aspekter på Kiviksgraven’.   But see Goldhahn, ‘Bredarör on Kivik’ and n. 2 above.

6 7

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Fig. 4 Contents of  the Kivig grave. After Randsborg 1993, p. 54, fig. 29a.

(cups or  half-pints) of   0.24 litre = 4½ ‘pots’ in  old Danish measurements, a  remarkable coincidence). In  support of   these observations on  volume are the contemporary wooden cups (often decorated with tin sprigs), which also come in whole pægl (a single wooden bowl is exactly 1½ pægl), see Appendix below. The wooden bowls are the likely models for several of  the bronze ones. In  turn, gold cups may have been supreme models. Interestingly, the contemporary Egyptian ‘hinu’ (or, jar) is  exactly 0.48 litre, or  two pægls. The pægl also comes within the range of   the ancient Greek ‘cotyla’, or cup (varying between 0.21 and 0.33 litre). Possibly, a golden bracelet was also included in the Kivig cist, but has since disappeared, perhaps as a theft in 1748 or even earlier during plundering of   the cairn for rocks. The two personages –  from Kivig and from Gyldensgård – may well have belonged 259

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to  the same larger family; at any rate they probably had access to the same supreme workshop and international networks. Notably, a  sword was not included in  any of   these graves, as  might have been expected; thus, martial qualities were not stressed. The very heavy gold bracelet, the fine bronze bowls, the decorated Kivig cist, and even the very large burial mound at Gyldensgård, are nevertheless speaking of   elite males, perhaps of  a social group above the active swordsmen of   the region, perhaps of  a higher personal age as well. From the south-east to  the north-east the numbering of   the stones or  panels is  given as  1–4, from the north-west to  the south-west as 5–8 (Table 1). Since most of  the bronze fragments recorded during a modern excavation in 1931 were found in the northern half  of   the stone cist, this most likely is the area of   the head and upper part of   the dead man’s body. Incidentally, this is  also in  accordance with other north-south orientated coffins of  the period. A short description of   the panels (including use of   the old drawings) may be given as in the Table 1, where south is up, north is  down, east to  the left and west to  the right. The descriptions in  Table 1 (and below) follow the arrangement of   the stones/ panels (and their numbering).

Interpretations Panels 1–2 The tall pointed hat with a  brim has parallels in  the hats on the heads of   the figurines from the Stokholt deposition, Skåne (Fig. 5).8 Here the brim carries two holes (possibly for feathers – see the position of   the ‘swords’ on Panel 1). The figurines have had moveable arms; they are wearing loincloths and are paralleled in Near Eastern figurines of   deities.9 A seemingly genuine find of  such a figurine (found under a large rock) comes from Lithuania,

 Randsborg, Kivik, pp. 112, fig. 60.  Randsborg, Kivik, p. 116, fig. 64.

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Table. 1 Short description of  the rock-carving motives on the stone panels of  the Kivig cist. The description follows the lay-out of  the cist. South is up. Table by the author. PANEL 1. Tall pointed hat with brim; two large cult axes and two swords on the sides of the hat in a heraldic arrangement; below the hat is an unmanned model ship sailing towards the south.

PANEL 8. Below: two identical rep-

PANEL 2. Two manned ships on top

PANEL 7. Below: procession marching towards the south of cowled figures (likely women in long plain skirts and wraps worn over the head) let by a man (sword). Above: Chariot with horses and male driver (sword) driving towards the south and following a procession of men (swords). Middle: various animals in “wild” arrangement, including dog, large sturgeon, boars: all related to hunting and fishing.

PANEL 3. Two times two horses on

PANEL

PANEL 4. Two four-spoked chariot

PANEL 5. Decoration poorly known:

of each other, also sailing towards the south.

top of each other, separated by a double zig-zag ribbon (“the seas”); three of the horses are running towards the south, only the lower right one towards the north.

wheels (so-called “sun-symbols”) framed above and below by a single zig-zag ribbon (“the sea”).

resentations - short processions of men (swords) marching towards the north into a resting omega figure (“eternity” = Egyptian “shen” symbol). Middle: cowled figures (cf. Panel 7) on either side of a large vat or a stone cist as seen from the end. Above: to the left a ritual duel (men with swords and shields) taking place in a divided circle; to the right a procession of lur-blowers and persons displaying items. Top: large cup-mark half covering a ring - solar eclipse?

6. Two chariot wheels (“sun-symbol”) below two crescent moon/“mushroom-symbols” (likely standing for “night”).

likely including a double zig-zag ribbon at the top (“the seas”).

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Fig. 5 Male figurine with brimmed hat from a  large deposition of   Early Bronze Age Period II bronzes found at a boulder in Stokholt, Skåne (the one of  two identical images). Bronze knob for a  staff  decorated with a  masked human face; found at Glasbakke, Halland. Near Eastern figurine (raised arm) found under a  huge boulder, Šernai, Lithuania. All after Randsborg 1993, p. 104, fig. 56, p. 113, fig. 60 with further references, including Montelius 1917.

which has also provided a similar one out of  context.10 A number of  Lithuanian/East Prussian axes have been found in  Southern Scandinavia and are even depicted on rock-carvings from Skåne.11  Randsborg, Kivik, p. 116, fig. 65; Inga Merkyte (personal communication).  Randsborg, Kivik, p. 117, fig. 66 with p. 83, fig. 44.

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A small number of  life-size tall brimmed hats made of  gold plate found in Central Europe provide further parallels to the remarkable hat on Panel 1 at Kivig.12 Taken together, Panels 1–2 should represent highly important ritual status symbols and important means of  transportations (large manned boats). A type of   tutulus (round ornament) that is  virtually only found in the rich male graves of   the period of   Kivig is rendering scull-caps with a  brim, a  simpler version of   the tall hat.13 Such tutuli are indicators of   high statuses. The same tutulus shape also appears as decoration on  huge cult-axes, sometimes decorated with wavy lines, akin to zig-zag lines, symbols of   water.14 The tutuli in question may even represent the firmament surrounded by the World Sea, a meaning sometimes even given to burial mounds by modern scholars. According to  Near Eastern traditions, the World Sea is also found below the Earth; another sea is  beyond the cupola of  the Sky, as  explained by the Bible (Genesis 1:6–10). Indeed, perhaps the reference to  ‘sea’ – the zig-zag lines on  Panels (3) and (4) – are exactly to these two seas, the one around and below the Earth, the other above the Sky. Panels 1–2 demonstrate man-made objects signalling male status as priestly performer (south-southeast), and travel by boat (east-southeast) towards the very south along with the sun. Panels 3–6 Seen in  conjunction with the chariot wheels/symbols of celestial movements/‘sun-symbols’ on Panel 4, the horses on Panel 3 may well represent the steeds (stallions) pulling the sun across the skies, as explained by the famous model, Trundholm sun-chariot from Sjælland (Sealand).15 Double images at the same horizontal level of   the panels are most likely indicative of   repetitive events. In  the present case they would represent the travels of   the sun  Randsborg, Kivik, p. 114, fig. 62.   For example, Montelius, Minnen från vår forntid I, nos 939, 940–45; see the cult-axes, nos 866, 870–74. 14  See the indicated decoration on the cult-axes of   Panel 1 at Kivig; furthermore, see also Kaul, Bronzealderens religion, p. 338, fig. 142. 15   See also the contribution by Kaul, this volume. 12 13

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both above and below oceans (See the zig-zag ribbons), quite appropriate for images at the east-northeast corner of   the Kivig coffin, facing the wide open Baltic Sea. Since two ‘waters’ are indicated on  Panels 3 and 4, one on top of   the other, we are likely dealing with travels on two oceans – a subterranean one below and the real one above. If  so, ‘water’ is  connecting the visible world and the invisible underworld through which the sun is travelling at night. The double zig-zag ribbon on  Panel 3, separating the two times two horses, thus implies a joining of  the sea of  the underworld with that of  the real world in  the morning. (The theme of  ‘water’ is  further developed below in  connection with an ‘interlude’ discussion of   the Skallerup cauldron: a crucial oppositional symbol to the Trundholm sun-chariot.) The horses below on  Panel 3 – meeting each other head to head – would therefore represent ‘a change of   the guard’, the one horse running towards the north possibly a returning ‘nighthorse’, having just brought the sun from its setting point in the west to  the rising point in  the east. The two horses above on Panel  3 are likely indicative of   a repetitive event – the start of  the day-time travels of  the sun. The Trundholm sun-chariot is  displaying this journey in a different way. The vividly decorated golden ‘day side’ of   the sun disc is meant to  be observed as  it is  carried, or  rather pulled, from the east to the west, while the un-gilded, and, in  terms of  decoration, ‘dull’ night side is  representing the extinguished sun during its nightly ride. Panels 3–4 thus represent the sun at the beginning of  its daily travels, but also other aspects of  the journey. Similarly, the ‘sun-symbols’ towards the west-northwest on Panel 6 should represent the setting sun travelling in  the dark towards its rising point. Notably, Panel 5, now almost deleted, seems to have carried a zigzag line at the top, symbol of  ‘water’. 16 seen above the sunCrescent moon/‘mushroom-symbols’  symbols on Panel 6, are embedded in the decoration of  the nightside of   the sun disc of   the Trundholm chariot. Possibly, the   See Sprockhof, ‘Nordische Bronzezeit und frühes Griechentum’, pp. 83–

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110.

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‘mushrooms’ were indicating the waxing and waning moon, the cap being the sky, the curved sides the two stages of   the half  moon. Panels 3–6 are referring to  the travels of   the sun as  assisted by invisible horses, made visible on the Trundholm chariot, the Kivig cist, etc. as  tokens of   beliefs and explanations of   celestial movements. Panels 7–8 The complex Panels 7–8 may be read in terms of   a layered conception of   the ‘world’. At the very top of   Panel 8 (towards south-southwest) is seemingly the sun (and the moon). At the middle of  the panels is the world of  ‘nature’ (See the unruly animals on Panel 7). Above common nature is the world of   the humans, represented by male beings performing ritually loaded roles in an ‘aristocratic’ context. Notably, the chariot scene on Panel 7 is naturalistic, in contrast to the many, however, detailed, renderings of   chariots on  a  rock-caving panel near Gryde in  north-eastern Skåne, depicted from above with the wheels collapsed, and no drivers.17 Below common nature is a dimension, which should represent the underworld. Cowled women are emerging at the bottom of  Panel 7; like the men in the chariot scene at the top of   the same panel, they are moving south, facing the sun and its afternoon sunshine. The figures are interpreted as  women since several rock-carvings are showing such beings to  have standing intercourse with men.18 Wraps worn over the head is the most likely interpretation of  the particular upper-body profile ending almost in a  beak; however, a  mask may also have been added to  the dress. The fact that some of   the humans depicted at Kivik are dressed is quite unusual, since nakedness is the norm on the rockcarvings.19 The lack of   phallic men at Kivig is  also noteworthy, since they too are common on rock-carvings.

  Coles, ‘Chariots of  the Gods?’.  Randsborg, Kivik, p. 103, fig. 55. 19 Randsborg, Bronze Age Textiles. 17 18

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On the important Panel 8, the cowled women of  the netherworld have gathered on either side of  a ‘vat’ or, more likely, a coffin, possibly the very Kivig stone cist. They are performing a ritual at the same universal level of  ‘nature’ in Panel 7, between the world of   the living gentlemen and that of   their own. Below this central scene in Panel 8 are men following the sun towards the west as  they are entering omega figures. The ‘omegas’ are resting on the side, likely to indicate ‘down’ – that is, into the netherworld. An element of   transformation is seen in the joint movement with the sun towards sunset and the coming dawn. Highly interestingly, the omega-signs at Kivig are bearing a  resemblance to the contemporary Egyptian ‘shen’ symbol, representing the perfection of   the circle and the life-giving sun on the horizon, and standing for eternity. Thus, in the case of  Kivig, eternity is movement with the sun. In  fact, by reading of   the images of   Kivig one is  constantly struck by their inner logic and clarity, symbol and contents are one. Omega-shapes, placed one after the other, also figure like gateways in the decorative oval ‘fences’ seen on the thin ritual bronze shields found in  the North, as  well as  elsewhere in  Europe.20 The number of  bosses of  different sizes in the decoration of  such shields is  hitting the number of  days in  full months of  various calendars: thus, the shield itself  is another image of   cosmos and the divine. The centre of   these shields is the shield-boss, which, seen from above, looks like an oval longhouse, possibly the home of   a supreme being – the sun – its family and followers. If  so, this is a Bronze Age Asgård, an early version of   the late Iron Age residence of   the divine Aser family headed by Odin, the Nordic ‘Mercurius’, or  sun-god (see Wednesday in  various languages). A recent find of   a series of   concentric oval fences around a main Late Bronze Age farmstead longhouse at Løgstrup (near Fiskbæk) in  North Jylland (Jutland) is  a  virtual illustration of   such an arrangement.21 Finally, from Glasbakke in Halland comes a bronze knob for a staff  in the shape of   a head, which resembles the heads of  the   Randsborg and Christensen, Bronze Age Oak-coffin Graves, p. 84, fig. 35.   Conference information, excavation Viborg Museum by Martin Mikkelsen.

20 21

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cowled women (Fig.  5).22 On  the bronze knob the protrusion at the forehead clearly takes the shape of  the beak of  a predatory bird; the whole face is  mask-like. The eyes are differing, the right one a shining sun, the left a dull double circle – likely the full moon. One even recalls the one-eyed Odin of  later Nordic mythology. Masks seem to have been common in Bronze Age rituals.23

Uniqueness The Kivig grave is unique – in the very position of  the huge cairn on the barren beach, in the colossal size of   the cairn, in the large size (and the orientation) of  the stone cist, and, not least, in  the rock-carving images on the interior side of  the stones of  the cist. Among the artefacts found, the cast bronze bowl is also unique, not least in the light of  the Gyldensgård grave from nearby Bornholm, including a  similar bronze bowl and a  very heavy gold bracelet. The images are highly interesting. Only very few Bronze Age stone cists carry images, mostly only cup marks or circles.24 A few stray stones with rock-carvings may originally be from cists.25 One or  more stone cists from Mjeltehaugen, Norway were covered in images, some with parallels in patterns seen on the Kivig cist.26 A different use of   rock-carving images in  connection with burials was employed at Sagaholm on Lake Vättern in south-central Sweden.27 Here an almost fully destroyed central grave in a mound is surrounded at some distance by a partly destroyed circle of  outwardly slanting stone slabs with images. Both the grave and the circle of   slabs with images and even an outer stone circle of  boulders were covered by the burial mound. Interestingly,  Randsborg, Kivik, p. 104, fig. 56 top.  Randsborg, Kivik, p. 104, fig. 56 below and p. 102, fig. 54 (shield dancers with beaked masks onboard a ship). 24 Randsborg, Kivik, pp. 71–77, p. 77, fig. 40a (Skåne), p. 147, fig. 76 (Norway), p. 79, fig. 41(Lower Saxony with human figures). 25 Randsborg, Kivik, p. 77, fig. 40b (Skåne), p. 76, fig. 39 (Øland). 26 Randsborg, Kivik, figs 38a–38b. 27 Randsborg, Kivik, 89; Goldhahn, Sagaholm. 22

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these images, more or less contemporary with the Kivig ones, are on the outer side of  the slanting slabs, thus meant to be seen from below ground. This is  in itself  a  strong indication of   a belief  in a netherworld and beings or spirits (rather than the Bronze Age deities of  the Sky) down there. The picture program of  the Kivig cists appears to be very well considered, precise and ‘academic’ in execution, with employment of   frames and horizontal series of   images (the ‘unruly’ animals on Panel 7 are a deliberate deviation). At the northern – ‘night’ – end of  the cist (Panels 3–6) are astronomical symbols related to the rise and the setting of   the sun. The southern – ‘day’  – end of  the cist carries man-made objects, ceremonial items, including a tall brimmed hat, a model ship and cult axes (Panel 1), and manned boats (Panel 2) on the side of   the cist towards the sea. On  the landward side of   the southern end of   the cist are various scenes stacked on top of   each other and taking place on land (Panels  7–8). Notably, there are no obvious oppositional links in the picture program, as indicated by the identical paired sunsymbols on Panels 4 and 7. Although basically executed in the Nordic rock-carving ‘language’, several elements of   the highly intelligently composed picture program of   the Kivig cist seem to  have foreign cultural roots. The heraldic composition of   Panel 1 resembles Hittite representations; 28 structurally, the ‘tympanon’ above the famous Lion’s Gate at Mycenae (from about 1300 bc) is another parallel to the composition of  Panel 1. The chariot on Panel 7 has Greek and Egyptian parallels, among others. In contrast with Mediterranean representations, thrones and attention on  personified deities and rulers are not included at Kivig, even though the charioteer on Panel 7 is likely a magnate, possibly the Kivig hero himself. In  fact, the scene at the top of   Panel 7 with warriors in  front of   a chariot recalls some of   the stelae from Mycenae, although several hundred years earlier.29 The overall impression is  that of   a decorated grave chamber (or a  palace) as  found in  Egypt, for instance. It is  difficult to  Randsborg, Kivik, p. 130, fig. 71 (including a procession).  Randsborg, Kivik, p. 139, fig. 74.

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escape the notion that the person responsible for the Kivig cist, likely the Kivig magnate himself, had seen Mediterranean lands with his own eyes, as  well as  the south-eastern Baltic and his own realm. It is even likely that the carver of   the images at Kivig is the magnate himself, or a very close associate and travel companion. Thus, these persons may have passed through Poland and the Ukraine to the Black Sea, and onwards from there. There are no indications that we are dealing with a foreigner: the artefacts are all Nordic, the overall language of  the images is Nordic. As stated in  the famous Mesopotamian Bronze Age epic of  ‘Gilgamesh’, which may serve a  fine parallel to  the ideology expressed at Kivig as part of  the same ideological universe: 30 … the king, who knew the countries of   the world. He was wise, he saw mysteries and knew secret things, he brought us a  tale of   the days before the flood. He went on  a  long journey, was weary, worn out with labour, and returning engraved on  a  stone the whole story. … In  nether-earth the darkness will show him a  light: of   man-kind, all that are known, none will leave a monument for generations to come to compare with his. [abbreviated extracts]

Perspectives The hero of   Kivig was, like Homer’s Odysseus, no doubt a great man, coming from a  small place (Kivig), but widely respected as a  commander (as of   young?), as  well as  for his wisdom and travels (See the two ships on  Panel 2). Male long-distance travelling goes back to  the Palaeolithic and can be followed through all ages. No doubt the Kivig hero was at least as well connected as  any other member of   the Nordic Bronze Age elites, acquiring critical materials like bronze and gold from far afield, not to speak of  knowledge, for instance of  calendars. The Kivig cists and its contents represent a highly important piece of   information on  the individuality of   Bronze Age personages in the North. The images are deepening this knowledge in general terms, informing of   status symbols, symbols employed   See Randsborg, Bronze Age Textiles.

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in  rituals, weapons, fine boats, chariots, the character of   cultic performances, and a whole set of   observations on the world, as well as differentiated beliefs. In the light of   discussions on  religion, it is  evident that the images on the Kivig cist refer to both visible and invisible deities and divine attributes: the sun – even symbolized by chariotwheels and their movement – assisted by horses, and at times even wearing a  tall brimmed hat (thus appearing as  a  human being). Like the sun, ‘night’ was also signalled by a  particular symbol, the so-called ‘mushroom’ shape, probably indicating the waxing and the waning moon – no doubt yet another deity. There is  a  remarkable resemblance between the mushroom symbol of   the ‘night’ and the ostrich feathers on the side of   the crown of   Egyptian Osiris, the green god of   the dead, of   afterlife, and of   the underworld. Also, the crook of   Osiris may resemble the resting Omega signs on Panel 8 at Kivik, even though these entrances to  the netherworld, as  mentioned above, may rather be likened to the Egyptian Shen sign, representing the circle and sun on the horizon, and standing for eternity. Most remarkable is the possible transfer from the Near East of   both the symbols and their meaning, as  transpires from the interpretation of  the picture or  image program of   Kivig. Transfer of   both a  particular symbol and its meaning is, of   course, calling on the existence of   direct contact, if  only once or twice. Knowing about international Bronze Age culture and the long distance travels of   items and things this is indeed very likely. At the same time, particular compass orientations pertaining to the daily travels of   the sun are observed and included in the construction and decoration of   the Kivig cist, which is indeed a  Bronze Age university: a  space capsula of   profound knowledge meant to last in eternity for its traveller, but opened in 1748 and de-sacrificed ever since.

Deities It is suggested in this context that the Bronze Age sun was a male deity, which may not be the case everywhere in  Ancient Europe, as  seen from the sun’s female grammatical gender in  Lithuanian, Faroese (even a Germanic language, cf. ‘die Sonne’ in German), 270

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and in old Irish. In Latin languages, as in Greek, the sun is also of  male gender. In several Bronze Age representations, including the Trundholm sun chariot, a stallion is pulling the sun disc across the sky: perhaps indicating that the horse is  the master of   the sun and thus the true sun-god. Indeed, the eyes of   the Trundholm horse are ‘suns’, while the eyes of   two contemporary model bronze horses from Helsingborg, Skåne are in amber, thus also ‘shining’.31 The very sun may therefore be a female deity, or the female component of   a twin sun-god. Still, it is also possible that the sun is the master of  the stallion, like the driver of  a chariot. It is hardly a coincidence that the female belt plates, very common in the age of  Kivig – and being in fact images of  the sun – are carrying decorative zones dominated by running spirals. Such are symbolizing the travels of   the sun, just as  the ones on  the disc of   the Trundholm sun chariot. In  the middle of   the belt plates is a point, indeed the hat of   the sun-god, as demonstrated by the best and most beautiful specimens, where the brim of  the hat is also clearly seen as well (see Kivig Panel 1). Since only men were wearing hats and helmets in the Bronze Age, this supports the male identification of  the sun-deity, by way of  the office of  high priesthood acting as the god in performances. Just like the Trundholm sun chariot, these same high quality belt plates are carrying a decoration where the numbers of spirals, when entered into a  simple formula, yield full months in exact numbers of   days. The secret is  to multiply the spirals in each zone by the number of   the zone (Ax1, Bx2, Cx3 etc.) before the final addition.32 Mathematical astronomy indeed, integrated into religious beliefs: the invisible and the visible as one. Existence in  the early Nordic Bronze Age of   the idea of  anthropomorphic deities is  thus demonstrated both by the tall brimmed hat and by its application as  the point on  female belt plates, symbols of   the sun; indeed, of   the sun as a power and the sun as a personified deity represented in one and the same item. Thus, a door is opened to claim continuity between the Bronze Age sun-god in the North and Odin (a ‘Mercurius’) of  the Nor Montelius, Minnen från vår forntid I, no. 980.   Randsborg and Kristensen, Bronze Age Oak-coffin Graves, p. 62.

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dic pantheon, existing at least in the first millennium ad, to judge from images and other evidence. Ritual site continuity seems to be demonstrated too, for instance at Madsebakke rock on Bornholm. Here is a rich deposition of   earlier Neolithic (and Bronze Age) pottery, burned clay, and stones in  a  crack in  the rock. In  the Bronze Age, the rock is  adorned with rock carvings, mainly ships. In the late Iron Age it is home to a small structure, likely a tiny ‘hov’ or pagan shrine, placed very close to the rock, evidently not a common structure. It is  suggested that the Kivig cist (or rather chamber) with its fine imagery is the reflection of   a Bronze Age ideology, which must be seen in the light of   the existence of   international elites (providing bronze and gold!) as  in  the light of   a philosophy, indeed a  religion, incorporating international elements of  beliefs in deities as  interfering with cosmos, exemplified by the common acceptance of   calendars. Knowledge of   calendars, no doubt secret, in  the form of   tables of   days, months and years, may even have been higher valued than gold, giving the controllers the feeling of   being both ‘close to  god’ and ‘understanding the workings of   the universe’. Thus, the Kivig cist and its images is a supreme example of   ideology, or religion if  one prefers, established on the basis of  ‘mute’ archaeological data.

Post-scriptum ‘Stiftelsen för dokumentation av Bohusläns Hällristningar’ [The Foundation for Documentation of   the Rock Carvings of  Bohuslän] carried out a detailed study of  the surfaces of  the slabs and panels of   the Kivig/Kivik stone cist or  chamber in  August 2014. This Foundation, in  fact a  group or  team of   engaged students of  rock carvings, is  highly skilled in  reading rock surfaces for traces of  human activities. In other words, their readings are worth considering. The results, in  photo, may be seen and inspected on  the internet at https://sv-se.facebook.com/pages/ Stiftelsen-f%C3%B6r-dokumentation-av-Bohusl%C3%A4nsH%C3%A4llristningar/255501968109. In the case of   Kivig, the present author (incidentally accompanied by Professor Lars Larsson), by sheer chance, visited the site a  few days after the visit by the foundation. The author’s 272

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visit was related to  ongoing magnetometer studies of   the area around the cairn and attempts to  locate stone slaps (of  about one by one meter in size) from about the same area around the cairn, slabs that may once have belonged to  the disturbed cist; at least four such slabs have been found till date. Seemingly, none of  these four slabs carry rock carvings. The hunt is  for the missing decorated slab of   Panel 1 of   the cist or chamber. In  all, seven slabs are missing: two at the ends of  the cist, four on top of  the cist, and Panel 1, plus smaller fragments of  slab and Panel 8. One such slab is probably the split one resting in  the modern concrete chamber protecting the Bronze Age cist or chamber, four have been found outside, but a couple are still missing (supposing there was only one cist!). A  potential slab is  nested in  the roots of   a tree and can only be turned around by felling the tree. Incidentally, a  likely quarry for the slabs used in the cist has been located by the author (and team) a  couple of   hundred meter to  the south of   the monument, at the Late Bronze Age cemetery with a  ship setting, cult houses, and many smaller cairns, but on the other side of   the road from the latter complex. At the time of   the author’s visit, the chalk marks left by the Foundation had still not been washed away. A second visit by the author was carried out the following month, in connection with a university student excursion; the situation as to the visibility was the same, as also on a third visit by the author in December 2014 together with a  South American colleague specialized in  rock images. On the one hand the presence of  the chalk was good, since it gave a clear impression of  the new readings, in part bad, since it did not allow for individual checking of  the observations made by the Foundation. In fact, checking is highly important since some of   the claims about new readings by the Foundations are both very interesting and somewhat radical. Before entering a preliminary discussion about the new observations, it should once more be stressed that the carvings of  Kivig are truly unique among rock carvings by belonging to a  grave and by being framed individually on  each slab or  panel. They are also very precisely executed and dominated by horizontal layers and vertical arrangements. The impression is  that every detail counts. It should also be noted that the carvings are very 273

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shallow indeed and made on  rather hard and somewhat eroded rock. Some of   the observations made by the Foundation are concerning small details of   the already known images. In a few cases the details are quite interesting and may actually have been depicted, at least in part, on some of   the images made in the late eighteenth century of   the Kivig/Kivik stone chamber or  cist. Among these the most conspicuous are some details on slab and Panel 2 concerning the boat at the bottom of   the image and its crew members.33 The new readings are seeing the ‘crew’ as a series of  large cult axes with shaft holes and ditto tubes (but without the handles of  the axes!) placed with the edges towards the sky. This is very strange, but not wholly improbable, as far as the axes go (the model is  cult axes of   bronze from Period  II of   the Early Bronze Age).34 The questions of   interpretation concern a  possible link between a  cult axe and a  crew member, even an imaginary one. Another difficulty is that the ‘cult axes’ presented in the new reading differ somewhat from the cult axes (with handles) depicted on  slab and Panel 1.35 However, pictures of   cult axes, in reality likely images of   huge cult axes, almost as shields, placed onboard boats, are not totally unknown, at least not in Late Bronze Age imagery; the curved upward turned blade perhaps somehow representing the very sky and its cupola. Above the boat with cult axes for a crew on Panel 2, according to the new readings by the Foundation – in a heavily eroded part of   the slab – are two identical tutulus shaped images placed horizontally and separated by an oblique row of   three horses (Sun-horses?) walking up towards the sky (and south). These images are hard to  identify even on  very high quality photos. The tutulus shaped images of   the Foundation look like hats with a  rather tall rounded crown and a  brim,36 the bronze tutulus depicted by the figurine; with fig. 12 – the end knob on a bronze cult axe and fig.  30a – a  bronze double button). These images have not been acknowledged earlier. Even such images may

    35  36  33 34

See Randsborg, Kivik, figs 5 and 6. See Randsborg, Kivik, figs 12 and 60. See Randsborg, Kivik, figs 4–9. See Randsborg, Kivik, fig. 60.

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be acceptable per se, the said type of   tutulus, in  bronze, likely representing a  model of  cosmos, in  fact the sky and the meeting of  the sea above the sky (or ‘heaven’) and the sea below the earth, as indicated by the zig-zag ornaments on the brim (of  the bronze edition). A tall hat with brim, but a pointed crown is seen on the slab of   the missing Panel 1, along with two cult axes, even with the said type of  cosmological tutuli as end knobs. Other observations or  images are also wholly new, or almost, including a couple of  rings to the left of  the boat below on slab and Panel 2. These rings are also seen on some of  the eighteenth century drawings/prints.37 But first of  all, it should be remembered that all the new images observed by the Foundation are extremely shallow; secondly, that they usually do not subscribe to the overall structure of   organization of   the hitherto known images, in  fact to  the general character of   the images. If  these new images are more than mere figments of   imagination, that is, if  they all are in fact correctly observed – they might, perhaps, be explained by re-use of   ‘old’ slabs, or, use of   slabs previously applied for training of  rock carvers. In fact, the slab of   Panel 2 is substantially larger and thicker than the other slabs and has a strangely oblique left side. More can only be said after further personal inspection by rock carving experts using various visual, light and contour methods, for instance renewed ‘tracing’ (paper copying) on the naked slabs washed cleaned from the added chalk. In fact instrument driven contour studies recently applied to rune stones ought to be used at Kivig. Finally, any new interpretations should of   course be evaluated in the light of   all the other Bronze Age images known today concerning the same and related motives.

Bibliography Several references to illustrations are given above merely as Randsborg 1993, where the original publications are quoted fully. Burenhult, Göran, The Rock Carvings of   Götaland. Excluding Gothenburg County, Bohuslän and Dalsland, Part II: Illustrations, Acta archaeologica Lundensia, 8 (Bonn: R.  Habelt and Lund: CWK Gleerup, 1973)   See Randsborg, Kivik, fig. 5.

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Coles, John, ‘Chariots of   the Gods? Landscape and Imagery at Frännarp, Sweden’, Proceedings of   the Prehistoric Society, 68  (2002), pp. 215–46 Goldhahn, Joakim, Sagaholm. Hällristningar och gravritual, Studia Archaeologica Universitatis Umensis, 11 = Jönköping Läns Museums Arkeologiska Rapportserie, 41 (Umeå and Jönköping: Umeå Universitet. Arkeologiska Institutionen and Jönköping Läns Museum, 1999) Goldhahn, Joakim, ‘Bredarör on  Kivik: A  Monumental Cairn with Rock Art and the History of  Its Interpretation’, Antiquity, 83/320 (2009), pp. 359–71 Kaul, Flemming, Bronzealderens religion. Studier af  den nordiske bronzealders ikonografi, Nordiske Fortidsminder, Serie B, 22 (Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Nordiske Oldskriftselskab, 2004) Kaul, Flemming, 3000 år gamle stentegninger, in http://www.kulturarv.dk/1001fortaellinger/da_DK/madsebakke Kaul, Flemming, ‘The Shape of   the Divine Powers in Nordic Bronze Age Mythology’, this volume Kristiansen, Kristian and Thomas B. Larsson, The Rise of   Bronze Age Society: Travels, Transmissions and Transformations (New York and Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005) Larsson, Lars, ‘Relationer till ett röse – några aspekter på Kiviksgraven’, in  Bronsålderns gravhögar. Rapport från ett symposium i Lund 15.XI–16.XI 1991, ed. by Lars Larsson, University of   Lund, Institute of   Archaeology, Report Series, 48 (Lund: Arkeologiska Institutionen and Historiska Museet, 1993), pp. 135–49 Montelius, Oscar, Minnen från vår forntid I. Stenåldern och bronsåldern (Stockholm: Norstedt, 1917) Randsborg, Klavs, Kivik. Archaeology and Iconography, Acta Archaeologica, 64/1 (Copenhagen: Munksgaard, 1993) Randsborg, Klavs, ‘Kivik Powers of   Communication’, in  Communication in  Bronze Age Europe, Transactions of   the Bronze Age Symposium in  Tanumstrand, Bohuslän, Sweden, September 7–10, 1995, ed. by Carin Orrling, The Museum of National Antiquities, Studies, 9 (Stockholm: Statens historiska museum, 1999), pp. 22–32 Randsborg, Klavs, ‘Opening the Oak-coffins. New Dates – New Perspectives’, Acta Archaeologica, 77 (2006), pp. 1–162 Randsborg, Klavs, Bronze Age Textiles. Men, Women and Wealth, Duckworth Debates in Archaeology (London: Bloomsbury, 2011) Randsborg, Klavs and Kjeld Christensen, Bronze Age Oak-coffin Graves: Archaeology and Dendro-dating, Acta Archaeologica, 77, 276

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Acta Archaeologica Supplementa, 7, Centre of  World Archaeology Publications, 3 (Copenhagen: Blackwell and Munksgaard, 2006) Sprockhoff, Ernst, ‘Nordische Bronzezeit und frühes Griechentum’, Jahrbuch des Römisch-Germanischen Zentralmuseums Mainz, 1 (1954), pp. 28–110 Tilley, Christopher, The Materiality of   Stone. Explorations in Landscape Phenomenology (Oxford: Berg, 2004)

Abstract The Early Bronze Age Kivig (Kivik) find from Skåne is  famous for its long research history (since 1748) but in  particular for the rockcarving images on  the inner side of   the three metres long stone cist covered by a huge cairn with a diameter of   75 metres. Artefacts date the find firmly to  the decades around 1300 bc.  The images present a carefully composed program encompassing cosmological knowledge, beliefs, social intelligence and political action, including links with the Mediterranean. The find is discussed anew in light of  recent literature on rock-carvings, religion, and a new understanding of  the Bronze Age on the move from fancy to basics.

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IZAAK J. DE HULSTER *

RELIGION, PICTORIALITY AND MATERIALITY: A HEBREW BIBLE PERSPECTIVE

Introduction: Materiality and Religion, and Pictoriality Religion combines ideas with practices, through many of   which its ideas are given material form.1 Where such materialization (which can take many forms) produces, or comprises significant amounts of   lasting durable matter, a  way is  opened to discover more about past (and present) religions by means of  archaeology. Such archaeological material is  to be taken as  a  serious witness of   a religion – in dialogue with textual evidence (whether written by insiders or  outsiders), the latter being perhaps a  more beaten track into the invisible, transcendent, supernatural aspects of  a religion. One of   the starting points of   this conference (respectively volume) is to question the dominance of  textual evidence in studying (ancient) religion. The Hebrew Bible,2 with its influential *  This paper was written as part of   the Sofja Kovalevskaja project on early Jewish monotheisms supported by the Alexander von Humboldt Stiftung and the German Federal Ministry of  Education and Research. I thank my team members for their remarks to improve an earlier draft. I also would like to thank the organizers of  the conference for the invitation and the other attendants for their comments. This paper is dedicated to the memory of   my late friend Archimandrite Pachom. 1  It may be disputed whether this is the case with certain forms of   meditation, prayer, and other expressions of   spirituality; although they are embodied by human agents, the emphasis on  mind or  soul minimizes their materiality. See below in section 1.2. 2  The different names for the same collection of   writings, such as ‘Hebrew Bible’, ‘Old Testament’, or ‘First Testament’, all have their pros and cons. The present article uses the term ‘Hebrew Bible’. Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114435 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp. 281–318  © 

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contribution to  aniconism (absence of   two- and three-dimensional material representations for religious reasons), needs to be studied in  this regard, firstly because of   its possible role in the development of   such textual dominance, secondly as  a  source for subsequent tradition testifying to  a  positive reception of  textual dominance and establishing a  ‘text-based approach’ (e.g., within Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) 3 and, thirdly, because of  the reactions this non-material approach caused during the Enlightenment (and after).4 Based on these two ingredients: a) the relation between religion and materiality and b) the Hebrew Bible (and with a slight focus on the first), one could ask the following questions: what is materiality (of  a religion) comprised of? For the study of   past religions, what forms of   materiality can be traced in which ways? Is it possible for a reli­gion (that is to say, its human proponents) to attempt to avoid all forms of   materiali­ty, or, if  it does have materiality, to  avoid it leaving material traces? What does material evidence tell us? How does it relate to other evidence? Does it line up with the textual evidence, does it oppose  it, or does it reveal repressed history (is it – so to say – a ‘mu­seum of  entartete (religiöse) Kunst’)? When dealing with religion and materiality we have to mention images and under­line the importance of   pictoriality. Pictoriality forms a bridge between the textual approach to a religion and its materiality, since images share the focus on content with texts, while material objects bearing images, in common with other material evidence of  religion, are durable, lasting matter (contrary to  the temporal ‘material’ embodiment of   rituals, which only exist materially during the physical performance of  the ritual). Having introduced pictoriality and having asked several general questions concern­ing religion and materiality, we will elaborate on the following topics, explicitly focus­ing on  the Hebrew Bible: firstly, the Hebrew Bible (as text) can be employed as

  Berlejung and others, ‘Aniconism’, columns 1210–24.   The Bible was linked with an ‘intellectual’ religion identified as monotheism with a disdain concerning matter; see e.g., MacDonald, Deuteronomy and the Meaning of  ‘Monotheism’, esp. pp. 5–16. 3

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a way into the religions it deals with and into their forms of materiality. Secondly, artefacts and images bear witness to the religions practiced in the tempo­ral and geographical environment in which the Hebrew Bible was written. Thirdly, we need to examine to what extent the Hebrew Bible expresses attempts to avoid materiality and pictoriality, and how this relates to aniconism in its textual and artefactual context. However, before turning to these questions, let us make a  start addressing the general questions posed above.

1. Materiality 1.1 Materiality on the Fringe of  Religion When speaking of   materiality in  a  religion, an immediate association might be made with divine statues. A  second thought might include altars and other cultic realia, and may even point to architecture as a material ingredient of  religion. When dealing with religions from the past, these sorts of  materiality, such artefacts and structures, may be excavated. There are also other kinds of   materiality, produced by the agents of   religions in Antiquity, which even, when excavated, are difficult to  mark as religious ‘objects’. What kinds of  materiality can be distinguished? Besides statues, cultic paraphernalia, and architecture, a  religion might have a  material existence in  the tablets or  scrolls on  which sacred texts were written. Understanding materiality through ‘embodiment’ (see 1.2), religion also takes material form in rituals, or in non-ritualized acts with a religious motive, such as  feeding the hungry, visiting prisoners, or  providing a  shelter for the homeless (and other acts of   charity). Rituals thus form a  large category of   materiality. Insofar as  they might involve statues, altars, or  cultic paraphernalia, and have a  setting in some architectural unit, they are related to  lasting materiality, but the ritual itself, as  theatre, as  a  moving image of   bodies, does not leave traceable matter because of   its temporary nature (only its setting and attributes can provide lasting evidence; just as music might leave instruments, but not sounds). Like rituals, acts of  charity might also be hard to trace as reflecting a certain life stance. Charity is often per­formed with religious motives but in  non-religious settings and lacking cultic items. 283

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This makes it almost impossible to  trace, even when it involves providing for material needs, such as building a hospital, furnishing a  school, digging a  well, or  rebuilding houses after natural catastrophes. Sometimes the material traces itself  are hard to find archaeologically, for instance, when rituals involve food 5 or other matter, which, even if  it leaves a  lasting trace, might be indistinguishable from non-religious remains. Simply put: a meal at the mosque, like a meal with the religious community in the park, may produce the same trash as a daily meal at home… If  such rituals, which do not employ distinctively religious attributes (such as food, fire, light, or water 6) are not performed in an environment of   cultic architectural structures, it becomes even harder to trace them afterwards. Nonetheless, food is an important vehicle for memory; 7 thus food is  able to  materialize even a  past of   which more distinctive material traces have been lost. Thus, certain expressions of   religion may be clearly material, but very difficult to distinguish as religious. 1.2 Religion on the Fringe of  Materiality Religion can be understood as comprising needs and ideas. These ideas can be materialized in practices that can involve both artefacts and rituals as  forms of   embodiment and material culture. In many of  its practices, religion materializes its ideas, as an aside: religious practices can also shape or  deepen the ideas. The relation between religion and materiality is even more fundamental as one could even argue that religious practice implies materialization, because acts – including religious ones – exist, in their most elementary forms, because of   embodiment and place.8 Thus because of   the human agents of   religion, there is a material   Even without ritual, food may have religious meaning; see, in relation to the Hebrew Bible, MacDonald, Not Bread Alone. 6  Rituals with water might be recognized when they involve specially shaped baths (mikvehs, such as in Q umran), or special water containers, but often they might lack such features, for instance, when they are performed in rivers or open water. 7 MacDonald, Not Bread Alone, e.g., p. 99. 8  See Brown, God and Enchantment of   Place, and its sequel, God and Grace of   Body. Subsequently, in the fi­nal volume of   this trilogy he draws attention to 5

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(and geographical) aspect to  ideas about religion, the meaning of  life, morality/ethics, etc. To go one step further: when approaching religion in this way, one might ponder how religion resonates with human experience, which always involves the body. For religion regarded as revelation of   an incarnational type with a so-called ‘point of   contact’ this may be clear. Such a ‘point of   contact’ for divine revelation in human nature was a core issue in the discussion between two Swiss theologians, Emil Brunner and Karl Barth, in the first half  of   the twentieth century. Unlike the latter, the former assumed such a point because of   man being created in the image of   God and creation testifying to  its Creator.9 Even for forms of   religion, which are caricatures of   Barthian revelation (denying such a ‘point of   contact’), religion is related to matter and to human experience, even if  it is  expressed as  ‘inexpressible’ or  ‘transcending human perception’.10 And if  religion is  assumed to  be an illusionary projection, it is  then completely embodied only allegedly transcending human nature. In all these cases, religion has a  material side because of   its human actors. Nevertheless, it is still possible to come up with examples in which other kinds of  materiality fade. The considerations above may be further developed into the following three categories of   parameters for how different media leave (or do not leave) a lasting material impression: Medium Spoken word Written word Rituals and their tools Images Buildings

Traceable in archaeology?

Religious?

Temporary Lasting (traceable with archaeology)

Distinctively religious Non-distinctively religious

culture and argues how: ‘God continues to  impinge on  all of   life’, see Brown, God and Mystery in Words, p. 271. 9  This ‘point of    contact’ is  known with the term Anknüpfungspunkt. See McGrath, Christian Theology, pp. 158–63. 10  For the last mentioned: realizing that if  God is communicating, he would have made (and would make) sure that his message comes across.

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1.3 The Matter of  Heaven: Between Pictoriality and Non-Pictoriality Having dealt with the general questions of   how materiality can range from clearly to  hardly or  not distinguishable as  religious, and how religion might try to  exist with a  minimum of   materiality, I  round off  this first part with an example addressing pictoriality and architecture to show how a similar religious idea can be worked out in  opposite concepts of   material-pictorial expression. I would like to compare the importance of   (non-)pictoriality and architecture among certain free church groups and ‘the’ Orthodox Church.11 Let me first introduce the free church group(s) that I am talking about. They do not have an official name. Historically they are connected with John Nelson Darby (1800–82). A  similar branch (sometimes called ‘Plymouth Brethren’) is connected with Georg Müller from Bristol. Both groups are referred to as ‘brethren assemblies’. Those connected with Darby are known as  exclusive brethren; in  the United States they are often known collectively as  ‘gospel halls’. They lack ordained leadership, a  present liturgy, and an over-arching organisation. In  shaping their ‘places of   meeting’ or  ‘meeting rooms’ (intentionally avoiding the word ‘church’, and for some even ‘building’), they attempt to  have a  minimum of   ‘materiality’. For this they may give different, yet related reasons: believers are not of   this world (‘pilgrim church’, Philippians 3:20, etc.), it is  a  protest against ‘ritualistic churches’,12 or, positively stated: the ‘church’ service is a part of heaven. In a certain sense, by ‘closing the doors’ (of the building!), there is a continuing separation from the world, which leads to the view that the liturgy ‘on earth’ becomes part of  heaven. Thus, the service itself assumes a setting in heaven, or at

11  I have not found such a  comparison in  the literature, but I  think this is a  striking example. Therefore, I  offer it for your thought under the constraint that, although I speak in general terms, I am aware of   the limits of   generalizing, especially my own observations among these free church groups (in the Netherlands and Flanders, and also broader in Continental Europe, especially in the late 1980s and 1990s) when dealing with a group without official documents. 12  For the thoughts concerning Orthodox, Roman-Catholic (and even mainline Protestant churches), see Broadbent, The Pilgrim Church.

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least communion with heaven, through the presence of   Jesus, by looking into heaven, underlined by the frequent reading of   verses from Revelation 4 and 5 with a focus on the sacrificed Lamb in heaven. This focus is visually present in the symbolic elements of   the Lord’s Supper. This has an explicit eschatological dimension: it is celebrated every Sunday ‘till the Lord Jesus Christ returns’, awaiting the wedding of   the Lamb (Revelation 19:7) – and thus the liturgical meal foreshadows the eschatological meal in heaven. This setting ‘in heaven’ is only visualised by means of  the Lord’s Supper.13 The meeting room is without images, because heaven cannot be expressed in art.14 Therefore, the ‘default’ white walls become a  non-pictorial (aniconographic) expression of  raising the earth to the heavens. The Orthodox Church has a  similar theological view of   the liturgy, but shapes its ‘location of   Divine Liturgy’ explicitly pictorially with icons. Everyone is  probably familiar with the abundance of   icons (in the religious and art historical sense) in  various Orthodox churches. These icons are Windows to  Heaven.15 Although heaven cannot be expressed in  earthly materiality, the icons point to the heavenly reality of   the liturgy and contribute to  the church as  an expression and an experience of   heaven on earth.16 The iconostasis separates the ‘holy of  holies’ from the rest of   the church, thus further emphasizing ‘the mysterious character of   the Eucharist’.17 It is  striking that the Orthodox Church ‘hides’ this sign whereas among the

13  The only symbols used on www.brethrenpedia.com/BrethrenPedia (acces­ sed 16.4.2011) are the broken bread and the cup with wine as  symbols of  the Lord’s Supper. 14  Maybe there is  some anti-ritualism in  this as  well; and some might also assume that it stimulates concentration, as  it does not distract attention (from the Word). 15   This is a well-known phrase, also used as a title in Zelensky and Gilbert, Windows to Heaven. 16  See note 15: ‘does this stimulate concentration, as  it keeps attention focused on the heavenly atmosphere?’ The recently published ‘manual’ on the interpretation of   churches by Goecke-Seischab and Ohlemacher, Kirchen erkunden – Kirchen erschliessen, only pays attention to  Roman-Catholic and Lutheran traditions in western Europe. 17  See Rydén, ‘The Role of    the Icon in  Byzantine Piety’, pp.  41–52, esp. p. 51.

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brethren the Lord’s Supper is  in a  sense the only sign, which remains visible.18 These two examples of   similar theologies of   how heaven and earth meet in  the liturgy 19 find expression in  two diametrically opposed forms of   materiality and pictoriality. Whereas the one group deems it impossible to  express heaven materially and therefore employs modes of   non-pictoriality (aniconography) for expressing how earth is  raised to  heaven in  the liturgy, the other group, acknowledging the same impossibility, still attempts to express with iconography how the liturgy is heaven on earth. Both groups agree on  the impossibility of  giving pictorial shape to heaven, to God, or to divine reality. One group makes a choice for materiality/pictoriality, acknowledging its shortcomings. The other group opts for religious expression with a  minimum of  materiality and no pictoriality, but this choice still allows us to formulate an approach along the lines of   the research questions concerning materiality that we posed above. The seeming absence of   pictoriality gives the material forms the expressiveness of   aniconography as a kind of   apophatic theology, consciously leaving room for the transcendent mystery because of  the existential conviction that the mind cannot form a concept of   God.20 Because human beings are constrained by embodiment and place, religious acts, and even the ideas behind them, take on certain forms of   materiality and pictoriality. To restate: because religions exist by the efforts of   human agents, they cannot do without location and embodiment – and therefore, religion is never without materiality.21

  On the Calvinist tradition, see Seeing Beyond the Word, ed. by Corby Finney.   A general idea which also finds expression elsewhere, see Goecke-Seischab and Ohlemacher, Kirchen erkunden, p. 16. It generally speaks about churches as: ‘Gottes Haus im Schnittpunkt zwischen Himmel und Erde’. 20  For the orthodox, see Lossky, Essai sur la Théologie mystique de l’Église d’orient. This is different from Aquinas’ via negativa, speaking about God in negation (only saying what God is not), which is confusingly referred to with the term apophatic theology as well. 21   For some general background on materiality and pictoriality in the Christian tradition, see the following contributions in The Oxford History of Christian Worship, Oxford, ed.  by Wainwright and Westerfield Tucker; White, ‘The Spatial Setting’, pp. 793–816 (with little attention for the Orthodox Church); Mauck, ‘Visual Arts’, pp. 817–40; Pierce, ‘Vestments and Objects’, pp. 841–57. 18

19

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That Christian and Islamic rejections of   pictoriality and materiality have been related to the prohibition of   images in the Hebrew Bible 22 asks for examination of   the relevant passages dealing with materiality and pictoriality in that book (especially those texts related to the so-called Deuteronomistic School, the core of   whose ideas can be found in  Deuteronomy). Section  2 of   this article thus deals with the Hebrew Bible as text, referring to  materiality and images. Section 3 briefly addresses the material culture of   Iron Age Israelite religions from an archaeological perspective, while Section 4 provides a reflection on the Hebrew Bible and the rise of   the prohibition of   images, which is  an ‘aniconic develop­ment’. We then round off  this paper with some thoughts on the materiality and pictoriality of   the Hebrew Bible’s aniconographic tradition.

2. Religions, Materiality, and Pictoriality in the Hebrew Bible We now turn to the Hebrew Bible and the religion(s) of   ancient Israel. The plural ‘religions’ is  given to  make the point that the Hebrew Bible deals with other religions besides the ‘orthodox’ one, which the book was written to serve. In its denouncement of  other religions, it polemicizes and prohibits their forms of   materiality and pictoriality. As should have become clear above, it is  hard to  do without materiality. Therefore, it is  interesting that there are examples of   materiality which – taking into account other near Eastern traditions 23 – are not ‘necessary’; 24 and moreIt could be further explored how ‘ritual act’ (service, ritual) embodies or conveys theology or the presence of  God. 22  See Boehme-Neßler, Pictorial Law, esp. p.  103. For Islam, see Ibrić, For a Philosophy of  Aniconism in the Islam, p. 12. Referring to Mettinger, No Graven Image? Israelite Aniconism in  its Ancient Near Eastern Context. Naef  assumes that aniconism is  part of   the general ancient Near Eastern heritage, which is reflected in the three monotheistic religions, see Naef, Bilder und Bilderverbot im Islam; translation of   her Y a-t-il une ‘question de l’image’ en Islam? See also Mettinger, ‘The Absence of  Images’, pp. 89–100. 23  Generally, nomadic traditions have a minimum of   materiality, see note 64. 24  The focus in  this section is  mainly on  lasting man-made forms of  materiality, employed in  cultic contexts. For a  broader view of   materiality, in line with human limitations to  body and space, see Zimmerli, Die Weltlichkeit des

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over, that pictoriality is  considered a  superfluous element (i.e. beyond the sine qua non minimum) from the perspective of   a tradition of   aniconism. Most of   the examples of   materiality discussed below have their existence as  ‘lasting evidence, traceable with archaeology’ (see 1.2). 2.1. Materiality An important form of  materiality is the temple building. Although architecture may be approached from a  pictorial perspective,25 it can also be argued that the mere fact of   a building necessitates architectural shape. The Jerusalem temple is  the best-known example of   such materiality. There are two possible alternatives to  the Temple: places shaped by nature such as  caves or  openair sanctuaries (which may be marked by a  green tree),26 or  a movable sanctuary, as is recorded for the time of  Israel’s wanderings through the desert, i.e. a  tent. The latter exemplifies again manufactured materiality: the tabernacle, together with its furnishings. Because of   its importance, further on  in  this article, we single out the menorah. Meyers wrote a  study on  the tabernacle menorah,27 first studying it as  ‘buried in  texts’, then in  comparison with archaeological data, and concluding with an assessment of   its symbolic meaning. She relates the menorah to a tree with vegetal life. As a tree it occurs in conjunction with animals and with astral emblems.28 Thus, the menorah marked the tabernacle as the centre of  God’s cosmos and underlined that Israel lived in sanctified space. Irrespective of  how her conclusions might be evaluated, Meyers makes a  remarkable step in  ‘excavating’ a  lost artefact from texts. Before we turn to  the matter Alten Testaments. For an addendum on food, see Smend, ‘Essen und Trinken – ein Stück Weltlichkeit des Alten Testaments’, pp. 446–59. 25 On architecture and iconography, see Schmitt, ‘The Iconography of  Power’, pp. 75–96 and his references. 26   Deuteronomy 12:2; 1 Kings 14:23; 2 Kings 16:4, 17:10; 2 Chronicles 28:4; Isaiah 57:5; Jeremiah 3:6, 17:2; Ezekiel 6:13. 27 See Meyers, The Tabernacle Menorah, for example, see also the various interpretations in Hachlili, The Menorah, The Ancient Seven-Armed Candelabrum, pp. 171–210. 28 The tree and the animals form a  so-called ‘constellation’. This adds iconography to the tools with which the menorah is studied here.

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further on the in article,Meyers we single outaathe me further further on on in in this this article, article, we we single single out out thethis menorah. menorah. Meyers wrote wrote study study 27 27 27 first studying it as ‘buriedwith in texts’, t menorah, menorah, first first studying studying itit as as menorah, ‘buried ‘buried in in texts’, texts’, then then in in comparison comparison with archae archae concluding with an assessment its symbolic concluding concluding with with an an assessment assessment of of its its symbolic symbolic meaning. meaning. She She of relates relates the the meno menom RELIGION, MATERIALITY: A HEBREW BIBLE PERSPECTIVE vegetal life. As awith tree it occursand in with conjunction w vegetal vegetal life. life.PICTORIALITY As As aa tree treeAND itit occurs occurs in in conjunction conjunction with animals animals and with astral astral em em menorah marked tabernacle theunderlined centre of tG menorah menorah marked marked the the tabernacle tabernacle as as the the centre centre of ofthe God’s God’s cosmos cosmosas and and underlined space. Irrespective of be howevaluated, her conc sanctified sanctified space. space. Irrespective Irrespective of of Ancient how how her her conclusions conclusions might might be evaluated, of    excavating material evidence sanctified for Israelite religion(s), remarkable step in ‘excavating’ a lost artefact remarkable remarkable step step in in ‘excavating’ ‘excavating’ a a lost lost artefact artefact from from texts. texts. Before Before we we turn turn we first follow the line of  pictoriality in the Hebrew Bible. material evidence excavating excavating material material evidence evidence for for Ancient Ancient Israelite Israelite religion(s), religion(s), we we first firstIsra fo fo Besides such affirmations of  excavating materiality, there are also regu- for Ancient pictoriality pictoriality, in the Hebrew pictoriality pictoriality in in the the Hebrew Hebrew Bible. Bible. lations restricting mate­ riality (concerning see Bible. 2.2). Besides such affirmations of materiality, Besides Besides such such affirmations affirmations of of materiality, materiality, materiality, there there are also also regulations regulations rest rest Among these prescriptions concerning one canare point (concerning pictoriality, see 2.2). Among these pr (concerning (concerningwhich pictoriality, pictoriality, see see 2.2). 2.2). Among Among these these prescriptions prescriptions concerning materia materia to examples, try to minimize its importance, or at least itsconcerning to examples, which try toat its importan to to examples, examples, which which try tryof to to minimize minimize itsthe importance, importance, or oran atminimize least least its its place. place. The The cl cl place. The clearest case   this might beits law to erect altar might the of  law to erect an altar of unhewn stoo might might be be the the law law to to erect an altar altar of ofbe unhewn unhewn stones: an an altar altar should should be be made made of    unhewn stones: anerect altaran should be made  stones: ‘perfect stones’ (‫וֹת‬Deuteronomy ‫ ֵ֔מ‬Deuteronomy ‫ל‬Deuteronomy ‫שׁ‬ ְ ‫ ; ֲא ָב ִנ֣ים‬λίθους ὁλοκλήρους; Deuteronomy (     ; λίθους ὁλοκλήρους; 27:6, cf. cf. Joshua (‫וֹת‬ (‫שׁלל ֔ ֵ֔מֵמוֹת‬ ְ‫שׁ‬ ְ ‫֣ים‬ ‫ ;; ֲא ֲא ָב ָב ִנ ִנ֣ים‬λίθους λίθους ὁλοκλήρους; ὁλοκλήρους; 27:6, 27:6, cf. Joshua Joshua 8:31), 8:31), ‘you ‘you sha sha2 (‫בּ ְַר ֶז ֽל‬ἐπ᾽ ‫ֵיהם‬ ‫;ֹלא־תָ ִנ֥יף ֲעל‬ οὐκ ἐπιβαλεῖς ἐπ 8:31), ‘you shall iron onto these’ (        ; ֖ ֶ αὐτοὺς onto onto these’ these’ (‫ְ ְַרַר ֶז ֶזֽל(ֽל‬not ‫ֵיהםם בּבּ‬ ֶ lift ‫֥יף‬ ‫;ֹלא־תָ ִנ ִנ֥יף‬ ָ‫;ֹלא־ת‬onto οὐκ οὐκthese’ ἐπιβαλεῖς ἐπιβαλεῖς ἐπ᾽ αὐτοὺς σίδηρον; σίδηρον; Deuteronom Deuteronom ֖ ‫ֵיה‬ ֖ ֶ ‫ ֲע ֲעלל‬any 29 29 29 8:31). In section we willstones address the issue οὐκ ἐπιβα­ λεῖςsection ἐπ᾽ αὐτοὺς Deuteronomy cf.  Joshua 8:31). 8:31). In In section 4, 4, we weσίδηρον; will will address address the the issue issue27:5, of of4,unhewn unhewn stones again, again, where whereo 29 as ‘imageless In section 4, we will address the issue images’. of   unhewn stones 8:31). as as ‘imageless ‘imageless images’. images’. again, where they are discussed as ‘imageless images’. Although cautious concerning materiality and cult, the Hebrew 23 23 23 Generally, nomadic traditions have Generally, Generally, nomadic nomadic traditions traditions have have aain general. minimum minimum of of30materiality, materiality, see see note note 64. 64. a minimum of mate Bible 2424 is affirmative of  created matter 24

focus in this section on lasting man-m The The focus focus in in this this section section isis mainly mainly on onThe lasting lasting man-made man-made forms forms is of ofmainly materiality, materiality, employed employed in i broader view of materiality, in and linespace, with human limitations broader broader view view of of materiality, materiality, in in line line with with human human limitations limitations to to body body and space, see see Zimmerli, Zimmerli, Die Die Testaments. For‘Essen an addendum on food, Smend, ‘Essen ud Testaments. Testaments. For For an an addendum addendum on on food, food, see see Smend, Smend, ‘Essen und und Trinken Trinken –– ein einsee Stück Stück Weltlichkeit Weltlichkeit 2.2 Pictoriality pp. 446–59. pp. pp. 446–59. 446–59. 25 25 On architecture and iconography, seepp. Schmitt, Ico On On architecture architecture and and iconography, iconography, see see25Schmitt, Schmitt, ‘The ‘The Iconography Iconography of of Power’, Power’, pp. 75–96 75–96‘The and and his hi 26 26 Deuteronomy 12:2; 1contexts, Kings 14:23; Kings 57:5; 16:4, Jere 17:1 Deuteronomy Deuteronomy 12:2; 12:2;prohibition 11 Kings Kings 14:23; 14:23;of  2226 Kings Kings 16:4, 16:4, 17:10; 22 Chronicles Chronicles 28:4; 28:4;2 Isaiah Isaiah 57:5; Jere In spite of   the (later) images in 17:10; cultic 6:13. 6:13. 6:13. forms of   materiality, and especially some pictoriality, seem to be 27 27 27 See The Menorah, for example, See See Meyers, Meyers, The The Tabernacle Tabernacle Menorah, Menorah, for forMeyers, example, example, seeTabernacle also also the the various various interpretations interpretations in in H 31 see allowed in the Hebrew Bible’s ‘orthodox religion’. The Ancient Seven-Armed Candelabrum, pp. 171–210. The The Ancient Ancient Seven-Armed Seven-Armed Candelabrum, Candelabrum, pp. pp. 171–210. 171–210. 28 28 28 The‘constellation’. tree and forms the animals form a so-called to ‘constellatio The The tree tree and andBible the the animals animals form form aaand so-called so-called ‘constellation’. This This iconography iconography to the the tools tools w w The Hebrew describes denounces of adds  adds cultic is studied here. is is studied studied here. here. materiality, which refer to  deities, such as  (theriomorphic and 29 29 29 One might even speculate on for the occasions, which One One might might even even speculate speculate on on the the occasions, occasions, which which allow allow products products for offerings offerings that that are are anthropomorphic) cultic statues, Asherahs, amu­ l‘ingredients’, ets,32do or  sacrifices for atonement notcakes contain processed ‘in sacrifices sacrifices for for atonement atonement do do not not contain contain any any processed processed ‘ingredients’, whereas whereasany offerings offerings to to exp exp

with the symbol (or even image) of   the Q ueen of   Heaven. The

29   One might even speculate on the occasions, which allow products for offerings that are worked by man. The sacrifices for atonement do not contain any processed ‘ingredients’, whereas offerings to express thankfulness and community with Yhwh can; however, when baked bread is offered, it cannot contain yeast, and it should contain salt (Leviticus 2). 30  See note 24. 31 Leaving aside visionary descriptions, which evoke cultic statues as in Daniel 10:4–6; see, Schroer, In  Israel gab es Bilder, pp.  237–38 (after she has discussed Song of   Songs 5:10–16 on  pp.  222–37). One could also ponder the relationship between other prophetic visions and materiality, be it the throne vision in Ezekiel 1 and 10 or the lamp stand in Zechariah 4. 32  Think, for instance, of   scarabs possibly referred to  in  e.g., Ezekiel 20:7; these gelulim, ‘dung things’, might be Egyptian scarabs (miniature art employing the motif  of  the dung beetle as image carrier) or more generally Egyptian amulets, see Bickel, In  ägyptischer Gesellschaft, p.  9; Herrmann, Ägyptische Amulette aus Palästina/Israel, pp. 83–87.

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Hebrew Bible, however, also describes pictoriality as  part of  Solomon’s temple. Besides its archi­tecture, there are floral motifs, the menorah, and the cherubs on  the Ark of   the Covenant. Besides these denounced, and apparently also approved forms of   pictoriality, there are images, which the Hebrew Bible seems to  have regarded as  adiaphora (being indifferent about their pictoriality or  even ‘picto-reality’): stones and erected stones, (on the latter, see below in  section 4), ivory objects, ceramics, textiles, and seals.33 Nevertheless, later de­velopments, such as epigraphy taking over the design of  seals in the post-exilic period, show unease with pictoriality. This remark brings us into the field of  archaeology.34

3. Material Culture and Ancient Israelite Religions 3.1. Materiality In 2010, Avraham Faust published an article on ‘cultic buildings’ in Iron Age Israel-Palestine.35 He argues that in comparison with its Iron Age neighbours and with the Bronze Age ‘cultic buildings’ (whether one calls them temples, shrines, or sanctuaries) were a rare phenomenon in Israel-Palestine. Whereas, as he supposed, every Canaanite village had a cultic building, for Iron Age Israel he finds reference only to  Arad, Dan, and Jerusalem. Scholars who assume that the number of   sanctuaries would have only been diminished because of   the centralization reform, turn out to be wrong; ‘the absence of   built temples may be considered a  unique characteristic of   Israelite religion’.36 Al­though Faust quotes many of   his colleagues to  corroborate his point, there are a few fundamental problems with his thesis.37 In the light of    See Schroer, In Israel gab es Bilder.   This could be further elaborated by taking a  diachronic perspective on the biblical text, or by comparing textual and archaeological material. 35  Faust, ‘The Archaeology of  Israelite Cult’, pp. 23–35. 36  Faust, ‘The Archaeology of  Israelite Cult’, p. 30. 37  It would be good to  know why Faust leaves out certain cultic buildings such as  those in  Lachish, Beersheva, and Bethel. We also refer to  Warburton’s thesis that the Iron Age tripartite buildings in  Megiddo, Hazor, Beersheva, Tell Q asile, and Tell Abu Hawwam could be identified as Israelite temples, see 33 34

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our present discussion, one must ask whether this assumed characteristic has to do with a depreciation of   materiality. However, it is  very possible that this parallels the Hebrew Bible verses, which refer to  worship on  bamoth (heights) and under green trees.38 3.2 Pictoriality As well as  material remains there are also ‘pictorial’ remains.39 The best overview of   these is  Keel and Uehlinger’s Göttinnen, Götter und Göttersymbole.40 This book takes the visual remains (especially miniature art: scarabs, seals, amulets, cult stands, etc.) as  witnesses to  the religious ideas present in  Ancient Israel. Partly, these reveal the religi­ons rejected in the Hebrew Bible,41 but at the same time they also show which ideas were still (in spite of   rejecting their visual representations) accepted in the Hebrew Bible. It should be noted that the Hebrew Bible’s prohibition of  these images is  commonly acknowledged as  a  post quem rejection. Partly, this rejection may have been contempo­rary with the practice, but a large part of   it is a condemnation of   past practice. Further­more, it should be realized that the (textual) prohibition is ideology, how some people envision society, whereas the archaeological record reflects practice by human agents.42 Thus having touched on  examples of   materiality and pictoriality in  relation to  the Hebrew Bible from a  textual and an archaeological approach, the following section pro­vides a  brief  synthesis, with an emphasis on  those instances which show the Warburton, ‘The Architecture of   Israelite Temples’, pp. 310–28. More reasons for the lack of   buildings built for cultic purposes could be given, which are not religious in nature such as poverty. 38  See note 26. 39  Bearers of   images can be scarabs, seals, cult stands; on the last mentioned, see Zwickel, ‘Die Kultständer aus Taanach’, pp. 63–70, esp. p. 66. 40  Keel and Uehlinger, Göttinnen, Götter und Gottessymbole. In  English: Gods, Goddesses, and Images of  God in Ancient Israel, trans. by Trapp (abbreviated GGG). 41  The majority of  the image carriers being gillulim, see note 32. 42  Of  course, it could be asked whether different groups can be appointed as being responsible for different practices (and laws).

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unrestrain­ability of  materiality and pictoriality together with the creativity needed to  preserve materiality and pictoriality within the constraints of  a ban on images.

4. Aniconism and the Imageless Image in Ancient Israelite Religion and the Hebrew Bible 4.1 The ‘Aniconic Turn’ 43 One root of   aniconism seems to  be the problem of   depicting God; man does not have a proper way to express God in one image. Possibly, a  more important reason for a  ban on  images depicting God might be the fear of   reducing God (in being, place,44 or power), or  making God ‘available’ for maligning. Besides these rather general phenomenological reasons, historically, Yhwh did not reveal Himself  in  such a  way that the Israelites could satisfactorily sculpture Him.  Thus, turning to  ancient Israelite religion and the Hebrew Bible, which expresses a ‘ban on images’, the following summary might be given of   the development of  aniconism and the introduction of   the prohibition of   cultic images. Where some people draw a strict line between the models of  an ‘evolutionary development’ and a ‘revolutionary break with traditional cultic practice’,45 we attempt a synthesis. 43  In allusion to the term ‘iconic turn’ (‘ikonische Wende’), which was coined by Boehm, drawing on  Rorty’s ‘linguistic turn’ (‘Die Wiederkehr der Bilder’, p.  15; see Mitchell’s ‘pictorial turn’. See their dialogue on  their terminologies in  Boehm, ‘Iconic Turn. Ein Brief’, pp.  27–36; Mitchell, ‘Pictorial Turn. Eine Antwort’, pp. 37–46). If  the adjective was to describe the kind of   turn a word like ‘de-pictorial’ could be better, also in allusion to the ‘pictorial turn’, but in the sense of  ‘disposing’ pictoriality, not to be confused with ‘depictorial’ as picturing or illustrating. Nor would we call it an ‘iconoclastic turn’ to avoid the association with violence. Although this use of   the word ‘turn’ is poor English, as scholarship has gone ahead, we adopt the word ‘turn’ in  the phrase ‘aniconic turn’ to refer to the development of   aniconism catalysed by the tradition reflected in the Hebrew Bible. 44  MacDonald argues that Yhwh cannot be depicted because of    his presence on earth and in heaven. See MacDonald, ‘Aniconism in the Old Testament’, pp. 20–34 with a summary of  the different positions in the debate on the rationale of   Ancient Israel’s/the Hebrew Bible’s aniconism. ‘Jhwh will und kann überall gesucht und gefunden werden’; Petry, ‘Das Gottesbild des Bilderverbots’, p. 270. 45 See Köckert, ‘Suffering from Formlessness’, pp.  33–49 and Köckert,

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It should be acknowledged that Israel might have shared a de facto aniconism46 with its neighbours. Köckert is  right in observing that there is  no evidence of  a ban on  images in  these neighbouring countries. He thus criticizes the evolutionary model. Still, the de facto aniconism may well be a reason why Israel could turn towards programmatic aniconism. This trend may be embedded in  other, different developments, but finds its direct cause in Israel coming to terms with the destruction of   the Solomonic Temple. Among these related developments are to  be counted the de facto aniconism and the ‘upcoming monotheism’.47 For Wagner,48 this would be the ‘upcoming monotheisms’, as  the concentration on  Yhwh took different forms.49 He relates the development of  a ban on images to Israel’s exile in Babylon (586– 39 bce.); Yhwh had punished his (disobedient) people through invasion and exiliation by world powers. Thus, the loss of   the central reality of   people-land-king-Temple/cult50 led to  new ideas of  God. This ‘turn’ is accompanied by developments, which increase the importance of   the law, the centrality of   Scripture, and the rise of  synagogue. Thus: Die Sprache wird so  zum zentralen Medium, in  dem sich das veränderte religiöse System zum Ausdruck bringt. Nicht Architektur, nicht Bilder, nicht eine bestimmte Gesellschaftsoder Staatsform wird zur Säule der neuen Gemeinschaft, sondern Schrift, Wort und Sprache.51

‘Die Entstehung des Bilderverbots’, pp.  272–90. Köckert takes Othmar Keel as the main representative of  the former and defends the latter himself. 46  See Mettinger, No Graven Image? He distinguishes de facto aniconism and programmatic aniconism (the former ‘absence of   images’ without a  commandment, the latter with a commandment). 47 See Bauks, ‘Bilderverbot (AT)’, Das wissenschaftliche Bibellexikon im Internet/AT, 2007: www.wibilex.de, ed. by Bauks and Koenen, Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, last update 2011. 48  Wagner, ‘Alttestamentlicher Monotheismus und seine Bindung an das Wort’, pp. 1–22. 49   In his article, however, he still makes a choice for ‘Old Testament monotheism’ as a general term. 50  As a result of   the Babylonian attempt to destroy Israel-Judah’s ‘nationalreligious self-confidence’, see Köckert, ‘Suffering from formlessness’, p. 47. 51  Wagner, ‘Alttestamentlicher Monotheismus’, p. 15.

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Wagner does not specify the disobedience. Köckert poses: Explaining the Exile as punishment for trespassing against the ban of   images also implies that there must have been a cultic image for/of  Yhwh in the Temple during the period of   the monarchy.52

This argument does not hold. Does it imply that the original temple built by Solomon was without a statue of   the divine and that someone erroneously put a cultic image into the sanctuary? Or was this mistake made by Solomon? In that case, the question would be why Jeroboam seems to be the only one criticized for initiating an iconographic cult of   Yhwh? 53 Therefore, it seems more reasonable to combine the idea of   a development from the absence of   a cultic image to  the prohibition of   a cultic image 54 with the idea that the Exile caused (rather than catalysed) the development of  aniconism, an ‘aniconic turn’. Wagner points out that already in  the fourth century bce Greek authors described the Jews as  a  unity characterized by their monotheism and aniconism.55 He concludes his article by pointing out the advantages of   not shaping the characteristic anthropomorphic trait of   Yhwh visually with a  cultic statue, which one can encounter face to  face, but (finally) in  a  textual canon (following the tradition of  Yhwh’s use of  human language to reveal Himself): Das betrifft einerseits die Gefahr, in Kultbildern über Jahwe verfügen zu wollen, andererseits die wesentlich komplexere Ausdrucksmöglichkeiten, die ein textlicher Kanon bietet und zum dritten die simultane Multilokalität, die ein in (weitgehend) identischen Einzelexemplaren (beliebig) verviel  Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, p. 40.   Jeroboam  I, king of   the northern kingdom after Israel was split at Solomon’s death is  criticized for ‘idolatry’ because he introduced bull statues as cultic images (to worship Yhwh; 1 Kings 12:25–30). See Cochell, ‘The Religious Establishments of  Jeroboam I’, pp. 85–97. 54  Note that Köckert’s reading of   the ‘ban on images’ assumes that the first version prohibited a cultic image of   Yhwh (Deuteronomy 4) and that this was later generalized in  connection with the ban on  foreign deities (Deuteronomy 5:8 and subsequently Exodus 20:4); Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, pp. 38–40. 55   Wagner, ‘Alttestamentlicher Monotheismus’, pp. 7–8. 52

53

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fältigbaren Schriftkanon unter Beibehaltung der als zweiten Aspekt genannten Komplexität (!) ermöglicht.56

With the last statement Wagner makes quite a  leap in  history because it still took centuries before a canon of  the Hebrew Scriptures was finally established. Before turning to  the substitutes for materiality, there are a few more things to be observed which might have fostered the ban on depicting Yhwh with a material image. Köckert correctly points to the following factors, which contributed to the ‘ban on images’: 1. Nobody has experienced Yhwh’s form.57 Therefore, whatever image Israel made of   Yhwh, it would not be authorized by Him 58 2. The loss of   the former symbols of   divine presence 59 was overcome by the ‘theological concept of   the concealment of  the God so  near’.60 Thus: ‘Yhwh’s presence after the divine judgement of   the Exile always contains the experience of   his absence. Yahweh [sic!] remains absent in his presence’ 61 3. The menorah, the Ark of   the Covenant, and the cherubs, which convey Yhwh’s presence and atonement 62 56  Wagner, ‘Alttestamentlicher Monotheismus’, p. 22. On Scripture as substitute, see below on the iconic book. 57  Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, p.  33, p.  40, p.  46, who speaks about Gestaltlosigkeit (formlessness). 58  Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, p.  45 likewise makes the theological statement that from a Hebrew Bible perspective ‘all other gods are simply imaginations of  their worshippers’. 59  For Köckert, ‘Suffering from formlessness’, p. 47. This is again the cultic statue of   Yhwh; with our disagreement on  this particular element, see above. This general formulation makes the point, see Wagner’s phrase: ‘the loss of  the central reality people-land-king-Temple/cult’, above. 60   Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, p. 47. 61  Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, p. 46 (Köckert’s italics). 62 He states that an anthropomorphic allusion to  the cherub throne is carefully avoided (the sphinx-like cherubs were thought to form a royal throne for the divine Sovereign, who was supposed to be present there, albeit invisibly because of   which cherub constellation is  often referred to  as ‘empty throne’; see 4.2.1), but does not point out how (neither in Köckert, ‘Die Entstehung des Bilderverbots’, p.  289 nor  in  Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, p.  48). He rounds off  with the peculiar thesis: ‘If  there is no cultic image in the sanc-

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depicting YHWH with a material image. Köckert correctly points to the following factors, which contribu images’: I. J. DE HULSTER

1. Nobody has experienced YHWH’s form.57 Therefore, whatever image Isr 58 would not be authorized by Him. In lightitof    the observations above, there might be the pos­sibility that2.an tradition without cult presence images reflects 59 Theaniconographic loss of the former symbols of63divine was overcome by th In  comparison something of    a semi-nomadic heritage. 60 with concept of the concealment of the God so near’. Thus: ‘YHWH’s pres sedentary populations, tribesalways in  thecontains Near East divine judgementnomadic of the Exile the seem experience of his ab 64 to have[sic!] had remains fewer material (and more 61 metaphors  ). absent inimages his presence.’ Whereas a sedentary tradition would imply cultic buildings, the 3. The menorah, Ark of the Covenant, cherubs, references to  heightsthe and green trees could beand in the accord with which convey Y 62 and atonement. a  semi-sedentary mode of   life. Wherever the aniconographic tradition idea provides us with a  more In originates, light of thethis observations above, there mightobvious be the possibility tha reason for an aniconographic tradition than the idea of   an tradition without cult images reflects something of a semi-nomadic heritage.63 abrupt endpopulations, to  a  periodnomadic with a  cult image. It still true, to have had few sedentary tribes in the Nearmay Eastbeseem as Köckert argues that   images representing 64the prohibition of  (and more metaphors ). Whereas a sedentary tradition would imply cu Yhwh originated in  the of   –trees whatcould he calls  ‘Gestaltreferences to heights andidea green be–intheaccord with a semi-sede 65 losigkeit’ of the   Yhwh (in  Deuteronomy  4)  originates, and was later Wherever aniconographic tradition this added idea provides us w as the second commandment to the Decalogue. that no end to a perio reason for an aniconographic tradition than the The ideaidea of an abrupt one has seen God helped to  lead to  Him ‘becoming’ perceived It still may be true, as Köckert argues that the prohibition of images representi as invisible. in the idea of – what he calls – the ‘Gestaltlosigkeit’ of YHWH (in Deuteronom Furthermore, the aniconographic tradition might have been fostered by the inaccessibility of  the sanctuary. Hiding the mate56 Wagner, ‘Alttestamentlicher p. 22. On Scripture substitute, see below on rial references to  the divine in Monotheismus’, inaccessible structures might ashave 57 Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, p. 33,forms p. 40, assuring p. 46, whodivine speaks about Gestaltlosigk led the people to come to terms with other 58 Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, p. 45 likewise makes the theological statement t presence,‘all forother instance temple (still of a  their material form) itself  perspective gods arethe simply imaginations worshippers’. 59 For fromlater formlessness’, p. 47. This is again the cultic statue of YHWH; instead of Köckert,   a cult ‘Suffering statue; and non-material forms (to which this element, the a  point, we particular will shortly turnseeas above. part This of   a general larger formulation reflection makes on  how reli-see Wagner’s phras

reality people-land-king-Temple/cult’, above. 60 Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, p. 47. 61 Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, p. 46 (Köckert’s italics). tuary 62itHe is  impossible to  have figurines of   Y hwh in  states that an anthropomorphic allusion tothe theprivate cherubsector throneeither’, is carefully avoided (the hwh. His concluding line is, withwho a reference to Stern’s as if  figurines represent thought to form a royal Y throne for the divine Sovereign, was supposed to be present there, a articlecherub on  theconstellation absence of   figurines Yehud: in  Persian Times Do We which is often in  referred to ‘Only as ‘empty throne’; see 4.2.1), but does not point ou HaveEntstehung a Decline of des  suchBilderverbots’, Objects in Judah’, see or Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formless‘Die p. 289 in Köckert, ‘Suffering From Formlessness’, p. 48) ness’, p. 49 (italics author). peculiar thesis: ‘If by there is no cultic image in the sanctuary it is impossible to have figurines of Y 63 ‘Israelite Y Aniconism’, p.  194; Patrich, of to Stern’s article on HWH. His concluding line is,The withFormation a reference either’,  See as ifMettinger, figurines represent Nabatean Art, pp. 189–91. Note also the criticism in Petry, ‘Gottesbild’, pp. 258– in Yehud: ‘Only in Persian Times Do We Have a Decline of such Objects in Judah’, see K 59. Formlessness’, p. 49 (italics by author). 6463   On richness of   BedouinAniconism’, poetry, see van ‘Bedouin Poetry and of Nabatean Art, p Seethe Mettinger, ‘Israelite p. der 194;Steen, Patrich, The Formation Landscape’, pp. 415–29 and vanpp.der Steen, Near Eastern Tribal Societies During criticism in Petry, ‘Gottesbild’, 258–59. 64 the Nineteenth 4. poetry, see van der Steen, ‘Bedouin Poetry and Landscape’ On theCentury, richnessChapter of Bedouin 65 Near Steen, Eastern Tribal Societies Nineteenth 4. The term ‘Gestaltlosigkeit’ canDuring only bethe taken from theCentury, point of  Chapter perception The of  term ‘Gestaltlosigkeit’ can only4:15 be states taken that from‘since the you point , because Deuteronomy sawofnoperception of the im of   the65image   Yhwh Deuteronomy 4:15when statesYthat you saw noto you shape at day from when the YHWH your God spoke to yo hwh‘since your God spoke at the Horeb midst shape at the day  fire’ ((‫וְֹך ֤אהָאֵֹל ִ֣יֽשׁ׃ּכ‬ ‫ֵיכֶ ְמ֛םּת־בּ ָלְח ֵ ּ֖כֹר ֙בם ִֶתמ ִי ֥תּאְר‬ ‫ְהו ֹ֗ו ְי֧הּב ֲא ֔הלָנּו‬ ‫ָל־תְּ ֛םמוֶּכ ָ֔ ֵינלהֲאבְּי֗ ֧הָווֹםהְידִּ ֶּ֙רבּ ִב֙רּדי ָם‬ ‫ׁש ֹל֤אָהא ְְךר ֹּ֥ו ִאתיתִֶמ ם֙ ֵ֖ב ֹרכּ ְחּב‬ ֵֽ ‫)׃ ִכּ֣י‬. ofof fire’ ). The verse versespeaks speaks about the percepti about the perception of   Yhwh and does not make a  statement about his form or  shape. Cf.  a similar rejection of   J.  Pakkala’s idea of   Yhwh having no form by MacDonald, ‘Aniconism in the Old Testament’, p. 21, n. 11.

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gion, which attempts to avoid forms of   materiality, still leaves its material traces; and how especially the Hebrew Bible’s aniconist approach comes to  terms with materiality and finds new forms of  pictoriality). The present context points out one more question. Having the above explanation for an aniconic (non-pictorial) development, it is striking that this is only a turning away from pictoriality but not completely from materiality, since the Second Temple was built (as well). But, after the discussion on  the cultic image of  Yhwh, and realizing that the Ark of   the Covenant was taken: What did the Holy of   Holies contain in the Second Temple? 66 And what was the role of  the menorah? In sum, the diachronic historical context of   the Hebrew Bible’s prohibition of   images provides parallels, which could (partly) explain the development of  such a prohibition. The exile, as  a  break in  Israel’s history, is  commonly accepted as  a  cause of  a theological reorientation. This reorientation may have drawn on  existing traditions and, by way of   revolution, absolutized de facto aniconism into programmatic aniconism. Whereas materiality could be minimalised, it remains indispensible; a minimalism of   pictoriality can be executed more fundamentally, but still ‘the stones will speak’, as aniconography communicates as well (in its materiality). 4.2 Materiality and Pictoriality of  the Hebrew Bible’s Aniconographic Tradition 4.2.1 Material Pictoriality

Being aware of   the aniconographic tradition in  Israel-Palestine, the present subsection draws on examples from both the periods of  de facto aniconism and programmatic aniconism.   Does Titus’ triumphal arch witness to  its emptiness, only depicting the menorah and the showbread table? See e.g., Yarden, The Spoils of   Jerusalem on the Arch of   Titus. See also Grabbe, A History of   the Jews and Judaism in the Second Temple Period, p.  217 with references to  literal sources indicating that the Holy of   Holies of   the Second Temple was empty and see Porzig, Die Lade Jahwes im Alten Testament und in den Texten vom Toten Meer, pp. 295–99 with references, considering ‘Ladelosigkeit’ even for the First Temple. 66

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Architecture

Although Faust (2010) argued that ‘cultic buildings’ were a rare phenomenon in Iron Age Israel-Palestine, the sanctuaries, which have been discovered, are still material witnesses of   Iron Age Israelite religion. Aniconism would be related to  the rarity of  ‘cultic buildings’; however, what is  more striking is  that when aniconism became programmatic, the temple in Jerusalem became one of   the main material markers of   early Judaism. What was the Jerusalem temple supposed to  communicate, especially the rebuilt temple? Or is the only relevant question why the temple (as  an indispensable form of   materiality) needed to  be rebuilt? Whatever the reasons or  motives, the temple became a  symbol for different things.67 Empty Space Aniconism

Mettinger uses this term to refer to iconographic representa­tions, which do not depict a  particular entity, usually the deity. For instance, a cherub throne comprises a depiction of   cherubs, but is an empty throne, as it does not depict the one enthroned.68 Likewise, the ‘hole’ between two sphinxes (probably identifiable as cherubs) on the Taanach cult stand (excavated in 1968) might have communicated the presence of   a deity aniconographically (Fig.  1).69 This phenomenon is  also known outside 67  Note 25 refers to Schmitt, ‘Iconography of   Power’. Schmitt shows here, how the Ormides, like the Assyrians, used ‘architectonic’ images to  communicate their power and underline the social distance between the royal centre of  power and the population, who supposedly felt this distance. Instead of  power and distance, the material ‘second temple’ might have been a renewed witness of  God’s proximity, a testimony to his memory of   the Covenant, and a symbol for Jerusalem as the centre of  the cult. Even after its destruction, the temple remained important as a symbol of  Jewish belonging and of  God’s promise of  his presence; Bar Kokhba coined mints with abstracted symbolism referring to the temple – the ‘mass medium’ coinage could thus have strengthened the people’s Jewish ethnic and religious identity, see Meshorer, A Treasury of  Jewish Coins, pp. 143–45 and Mildenberg, The Coinage of  the Bar Kokhba War, Typos 6, pp. 33–42. 68  See note 63. It should be noted that the idea of   a cherub throne has been criticized recently: e.g., Wood, Of  Wings and Wheels. 69  Mettinger, ‘The Veto on Images and the Aniconic God in Ancient Israel’, pp.  15–29 and Knauf, ‘Der Staat als Männerbund. Religionsanthropologische Aspekte der politischen Evolution’, esp. p. 20. Pace e.g., Hestrin, ‘The Cult Stand from Ta‘anach and its Religious Background’, pp. 61–77 (she assumes that a cult image was placed inside the cult stand, the head visible through the ‘window’,

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Fig. 1 Taanach cult stand. Tenth century. After Keel and Uehlinger 2010, fig. 184.

Israel-Palestine, as  can be exemplified with an Urartian orthostate depicting an empty chariot invisibly driven by the deity (Fig. 2).70 Empty Image Carriers

Following Mettinger’s terminology, this category would be called ‘material aniconism’. Mettinger regards these image carriers p. 65, p. 71; Keel and Uehlinger, GGG, §98; Zwickel, ‘Die Kultständer aus Taanach’, p. 65, pp. 67–69. 70  Keel, Jahwe-Visionen und Siegelkunst. Eine neue Deutung der Majestäts­ schilder­ungen in Jes 6, Ez 1 und 10 und Sach 4, pp. 186–87.

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Fig. 2 Drawing of  Urartian orthostat with empty cart. 800–750 bce. After Keel 1977, 186–87, fig. 129. For a photo, see Calmeyer 1974, pls 10-2.

as  symbols. The best-known example is  the erected stone or massebah (e.g., Fig. 3). Such a  stone can be described or  identified as  an unhewn or crudely shaped stone, standing, with its height larger than its width.71 Elizabeth Bloch-Smith provides criteria for identifying a stone as a massebah: ‘(1) the stone’s shape and size conform to expectation; generally, height exceeds width, (2) the stone does not bear a striking resemblance to a functional item such that its cultic status is not evident, and (3) the context and accompanying assemblage support the identification if  the stone is functioning as a maşşēbâ.’ 72 71  Graesser, ‘Standing Stones in  Ancient Palestine’, p.  48 distinguishes the following types: rude, slab, round, obeliskoid, square. 72  Bloch-Smith, ‘Maşşēbôt in the Israelite Cult’, p. 36 (Bloch-Smith’s italics).

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Fig. 3 Aniconographic, anepigrafic erected stones in situ at the piazza of  Tel Dan. Ninth and eighth century bce. The stones of  Figure 3 stand on a bamah and are probably representations of  deities. Other standing stones might also represent ancestors. Photo by the author (August 2010).

As such, the massebah can be regarded as  a  motif .73 As a symbol a  massebah stele can represent a  deity, a  symbol of  a deity, be a memorial, function as a boundary marker, or as a covenant witness,74 commemorate a victory, or mark an entrance.75 De Moor warns against sharp differentiation based on  such a specification 76 and summarized it as: ‘… the function of   all standing stones is  to keep memory of   something or  someone alive.’ 77 Having become a symbol, the erected stone was depicted on other image carriers,78 or hewn as relief  (as in Fig. 4). 73 In the sense of    Panofsky’s three-tier schedule for interpreting images. Panofsky, Meaning in  the Visual Arts; Keel, Das Recht der Bilder, gesehen zu werden, appendix and Lamprichs, ‘Ikonographie und Ikonologie’, pp. 38–46. 74  Griffeth, ‘Maşşēbāh’. 75  de Groot, Palestijnsche Masseben, p. 86, pp. 93–94. 76   de Moor, ‘Standing Stones and Ancestor Worship’, p. 3. 77  de Moor, The Rise of  Yahwism, p. 360. 78  For example the Phoenicians, see Moscati, Phoenicians, fig. 380.

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Fig. 4 Rock relief  in Petra. Hellenistic period. After Dalman 1908, fig. 313.

Menorah

As mentioned above, we return to the issue of   the menorah. The menorah is  not discussed by Mettinger in  his study on  aniconism. Apparently he takes the menorah as an iconic object in itself, the way Meyers discussed it; and not as  an image carrier. The menorah could be regarded as merely the carrier of  a flame, of the light, which is  the (less lasting) symbol of   God or  a  sign of  his presence. Thus the menorah’s function of   a light stand reduces the cultic importance of   this material, iconographic object. Still, as  Meyers showed, it has this signi­ficant shape. Although it is  a  symbol, which points to  God – in  its shape and in  its function  – it does not represent the deity in  an anthropomor304

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phic or theriomorphic way. Since the end of   the second century, the menorah has become a  synagogal symbol for continuity of  the temple service/Jewish worship, and a symbol of   Jewish identity, e.g., as depictions in funerary art.79 4.2.2 Immaterial Pictoriality

Above, we have discussed four examples of  material pictoriality: 1. Architecture as possibly ‘indispensable’ materiality 2. Empty space aniconism (pictoriality lacking material expression of  its most vital part) 3. Empty image carriers (aniconic materiality with iconic impact) 4. The menorah as  an example of   a non-anthropomorphic and non-theriomorphic symbol for different aspects of   the divine presence (above in  reference to  Meyers) and as  a  light stand carrying a non-lasting, amorphous ‘image’ In the following we will now turn to  examples of   pictoriality, which lack material image carriers at all. Descriptions

Instead of   lacking explicit pictoriality, a  substitute for material images may be found in  verbal images. The description of   the temple in  the book of   Ezekiel might have such a  function.80 Van der Toorn discussed the ‘iconic book’, taking the Torah as  a  divine symbol.81 With respect to  van der Toorn, it should be noted that it still took a  long time before the idea of   the iconic book became materialized to  the extent that religious Jews possessed their own Torah Scroll.82 Nevertheless, it is   Hachlili, Menorah. The showbread table is  a  related sanctuary object with a less significant history, but it would be worth further elaboration in this context. 80  Tuell, ‘Ezekiel 40–42 as  verbal icon’, pp.  649–64; and see McCormick, Palace and Temple. 81  van der Toorn, ‘The Iconic Book’, pp. 229–48. 82  See van der Toorn, ‘The Books of  the Hebrew Bible as Material Artifacts’, pp. 465–72. For example the Islamic use of   Q uran codices. On one hand, they are venerated; on the other hand, they are put into perspective with an emphasis 79

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remarkable that this aniconic substitute for materiality itself  became materialized.83 Images in Cultural Memory

Descriptions, as  verbal images, could foster images in  cultural memory, indeed, even oral tradition can perhaps do so. That John 20:12 is an allusion to the Ark of  the Covenant may be concluded intertextually, but a cultural memory approach can further corroborate such a thesis.84 Aniconic Theologies

Bauks mentions in section eight of  her Wibilex article ‘Bilderverbot’ three more substitutes for images. She assumes that aniconism fostered shem (the Name) and kabod (glory) theologies. Instead of   references to  a  certain ‘shaped’ (Gestalt) appearance, God is  referred to  in  abstract terms which imply Gestaltlosigkeit.85 She adds: Nach Genesis 1, 26–28 ist die Gottebenbildlichkeit auf  den erschaffenen Menschen übertragen. Hier ist es nicht mehr ein unbelebtes Bild, sondern das Geschöpf  selbst, das die Präsenz und Wirkmächtigkeit JHWHs anzeigt.86

on the contents, as the following anecdote of   Abdullah ibn Umar shows. When a gold decorated codex was shown to him, his reaction was: the best decoration of  a codex is its recitation, see Radscheit, ‘Der Koran als Kodex’, p. 305. 83  Is a  single scroll a  carrier of   a (recited) text or  does it have meaning as an object? 84  de Hulster, ‘Extending the Borders of   Cultural Memory Research? – An Essay’, pp.  95–135, esp. pp.  113–14. The reference to  the Bar Kokhba temple symbolism on  coins postdating the destruction of   the second temple (see note 67) exemplifies that a similar link can be made between material images and cultural memory. 85 Still, kabod and shem had found pictorial expression elsewhere in the Ancient Near East, see Staubli, ‘Den Namen setzen’, pp.  93–112. For kabod (as melammu), see de Hulster, Iconographic Exegesis and Third Isaiah, p. 176 (with references). See also Sommer, The Bodies of  God and the World of  Ancient Israel, pp. 58–62, who takes the Name and kabod as embodiments of   God. Rauchenberger discusses kabod/doxa from a  visual studies perspective as  the dialectic between entbergen and verhüllen; in Biblische Bildlichkeit, esp. pp. 217–38. 86  Bauks, ‘Bilderverbot (AT)’. For example, Wagner, Gottes Körper, esp. pp. 167–81.

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statement statement statement (anthropomorphism) statement (anthropomorphism) (anthropomorphism) (anthropomorphism) and the consequences andconsequences and the consequences the consequences to to draw from to draw from to it. Nevertheless, from it. Nevertheless, from it. Nevertheless it. Neverthe leaving leav statement (anthropomorphism) andand the the consequences to draw draw from it.draw Nevertheless, leaving aside, aside, she she says: aside, says: she says: she says: aside, sheaside, says:

‘Diese ‘Diese Metapher ‘Diese Metapher ‘Diese Metapher [‫ישׁ‬ ‫ישׁ[ ִ֔אא‬ ‫ישׁ[כ ֙י ֙י‬ ִ ‫ ִכ ִ֔ ֙יאאָאָ ֽנֽנֹ ֹ ִכ‬in ‫ֹלא־‬ ֹ[‫ישׁ‬ ‫ אָ ֽנ‬Hosea ‫א‬Hosea in ִ֔ ‫ֹלא־֙י‬ ‫ ֽנ ֹ ִכ‬Hosea ָ‫ ֙י א‬in ‫ ֹ ִכ‬11,9] ‫ֽנ‬11,9] ָ‫א‬Hosea in 11,9] Hosea relativiert 11,9] relativiert 11,9] relativiert und relativiert und transzendiert. transzendiert. und und transzendier transzen […] Da ‘Diese Metapher [‫ישׁ‬Metapher ִ֔ ‫ֹלא־‬ ‫ֹלא־ ִ֔אֹלא־‬ in relativiert und transzendiert. […][… D 91 91 RELIGION, PICTORIALITY AND MATERIALITY: A HEBREW BIBLE PERSPECTIVE 91 91 91 werden werden zugleich werden zugleich werden zugleich alle zugleich Metaphern Metaphern alle alle Metaphern in ihre in ihre Schranken in Schranken ihre in ihre Schranken verwiesen.’ Schranken verwiesen.’ verwiesen.’ verwiesen.’ ‘[Weil] ‘[Weil] Gott ‘[Weil] Gott ‘[We zugl z werden zugleich allealle Metaphern inMetaphern ihre Schranken verwiesen.’ ‘[Weil] Gott zuglG “heilig”’ “heilig”’ “heilig”’ und “heilig”’ ‘in ‘in und deiner ‘in und Mitte’ deiner ‘in Mitte’ deiner [ist,] Mitte’ [ist,] […] Mitte’ […] [ist,] verschließt [ist,] verschließt […] […] verschließt die verschließt mit die ‫ִישׁ‬ die ‫ֹלא־אא‬ ‫ִישׁ‬mit die ‫ֹלא־א‬ [kein ‫ִישׁ‬ mit [kein ‫ֹלא־א‬ Mann] ‫[אִישׁ‬kein Mann] ‫ ֹלא־‬marki [kein Man m “heilig”’ undund ‘in deiner deiner Mitte’ [ist,] […] verschließt die mit mit ‫ִישׁ‬ ‫ֹלא־‬ [kein Mann] mark Our discussion of    materiality thus returns again to  human Grenze Grenze menschlichen Grenze menschlichen Grenze menschlichen menschlichen Redens Redens von Redens von Gott Redens Gott von keineswegs von Gott keineswegs Gott keineswegs die keineswegs die Möglichkeit, Möglichkeit, die Möglichkeit, die Möglichkeit, ihm zu zu ihmbeiz Grenze menschlichen Redens von Gott keineswegs die Möglichkeit, ihmihm zu begeg begeg 87 embodiment. sondern sondern bewahrt sondern bewahrt sondern die bewahrt Offenheit bewahrt Offenheit die Offenheit die dafür, Offenheit dafür, ihn dafür, ihn zu erkennen zuihnerkennen zu ihnerkennen als zu als den Gott, als Gott, den als als Gott, als der der er erda sondern bewahrt die die Offenheit dafür, ihn zudafür, erkennen als erkennen denden Gott, alsden der Gott, eralssich sic 92 92 92 92 92 seinem seinem Volk seinem Volk je seinem neu Volk je neu erweist.’ Volk jeerweist.’ neu je erweist.’ neu erweist.’ seinem Volk je neu erweist.’ Excursion: Deconstruction of  Verbal Images?

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One may may One further One further maypon m fu be aabehuman, human, an and plant ataand the same moment in metaphor. metaphor. One may further po too amany images can images 94lead 94 94 94 such such as the as such statement the such asstatement the asstatement the in Hosea statement in  individual Hosea in 11:9, Hosea 11:9, incauses Hosea 11:9, causes or 11:9, causes increases or causes increases or increa the or se th in whether whether aawhether negation a whether negation negation in awriting, in negation writing, in94 writing, in writing, such asto misperception the statement in of  Hosea 11:9, causes or increases the s whether negation in writing, (by and of    the image programme (through 95 95 95 95 95deconstruction) of of transcendence. of transcendence. of transcendence. of transcendence. transcendence. 89 The in the present most aptLeMon’s fragmentation). Besides Besides an Besides avalanche anBesides avalanche an avalanche an of images ofbest, images ofand presented images ofpresented images presented in intext, a context text, inLeMon’s a in LeMon’s text, a text, LeMon’s study study on Y onHWH Y study on Y on HWH ’s ’s H Besides an avalanche of avalanche images presented in aapresented text, LeMon’s study onstudy Y HWH ’s win win example of    how images possibly become deconstructed is  proforms forms testifies forms testifies forms to testifies another to testifies another to process, another to process, another process, which which process, also which also subverts which subverts also also subverts verbal verbal subverts images. verbal images. verbal LeMon images. LeMon images. discusses LeMon discus LeM forms testifies to another process, which also subverts verbal images. LeMon discussesd vided by Brigitte Seifert’s study on  the many metaphors for ‘multistability’ ‘multistability’ ‘multistability’ ‘multistability’ of a single of image: a of single image: a single ‘Multistability image: ‘Multistability image: ‘Multistability ‘Multistability occurs occurs where occurs where occurs an image an where image an conveys image an conveys image two conveys [or convey [or tw ‘multistability’ of aaofsingle single image: ‘Multistability occurs where anwhere image conveys twotwo [or mo mo God in  the book of   Hosea: God is, among others, a  husband, 96 96 96 96 IdH] IdH] different, IdH] different, IdH] different, but but equally equally butvalid, equally butvalid, equally “interpretations” valid, “interpretations” valid, “interpretations” “interpretations” simultaneously.’ simultaneously.’ simultaneously.’ simultaneously.’ Each Each of the Each of96the various Each ofvarious the ofve vt IdH] different, butdifferent, equally valid, “interpretations” simultaneously.’ Each of the various ve a father/mother, a shepherd, a physician, a fowler, a lion, a moth, images images of Y images YHWH of Y YHWH HWH ’s ’sof HWH winged ’sform winged ’sform winged draws form draws on form draws aaonunique draws a unique on aset on unique of set a unique winged ofset winged ofset forms winged offorms winged (such forms (such as forms a(such a(such winge as ade images ofimages Yof HWH ’s winged winged form draws on unique set of winged forms (such as aaswinged winged daw and a  fruitful cypress.90 The most telling illustration is  how she different different different forms different forms of winged of forms winged of sun winged of sun winged disks, disks, sunand sun disks, and aadisks, winged aandwinged and a warrior) winged a warrior) winged warrior) for warrior) which which forLeMon for which LeMon which prov LeM different forms offorms winged sun disks, and winged warrior) for for which LeMon provp deals with Hosea 11:9 (‫ ; ִכּי אֵל אָ ֽנֹכִי וְֹלא־אִיׁש ְ ּבק ְִר ְבָּך קָד ֹוׁש‬For I am iconographic iconographic iconographic iconographic evidence. evidence. evidence. Thus, evidence. Thus, these Thus, these Thus, single these single these images single images single are images images subverted subverted are are subverted through subverted through through their throug inhe thi iconographic evidence. Thus, these single images are are subverted through theirtheir inhe God and not (a) man, holy in your midst). One could discuss how multiplicity. multiplicity. multiplicity. multiplicity. multiplicity. the negation influences this metaphorical statement (anthropomorphism) and the consequences to  draw from it. Nevertheless, Conclusion/Recapitulation Conclusion/Recapitulation Conclusion/Recapitulation Conclusion/Recapitulation Conclusion/Recapitulation leaving that aside, she says:

  Itdifficult is  not be understood from this thatreligious human physicality such is of ItIt is is sometimes It is Itsometimes is difficult sometimes to difficult to difficult distinguish to distinguish tothe distinguish the religious religious the character the character religious character of character ofas certain offorms certain forms certain of materiality. of materia forms of mo isItsometimes sometimes difficult toto distinguish distinguish the religious character of certain certain forms of forms materiality implied by ‘Gott­eben­bildlich­keit’. For example Schellenberg, Der Mensch, das the other other the hand, other hand, the because other hand, because hand, of because its ofbecause human its of human itsagents, of human its agents, human religion agents, religion agents, is religion always isreligion always isembodied. always is embodied. always embodied. Beyond embodied. Beyond this, Beyond this, howe Beyo ht the the other hand, because of its human agents, religion is always embodied. Beyond this, howe Bild Gottes? 88 religion religion can religion can take religion take forms, can forms, take canwhich take forms, which are which minimal are which minimal are in minimal are their in minimal their materiality in materiality their in their materiality –– and materiality – and likewise –likewise and likewise and inlikewise their pictoria in pict thei in  Hellemans, Laforms, Bible Moralisée, and Hellemans, ‘  “Horror vacui” Evil in – in religion can take forms, which are minimal in their materiality and likewise in their their pictoria the Incarnated World  regarded the Pictoriality Pictoriality Pictoriality can Pictoriality can be regarded be canregarded be can regarded as beof  aaas hybrid aBibles hybrid as aMoralisées’. form as hybrid form a between hybrid form between form between materiality materiality between materiality and materiality and immaterial immaterial and and immaterial expressio immate exprese Pictoriality can be regarded as hybrid form between materiality and immaterial expressio 89 An avalanche, not just many, but overwhelmingly many; in  didactical content. content. However, content. However, content. However, aamost minimum However, a clearly minimum a for minimum of apictoriality minimum of pictoriality pictoriality of or even oravalanche even aniconography or aniconography even or even aniconography has its itshas own communicatio its has communi own its own com content. However, minimum ofpictures pictoriality orpictoriality even aniconography has has its own own communicati terms, of of   war: ‘Cette d’images – aniconography manipulées strength strength and strength and content. strength and–Sometimes content. and Sometimes content. Sometimes similar Sometimes similar religious similar religious similar religious concepts concepts religious concepts can be concepts be can expressed be can in be expressed in opposite in form oppo inf strength and content. Sometimes similar religious concepts can be expressed in opposite opposite form ou content. non est souvent considérée  (…) comme une pollution decan nosexpressed espaces de expressed pensée’, Cherel, ‘Regards sur la guerre’, p. 282. materiality materiality materiality and materiality and pictoriality, pictoriality, and pictoriality, and as pictoriality, the as example the as example the as of example the church of example church of architecture church of architecture church architecture in architecture section in section in 1.3 section in shows 1.3 section shows 1.3 above. show 1.3 abov materiality and pictoriality, as the example of church architecture in section 1.3 shows above.s 90 87

 It is  to be acknowledged that even this is  not an example of   ‘overabundance’, and one may ponder whether such a  thing can exist in  literature, especially literature, which is available in book form for rereading and reflection. The danger of   fragmentation and deconstruction is  also present when simifragmentation fragmentation fragmentation and fragmentation and deconstruction and and isisdeconstruction also iscomparable, also present ispresent also when is but present also when similar present similar when words when similar words are used words are used in words are comparable, inused are comparable, in used comparable, but in comparable, linguistically but linguistically but lingui but diff fragmentation and deconstruction also present when similar words aresimilar used in comparable, but linguistically dif lardeconstruction words aredeconstruction used in  linguistically different forms: to  what forms: forms: to forms: to what extent forms: toextent what are to what extent are the extent are variations the are ‫ים‬ variations ‫ ִ֗הה‬the ‫ ִ֗ה‬,,‫ָא ֖ ֱָאאללֹל‬ ֵ ֖ ֵֽ ‫יםההָה‬ ,,‫ִיםל‬ ‫א ֹֽל ֱֹלאההֹל ֵ ֖ ִָ֗אה‬,ֱ‫ים‬ ָ‫ִיםאה‬ ִ֗ ‫ִים‬ ‫ָאֹל‬ ‫ ֵאהָ ֵא ֽלֱהא ֱלא ֵ ֹ֖ל‬,‫ִים‬ ,,‫ָאלל‬ ‫( ֵֹלהא ֶאֵ ֶ֖האל‬Hebrew ‫(א‬Hebrew ֱ ,‫ִיםל‬ ,‫ִיםא‬ ֶ ‫(ֹלה‬Hebrew ‫ ֱֵאל‬,‫ִים‬ ‫ל‬words words ‫ ֶא‬words ‫(אל‬Hebrew ֵ ,‫ל‬words ‫ ֶא‬of  of (Hebrew one words ofstem stem one words of stem el which of elstem one which can el stem be which canuse el bew forms: to what what extent are the variations ‫ים‬ ִ֗ ‫יםא ֱאֹלֹל‬ ֱ ֽ ָֽ‫הָה‬variations ‫ִים‬ ֱ ,‫ה‬,‫ִיםלה‬ of one stem elone which can be use   one extent arethe thevariations variations           (Hebrew ‘God’), ‘God’), and their and their constructed ‘God’), constructed their andcan constructed (declinated) their constructed forms forms (declinated) significant significant forms for significant their for significant their users, forusers, and their for the and users, their use theusers, and of use multiple the of and multiple use thevariants of use multiple variants of multiple meaningful variants meaning varia m fo eland which be(declinated) used (declinated) for ‘God’), and forms their constructed (declinated) forms ‘God’), and‘God’), their constructed (declinated) forms significant for their users, and the use of multiple variants meaningful f audience(s)? audience(s)? audience(s)? For audience(s)? For example, For see example, For Wardlaw, see example, Wardlaw, see Conceptualizing Wardlaw, see Conceptualizing Wardlaw, Words Conceptualizing Words for Words for God within Words for within the God for Pentateuch. the within God Pentateuch. within thethe Pentateuch. the Pentateuch. significant for their users, and the Conceptualizing use of    multiple variants meaningful for audience(s)? For example, example, see Wardlaw, Conceptualizing Words for God God within the Pentateuch. 91 91 91 91 91 Seifert, Seifert, Metaphorisches Seifert, Metaphorisches Seifert, Metaphorisches Reden Metaphorisches Reden von von Reden im Reden von Hoseabuch, imGott Hoseabuch, von im Gott Hoseabuch, p. 225 p. Hoseabuch, (italics 225 Words (italics p. by 225 p. (italics by 225 author). (italics by author). by author). audience(s)? For example, see Gott Wardlaw, Conceptualizing for God within Seifert, Metaphorisches Reden von Gott Gott im Hoseabuch, p.im 225 (italics by author). author). 92 92 92 92 92 theSeifert, Pentateuch. Seifert, Seifert, Metaphorisches Metaphorisches Seifert, Metaphorisches Reden, Metaphorisches Reden, p. Reden, p. 236, and Reden, p. and 285 236, p.p.(Seifert’s 285 and 236,(Seifert’s p.and 285 italics). p.(Seifert’s 285 italics). (Seifert’s italics). italics). Seifert, Metaphorisches Reden, p. 236, 236, and p. 285 (Seifert’s italics). 93 93 93 93 93 This This isis possible isThis possible is This with possible with is aa multi-scope possible a with multi-scope awith multi-scope network a multi-scope network (Kövecses, network (Kövecses, network (Kövecses, Metaphor, Metaphor, (Kövecses, esp. Metaphor, pp. Metaphor, 267–83 pp. esp. 267–83 pp. esp. or aaor pp. megablend/comp a267–83 megablend/ or a mega or a This possible with multi-scope network (Kövecses, Metaphor, esp. esp. pp. 267–83 or 267–83 megablend/com integration integration network, integration network, integration see network, Fauconnier seenetwork, Fauconnier see Fauconnier and seeTurner, and Fauconnier Turner, and The Way The and Way We Turner, The Think, We Way The Think, esp. We Way pp. Think, esp. We 153–59. pp. Think, esp. 153–59. pp. esp. 153–59. pp. 153–59. integration network, see Fauconnier and Turner, TheTurner, Way We Think, esp. pp. 153–59. 94 94 94 For For example For the apophatic For the example apophatic thematerial apophatic the material apophatic aniconism material aniconism material in aniconism section inaniconism section 1.3 in above. section 1.3inabove. section 1.3 above. 1.3 above. For94example example the94example apophatic material aniconism in section 1.3 above. 95 95 95 95 307 Due to Due tohistorical Due the95historical toDue theand to historical the textual andhistorical textual Hebrew and textual Hebrew andBible textual Hebrew Bible perspective, Hebrew perspective, Bible Bible perspective, we perspective, we not will deal notwill with deal wenot will with other deal not other kinds with dealkinds other of with negotiating of other kinds negotiatin kinds of neg bet Due to the the historical and textual Hebrew Bible perspective, we will will notwe deal with other kinds of negotiating beto pictoriality pictoriality pictoriality and and pictoriality aniconism, and aniconism, such and such as aniconism, assuch music and as such calligraphy, music and ascalligraphy, music and calligraphy, see and calligraphy, see Brueggemann, see Brueggemann, seeOld Brueggemann, Testament Old Testament Old Theology, Testament OldTheology, Testament pp. Theology, 230–33, pp. Theol 230 pictoriality and aniconism, aniconism, such as music music and calligraphy, see Brueggemann, Brueggemann, Old Testament Theology, pp. 230–33, HWH in group in HWH a group in HWH dominant adominant of group indominant a group ofnouns dominant of nouns and dominant second a nouns second andgroup a and second group which a second which group subvert gro wh su distinguishes distinguishes distinguishes the noun the noun used theused as noun the metaphors asnoun used metaphors as used for metaphors as Y metaphors YHWH foraa Y for Yof HWH in group of nouns and aand anouns second group which subver distinguishes the distinguishes noun used as metaphors for Yfor former former as warning as a warning former asagainst a warning as against areductionism warning against reductionism against reductionism and reification. and reification. and reification. and reification. former as aa former warning against reductionism andreductionism reification.

illustration illustration isis how how she she deals deals with with Hosea Hosea 11:9 11:9 (‫וֹשׁ‬ (‫ִרִרבּבְָּךְָ֣ך֣ קק֔ ָ֔דָדוֹשׁ‬ ְ ְ ‫ישׁ ְבּ ְבּקק‬ ‫ְֹלא־ ִ֔ ִ֔אאישׁ‬ ‫;כּ֣י֣י ֵ ֤ ֵא ֤אלל אָאָ ֽנ ֹֽנ ֹ ִכ ִכ ֙י ֙י ווְֹלא־‬ ִ ‫;כּ‬ ִ For For II am am illustration is how she in deals with Hosea 11:9 (‫ק ָ֔דוֹשׁ‬discuss ‫ְֹלא־ ִ֔א‬ ‫ ִכ ֙י ו‬negation ֹ ‫ֽנ‬negation ָ‫;כּ֣י ֵ ֤אל א‬ ִ For I am God ֣‫ישׁ ְבּק ְִרבְָּך‬ (a) (a) man, man, holy holy in your your midst). midst). One One could could discuss how how the the influences influences this thia (a) man, holy in your midst). One I. J. DE could discuss how the negation this metap statement statement (anthropomorphism) (anthropomorphism) and and the the consequences consequences to to draw drawinfluences from from it. it. Nevertheles Nevertheles HULSTER statement (anthropomorphism) and the consequences to draw from it. Nevertheless, leavi aside, aside, she she says: says: aside, she says: relativiert undund ‘DieseMetapher Metapher [‫ישׁ‬ [     in Hosea ‘Diese ‘Diese Metapher [‫ֹלא־ ִ֔ ִ֔אאישׁ‬ ‫ אָאָ ֽנ ֹֽנ ֹ ִכ ִכ ֙י ֙י ֹלא־‬in in Hosea Hosea11,9] 11,9] 11,9] relativiert relativiert und transzendie transzendie 91 91 ‘Diese werden Metapher [‫ֹלא־ ִ֔אישׁ‬ ‫ ִכ ֙י‬Damit ֹ ‫אָ ֽנ‬Metaphern in Hosea 11,9] und transzendiert. […] transzendiert. […]  werdenin zugleich alle Metaphern werden zugleich zugleich alle alle Metaphern in ihre ihrerelativiert Schranken Schranken verwiesen.’ verwiesen.’ ‘[Weil] ‘[Weil] 91 91 werden“heilig”’ zugleich alle‘in Metaphern in ihre verwiesen.’ ‘[Weil] GottMa zu ‘[Weil] Gott zugleich “heilig” ’ in ihre Schranken verwiesen.’ “heilig”’ und und ‘in deiner deiner Mitte’ Mitte’ [ist,] [ist,]Schranken […] […] verschließt verschließt die die mit mit ‫ִישׁ‬ ‫ֹלא־אאִישׁ‬ ‫[ ֹלא־‬kein [kein M und ‘in deiner Mitte’ [ist,]  […] verschließt die mitׁ “heilig”’ und ‘in deiner Mitte’ [ist,] […] verschließt die mit ‫ִישׁ‬ ‫א‬ ‫ֹלא־‬ [kein Mann] ma Grenze Grenze menschlichen menschlichen Redens Redens von von Gott Gott keineswegs keineswegs die die Möglichkeit, Möglichkeit, ihm ihm [kein Mann] markierte Grenze menschlichen Redens von Grenze sondern menschlichen Redens von Gottdafür, keineswegs Möglichkeit, zu als beg sondern bewahrt bewahrt die die Offenheit Offenheit dafür, ihn ihn zu zu die erkennen erkennen als als den denihm Gott, Gott, als 92 92 ihnihm Gott keineswegs die Möglichkeit, zu begegnen, sondern sondernseinem bewahrt die Offenheit dafür, zu erkennen als den Gott, als der er s seinem Volk Volk je je neu neu erweist.’ erweist.’ 92 dafür, ihn zu erkennen als den Gott, bewahrt die Offenheit seinem Volk je neu erweist.’ Of Of course, course,alsthe the nature of (even (even aaVolk single) single) metaphor metaphor itself itself implies implies by by its its dialectic dialectic of o dernature er sich of an seinem je neu erweist.’92 Of course, the nature of (even a single) metaphor itself implies by its dialectic is v ‘A≠B’ ‘A≠B’ that that metaphors metaphors are are not not supposed supposed to to absolutize absolutize an an image. image. Whereas, Whereas,ofin in‘Athe the ‘A≠B’ opposite that notof supposed to absolutize an image. Whereas, visualoc a opposite consequence consequence of absolutizing, deconstruction, deconstruction, and and fragmentation fragmentation would oc Of metaphors course, theare nature of   absolutizing, (even a single) metaphor itself  implies by in thewould oppositeavalanche consequence of deconstruction, andare fragmentation would occur (du avalanche of of images), images), we have have to to state state that aa large large number number of of images images causes causes the the ind ind its dialectic of   ‘Aabsolutizing, is B’we and ‘A≠B’ that that metaphors not supposed avalanche of images), we have to state that a large number of images causes the individual to toto absolutize put put each each other other into into perspective perspective and and are are mainly mainly contributing contributing their their spec spe an image. Whereas, in the visual arts, the opposite to put Deconstruction each other into perspective and are mainly theiritit is specific nu Deconstruction would would arguably arguablydeconstruction, be be too too strong strong aa concept concept here, here, although although is clear clear that tha consequence of    absolutizing, and contributing fragmentation 93 93that God ca Deconstruction would arguably be too strong a concept here, although it is clear be bewould aa human, human, an(due animal, animal, and and aa plant plant at atof  the the same same moment moment into  metaphor. metaphor. One One may may occuran to  an avalanche   images), we havein state 94 94 the same moment in metaphor.93 One may further be a human, an aaanimal, and awriting, plant at such such as as the the statement statement in in Hosea Hosea 11:9, 11:9, causes causes or or incre incr whether whether negation negation in in writing, that a large number of  94 images causes the individual images to put 95 95 such as the statement in Hosea 11:9, causes or increases th whetherof negation in writing, ofaeach transcendence. transcendence. other 95 into perspective and are mainly contributing their of transcendence. Besides Besides an an Deconstruction avalanche avalanche of of images images presented presented in inbeaa too text, text,strong LeMon’s LeMon’s study study on on Y YH specifican nuances. would arguably Besides avalanche of images presented in a text, LeMon’s study on YLeMon HWH ’s w forms forms testifies testifies to to another another process, process, which which also also subverts subverts verbal verbal images. images. LeMon a concept although it is clear that can only be a human, forms testifies to here, another process, which alsoGod subverts verbal images. LeMon discuss ‘multistability’ ‘multistability’ of of aa single single image: image: ‘Multistability ‘Multistability occurs occurs where where an an93image image conveys conveys tt an animal, and a  plant at the same moment in  metaphor. 96 96 ‘multistability’ of a single image: ‘Multistability occurs where an image conveys two [or IdH] IdH] different, different, but but equally equally valid, valid, “interpretations” “interpretations” simultaneously.’ simultaneously.’ Each Each of of the the One may further ponder whether a  negation in  writing,9496such IdH] different, butY valid, “interpretations” Each of the various images images of of Yequally HWH HWH’s ’s winged winged form form draws draws on on aasimultaneously.’ unique unique set set of of winged winged forms forms (such (such as as aa in  Hosea 11:9,disks, or  increases sense(such images different ofas Ythe HWHstatement ’s winged draws acauses unique wingedthe forms a winged different forms forms of of95form winged winged sun sunondisks, and andsetaaofwinged winged warrior) warrior) for for as which which LeM Le of forms  transcendence. different of winged sun Thus, disks, these and asingle winged warrior) which LeMon iconographic iconographic evidence. evidence. Thus, these single images images are are for subverted subverted through through prt Besides an avalanche of   images presented a  text, LeMon’sthrough their in iconographic evidence. Thus, these single imagesin are subverted multiplicity. multiplicity. study on  Yhwh’s winged forms testifies to  another process, multiplicity.

which also subverts verbal images. LeMon discusses the ‘multi-

Conclusion/Recapitulation Conclusion/Recapitulation stability’ of   a single image: ‘Multistability occurs where an image Conclusion/Recapitulation

conveys two [or more – IdH] different, but equally valid, “inter96 simultaneously.’ Each of    thereligious various character verbal images ItItpretations” isis sometimes sometimes difficult difficult to to distinguish distinguish the the religious character of of certain certain forms forms of of m m

It is sometimes to distinguish the religious certainembodied. forms of Beyond material the the other otherdifficult hand, hand, because because of of its its human human agents, agents, character religion religion isisofalways always embodied. Beyond the other hand, because of its human agents, religion is always embodied. Beyond this, ho 91 Seifert, religion religion can can take take forms, forms, which which are are minimal minimal in in their their materiality materiality – – and and likewise likewise in in the th Metaphorisches Reden von Gott im Hoseabuch, p.  225 (italics by religionPictoriality can take forms, which are minimal in their materiality – and likewise in their picto author). Pictoriality can can be be regarded regarded as as aa hybrid hybrid form form between between materiality materiality and and immaterial immaterial 92 Seifert, Pictoriality can be regarded as aReden, hybrid form materiality expres Metaphorisches p. 236, andbetween p. 285or italics). and immaterial content. content. However, However, aa minimum minimum of of pictoriality pictoriality or(Seifert’s even even aniconography aniconography has has its its own own com co 93  This is  possible with a  multi-scope network (Kövecses, Metaphor, esp. content.strength However, a minimum of pictoriality or even aniconography has its own communic strength and and content. content. Sometimes Sometimes similar similar religious religious concepts concepts can can be be expressed expressed in in opp opp pp. 267–83 or a megablend/composed integration concepts network, see Fauconnier and in opposite fo strengthmateriality and content. Sometimes similar be expressed materiality and pictoriality, aspp. 153–59. the thereligious example example of of church churchcan architecture architecture in in section section 1.3 1.3 show show Turner, Theand Waypictoriality, We Think, esp.as materiality and pictoriality, as the example of church architecture in section 1.3 shows abov 94   For example the apophatic material aniconism in section 1.3 above.

95  Due to  the historical and textual Hebrew Bible perspective, we will not deal with other kinds of   negotiating between pictoriality and aniconism, such fragmentation fragmentation and deconstruction deconstruction isis also also present present when similar similar words words are are used used in in comparable, comparable, but but lingu ling as music andand calligraphy, see Brueggemann, Oldwhen Testament Theology, pp. 230–33, forms: forms: to to what what extent extent are are the variations variations ‫ים‬ ‫הָ ֽהָ ֽ ֱא ֱאֹלֹל ִ֗ ִ֗ההים‬similar ,,‫ָאלל‬for ‫ִים‬ ‫ִים‬words ‫ה‬hwh ‫ ֱא ֱאֹלֹלה‬,,‫ִים‬ ‫לִים‬are ‫ ֵא ֵאל‬,,‫ל‬used ‫( ֶא ֶאל‬Hebrew (Hebrew words words of ofbut one onelinguistically stem stem el el whic whi ֖ ֵ‫ הה ֵ ָ֖א‬,,Y fragmentation deconstruction isthe also present when in comparable, in a group of  dominant whoand distinguishes the noun used as metaphors ‘God’), and and their constructed constructed (declinated) significant for their their users, users, and and the use use of of multiple multiple variants forms: to‘God’), what extent are the variations ‫ ֱאֹל ִ֗הים‬subverts ֽ ָ‫ ה‬,‫ ֵ ָ֖אל‬forms ‫ה‬forms ,‫ִים‬the ‫ֹלה‬significant ‫ ֱא‬former ,‫ ֵאלִים‬,‫ל‬as a warning ‫ ֶא‬for (Hebrew words ofthe one stem el whichvariants can be nouns andtheir a second group (declinated) which against reducaudience(s)? audience(s)? For For example, example, see seeWardlaw, Wardlaw, Conceptualizing Conceptualizing Words forGod God within within the thePentateuch. Pentateuch. ‘God’), and their constructed (declinated) forms significant for theirWords users, for and the use of multiple variants meaningf tionism and reification. 91 91 Seifert, Seifert,Metaphorisches Metaphorisches Reden Reden von vonGott GottWords im im Hoseabuch, Hoseabuch, p. p. 225 225the (italics (italics by by author). author). audience(s)? For96 LeMon, example, see Wardlaw, Conceptualizing forp. 111. God within Pentateuch. Yahweh’s Winged Form in the Psalms, 92 92 91 Seifert, Seifert,Metaphorisches MetaphorischesReden, Reden, p. p.236, 236, and andp. p. 285 285(Seifert’s (Seifert’s italics). italics).

Seifert, Metaphorisches Reden von Gott im Hoseabuch, p. 225 (italics by author). 93 93 This This isis possible possible with withp.aa236, multi-scope multi-scope network (Kövecses, (Kövecses, Metaphor, esp. esp. pp. pp. 267–83 267–83 or or aa meg me Seifert, Metaphorisches Reden, and p. 285network (Seifert’s italics). Metaphor, integration integration network, network, see Fauconnier and Turner, Turner,(Kövecses, The TheWay Way We We Think, Think, esp. esp. pp. pp.pp. 153–59. 153–59. This is possible withsee a Fauconnier multi-scopeand network Metaphor, esp. 267–83 or a megablend/c 94 94 For Forsee example example the theapophatic apophatic material material aniconism aniconism in in section section 1.3 1.3 above. above. integration network, Fauconnier and Turner, The Way We Think, esp. pp. 153–59. 95 95 308 94 Due Duethe to toapophatic the the historical historical and and textual textual Hebrew Hebrew Bible Bible 1.3 perspective, perspective, we will will not not deal deal with with other other kinds kinds of of ne n For example material aniconism in section above. we 95 pictoriality pictoriality and and aniconism, aniconism, such such as as music music and and calligraphy, calligraphy, see Brueggemann, Old Old Testament Testament Theology, Theology Due to the historical and textual Hebrew Bible perspective, wesee willBrueggemann, not deal with other kinds of negotiating HWH inBrueggemann, aa group group of of dominant dominant nouns nouns and and aa second secondpp. group group w distinguishes distinguishes the the noun noun used as as metaphors metaphors for for Y YHWH pictoriality and aniconism, suchused as music and calligraphy, seein Old Testament Theology, 230– former former as aawarning warning against reductionism reductionism and andinreification. reification. a group of dominant nouns and a second group which sub distinguishes theas noun used asagainst metaphors for YHWH 92 93

RELIGION, PICTORIALITY AND MATERIALITY: A HEBREW BIBLE PERSPECTIVE

of   Yhwh’s winged form draws on a unique set of   winged forms (such as  a  winged deity, different forms of   winged sun disks, and a winged warrior) for which LeMon provides iconographic evidence. Thus, these single images are subverted through their inherent multiplicity.

Conclusion/Recapitulation It is sometimes difficult to distinguish the religious character of  certain forms of   materiality. On  the other hand, because of   its human agents, religion is always embodied. Beyond this, however, religion can take forms, which are minimal in  their materiality –  and likewise in  their pictoriality. Pictoriality can be regarded as a hybrid form between materiality and immaterial expression of   content. However, a  minimum of   pictoriality or  even aniconography has its own communicational strength and content. Sometimes similar religious concepts can be expressed in opposite forms of   materiality and pictoriality, as  the example of   church architecture in section 1.3 shows above. The Hebrew Bible, and the religion it ‘represents’, does not prohibit materiality as  such,97 but in  its later stages it becomes critical concerning pictoriality (especially its so-called Deuteronomistic tradition). Still, one can find three categories of   images: those banned (for religious reasons, often because they are part of   other religions), apparent adiaphora (images met with indifference), and images which were clearly accepted, even within the established religious context. Israel’s exile and its subsequent reflection on its history caused a rejection of  cultic images, although even before the exile certain forms of   materiality were prohibited because of  their relation with ‘other’ religions and certain forms of  pictoriality were ‘simply’ (de facto) not practiced. The ‘aniconic turn’ is  also related to  the rise of   monotheism(s) by being paralleled with the monotheizing tendency of   focusing on one God. Likewise, the three monotheist traditions had to give account of   the relation between their focus on one God and the ‘ban on images’. 97  It is even quite positive of  materiality, in the sense in which Zimmerli used the term Weltlichkeit, see note 24.

309

I. J. DE HULSTER

A brief  reflection on  materiality in  ancient Israelite religion from an archaeological perspective pointed to  miniature art as  a  source of   knowledge about the religions in  ancient Israel. It also portrayed the debate around cultic architecture, without being conclusive concerning the historical state of   affairs and its implications. The Jerusalem temple, however, played its role in  materializing the earliest Jewish religion and functioned as a symbol even long after its second destruction. The final section introduced the ‘aniconic turn’, arguing how this came about in a partly ‘evolutionary’ and partly ‘revolutionary’ development. Through this development concerning pictoriality, (new) ‘pictorial’ phenomena appeared within the limits of   (material) aniconism and thus the article concludes with forms of   immaterial pictoriality partially taking over the functions of  material images, and even of  materiality in general. In sum: every religion is material; but since the aniconic turn (for the Hebrew Bible and its subsequent traditions) new ways of  dealing with pictoriality and materiality have been explored.

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28th–30th of   August 1978, ed.  by Harald Biezais, Scripta Instituti Donneriani Aboensis, 10 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1979), pp. 41–52 Schellenberg, Annette, Der Mensch, das Bild Gottes?: Zum Gedanken einer Sonderstellung des Menschen im Alten Testament und in weiteren altorientalischen Q uellen, Abhandlungen zur Theologie des Alten und Neuen Testaments, 101 (Zürich: TVZ – Theologische Verlag Zürich, 2011) Schmitt, Rüdiger, ‘The Iconography of   Power: Israelite and Judean Royal Architecture as Icons of  Power’, in Iconography and Biblical Studies, Proceedings of   the Iconography Sessions at the Joint EABS/ SBL Conference, 22–26 July 2007, Vienna, Austria, ed. by Rüdiger Schmitt and Izaak J. de Hulster, Alter Orient und Altes Testament, 361 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2009), pp. 75–96 Schroer, Silvia, In  Israel gab es Bilder: Nachrichten von darstellender Kunst im Alten Testament, Orbis biblicus et orientalis, 74 (Freiburg, Schweiz: Universitätsverlag/Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1987) Seeing Beyond the Word: Visual Arts and the Calvinist Tradition, ed. by Paul Corby Finney (Grand Rapids, Michigan and Cambridge: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1999) Seifert, Brigitte, Metaphorisches Reden von Gott im Hoseabuch, Forschungen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments, 166 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996) Smend, Rudolf, ‘Essen und Trinken – ein Stück Weltlichkeit des Alten Testaments’, in  Beiträge zur alttestament­lichen Theologie: Festschrift für Walther Zimmerli zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. by Herbert Donner and others (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1977), pp. 446–59 Sommer, Benjamin D., The Bodies of   God and the World of   Ancient Israel (Cambridge and others: Cambridge University Press, 2009) Staubli, Thomas, ‘ “Den Namen setzen”: Namens- und Göttinnenstandarten in der Südlevante während der 18. ägyptischen Dynastie’, in  Iconography and Biblical Studies, Proceedings of   the Iconography Sessions at the Joint EABS/SBL Conference, 22–26 July 2007, Vienna, Austria, ed.  by Rüdiger Schmitt and Izaak J.  de Hulster, Alter Orient und Altes Testament, 361 (Münster: Ugarit-Verlag, 2009), pp. 93–112 van der Steen, Eveline, ‘Bedouin Poetry and Landscape’, in The Land of   Israel in  Bible, History, and Theology: Studies in  Honour of  Ed Noort, ed.  by Jacques van Ruiten and Jacobus C.  de Vos, Sup316

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plements to  Vetus Testamen­ tum, 124 (Leiden: Brill, 2009), pp. 415–29 van der Steen, Eveline, Near Eastern Tribal Societies during the Nineteenth Century: Economy, Society and Politics between Tent and Town, Approaches to  Anthropological Archaeology (Sheffield: Equinox, 2013) The Oxford History of  Christian Worship, ed. by Geoffrey Wainwright and Karen B. Westerfield Tucker (Oxford and others: Oxford University Press, 2006) The Phoenicians, ed. by Sabatino Moscati, trans. by Philip Barras and others (Milano: Bompiani, 1988) van der Toorn, Karel, ‘The Iconic Book: Analogies between the Babylonian Cult of   Images and the Veneration of   the Torah’, in  The Image and the Book: Iconic Cults, Aniconism, and the Rise of   the Book Religion in Israel and the Ancient Near East, ed. by Karel van der Toorn, Contributions to  Biblical Exegesis and Theology, 21 (Leuven: Peeters Publishers, 1997), pp. 229–48 van der Toorn, Karel, ‘The Books of   the Hebrew Bible as  Material Artifacts’, in Exploring the Longue Durée: Essays in Honor of  Lawrence  E. Stager, ed.  by J.  David Schloen (Winona Lake, Indiana: Eisenbrauns, 2009), pp. 465–72 Tuell, Steven S., ‘Ezekiel 40–42 as  Verbal Icon’, Catholic Biblical Q uarterly, 58/4 (1996), pp. 649–64 Wagner, Andreas, ‘Alttestamentlicher Monotheismus und seine Bindung an das Wort’, in Gott im Wort – Gott im Bild: Bilderlosigkeit als Bedingung des Monotheismus?, ed. by Andreas Wagner and others (Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener-Verlag, 2005), pp. 1–22 Wagner, Andreas, Gottes Körper: Zur alttestamentlichen Vorstellung der Menschengestaltigkeit Gottes (Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus, 2010) Warburton, David A., ‘The Architecture of  Israelite Temples’, in Ahab Agonistes: The Rise and Fall of   the Omri Dynasty, ed.  by Lester L. Grabbe, European Seminar on Methodology in Israel’s History, 6/Library of  Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 421 (London: T&T Clark, 2007), pp. 310–28 Wardlaw, Terrance R., Conceptualizing Words for God within the Pentateuch: A  Cognitive-semantic Investigation in  Literary Context, Library of   Hebrew Bible/Old Testament Studies, 495 (London: T&T Clark, 2008) White, James F., ‘The Spatial Setting’, in  The Oxford History of  Christian Worship, ed.  by Geoffrey Wainwright and Karen  B. 317

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Westerfield Tucker (Oxford and others: Oxford University Press, 2006), pp. 793–816 Wood, Alice, A., Of  Wings and Wheels: A Synthetic Study of the Biblical Cherubim, Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, 385 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2008) Yarden, Leon, The Spoils of   Jerusalem on  the Arch of   Titus: A Reinvestigation, Skrifter utgivna av Svenska Institutet i Rom, 8°, XVI (Stockholm: Svenska Institutet i Rom, 1991) Zelensky Elizabeth, and Lela Gilbert, Windows to Heaven: Introducing Icons to Protestants and Catholics (Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2005) Zimmerli, Walther, Die Weltlichkeit des Alten Testaments, Kleine Vandenhoeck Reihe, 327S (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1971) Zwickel, Wolfgang, ‘Die Kultständer aus Taanach’, Taanach/Tell Taannek. 100 Jahre Forschungen zur Archäologie, zur Geschichte, zu den Fundobjekten und zu den Keilschrifttexten, ed.  by Sigfried Kreuzer, Wiener Alttestament­liche Studien, 5 (Frankfurt am Main and others: Peter Lang, 2006), pp. 63–70

Abstract Religion combines ideas and practices. In its practices, religion materializes its ideas. If  these materializations exist in or produce significant lifeless or  dead matter, archaeology has a  chance to  uncover a  way into this religion. Such matter is  to be taken as  a  serious witness, in dialogue with the textual evidence a  religion might have produced or caused, as the latter may be a more beaten track into the invisible of  a religion. Pictures bridge the invisibility of   a religion and the materiality, as pictures share the focus on content with texts and image carriers have their lasting nature as dead/lifeless matter in common with material evidence of  a religion. This paper briefly addresses how the Hebrew Bible can be employed as ways into the religions it deals with and their materiality. Secondly, it employs materiality (artefacts and architecture) and images as witnesses of   the religions in  the First Testament. Thirdly, it discusses aniconism and makes  a case for how imageless images communicate religion.

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MATTER AND MEANING IN THE DEAD SEA SCROLLS: READING THE GENESIS APOCRYPHON AS A PALIMPSEST

In her conference presentation Marlies Heinz mentioned the problem that translators working on  ancient texts are unable to  pick the right words because of   the distance between their own concepts of, for instance, ‘palace’ and ‘temple’ and those of   the past. Because of   this problem, it becomes less attractive for archaeologists to  let the text analyses of   philologists accompany their interpretation of   material remains. As a ‘text person’, I recognize the frustrating experience of  realizing that our patterns of   thought and concepts, and our presupposed knowledge of  the cultures we deal with, block the way to a genuine un­der­stand­ing of  what the texts were about. To some degree, this frustration can be overcome if  we supplement the classical, philological methods with e.g. cross-linguistic and socio-cognitive perspectives: new reading strategies may lead to  alternative ways to  interpret texts and conceptualize their contents and meaning. If  this does not settle the problem entirely, it may at least lead to  a  larger degree of  sensitivity and ability to  negotiate their conceptualizations. One such strategy could be to take a material approach to texts, and this is what I shall attempt in this presentation. The Dead Sea Scrolls were found in  caves northwest to  the Dead Sea from 1947 onwards and contained Jewish literature written or in use roughly from the second century bce to the first century ce in  Hellenistic-Roman Palestine. A  number of   these texts were eventually included in the Jewish and Christian biblical canons, whereas others – although similar in content and form, and claiming more or less explicitly to convey divine knowledge – did not. The latter compositions appear to  have been authored Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114436 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp. 319–339  © 

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or  inspired by various literary figures from the Old Testament. Accordingly, they are designated ‘pseudepigraphs’ as  an indication that they have falsely been attributed to such figures. Scholars dealing with biblical and pseudepigraphic literature in antiquity often speak of   the authoritative status of   those texts that later became part of   the biblical canon. The exact meaning of   the term ‘authoritative’ is  rarely made clear. Oftentimes it appears to imply that biblical literature was prior to the pseudepigrapha and exegetical literature, which in  turn were written because of   the composers’ urge to  bring biblical compositions up to  date.1 Anyhow, scholars tend to  evaluate the significance and usage of   biblical texts in pre-canonical times in light of   the status that this literature obtained later on. This situation, which is problematic, becomes clear in scholarly interpretations of   the Genesis Apocryphon.2 This manuscript contains both pseudepigraphic and biblical material. Large chunks of   each text type are incorporated, juxtaposed, and blended together. The composition has been given several genre definitions that betray a tendency in scholarship to emphasize the use of  a later to become biblical tradition, which we know as the Book of   Genesis, over the pseudepigraphic sources: ‘Rewritten Bible’, ‘Rewritten Scripture’, ‘parabiblical literature’ (altered versions of   biblical literature), targum (Aramaic translation of   Hebrew scriptures), midrash (interpretive text deriving meaning from the scriptural text). In  this way, the greater authority, or  importance, is ascribed to some parts of   the work, and the meaning of   the work as a whole and its constituent parts is deduced from this situation. Taking a  material approach to  the Genesis Apocryphon, I  shall consider the traditions constituting the work as  equally mate1   In the words of   Craig C. Evans ‘What is common to most of   this literature is  the desire to  update the biblical narrative to  bring it more closely into alignment with the theological orientation of   the Judaism of   late antiquity’, quoted from Evans, ‘The Genesis Apocryphon and the Rewritten Bible’, pp. 153– 65, esp. p. 162. See also Alexander, ‘Retelling the Old Testament’, pp. 99–121, esp. p. 118. 2  From around 400 ce, ‘Apocryphon’ was a  common designation for texts that were not allowed into the Jewish (or Christian) canons, but were regarded as  unofficial and containing secret messages. Clearly, the Genesis Apocryphon, which was discovered among the Dead Sea Scrolls, received the designation in modern times.

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rial and thus as  principally equal in  weight and importance. The aim is  to see if  this changes the meaning of   the Genesis Apocryphon in any way. Even if  the Book of   Genesis seems to be some sort of   base text, it is  not certain that its authority was undisputed at the time when the Genesis Apocryphon was composed; perhaps the motivation for creating this literary work was not to present a correct or adequate interpretation of   scripture, i.e. the Book of  Genesis, but something else.

The Text The Genesis Apocryphon is written in Aramaic.3 It recounts material from the Book of   Genesis, especially concerning the figures of  Noah and Abraham (the latter is called Abram, as in the biblical tradition until God renames him in Gen 17.5). The genre of  the work is debated, and because of   the manuscript’s uneven character, the issue has never really been settled. The text can be divided into two pericopes: The first, running from columns 3–17, differs markedly from the wording of   the Book of   Genesis; it includes significant elements and large sections inspired by pseudepigraphs, namely the Book of   Jubilees and 1 Enoch.4 The latter dominates these columns with their focus on  Enoch, Lamech, and Metusaleh. These figures have no significant role in  the biblical text. Noah also figures prominently, and some scholars speculate that a  now lost ‘Book of   Noah’ may have

3  This document (1Q 20 or 1Q apGen), consisting of   22 columns, was among the first Dead Sea Scrolls found in caves near Khirbet Q umran in 1947. The most recent and comprehensive edition is Machiela, The Dead Sea Genesis Apocryphon. A New Text and Translation with Introduction and Special Treatment of  Columns 13–17. 4  The large amount of   copies of   the Book of   Enoch (Enoch 1) and the Book of   Jubilees indicates the great popularity of   both traditions in the Dead Sea community. The Book of   Jubilees recounts the contents of   the Book of   Genesis, but presents its stories about creation and Israel’s patriarchs as made known through angelic revelation to  Moses. The Book of   Enoch (1 Enoch) has the marginal Biblical figure of   Enoch (Genesis 5.21–24) as a central component. It recounts how Enoch had travelled both to the end of  the world and to the seventh heaven and had thus gained insight into how evil was introduced to the world because the fallen angels – ‘sons of   God’ – had trespassed God’s will by taking human wives and by teaching them all sorts of  handicraft and sorcery.

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inspired this pericope.5 All in all, it may be apt to designate parts of   this pericope as  ‘rewritten Enoch’. The section about Abram running through columns 19–22, on  the other hand, appears to be targumic, because it runs parallel to the Hebrew text in the Book of  Genesis, mostly with only minor variations. There have been endless discussions about the redaction history of   the Genesis Apocryphon, but here, too, it has been difficult to obtain consensus as to whether the Genesis Apocryphon used 1 Enoch and Jubilees as  a  source, or  if, on  the contrary, they used the Genesis Apocryphon as  a  source, or  if  all of   these texts draw on  common sources and traditions that are not available to  us today. Whichever the case may be, it is  easy to see that the Genesis Apocryphon is  a  composite work, and this suggests the incorporation of   earlier traditions to  at least some degree. Moshe Bernstein has demonstrated that the first and second pericopes have widely different practices for how to  refer to  the divinity. Based on  this he proposes that the material of  each pericope has its own developmental history and therefore that two independent authors may have composed the Genesis Apocryphon with one pericope each.6 In  other words, at least two different traditions are present, and this favors the idea that the final authors or  redactors of   the Genesis Apocryphon knew and made used of   earlier traditions like 1 Enoch and the Book of  Jubilees and did not invent them.

The Reading of  Palimpsests In the literary sense, palimpsests are manuscripts overwriting old, erased manuscripts. Especially from the seventeenth century many palimpsests were discovered, and methods were developed to make vestiges of   older layers emerge, so that they could be read. Theories have subsequently been developed that use the 5  Thus, other Dead Sea Scrolls seem to  refer to  Noah and particularly to his birth, which is  central in  the five first columns of   the Genesis Apocryphon as  well as  in  1 En 106–07:  1Q 19 (1Q  Livre de Noé), 4Q 534 (4Q  Mess ar; 4Q  Naissance de Noé a ar), 4Q 535–536 (4Q  Naissance de Noé b-c ar), 6Q 8. 6 Bernstein, ‘Divine Titles and Epithets and the Sources of    the Genesis Apocryphon’, pp. 291–310.

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palimpsest as  a  metaphor for how layers of   memory, e.g. in  the human brain, in the landscape, or in the literature are retrieved and activated in new contexts. In a way, the layers thereby become contemporary and equal in weight and significance. In Sarah Dillon’s words, ‘[t]he palimpsest is  a  space in  which two or  more texts, often different and incongruous, coexist in a state of   both collision and collusion’.7 This effect of  palimpsest reading is sometimes described as a sexual relationship, a unification that Dillon refers to as the ‘palimpsestuous’ (and compares to ‘incestuous’). To look at the Genesis Apocryphon as a palimpsest it is to take a  material approach to  it; because the act of   creating a  palimpsest is to put together material, texts that are recognized as such, as  objects already existing in  their own right. When texts are put together like this, they take on  new meanings. Whichever meanings they had in their original contexts, these now become subordinated to  the new literary context in  the palimpsest and to the social context of   the palimpsest. This does not mean they cannot carry vestiges of   old meanings, but the new context must bring new meaning into the constitutive texts. In principle, all the material constituting a palimpsest is equally subject to this process of   change. For the Genesis Apocryphon, this means that the material brought in from the Book of   Genesis would take on new meanings, and so would the other material used. The literary critic Michael Davidson has written on  the palimpsest appearance of   manuscripts from the hands of   postmodern poets, and he has given special attention to the American objectivist poet George Oppen. When Davidson discusses these kinds of   manuscripts, he speaks not only of   the texts involved but of   manuscripts in  the more clearly material sense of   sheets of  papers, and whatever is written on them. He describes what he as the curator for an archive for new poetry discovered when he opened boxes of   manuscripts from the hand of   George Oppen. These manuscripts had not been sorted but appeared to be ‘a great midden with shards of  writing in every conceivable form’. And he continues:

 Dillon, The Palimpsest, p. 52.

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‘A page containing a verse from the early 1960s would be followed by a page with scribbles from his last days. Prose and poetry were interspersed with grocery lists, phone numbers, quotations from philosophers, observations on  films, tables of   contents from books (his own and others). Every conceivable type of  paper had been used, from cheap, high acid newsprint (seriously decaying and flaking) to  letterhead bond. Writing had been performed equally by typewriter and pen, the former often heavily annotated by the latter. Occasionally, passages of   a particular importance had been circled by crayons or  felt-tipped pencil. Each manuscript page was like a  collection as  a  whole: a marvelously scribbled, jumbled and chaotic written field’.8 Davidson shows with his description how instant the process of   producing such manuscripts can be. Now, I  know there is  a  huge difference between such un-edited manuscripts, coming directly from the hand of  a poet, and the Genesis Apocryphon, which is an edited work written on carefully produced and costly sheets of  leather. Yet, these palimpsests have in common that they are not simply expositions of   particular circumstances or  ideas, because they have come about not just as  processes of   writing, but as  processes of   doing something else: Davidson emphasizes that the production of   palimpsests is  more about ‘struggling for a vision’ or negotiating a subject, than it is about giving the perfect presentation of   a matter.9 He suggests that, for a  poet like Oppen, the palimpsestuous page is  ‘a speculative field or “conversation” ’, and a process of  ‘response and contention’.10 With regard to  discussions about how the Hebrew biblical canon developed, George Brooke has suggested something similar. On one hand, Brooke holds that rewritten scriptural texts depend on ‘authoritative’ base texts, but on the other hand, he insists that they have an ‘editorial intention’, which is different from the base text. This implies that the intention of   rewriting the scriptural text was not only to decipher its meaning, but also to endow it with new meaning. In fact, Brooke even suggests that the reworking of  scriptural texts may be an expression of  opposi  Davidson, ‘Palimtexts’, pp. 75–95, quote p. 85.   Davidson, ‘Palimtexts’, p. 87. 10  Davidson, ‘Palimtexts’, p. 84, p. 93. 8 9

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tion and deliberate deviance from that which the authoritative scripture or  tradition represented.11 In  this, he deviates from the common assumption that authoritative scriptures with their rewritings and interpretations basically constitute a monolithic unity and represent unbroken traditions, the authority of  which was hardly questioned in  the process.12 Brooke suggests that ‘the reworked scriptural compositions can be understood as  the principal vehicle through which interest was maintained in  the texts which later became canonical’.13 In  other words, the reason for rewriting a  particular piece of   literature was perhaps not that its authority had already been established as a fact; rather, the greater authority of   a text might also be achieved during the process of  rewriting. Theoretically, the meaning of   scriptural authority is  found not only in people’s veneration for the texts or traditions but also in their resistance to them. Even if  it may be correct that people rewriting scriptures did not ‘intend to  replace or  to  supersede the Bible’, as  Alexander put it, they may have wanted to challenge scripture for different reasons.14 This line of   thought shifts the focus from the scriptural traditions themselves –  in  their capacity of    maintaining traditions through shifting conditions – to the interaction of  different groups of  people claiming ownership to the traditions over time; a  particular interpretation may result from some people’s need to  overthrow extant interpretations of  an authoritative tradition, and in  that case the interpretation has left the trace of   a discrepancy or conflict on the social level. As we shall see below, the Genesis Apocryphon contains traditions that could be seen as  conflicting, or  at least as  being in dialogue. In connection with how palimpsests are created by acts of  responding to or contending something, Davidson pays attention to a particular quality in the materiality of  palimpsests:

  Brooke, ‘Justifying Deviance’, pp. 74–87; Brooke, ‘Between Authority and Canon’, pp. 85–104, esp. p. 90. 12 Crawford, Rewriting Scripture in Second Temple Times, pp. 3–4. 13  Brooke, ‘Between Authority and Canon’, p. 94. 14  Alexander, ‘Retelling the Old Testament’, pp. 99–121. 11

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Unfortunately, much modernist criticism has defined ‘materiality’ in  strictly rhetorical terms – the foregrounding of  poetic devices and the defamiliarizing of   language – thus validating artisanal aspects of   the poem: ‘to the exclusion of  the world in which it is produced ’ [italics are mine].15

Saying this, Davidson refutes the idea that the materiality of   the palimpsest should be found in  its style and finish, in  its having been shaped in  a  particular way to  a  purpose. According to him, the material quality of   the palimpsest (or of   the text, for that matter) is  rather in  its inclusion of   the world in  which it has been produced. What does this mean? When a writer brings together diverse elements because of   how they help a  process of  thought, they point to  contexts of   objects outside the text, which is material or  conceptual. In  George Oppen’s words, the materiality (of  texts) implies ‘ “objects” and the realms of  value that objects constellate’ 16 So, even if  the Genesis Apocryphon has been carefully edited, in  contrast to  Davidson’s boxes of  Oppen’s poetry manuscripts, it will be useful to keep this material quality of   the palimpsest in  mind: being a  Palimpsest, the text indexes, or  hints at, diverse social contexts, lines of  thoughts, and representations of   the world, and engages them in a  dialogue where matters are not completely settled beforehand. What, then, might it be that the traditions of   the Genesis Apocryphon hint at?

Palimpsestuous Readings in the Genesis Apocryphon George Nickelsburg reads the Genesis Apocryphon as a  story about ‘patriarchs who worry about their wives’.17 In the biblical narrative of   Abram and Sarai in  Egypt (Gen 12:10–20) we are told that Abram, trying to prevent Pharaoh from killing him and getting hold of   his beautiful wife, made Sarai lie to  Pharaoh’s people and tell them she was his sister and not his wife. The plan was successful insofar as  Pharaoh took Sarai to  his house, but

  Davidson, ‘Palimtexts’, p. 87.   Davidson, ‘Palimtexts’, pp. 87–88. 17  Nickelsburg, ‘Patriarchs Who Worry about Their Wives’, pp. 137–58. 15 16

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did not do Abram any harm. When subsequently Egypt was hit by a number of   plagues, Pharaoh realized he had taken another man’s wife, and he sent Sarai away with Abram. The Bible does not say what exactly happened between Pharaoh and Sarai before he let her go, but the biblical parallel narrative about Abraham and Sarah in  Gerar stresses that the king of   Gerar, who like Pharao had taken Sarah to his house because of   her beauty, had not slept with her (Gen 20:4). God had promised Abram an offspring, which was to become a great people. Much of  the biblical narrative deals with Abram and Sarai’s childlessness, so  clearly an offspring to  Pharaoh through Sarai would be catastrophic! Therefore it is  interesting how the Genesis Apocryphon claims that impotency was one of   the plagues striking Pharaoh and his house: there was no way that Pharaoh could have had sexual intercourse with Sarai – even though she had spent as  much as two years under his roof  (1Q apGen 20,16–18)! So yes, Nickelsburg is  correct in  assuming that Abram in  the Genesis Apocryphon worried about his wife and needed assurance that she and Pharaoh had not come too close. In its story about Noah, the Genesis Apocryphon deals with the time prior to  Noah’s birth: his Father Lamech, mentioned in passing in  the Book of   Genesis, has a  quarrel with his wife Batenosh, who is  not mentioned in  the Bible at all, but in  the Book of   Jubilees (Jub 4,28). He fears that she may have had an affair and that Noah is therefore not his child. There is no mentioning of   another man, but Lamech has the suspicion that one of   the ‘sons  of   God’, or  ‘watchers’, who had apparently been tempted to  marry human females, may be Noah’s biological father (1Q apGen 2,1). These supernatural beings are mentioned in passing in the Bible in a mysterious passage, which does not fit very well into the co-text (Gen 6:1–4). However, in the Genesis Apocryphon and in 1 Enoch, they play decisive roles: their transgression of   the border between the human and the divine spheres through their sexual relations with earthly women has brought about misery on earth, not least because their progeny, the ‘giants’, has caused disorder and destruction (1 En 1–16; 1Q  apGen 1–2; 6,19). It is  therefore perfectly understandable that Lamech worries about his wife. Through his father Metusaleh he addresses Enoch, the man who according to enochic 327

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tradition has received revelatory knowledge about these things. Fortunately, Enoch assures him that nothing inappropriate had taken place. The implication is  that Noah is  fully a  human being, carrying only human genes further after the devastating Flood. Bernstein remarks that, contrary to  how it is  described in the Book of   Genesis, Noah’s birth takes place after the watchers’ transgression both in  the Genesis Apocryphon, 1 Enoch, and the Book of   Jubilees (1Q apGen 1,1–16; 1 En 83–89; Jub 4,22).18 In the Genesis Apocryphon this detail has developed into the idea that the genes of   the patriarchs might have become polluted by foreign seed. The Genesis Apocryphon’s handling of  the material about Noah and Abraham thus exhibits the risk that unwanted seed is present, in  humanity as  such (through the progeny of   Lamech/Noah) and in  God’s chosen people (through the progeny of   Abram). On  the other hand, it refutes that this pollution had actually taken place and that the patriarch’s wives had been involved in such incidents. According to  Ida Frölich, the two pericopes present evidence that no transgression had taken place and thereby confirm that ‘the hero and his offspring’ had actually received the land, which they therefore took in  position by wandering throughout it (1Q apGen 11,11–17; 21,8–22).19 In  contrast to the Book of   Genesis, not only Abraham, but even Noah undertakes such a wandering in the land that God had given to him (compare Gen 13:14–17).20 Also in  other ways, the Genesis Apocryphon synchronizes the narratives about Noah and Abraham – and about their wives – and thus produces a paradigmatic parallelism. For instance, Abram is made the receiver of  a vision (1Q apGen 19,14–19), and in this he can be compared to figures such as  Enoch and Noah (1Q apGen 19,15–17). When Abram is said to have read aloud from the book of   Enoch, this points in the same direction because revelation is part of  such an activity.21   Bernstein, ‘From the Watchers to the Flood’, pp. 39–63, esp. p. 47.   Frölich, ‘Narrative Exegesis in  the Dead Sea Scrolls’, pp.  81–99, quote p. 96. 20  Bernstein, ‘From the Watchers to the Flood’, pp. 60–61. 21  Abram recalls how in  Egypt he was sought out by three noblemen: ‘… and they were giving m[e many gifts. They as]ked scribal knowledge and wisdom and truth for themselves, so  I read before them of   the words of   Enoch’, 18 19

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In their visions, both Abram and Noah see themselves symbolized by a  cedar tree. The Dead Sea Scrolls bring witness to  a  tradition for showing Noah and his sons as  a  cedar tree with three branches, so  here the figure of   Abram has been adapted to  this tradition.22 Nickelsburg has shown that other of   the parallels between the two pericopes have been modeled on the story of   the fallen watchers in  1 En 6–11, and this strengthens the connection made between the Abram-pericope and 1 Enoch. There is a clear structural similarity between 1 En 6–11 and 1Q apGen 20, with their depictions of    the watchers and Pharaoh respectively, and of   the human women and Sarai. In these texts sexual desire is strikingly more pronounced than in  the Book of  Genesis: the watchers desire the human females, and Pharaoh desires Sarai whose beauty is elaborated at length and in  great detail (1Q apGen 20,2–8). Pharaoh marries Sarai (1Q apGen 20,9) just like the watchers, in  fact, marry the human females (1 En 6,2; 7,1). God prevents Pharaoh from having sexual intercourse with Sarai (1Q apGen 20, 14–17) and, regardless of  the watchers’ intercourse with human females, this information corresponds typologically to the reprobation of  the watchers (1 En 10,11–13): in both cases the impotence of  God’s opponents is exposed. As a  result, both pericopes in  the Genesis Apocryphon are comparable to the story of  the watchers because of  how they thematize the danger of  forbidden sexual relations between Israelite women and figures that, in the words of   Nickelsburg, are ‘larger than life’: in the case of   Batenosh they are fallen, divine beings; in the case of   Sarai it is a foreign great king.23 It is remarkable in the Genesis Apocryphon that women, not just men, have desires. Batenosh reminds Lamech of   her desire for him as  proof  that she would not have had sexual intercourse with any of   the watchers: ‘O my brother and my husband, recall for yourself  my (1Q apGen 19,24–25). The Book of   Jubilees explains how Abraham, because he had learned the original language, had access to the wisdom stemming from before the language confusion at Babel (Genesis 11,1–9) and therefore was connected in a unique way to the times before the great Flood. See Weitzman, ‘Why Did the Q umran Community Write in Hebrew?’, pp. 35–45. 22 Machiela, The Dead Sea Genesis Apocryphon, pp. 96–98. 23  Nickelsburg, ‘Patriarchs Who Worry about Their Wives’, pp. 148–51.

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pleasure… … in the heat of   the moment and my panting breath! I  [am telling] you everything truthfully…’ (1Q apGen 2,9–10). Considering the many parallels between the Noah- and Abrampericopes, this opens up new perspectives on  Sarai: Did she not also have a  choice, and could she not have come to  terms with being the wife of   the great king Pharaoh? Asking this question is  to suggest one possible implication of   a palimpsestuous reading, one that sees the two pericopes as layers in a palimpsest and highlights the significant roles played by the women. The women play significant roles: they display their independence and desires. When the Genesis Apocryphon refers to a quarrel between Lamech and his wife Batenosh, who is hardly mentioned in  Jubilees and not at all in  the Book of   Genesis, it gives her a  voice loud and clear. Similarly, Sarai plays an active role in the material on Abram. On their way to Egypt, Abram has a  disturbing dream about a  cedar tree and a  palm tree. Encouraged by Sarai, he recounts the dream and interprets it for her: it is a warning that Pharaoh will take Sarai and have Abram killed. According to the Genesis Apocryphon it is because of  this warning that Abram asks Sarai to lie about the nature of  their relation, and as the dream is  from God, it seems to  pardon Abram for being such a  liar; it is  common in  scholarship to  explain the episode as an attempt to  rehabilitate the patriarch.24 Even so, regardless that Abram interprets the dream himself  it is not fair to see Sarai simply as a  passive listener. Some elements suggest that Sarai fills the function that dream interpreters have in other visionary texts: first, she encourages Abram, and therefore it is on her initiative that the warning of  the dream becomes known and precautions can be taken. Secondly, the dream itself  and its interpretation point to Sarai’s active participation in the episode: Now  I, Abram, dreamt a  dream in  the night of   my entry into Egypt. I saw in my dream that there was a single cedar and a  single date palm, having sprout[ed] together from [one] roo[t]. And m[e]n came seeking out to cut down and uproot the [ce]dar, thereby leaving the date palm by itself. But the date palm cried out and said, ‘Do not cut down the cedar, for the two of  us are sp[rung] from o[ne] root!’ So the  Crawford, Rewriting Scripture in Second Temple Times, p. 121.

24

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cedar was left on account of   the date palm, and they did not cut me down. (1Q apGen 19,14–17).

When the palm claims to share the same root as the cedar tree, this refers to  Sarai’s lying to  Pharaoh’s men saying she was Abrams sister and not his wife. In  the Book of   Genesis it is  not stated explicitly that Sarai lied about her and Abram’s identities, but it is  indicated that, encouraged by Abram, she did (Gen 12:11–16). In the Genesis Apocryphon it seems quite clear that she actually told a  lie – again on  the initiative of   Abram (1Q apGen 19,20; 20,10). In  the dream report, however, Sarai in the shape of   the date palm appears downright proactive and spontaneous: she ‘cried out’ and said what was necessary in  the situation. This reaction and Sarai’s crying upon hearing the dream (1Q apGen 19,21) is  comparable to  Enoch’s reaction in connection with the vision he recounts in 1 En 83,5–7. This corroborates the impression that Sarai is  an active part in  the episode. Thus, between the lines Sarai is  not a  passive receiver in connection with Abram’s dream vision but functions as a mediator.25 Also, by informing us that Pharaoh, upon the return of  Sarai, gave her – and not only Abram – many gifts, the Genesis Apocryphon indicates the independency of  Sarai: The king recovered, rose up, and gave to  me on  t[hat da]y many gift[s], and the king swore to  me by an oath that he did not have sexual relations with her, [nor] did he [de]file her. Then he returned Sarai to me, and the king gave to her [m]uch si[lver and g]old and much clothing of   fine linen and purple, which… before her, as  well as  Hagar. Thus he restored her to me, and appointed for me a man who would escort me [from Egyp]t to [] … to your people. To you [] … Now I, Abram, grew tremendously in many flocks and also in silver and gold (1Q apGen 20,29–33).

25 See the Testament of   Abraham (TestAbr 6.1–8), where Sarai realizes and convinces Abraham that their guest is not human, but an angel coming to convey a  revelatory message. Likewise, Sarai’s role in  connection with Abram’s dream in  the Genesis Apocryphon seems analogous to  Eli’s role i 1 Sam 3.1–18, where Eli is  the one who realizes that Samuel receives visions from God, and is also able to understand the implications of  this.

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In Sidnie Crawford’s opinion, the fact that Sarai received gifts was meant to prevent people from thinking that Abram had profited economically from the crisis. She interprets the passage as another attempt at rehabilitating him.26 But the suggestion would have been more convincing if  Sarai had been the only one to receive gifts from Pharaoh. As the text stands, it is better to turn the argument upside down: the generosity of   Pharaoh highlights Sarai’s independent role. Women play quite active roles in  Hellenistic literature, and the connection that the Genesis Apocryphon makes between Batenosh and Sarai by synchronizing the two pericopes highlights the importance of   women.27 Their loyalty and integrity are crucial if  the seed of   the patriarchs is  to remain free from pollution in  the future. The women act because of   a specific, esoteric knowledge: contrary to  Lamech, Batenosh actually knows all along that which Enoch, the receiver of  revealed knowledge, assures Lamech: that Noah is  completely human and no demigod. Sarai realizes the implications of   Abram’s dream and knows how to deal with it. This female knowledge is remarkable. The author of   the Genesis Apocryphon may well have wanted to rehabilitate the patriarchs and prevent negative attitudes towards them as  well as  to  highlight the connection between sexual purity and the possession of   land.28 Equally important, however, he staged the women as  shrewd and strong-willed beings that would bring their influence to bear on the result of   external and powerful threats. This theme exceeds both the apologetic effort to  rehabilitate the patriarchs and the stressing of   sexual purity for the right to land, and it shows a broader, social orientation. Perhaps the author wanted to  reach out to  women of   his time, appealing to  their responsibility, importance, and giving them a  voice in  the ongoing religious and social discourse. This would be a didactic function of   the text and exceeding the provision of   unambiguous and correct interpretations of   scripture. Anyhow, the Genesis Apocryphon is multivocal and multidimen Crawford, Rewriting Scripture in Second Temple Times, p. 123.  Ilan, Integrating Women into Second Temple History, p.  46 suggests that heroines like Judith, Esther, and Susannah not just undermine the traditional female roles but even ‘present a positive model for women to follow’. 28  Frölich, ‘Narrative Exegesis in the Dead Sea Scrolls’, p. 96. 26

27

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sional – orientating itself  at one and the same time historically, ethically, theoretically, and socially – and its function cannot be limited to this or that identifiable purpose. To sum up, Nickelsburg’s reading, which is  palimpsestuous insofar as  it sees the Noah and Abram pericopes in  the light of  one another, led him to  point out the importance of   the patriarchs’ worries about their women in  this document. So far, this analysis has followed the same track keeping a  continued focus on affinities between the two pericopes, and between them and the Enoch tradition. The analysis has drawn attention to the text’s focus on  the women, their incentives and motives, and has paid less attention to the patriarchs.

Implications of  a Palimpsestuous Reading What I said above about multivocality and multidimensionality applies to much literature. But composite texts that can be read as palimpsests show more clearly the ongoing negotiation between several perspectives. What, then, are the implications of   the Genesis Apocryphon’s use of   Enochic traditions in the re-reading of  the Book of  Genesis traditions? The Book of   Genesis describes how the Fall of   Man has influenced human life, which has become difficult, and the text ends with humans’ being reduced to the inane earth from which they were taken (Gen 3:19). This final perspective on  earthly life dominates the Bible and unfolds as  a  history of   the people of   God, realized through generations of   terminated lives – of  patriarchs, prophets and kings. The Genesis Apocryphon depends on  the story of   the fallen watchers, and on the prediction of  their eschatological judgment. According to  this narrative, the origin of   evil is  superhuman – it has come about through the inappropriate intercourse of  superhuman beings with human beings. The implications are universal and reaches beyond finite human lives. Eternal doom is  in store for some, salvation for others. This perspective becomes apparent in  the revelations received by Enoch. The epistemology of   1 Enoch is  apocalyptical as  the text claims to convey revealed knowledge about the cosmos and the supernatural forces working in  it. This apocalyptical perspective 333

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is  not present in  the Book of   Genesis, where God addresses people like Noah and Abraham with promises and instructions regarding earthly living but never reveals knowledge about celestial spheres or the end of   the world. In the Genesis Apocryphon, on the other hand, an apocalyptical outlook is certainly present. Also the Book of   Jubilees depends on the story of  the watchers, and like the Genesis Apocryphon it thereby distinguishes itself  from the Book of   Genesis.29 According to  the Book of   Jubilees, the watchers’ actions are what caused evil and bloodshed on earth, both before and after the Flood. (Jub 7,21–22; 7,26–28). In  the Genesis Apocryphon, this idea is  implied by numerous references to the fall of   the watchers. The Book of   Genesis mentions the relation between watchers and women only in passing, immediately before the Flood story, and does not seem to attach great importance to  it.30 By bringing the story of   the watchers into the rewriting of   the Book of   Genesis, the author(s) of   the Genesis Apocryphon bring(s) two divergent perspectives on  the origin and implications of   evil into dialogue. Since the message has universal and eschatological implications, it seems logical that Enoch is  the one who (besides Batenosh) mediates the message that no foreign seed was involved in the conception of   Noah. If  Lamech had not received the hoped-for answer, the progeny of   Noah, which survived the flood and continued human life on earth, could not possibly be just, or even genuinely human. As compared to this story, the story of  Abram takes place far from Enoch, because the flood and generations of   people are in  between. None the less, we have seen that the Gensis Apocryphon creates a  strong link between the pericopes on  Noah and Abram and connects Abram to  the apocalyptic universe of  the Enoch traditions. But what does this give to the story of   Abram? It seems safe to say that it turns the journey of   Abram and Sarai into a story of   latent danger caused by cosmic forces, exemplifying how the incidents with implications like the watchers’ intercourse

  Nickelsburg, ‘Patriarchs Who Worry about Their Wives’, p. 155.   Contrary to  the Book of   Genesis, the Book of   Jubilees makes as  much of  the fate of   the giants and the watchers, as  it does of   the extinction of   all life in the great Flood (Jubilees 5,1–20). 29

30

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with women might and may occur again. The text is  not unanbiguous, but of   course, any palimpsestuous reading must have taken place in  a  context pointing beyond the text itself  and its universe. Other texts of  the time thematize how cosmic evil challenges women. Thus, the pseudepigraph Life of   Adam and Eve displays the serpent as  an instrument in  Satan’s hand. Satan wants man to  be driven away, just as  he had once been driven away by God. This he accomplishes by targeting the woman (ApMos16,  1–3). Here, the prediction of    enmity between the woman and the serpent (Gen 3:15) is  interpreted in a cosmic perspective. The Book of   the Watchers speaks of   how ‘evil spirits’, having emanated from the giants conceived by the watchers, ‘shall rise up against the children of   the people and against the women, because they have proceeded forth (from them)’ (1 En 15,12). Here too, the perspective on  evil’s challenge to  women is  cosmic; evil is  a  constant threat, intruding from the outside. In the Genesis Apocryphon, this threat is potentially realized through prohibited, sexual relations. Facing this danger, women must not lose their bearings. Like Batenosh, who asserts her innocence to  Lamech by referring to  her desire for him, her husband, women must make sure to  preserve their orientation. Because of    how the women demonstrate self-dependence and astuteness through loyalty to  their husbands, the Genesis Apocryphon seems to  advocate a  ‘didactic of  staunchness’.

The Genesis Apocryphon as a Palimpsest in the Social Context of  the Dead Sea Community Some readers of   the Genesis Apocryphon might want to  stress that God demonstrably warded off  any danger. But ancient readers activated their knowledge of   the various traditions – literary as  well as  non-literary – converging in  their palimpsestuous reading, and this may have led them to  other conclusions. For instance, with reference to  revelation the Dead Sea community rejected the idea that the Jewish people continued to  be the people of   God since it had clearly failed to  observe the terms of   his covenant (1Q pHab 1,17–2,10; CD 1,1–4). Unlike their forefathers, the descendants of   Noah and Abraham did not 335

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keep the law (CD  2,16–3,5), and therefore the Dead Sea community had taken over the generally Jewish status as  God’s chosen people through the establishment of   a new and exclusive covenant (CD 1,4–14; 3,12–16; 6,1). The Dead Sea Scrolls point to a dualistic world-view, according to which good and evil superhuman forces, led by the Prince of   Light and the Prince of  Darkness, fight for the dominion over the world and its human inhabitants (1Q S 3,13–4,26). Of   course, members of   the Dead Sea community were among the children of   light, but their dualism relates to  the constant risk of   being seduced, and it implies that evil and just people may be punished and rewarded individually or  depending on  group memberships other than the ethnic or  national. The cosmic conflict is  highlighted in a  text like Ages of   Creation, which apparently links both Noah, Abraham, and predestined human fates to  the fall of    the watchers (4Q 180  1; 4Q 181  1–2). The Genesis Apocryphon with its warning of   latent danger could support the Dead Sea community’s query of   the notion that all the descendants of  Abraham, because of   God’s promise to  him, could still, after generations of   failure, constitute God’s chosen people. In  other words, the Genesis Apocryphon may have challenged the idea that the people of   God were identical to  the entire Jewish people. The community members may have brought this way of  thought, including their sense of   being the true covenantal people, into their reading of   the Genesis Apocryphon and their negotiation of   the authority of   the Book of   Genesis and other important texts. Perhaps their reading would contemplate that, yes, Abram and his wife stayed the course, but obviously things could go wrong from there! As argued, the feeling of   latent danger and risk of   cosmic implications is  an obvious effect of  palimpsestuous readings in  the Genesis Apocryphon. The text could lead readers to the perception that Scripture did not simply present things the way they were, but related to  current and unsettled social challenges – matters that were not transparent, but linked to  hidden, supernatural realities. From this vantage point, it seems that the Genesis tradition was perceived as authoritative in  the sense that its founding narratives were felt to  adequately address the current social situation of   the 336

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community. At the same time, however, the authority of   the Genesis tradition was challenged, both because the Genesis Apocryphon presented the material together with other, diverging traditions, and because any new social context demands a renewed negotiation between the different texts or layers of   a palimpsest, and of   their meaning. The palimpsest form will have permitted challenges to  the Book of   Genesis’ messages and – perhaps more important – to particular social identities linked to its tradition.

Conclusion This palimpsestuous reading has taken a material approach to the Genesis Apocryphon; it holds the traditions constituting the work as  also material and thus in  principle equally important. The aim was to see if  this approach changes the meaning of   the Genesis Apocryphon in  any way, and it does. Semantically, it has led to a greater focus on the role of  women. Thus, pragmatically, it suggests that one of  the things that the authors of  the Genesis Apocryphon strived to do was to reach the women of   their time. In  the Dead Sea society, it may have been seen as  supporting the claim of   this community, and not the entire Jewish people, to the special status as the elect people of   God. The utmost important point is that the change and the challenge take place not only on the level of   religious ideas but on the level of  action and social life, and this in turn affects the religious expression. Apparently, several, competing and complementary traditions were circulating and available, and this particular, palimpsest constellation reflects specific social constraints, needs and desires. This means that religion, as  expressed in  this text, was affected by social life – both in  its originating context and in later usage.

Bibliography Alexander, Philip, ʻRetelling the Old Testamentʼ, in  It is  Written. Scripture Citing Scripture: Essays in Honour of   Barnabas Lindars, ed.  by Donald  A. Carson and Hugh  G.  M. Williamson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 99–121 337

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Bernstein, Moshe, ʻDivine Titles and Epithets and the Sources of   the Genesis Apocryphonʼ, Journal of   Biblical Literature, 128 (2009), pp. 291–310 Bernstein, Moshe, ʻFrom the Watchers to  the Flood: Story and Exegesis in  the Early Columns of   the Genesis Apocryphonʼ, in Reworking the Bible: Apocryphal and Related Texts at Q umran, ed.  by Esther  G. Chazon and others (Leiden: Brill, 2005), pp. 39–63 Brooke, George, ʻJustifying Deviance: The Place of   Scripture in Converting to  a  Q umran Self-Understandingʼ, in  Reading the Present in  the Q umran Library: The Perception of   the Contemporary by Means of   Scriptural Interpretation, ed. by Armin Lange (Atlanta: Society of  Biblical Literature, 2005), pp. 74–87 Brooke, George, ʻBetween Authority and Canon: The Significance of  Reworking the Bible for Understanding the Canonical Processʼ, in Reworking the Bible: Apocryphal and Related Texts at Q umran, ed. by Esther G. Chazon and others (Leiden: Brill, 2005), pp. 85–104 Crawford, Sidnie W., Rewriting Scripture in  Second Temple Times. Studies in  the Dead Sea Scrolls and Related Literature (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co, 2008) Davidson, Michael, ʻPalimtexts: Postmodern Poetry and the Material Textʼ, Postmodern Genres, ed.  by Marjorie  G. Perloff, Oklahoma Project for Discourse and Theory, 5 (Norman: University of  Oklahoma Press, 1989), pp. 75–95 Dillon, Sarah, The Palimpsest. Literature, Criticism, Theory, Continuum Literary Studies (London and New York: Continuum, 2007) Evans, Craig C., ʻThe Genesis Apocryphon and the Rewritten Bibleʼ, Revue de Q umran, 13 (1988), pp. 153–65 Frölich, Ida, ʻNarrative Exegesis in  the Dead Sea Scrolls’, in  Biblical Perspectives: Early Use and Interpretation of   the Bible in Light of   the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed.  by Michael  E. Stone and Esther  G. Chazon, Studies in the Texts of   the Desert of   Judah, 28 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), pp. 81–99 Ilan, Tal, Integrating Womem into Second Temple History (Peabody, Massachusetts: Hendrickson Publishers, 1999) Machiela, Daniel, The Dead Sea Genesis Apocryphon. A  New Text and Translation with Introduction and Special Treatment of  Columns 13–17, Studies on  the Texts of   the Desert of   Judah, 79 (Leiden: Brill, 2009) Nickelsburg, George, ʻPatriarchs Who Worry about Their Wives. A  Haggadic Tendency in  the Genesis Apocryphonʼ, in Bibli338

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cal Perspectives: Early Use and Interpretation of   the Bible in Light of  the Dead Sea Scrolls, ed.  by Michael  E. Stone and Esther  G. Chazon, Studies in the Texts of   the Desert of   Judah, 28 (Leiden: Brill, 1998), pp. 137–58 Weitzman, Steve, ʻWhy Did the Q umran Community Write in Hebrew? ʼ, The Journal of  the American Oriental Society, 119 (1999), pp. 35–45

Abstract Literary scholarship on the Dead Sea Scrolls has always been influenced by the fact that the scrolls were found near Khirbet Q umran; and vice  versa, archaeologists’ preference for the idea of   Q umran as  the residence of   a religious, ‘monastic’ community is  informed by the contents of   the texts. However, the connection between the Dead Sea literature and the material remains at Q umran is not beyond dispute, and the linkage of   textual and archaeological arguments seems methodologically questionable. The theme of  the conference is taken as an invitation to consider instead if  and how material culture approaches can enrich interpretations of   the Dead Sea literature; will it change our perception of  the texts, their meaning and religious significance if  we analyse them as material artefacts? Ultimately, a  positive response to  this question may suggest new ways to  approach the possible connection between the scrolls and the site of  Q umran.

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LANGUAGE AND MATERIALITY: STOLPERSTEINE IN LIGHT OF  ROMAN ARCHAIC RELIGION * Sprache ist mehr als Blut Franz Rosenzweig Lasst die Todten die Lebendigen begraben Friedrich Nietzsche

Introduction One of   the most extraordinary ways in  which the events of  Auschwitz, the exterminations, and deportations have been commemorated, is  by way of   the Stolpersteine (Stumbling Stones), designed and made by German artist Gunter Demnig and an ongoing project since 1992.1 One stone for each person, who was deported is installed in the sidewalks in front of  the house, where the person lived or  worked. Although installed in  pavements and therefore on  government ground, the Stolpersteine are laid as close to the citizen’s private property as possible replacing one or more of   the common and often smaller granite cobblestones. The memorial stone itself  is made of  cement and has a brass-plate on top. One Stolperstein measures 96 × 96 × 100 mm and costs 120 Euros, including installation. The Stolpersteine stick slightly up above the other cobblestones making the pedestrians precisely, stumble. Perhaps this is  also meant metaphorically as  in ‘Wer nicht stolpert, geht nicht’.2 *  On the same subject, see The Stolpersteine and the Commemoration of  Life, Death and Government. A Philosophical Archaeology (Oxford: Peter Lang, 2017). 1   Throughout the article ‘camp’ will name both concentration- and death camps, since what is  central in  this regard, following Agamben, is  the juridicopolitical structure belonging to  both. We must therefore consider the camp alongside this Agambian idea and thus: ‘not as a historical fact and an anomaly belonging to  the past (even if  still verifiable) but in  some way as  the hidden matrix and nomos for the political space in which we are still living’ (Agamben, Homo sacer, p. 185). Such a political space in this article is the memorial culture. 2   Vor meiner Haustür. ‘Stolpersteine’ von Gunter Demnig. Ein Begleitbuch, ed. by Rönnerper, p. 7. Religion and Material Culture: Studying Religion and Religious Elements on  the Basis of   Objects, Architecture, and Space, ed.  by L. Bredholt  DOI 10.1484/M.ASH-EB.5.114437 Christensen, J. Tae Jensen, Turnhout, 2017 (ASH, 3), pp. 341–361  © 

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According to the Stolpersteine­-homepage (www.stolpersteine. com), the brass-plate has the following five point structure: 1. hier wohnte (this is most common, yet other possibilities besides no headline at all are: hier Lebte, hier Lehrnte, hier Lehrte, hier Arbeitete, hier Praktizierte, hier Wirkte) 2. Vornahme, Nahme (Geburtsnahme if  different) 3. Geburtsjahr 4. Deportationsjahr + Ort 5. Angaben zum Schicksal Regarding point five, (Indication of   destiny), the homepage explains that one can choose between the following: tot, ermordet, ??? (= unknown destiny), flucht in  den tod, flucht + Jahr + das Zielland (= emigration). An example of   a quite famous stone is the one for the German philosopher Edith Stein, who was assistant to  the founder of   philosophical phenomenology, Edmund Husserl. The stone also once figured on the Stolpersteine­-homepage: hier wohnte dr. edith stein jg. 1891 flucht 1938/ holland lager westbrock 1942 ermordet 1942 in auschwitz3 Another stone is that of  von Wahlendorf: hier wohnte else liebermann von wahlendorf geb. holländer

  ‘Here lived / Dr Edith Stein / born 1891 / escape 1938 – Holland / camp Westbrock 1942 / mudered 1942 in / Auschwitz’. The stone is installed in Freiburg on the corners of  Goethestraße 63, Zasiusstraße 24 and Riedbergsstraße 1. 3

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jg. 1876 gedemütigt-diffamiert tot 8.1.19434

The Stolpersteine-homepage informs us that as  of   April 2013 40,000 stones have been installed on  approximately 1000 locations. Germany has 5000 stones installed, with Berlin having most (4877), however also Holland, Belgium, Italy, Austria, Poland, the Czech Republic, Ukraine, and Hungary have Stumbling Stones installed.5 Still in  2011, stones were planned to  be installed in Denmark but these plans seem to have been cancelled. By 2012 Norway had 81 Stolpersteine installed in  Oslo, Trondheim, and Larvik respectively.6 Thus, in  terms of   duration and of  covered urban space, the Stolpersteine constitute one of   the world’s largest Holocaust memorials, is  one of   the most ambitious ones, and is  now covering about 400  m2 of   urban space, always growing and crossing nationalities, nations, cities, languages and religions. These memorial stones are very popular. On 4 October 2005 Demnig is  awarded with the Verdienstorden der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, a  medal given by the state of   Germany, and it is also known as  the Bundesverdienstkreuz (literary the federation’s cross of   service). The Stolpersteine have also found their way into popular culture: in  November 2010, the Stolpersteine made up one of  the key stories in  the famous German series, Lindenstraße.7

4   ‘Here lived / Else Liebermann / von Wahlendorf / born Holländer / born 1876  / defamed-humiliated  / dead 8.1.1943’. The stone is  installed in  Berlin’s western part, Charlottenburg-Wilmersdorf, Budapester Straße 45. The homepage of  the Berlin ‘Stadt’ renders the text falsely: ‘Hier wohnte / Else Liebermann / von Wahlendorf  / JG.1876  / Tod nach demütigung  / und diffamierung  / 8.1.1943. Berlin’, See http://www.berlin.de/ba-charlottenburg-wilmersdorf/ bezirk/lexikon/budapester45.html. 5  See Gunter Demnig’s homepage: http://www.stolpersteine.com/technik. html, and http://www.stolpersteine-berlin.de/ (both accessed June 13, 2013). 6 See The Jewish Museum in  Olso (http://jodiskmuseumoslo.no/), The Jewish Museum in  Trondheim (http://www.jodiskemuseum.no/), and ‘Snublesteiner skal hjelpe oss å huske Holocaust’ in: www.nrk.no (September 5, 2012). 7  Lindenstraße, no. 1302, at 16:45, see Lindenstraße-homepage, http://www. lindenstrasse.de/.

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The Stolpersteine-homepage informs us of   a commemoration of   the exterminations (‘Vertreibung’ and ‘Vernichtung’) of   Jews, Sintis, and Romas, political persecuted, homosexuals, Jehova’s Witnesses and victims of  the Euthanasia program. However, one click on the Stolpersteine-homepage informed us of  an inclusiveness hitherto unseen: ‘Der Künstler Gunter Demnig erinnert an die Opfer der NS-Zeit’.8 By referring to  the victims of  the National Socialist era 1933–45, the Stolpersteine avoid the difficult task of  defining of  even debating Holocaust.9 Instead, if  a person’s death or deportation in one way or the other can be related to the National Socialist-government this person is a victim and therefore entitled to  a  stone.10 Thus, in  order to  have a Stumbling Stone installed for his memory the person need not be dead but deported from his, e.g., place of   work by way of  the ‘Berufsverbot’, which was the case for Stein’s teacher Husserl.11 The Stolpersteine place themselves in  the realms of   material and cultural memory. The installment of   the Stolpersteine pass off  from part of   the participants with speeches, singing, and music. Although stones have been used throughout Western culture in  the profane as  well as  in  the sacred sphere, the lines of  demarcation between the two spheres have always been clear. Grave stones and churches, houses and pavements are two sets of  spheres rarely mixed geographically and certainly not ritually: certain activities are bound for the former, not for the latter and vice  versa. However, the Stolpersteine do not seem to respect these traditional boarders between religion and politics, private and public, and seem to provoke and even challenge this traditional separation and, moreover, the doctrine of   respect for the dead as  pedestrians will step on  victims of   Third Reich politics. The materiality of   the Stolpersteine seems to  be both profane as well as sacred, installed in profane, public space and,  www.stolpersteine.com.  www.stolpersteine.com. 10  The definition of  the Holocaust – or, as some prefer, the Shoah – i.e. who to include in the Nazi government extermination politics, is still today strongly debated. For an introduction to  this question, see Niewyk and Nicosia, The Columbia Guide to the Holocaust, pp. 45–52. 11 See Universität Freiburg: http://www.pr.uni-freiburg.de/pm/2013/pm. 2013–04–18.109 (Accessed June 2013). 8 9

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yet, yielding for some kind of   rituality. However, this cannot be in  the sense of   any kind of   sacred or  traditional rituality. Since the Stolpersteine are installed in  public space and not on sacred ground, what is a profane rituality? Where is one to look for categories of   understanding in order to grasp such a strange memorial as  seems to  be the case with the Stolpersteine? Under which religious paradigm in the history of  religion may we understand this memorial while still keeping in mind that the stones are ‘ein Kunstprojekt für Europa’?12 What will be unfolded in  the following is  the argument that Italian philosopher Mario Perniola’s interpretation of   the ancilia from Roman Archaic religion can serve as paradigm and, hence, as an interpretation key for understanding the Stolpersteine. The objects of  enquiry are the special form of  ritual and ceremony tied to  the materiality, and language of   and on the Stolpersteine. Focus will be on  Berlin Stolpersteine, because it is the German capital and thus central in the same way as Rome is central for understanding the ancile. This gives the article two overall purposes: 1. To discuss the materiality of   the Stolpersteine lying in  urban landscape in Berlin 2. To analyse the language engraved upon some of  these memorial stones telling us that the deportee in question was murdered or defamed and humiliated

The Art of  Mamurius Veturius In an 1981 article Le rite et le mythe Perniola presents some of  his fundamental thoughts concerning rite and myth in  relation to our contemporary society: [the myth] steps aside and gives room to a performance, an action, which in itself  collects the characteristics of  conduct and production; [it] is repetitive, technical and strategical, which is why it offers substantial resemblance with the rite.13

 www.stolpersteine.com.   Perniola, ‘Le rite et le mythe’, p. 19.

12 13

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To Perniola, this is the case with Roman Archaic religion, which therefore becomes the paradigm of   contemporary society, i.e. as a general model of   explanation.14 Put differently, if  one wishes to understand contemporary society one must look closer to Roman Archaic religion. The hypothesis that will be presented in  the following, is  that an analysis of   these aspects of   Roman Archaic religion will teach us something about the Stolpersteine. Two pairs of   Roman concepts are relevant in such an investigation: ars and urbs, and ritus and caeremonia. So he [Numa] assembled all the chief  craftsmen then in Rome, to prove which of   them would take upon him to make one like unto that [the ancile]. Every man despaired to perform it. Howbeit, one called Veturius Mamurius (the excellentest workman that was in those days) did make them all so suitlike that Numa himself  did not know the first target, when they were all laid together.15

Although Plutarch insists on  the account that ‘if  any would enterprise to  steal it, he should not tell which of   them to  take for the right target’, another matter seems even more relevant.16 What really makes Mamurius’s work so  intelligent and Numa’s idea so  clever, Perniola argues, does not concern the ancile’s originality, since they were copies, and neither their theft protection. Instead, it is  the cancellation of   any extravagant value of  the original ancile. It is  the cancellation of   the prototype.17

Roman Art and Rite The English term ‘art’ as  well as  the corresponding terms in French (art), Italian (arte), Spanish (arte), etc., are all derived from the Indo-European root *ar, which signifies an order. Artus (segmentation) shares the same root as does ritus, leading to our

  Cf. Agamben, Il sacramento del linguaggio, pp. 32–34.  Plutarch, Numa 13.3 (trans. in Perrin, Plutarch’s Lives, pp. 351–53). 16 Plutarch, Numa 13.3. 17  Perniola, ‘Ars e urbs’, p. 30. 14 15

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contemporary term ritual. More than the Roman ritual is  illustrating or bringing the myth to live, it presents the participants with an order in which to belong. Mamurius´s ‘ritual’, hence, is  not anything alike the Greek ποίησις or  τέχνη, a  divine inspiration founding and creating from the very pure nothing.18 Rather, the ritus concerns an artistic handling and shaping of   an object already zuhanden, to use a Heidegger term, which is to say that the object is already in use: Zuhandenheit ist die ontologisch-kategoriale Bestimmung von Seiendem, wie es ‘an  sich’ ist.19 There is  no creatio ex nihilo in the Roman world or any transcendent, divine object. Roman art is  therefore concerned neither with the Ursprung of  the urbs nor with the foundation of   the city. As the Roman historians point out, Rome does not even have a  foundation, no origin and can perhaps best be described as  a  collector of  orphans and wanderers whose common point of   reference does not consist of   a starting point, the beginning, one origin, one language. To its citizens, Rome was a  Gemeinschaft, a  communitas and thereby not a  nation. Membership in  the urbs was obtained by arrival, one way or  the other.20 Common to  Rome’s poor children is but the future promised to them by Rome as a historical fact, as  a  collector of   similar action. One might say, perhaps, that what united the Roman citizens was the collective memory that the ancile had fallen from heaven.21 The reason being that this memory is politically used. According to Plutarch, Numa had the 12 ancilia: ‘go skipping and leaping up and down the city’.22 What concerns Rome seems therefore to  be related to  the very political surviving of   the city, its maintenance. Rome is  estab  Perniola, ‘Ars e urbs’, p. 30.  Heidegger, Sein und Zeit, p. 71, § 15. 20  For an analysis of    communitas resting upon philological ground, which also addresses the problem of   the lacking origin of   the communitas, see Esposito, Communitas, pp. vii–xxxii, pp. 145–63. 21 Regarding the term ‘collective memory’, see Halbwachs, La mémoire collective, who is  the founding father of   our modern conception of   the term. For a  general introduction to  ‘cultural memory’, see Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis. 22 Plutarch, Numa Pompilius, p. 252. 18 19

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lished again and again in  a  continuous construction of   its own self  via its historical past which is, nonetheless, inseparable from the mythical fact of   the first and original ancile. The shields are a mytho-historical fact founded ritually. The Roman people do not constitute a  people in  the common sense of   the term, i.e. as born into a nation to which they are bound. Nation derives from the Latin nascor: to  be born. In his abridged Latin-French dictionary, Félix Gaffiot notes that although nascor refers to  the biological fact of   being born, the term has a second and figurative meaning, which signifies ‘prendre son origine’. It is used such as when in English one could say that a given circumstance ‘is born out of  the fact that …’. The only origin ascribed to  the Roman concerns the fact that he is  born into a world, which in its own turn had no origin, no birth just like the city. ‘Romanae spatium est urbis et orbis idem’ like Perniola quotes Ovid.23 Rome, therefore, is  an immigrant paradise; the communitas is  constructed ritually by way of   the ancilia without ascribing the myth (the ‘origin’) or  the original ancile any ontological ground. Unlike the Greek πόλις, the Roman urbs is  a  spatial principle of   organization, not of   identity. ‘If  πόλις is  translated into Latin by civitas, a  Greek term indicating urbs does not exist.’24 The urbs has no real divine origin to which its citizens had to  belong, and what may have been is  with all efforts tried to  be eliminated.25 For instance, when the Roman historian, such as  Plutarch, writes the history of   Numa this is done in a fundamental opposition to the mythic king Romulus. He may have commenced the Roman history but the fides – the religion – is installed by Numa.26 In Rome, authority and hierarchy is related to history. Great men lived in  Rome. They were not created by a  goddess or by a  holy spirit. In  opposition to  the Greek pantheon where Po-

  Perniola, ‘Ars e urbs’, p.  31 (In the Roman space, city and world are identical). 24  Perniola, ‘Ars e urbs’, p. 30. 25 Sennett, Flesh and Stone, pp. 106–21. 26  See Dumézil, La réligion romanine archaique, pp. 50–53. 23

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seidon and Athena represent divine origin and urban ontology and identity, such ideas never really occurred to  the Romans. Rome is  founded not by gods but on  a  war between humans – Romulus and Remus – not upon theology but on politics.

From Myth to Fact The most important aspect when making a comparison between the Roman ancilia and the German Stolpersteine relevant, is their common, transnational character and, furthermore, to both the central territory is Europe. Rome’s citizens were Europeans. And the Stolpersteine, in  their turn, are defined as  ‘ein Kunstprojekt für Europa’.27 The shields, as  argued, are a  commune collector of   Europe’s lost children united in  Rome. The memorial stones are a  transnational unificator gathering people not only from present Germany but, in fact, from all of   Europe constituting one commemorative, liturgical practice. Differences between nationalities, nations, cities, languages, religions, etc. are minimized because the unificator of   the Stolpersteine is Germany and the Germans. This is the point of   reference and a ‘Topographie des Terrors’, in an even broader sense. Concerning the artistic production of  the 12 transnational ancilia, thus closely tied to  politics, Perniola writes the following: This segmented production involves a plurality of   objects in a  mutual ordered relation. But this order, to  which the artistic operation is  connected, neither has any mythological contents nor, in fact, a mere technical functionality. It consists, rather, in  the construction of   a system of  references, involving several parts each capable of  fulfilling different purposes.28

Three points in this aesthetic theory about the ancilia correspond to the Stolpersteine:

 www.stolpersteine.com.   Perniola, ‘Ars e urbs’, p. 30.

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Ancilia

Stolpersteine

1. Rome (main city of   reference as  capital ⬄ urbs) 2. Ancilia as representing fact (the artistic production with no ⬄ mythological contents) 3. The ritual order as  a  system of  ⬄ references (politics)

Berlin (capital and main Führer Stadt) Stolpersteine as representing fact (The Third Reich’s exterminations and deportations are a fact not a myth) The memorial representation of  1933– 1945 (politics)

Let us first try and explain the model regarding the ancilia and, throughout the rest of   the article, to  use this analysis on  the Stolpersteine. Rome is  the capital urbs. Here, the ancile falls into Numa’s hands. As the 12 ancilia are carried around publicly in Rome to be worshipped, both the original prototype (the ‘myth’, the past in vivo) as well as the copies of   that event (its ‘history’, its fact) are part of   the ritual. When the difference between original and copy is logically erased due to the complete identity between all 12 shields so, too, is the difference between the myth of  the original’s divine and mythological origin on one side, and the profane and historical fact of   the 11 shields made by Mamurius on the other hand cancelled. If  myth and history cannot be told apart, like in the case with the 12 shields, history becomes mythologized and myth becomes historicized, which is  to say that the difference between myth and history is  dissolved. What the ancilia thematise and what make them paradigmatic in relation to the Stolpersteine, thus, is not the divine as  problem. Instead, they teach us about the annulment of   the difference between a  history of   the past and a memory of   the past. In other words, what these shields install is precisely oblivion: the forgetting of   the past, and the construction of   a mythological history. The myth of   the original ancile is dressed in fact via the rituality of   the ancilia copies. This was the political formula for guaranteeing the Roman urbs. When it comes to the Stolpersteine, this procedure is turned upside down: the Stolpersteine dress the fact of  the Third Reich’ exterminations and deportations in the clothes of  a myth. 350

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German Art and Rite Although the Stolpersteine are proclaimed to be a ‘Kunstprojekt für Europa’, like we saw above, the memorial stones, however, are not simply objects of   art because their maker, Gunter Demnig, states so.29 They are objects of   art, because they correspond to point two in  the model outlined above: the Stolpersteine reproduce the Mamurian art without mythological contents. However, how can then a fact be mythologically commemorated? When it comes to  the Stolpersteine the prototype, just like the first ancile, is  the incarnation of   the unquestionable historical fact that the Third Reich exterminated millions. The last stone is just as real and historical as the first, just as the first ancile is no less true or better than the twelfth. However, the decisive resemblance is  that both the ancilia and the Stolpersteine introduce an identity between history and memory. The first mythic ancile disappears in  the ritual cultivation of   the 12 ancilia in which the original is  included; the historical event of   National Socialist expulsion and annihilation disappears in  the ritual cultivation of   its memory. The Roman religion was generally founded upon the cult of   public objects, and the ancilia are ample proof  of   this. The Stolpersteine, in their turn, almost materialize this rituality by the letter. They are installed just outside people’s homes on  the threshold of   what to  the Greeks would be between οἶκος and πόλις, house and city, the private life of   the human being and the public life of  the citizen. Unlike the Roman memorial of   the ancilia, which is carried around in the highways and byways of   the urbs, the German memorial is  installed once and for all outside the private house. For instance, on  Berlin’s Pintschstraße 18, it is  clear that although pedestrians can also stumble upon the stones, the intention is to make those, who live in this apartment building stumble.30 The reason is quite obvious: the Stolpersteine are simply placed as  near as  possible to  the front door making it difficult for pedestrians, who simply pass this house to  stumble but on  the

 www.stolpersteine.com.   See Fig. 1.

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Fig. 1 Stolperstein, Sonnenstraße 51C, Münster, Germany 2011. Photo by the author.

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other hand making it almost impossible for those living in the house not to  stumble whenever they come and go. Hence, the cult of   public objects goes on  even though the residents of   Pintschstraße  18 are just arriving or  leaving their house. Each and every time they walk on or over the Stolpersteine they commemorate whether they want to or not. It has nothing to do with faith or belief, but with the action as such, the participation itself. There are no mythological contents required because the reference is  to history and fact, to  the Third Reich´s expulsion and annihilation of   human beings 1933–45. But why does this, then, force oblivion? In his De natura deorum Cicero describes one of   the main features of   the Roman cult as  religio (from relegere, a  repetitive reading).31 This term signifies the repetitive element in Roman rituality. Repetition, one could therefore say, equals an ‘antimythos’ due to  the simple fact that nothing but human action keeps it intact, justifies it and keeps it alive. In  opposition to, for instance, the Christian religion the Roman religion is  in no need of  any transcendent guarantee for its existence. It lies in the hands of  the participants alone. If  we consider that many words in the Roman Archaic rituals were even unknown to  the priests reciting them, it only becomes more obvious that the Roman cult to a large degree was founded upon an act of   memory. Sometimes, words were recited in order to forget or to suppress their meaning, and to force an oblivion of   such meaning by way of   memorizing a blind semantical operation. As Perniola quotes George Dumézil’s rigorous comment about the Roman pantheon, the gods are immovable shadows.32 Moreover, Dumézil continues alone: ‘plusieurs des dieux  […], guère d’autre personalité que leur nom, qui est parfois un nom collectif, d’autre mode d’existence que le culte bref  qui leur est rendu’.33 Roman gods have but a forgotten ontology and only a commemorated functionality.34  Cicero, De natura deorum, II, 72 (p. 193).   Perniola, ‘Le rite et le mythe’, p. 24. 33 Dumezil, La réligion romanine archaique, pp. 49–50. 34  Other examples of   a specific function leading to name the god in question are those governing birth, nutrition, and scholary, which is Vitumnus, Sentinus, Opis, Vaticanus, Levana (Dumezil, La réligion romanine archaique, p. 50). 31 32

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This emptying, this separation of   the rite from the myth is the very condition for such an order, and can solely operate on this condition provided that the prototype is repeated so well that it is  dissolved. The efficiency is  not bound to  the ritualization of   an Urhandlung, but to  its disappearance and annihilation. […]  this tendency is  under no circumstances concerned with a  text reading or  an explanation of   its subject matter but, on  the other hand, concerns an external perfect repetition, dissolving the meaning of   the text; it is simulatric.35

The Stolpersteine memorial has an equal repetitive character. In  Berlin’s Friedrichshain and Kreuzberg quarters, for instance, the goal is to install one stone for each deportee just as Demnig had imagined. Between 1996 and 2004,  350 stones were set in  the sidewalks of   the districts of   Friedrichshain and Kreuzberg alone, with the aim of   eventually installing a stone for each of  the 2,000 people from these districts who died at the hands of  the Nazis.36

Crossing the old boarders of   former East and West Berlin, the two districts amount to  around 20  km2. With the proclaimed goal of   installing one stone for each and everyone of   the 2,000 deportees this will amount to one stone for every 100 m2. The two crucial points, thus, if  we apply Perniola’s interpretation of   the Roman relegere to  the Stolpersteine, are that the meaning of   what is engraved upon the Stolpersteine is dissolved. It bears not the name of   the individual, but the collective name of  Stolperstein. It forces oblivion and dissolves the historical event thereby mythologizing fact.

From Fact to Myth One of   the most interesting titles on  a  book about the Stolpersteine, which in  total does not count more than a  dozen all of  which are biographical concerning the ones exterminated,   Perniola, ‘Ars e urbs’, p. 32.  Jordan, Structures of  Memory, p. 192.

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is Marlis Meckel´s Den Opfern ihre Namen zurückgeben. The title may serve to a further explanation of  how a fact is mythologically commemorated. Most of   us have heard the word abracadabra. In  everyday language it simply is  the part in  magic that makes things come true. In  the eyes of   the little child, this is  what transforms the empty hand into a  hand holding a  piece of   candy. The idea is also found in a more serious context, e.g. in the Eucharist, where bread becomes flesh, and wine blood: ‘The body of   Christ. The blood of   Christ’. However, if  the rituality of   the Stolpersteine commemoratively install that the National Socialists murdered, defamed, and humiliated citizens, how may this be said to  be a ‘factual myth’, a commemorative abracadabra? Ritually speaking, what becomes central is  not the millions of   names of   those exterminated by the Third Reich but, instead, the fundamental ideology of   the Stolpersteine namely that the National Socialists murdered, defamed, humiliated etc. millions of   people. The individual will disappear with the enormous quantity of   memorial stones. The so-called destinies (tot, ermordet, ??? (= unknown destiny), flucht in  den tod, flucht) are endlessly repeated over and over again on  thousands and, in  the end, on  millions of   stones. Like the ancile, the original event is  commemorated to  such an extreme that it will disappear and become inseparable from the maintenance of   a political order like the ancilia did in Rome. There, the original and singular ancile is  reduced to  a  mass, when part of  the 11 other ancilia. Regarding the Stolpersteine, we do know the meaning of   the word Ermordet (murdered). We do know that murder requires a  state of   law both in  order to  be meaningful, and in  order to be juridically applicable. We do know that for someone to be defamed or humiliated, one must be regarded as a human being, as one where shame can present itself. In other words, an ethics must exist. However, as  the Italian thinker Giorgio Agamben has stressed, first of   all the Third Reich was no state of   law but a state of   exception.37 Secondly, the Third Reich did not regard the inmates in  camps and deportees as  human beings. In  fact,  Agamben, Stato di eccezione, pp. 10–12.

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on  the gasometer holding the gas used to  kill the inmates during their ‘shower’, the symbol for pest control appeared. Hitler’s idea to kill the inmates ‘as lice’, like he stated, is not a metaphor.38 Ample proof of  the camp’s de-humanisation politics is  found all over in the witness literature of  Primo Levi and of  many others.39 Therefore, by declaring that the Third Reich murdered, defamed, and humiliated citizens these engravings on  Stolpersteine, along with the other so-called destinies, obtain the very linguistic function of   turning the Third Reich into a  state of   law hereby making it juridically sound. Moreover, the same linguistic function transforms who ever got killed in the camps and elsewhere into a subject of   law and, moreover, into someone who was regarded as  a  human being. Besides the few cases where the camp served as a prison (which ended completely in 1939), no such person ever lived in a camp. Anyone entering the camp was immediately deprived of   any humanity and legality, and did not belong in any kind of   law or ethics. Everybody was, as  such, Versuchspersonen. This was the very function of   the camp and of   the Third Reich’s extermination and deportation politics. If  one understands the term camp synonymously with prison, then the camp will completely loose it’s meaning.40 Each time someone stumbles upon a  Stolperstein that person is  hit with the abracadabra of   an ideological construction claiming that ethics and law existed in  the Third Reich. This forces to  forget the real meaning of   ‘defamation’ and ‘humiliation’, of  ‘murder’ and of   ‘shame’, as  the Third Reich is  turned into something much more humane and juridically sound than it ever was and than it ever wanted to be. The Third Reich strived at a  ‘gewollte Ausnahmezustand’.41 The Stolpersteine therefore represent the refusal to  accept the historical fact that the Third Reich did not consider those it exterminated and deported as  human beings, i.e. neither as  subjects of   law nor as  subjects   Hitler, cited in Agamben, Homo sacer, p. 127.   See e.g., Levi, Se questo è un uomo. For a  central discussion of   the figure of   the witness and of   important witness literature, see Agamben, Q uel che resta di Auschwitz, pp. 13–36. 40 Agamben, Homo sacer, pp. 171–77. 41 Agamben, Stato di eccezione, p. 12. 38

39

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STOLPERSTEINE IN LIGHT OF  ROMAN ARCHAIC RELIGION

of   ethics but, as  Hitler had stated, as  lice i.e. as  non-humans. The denial of   the German history from 1933–45 finds its way in  the Stolpersteine, which mythically commemorates the safe and sound categories of   ethics and the state of   law. The Stolpersteine urges the forgetting of  a fact in order to secure the political order of  the German urbs.

Art, Rite, and Ceremony This article opened with an analysis of    the first of    two terminological constellations: ars-urbs. In relation to the abovementioned reconstruction and abracadabra of   the state of   law and of   history, we recognize the second constellation: rituscaeremonia. How, then, are we to understand this political order reflected by the Stolpersteine in  their memorial representation of  the Third Reich 1933–45? Initially, it is central to us that caeremonia designates the divine as  such, its essence, its Gegenstand. Moreover, already in the early 1950s a classical philologist, Karl Heinz Roloff, whose investigations play a  key role in  Perniola’s analysis of   Roman religion, wrote that: die caeremoniae wie alles Alte in  der Religion auf  Numa zurückgeführt werden. […]  Numa stellt also Gesetze und Normen für bestimmte Verrichtungen auf, an denen die Gottheit zu beteiligen ist, d.h. gewisse Dinge und Akte werden dadurch sakrosankt gemacht, das einzige Mittel, um einem primitiven Volke Rechtsnormen aufzuzwingen.42

Caeremonia is  used to  establish law and politics. However, caeremonia’s relation to  the juridical is  not to  be understood as lex (law) but, instead, as  ius (justice).43 In  the Roman religion this, of   course, has nothing to do with the subjective feelings or belonging to  the subject matter. In  opposition to  the ancient Greeks, perhaps, the goal is  not to  tie the particular matter in  question to  any kind of   formal or  abstract law or  justice by   Roloff, ‘Caeremonia’, pp. 121–22.   For a further discussion on the concepts and problems concerning law as νόμος, ius, and lex, see Murphy, ‘The Lawyer and the Layman’, esp. pp. 108–18. 42

43

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L. ÖSTMAN

way of   a ritual. In  other words, the religion, the ritual, formed the juridical and vice versa. It is a practical dimension resembling the one in art. As Perniola explains: Ius is, precisely, an art, which ‘in sola prudentium interpretatione consistit’ (consists in  the interpretations of   the cautious ones alone); if  one considers that ars and ritus derive from the same root *ar, signifying an order, then the ceremonial repetition presents itself  as  one of   the cornerstones of  Roman mentality.44

Hence, ius obtained its justification through the ritual, and together they constitute the caeremonia, which one might say is the juridical ceremony. This might explain, why the distinction between politics and religion is  unknown to  the oldest Roman religion. The Stolpersteine can in the same sense be said to be a ritualization of   ius, a construction and at the same time an activation of   the juridical. But in  opposition to  the Romans where the order was created in  actu, the Stolpersteine infer a  juridical order post festum. This order, begged by these memorial stones, is  but a  normative and ceremonial memory of   history creating a  fictitious past where the Third Reich was a  state of   law and where ethics could be applied. This ceremony has the modern state of   law as  its goal and whose terms, concepts and words it endlessly repeats. It is  an order that with no logical arguments what so  ever can be used in  regards to  understand what the Third Reich was, who they killed, deported, and why. The paradox, therefore, is that just like the Third Reich transformed the law into a ‘gewollte Ausnahmezustand’ so, too, the Stolpersteine transform the ‘gewollte Ausnahmezustand’ back into law.

Concluding Remarks With the Stolpersteine the camp’s ‘text’ has become a  dead letter, a  clean grammatica with a  forgotten meaning. It is  closed and canonised. German memorial culture, paradigmatically   Perniola, ‘Le rite et le mythe’, p. 25.

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represented by the Stolpersteine, seems to  have great difficulty in  coming to  terms with the fact that something far worse than murder can happen to  a  human being. Something far worse than to  be defamed and humiliated or  even forced to suicide can happen to a human being. A human being can, as was the case in  the Third Reich, be de-humanised and de-legalised. A human being can be reduced to be a non-human being to be eliminated as were it lice. The Stolpersteine are not memorial stones in  sensu strictu. They are, instead, sacred obligations meant to conceal the gap between history and memory. Just as  a  subtle interpretation does not want to  see the Marmurius-ritual, where a  person dressed as  Mamurius was driven from the city in  order to  drive away the old year as  a  calendrical ritual, but more as  a  total destruction of   the difference between memory and history, i.e. as an ideological construction of    the past.45 The Stolpersteine erase the gap between Germany’s state of   exception and state of  law; they erase the gap between a  human being beyond legality and ethics and a  subject of   law. They erase the gap between a  form of   government that turned human beings into non-human beings and a government that does not. The Stolpersteine do not give the victims their names back. The Stolpersteine have constructed a  zone in  which history is mythologised, its reality ignored and replaced by a  ritualized memory of   the past, and it is well on its way to end in a biopolitical, ceremonial catastrophe. The Stolpersteine steal from those deported and killed in  the exterminations, the final dignity we as  citizens could give them: the recognition that something was taken from them that can not be given back.

Bibliography Agamben, Giorgio, Stato di eccezione. Homo sacer’ II.1, Reprint (Torino: Bollati Boringhieri, 2004) Agamben, Giorgio, Homo sacer. Il potere sovrano e la nuda vita, Reprint (Torino: Bollati Boringhieri, 2005a)

  Illuminati, ‘Mamurius Veturius’, p. 73.

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Agamben, Giorgio, Q uel che resta di Auschwitz. L’archivio e il testimone. Homo sacer III, Reprint (Torino: Bollati Boringhieri, 2005b) Agamben, Giorgio, Il sacramento del linguaggio. Archeologia del giuramento. Homo sacer II.3, Reprint (Roma-Bari: Laterza, 2008) Assmann, Jan, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erinnerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen (Munich: Beck, 1992) Cicero, ʻDe natura deorumʼ, The Nature of   the Gods ed.  by Jeffrey Henderson and trans. by Hans Rackham (Cambridge, Massachusetts and London: Harward University Press, 2000) Dumezil, George, La réligion romanine archaique. Avec un appendice sur la religion des Étrusques, 2. ed. (Paris: Payot, 1974) Esposito, Roberto, Communitas. Origine e destino della comunità (Torino: Giulio Einaudi Editore, 1998) Gaffiot Félix, Dictionaire abregé Latin-Français (Paris: Hachette, 1936) Halbwachs, Maurice, La mémoire collective (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1950) Heidegger, Martin, Sein und Zeit, 18. ed. (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 2001) Illuminati, Augusto, ʻMamurius Veturiusʼ, Studi Materiali di Storia delle religioni, 32 (1961), pp. 41–81 Jordan, Jennifer, Structures of   Memory. Understanding Urban Change in Berlin and Beyond (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2006) Levi, Primo, Se questo è un uomo (Torino: Giulio Einaudi Editore, 1989) Marlis, Meckel, Den Opfern ihre Namen zurückgeben. Stolpersteine in Freiburg (Freiburg and Berlin: Rombach Verlag KG, 2006) Niewyk, Donald L. and Francis R. Nicosia, The Columbia Guide to the Holocaust (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000) Nietzsche, Friedrich, ʻUnzeitgemäße Betrachtungen  I–Vʼ, in  Friedrich Nietzsche. Kritische Studienausgabe, ed. by Giorgio Colli and Mazzino Montinari, 2nd. ed. (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999) Murphy, James B., ʻThe Lawyer and the Layman: Two Perspectives on the Rule of  Lawʼ, The Review of  Politics, 68 (2006), pp. 101–31 Perniola, Mario, ʻArs e urbsʼ, Rivista di estetica, 4 (1980), pp. 27–34 Perniola, Mario, ʻLe rite et le mythesʼ, Traverses, 21–22  (1981), pp. 19–26 Perrin, Bernadotte, Plutarch’s Lives. With an English Translation, vol.  1 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press and London: William Heinemann, 1914) 360

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Roloff, Karl-Heinz, ʻCaeremoniasʼ, Glotta. Zeitschrift für griechische und lateinische Sprache, 32 (1953), pp. 101–38 Sennett, Richard, Flesh and Stone. The Body and the City in Western Civilization, Reprint (London: Penguin, 2002) Vor meiner Haustür. ʻStolpersteinesʼ von Gunter Demnig. Ein Begleitbuch, ed. by Joachim Rönnerper (Gelsenkirchen: Arachne Verlag, 2010)

Abstract This article analyses the materiality of   the Stolpersteine, the small cobblestones installed throughout Europe for victims of   the Third Reich as part of  Gunter Demnig’s public art project. Although stones have been used throughout Western culture, in  both profane and sacred contexts, the line of   demarcation between the two spheres has always been clear. Gravestones and churches, houses and pavements are two spheres that rarely mixed geographically and certainly not ritually. The Stolpersteine challenge these traditional categories, being installed in front of   the home where the victim lived, forcing pedestrians to  walk and ‘stumble upon’ the victims of   genocide. In  this context, we ask: ‘How does quantity affect rituality?’ Is each individual victim really commemorated in the midst of   thousand others by a single stone? In order to understand the peculiar rituality of   the Stolpersteine, this article will make a  comparative approach between these monuments and the Roman ancilia, the famous shields made by Marmurius.

361

INDEX

INDEX

INDEX

Aborigines 110, 113 Abraham, Abram 321-322, 326-328, 328-329 n.  21, 329-331, 331 n. 25, 332-336 abstraction 61, 62, 64, 65, 68, 75-78, 81, 87, 88, 92, 99, 103, 109, 127, 139, 142, 147, 229 Abu Hureyra 144, 145 Acropolis 84 n. 26 Aegean 62, 69, 75, 255 afterlife 104, 105, 109, 115, 116, 219-221, 242, 251, 270 Akkadian 36, 75, 76, 87 Alexander the Great 84 n. 26, 93 altar 83, 175, 283, 291 amber 255 n. 2, 271 amethyst 76, 83 amulet 147, 291, 291 n. 32, 293 Amun 74 Anatolia 71 n. 9, 131, 135, 255 ancestor, ancestral 77 n. 21, 99, 106109, 112-117, 119, 144, 189, 212, 220, 237 ancile, ancilia 345-351, 355, 361 angakoq 52 angel 321 n. 4, 331 n. 25 Angkor 82 aniconic turn 294, 294 n.  43, 296, 309-310 aniconism 22, 282, 283, 289 n.  22, 290, 294, 294 nn.  43-44, 295, 295 n.  46, 296, 299-301, 304306, 308 nn. 94-95, 310, 318

aniconographic 287, 289, 298, 299 animal 21, 22, 44, 80, 84, 105, 111, 112, 114, 115, 123, 136, 137, 139, 141, 143, 147, 148, 153-156, 167, 170, 172, 173, 185-187, 190-193, 207, 214, 216-219, 225, 261, 265, 268, 290, 290 n. 28, 308 animal master 190 animistic 115 annihilation 351, 353, 354 anthropomorphic 112, 210, 219, 225, 271, 291, 296, 297 n.  62, 305 Apollo 55, 57 apotropaic 156 Aquinas, T. 93, 288 n. 20 Arad 292 Aramaic 320, 321 archaeology 20, 22, 32, 34, 36, 63, 92, 125 n.  10, 281, 285, 290, 292, 318 archetype 105, 109, 115 architecture 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 35, 36, 38, 61, 62, 65, 68, 69-70 n. 6, 82-85, 89-90, 92-96, 111, 116, 117, 127, 127 n.  14, 143, 144 n.  57, 146, 158, 167, 169, 173, 188, 229, 233, 251, 283, 286, 290, 290 n.  25, 292, 300, 305, 309, 310, 318 ark of  the covenant 292, 297, 299, 306

365

INDEX

arrowhead 173 art 21, 23, 37, 65, 79, 85, 103-112, 114-116, 119, 157 n.  110, 158, 167, 199, 200, 206, 208, 212, 287, 291 n.  32, 293, 305, 308, 310, 345, 346, 347, 351, 357, 358, 361 Aser 266 astronomical 70, 73, 268 Athena 55, 349 Athenian 84 Auschwitz 341, 342, 342 n. 3 authoritative 320, 324-326 authority 22, 43, 43 n.  47, 44, 95, 130, 154, 157, 158, 167, 191, 192, 320, 321, 325, 336, 337, 348 axe 19, 261-263, 263 nn. 13-14, 268, 274-275 Azerbaijan 114 Babylon, Babylonian 31, 62, 82, 93, 295, 295 n. 50 Balken 203 Baltic 255, 258, 264, 269 ban on images 294, 295, 296 n.  54, 297, 309 Bar Kokhba 300 n. 67, 306 n. 84 barrow 22, 92, 227-228, 230, 232237, 240-245, 251 bear 141 Beidha 172 belief  18, 29, 42, 63, 89, 103-109, 112, 114-115, 117, 119, 197, 201, 208, 255, 265, 268, 270272, 277, 353 belt plate 240, 271 Beyond 21, 64, 73, 74, 86, 92 Bhummiphol 52 Bible 22, 75, 87, 115, 263, 281, 281 n. 2, 282, 282 n. 4, 283, 284 n. 5, 289, 291-294, 294 nn.  43-44, 297 n.  58, 299, 308 n.  95, 309310, 318, 320, 325, 327, 333 biblical 63, 79, 292 n.  34, 319-320, 320 n. 1, 321, 321 n. 4, 324, 326327

bird 141, 142, 172, 209, 215, 217, 218, 267 bison 114 black 54, 112 Black Sea 269 blue 36, 76, 87, 91 blue jeans 32, 33 boar 139, 148, 154 boat 263, 268, 270, 274, 275 body 32-33, 83, 86, 104, 108, 116, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 187189, 200, 218, 260, 265, 285, 289 n. 24 Bohuslän 203, 208, 272 Book of  Genesis 320-321, 321 n. 4, 322-323, 327-321, 333-334, 334 n. 30, 336-337 Book of  Jubilees 321, 321 n. 4, 322, 327, 328, 329 n.  21, 334, 334 n. 30 Book of  the Dead 74 Borgdorf  217-219 Bredarör 232, 253 bronze 200, 203, 206-207, 210, 212-213, 220, 224-225, 227, 239, 240, 255 n.  2, 258-260, 266-267, 269, 271-272, 274275 Bronze Age 21, 22, 36, 50, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 69, 72, 72 n.  11, 74, 75, 77, 77 n.  21, 78, 80, 82, 86-90, 94-95, 99, 135 n.  33, 193, 199-201, 203-206, 208-210, 212-214, 216, 218, 220-221, 224-225, 227-228, 230, 232233, 237, 239-240, 244-245, 251, 253, 253 n.  1, 255, 258, 266275, 277, 292 Buddhism 62, 83 burial 18, 21, 38, 39, 45, 73, 86, 104, 105, 113, 115, 116, 131, 131 n.  28, 132-133, 142-145, 145 n.  63, 167, 172, 174, 179-181, 184-186, 188, 191, 206, 208, 216, 220, 227-230, 233-234, 237-239, 242, 251, 253 n.  1, 258, 260, 263, 267

366

INDEX

C-14 253 n. 1 caduceus 57 cairn 230, 232, 253, 253 n.  1, 254, 255, 258, 259, 267, 273, 277 calendar 240, 266, 269, 272 Calvinist 288 n. 18 Cambodia 83 n. 24 Canaanite 292 canon 74, 107, 109, 296, 297, 319, 320, 320 n. 2, 324 Capivara 114 carnelian 76, 83 Çatalhöyük 38, 39, 45-46 categorization 37, 38 category 39, 76, 173, 189, 206, 213, 283, 301 cave 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 290, 319, 321 n. 3 Çayönü 130, 135 n. 33 Celtic 56, 200 ceremonial 55, 110, 268, 358, 359 chariot 208, 263, 265, 268, 270, 271, 301 chariot of  the sun 201, 203-204 cherub 292, 297, 297 n. 62, 300, 300 n. 68 China, Chinese 69, 69 n.  6, 70, 70 n. 6, 71 n. 9, 76, 82, 83 n. 24 Christ 287, 355 Christian 40, 51, 63, 83, 89, 93, 221, 289, 319, 320, 320 n. 2, 353 Christianity 27, 83, 94, 230, 282, 288 n. 21 church 29, 42, 51, 79, 80, 82, 93, 144 n.  57, 286, 286 n.  12, 287, 287 n. 16, 288 n. 19, 344, 361 church father 51, 87 Cicero 353 cist 181, 183-184, 187, 189, 193, 253 n.  1, 254, 255, 258, 259, 260, 265, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 272, 273, 274, 277 civilization 71, 71 n. 9, 81, 214 Classical Antiquity 63, 79, 81, 87 n. 29 Côa 114 Coffin Texts 74 cognition 77, 99

cognitive capacities 99, 155 cognitive change 99 cognitive science 32 colour 36, 37, 75, 76, 77, 78, 81, 83, 87, 87 n. 29, 90, 99, 110, 234 commemorative 108, 349, 355 communal building 125, 129, 130, 131, 143, 146, 154, 175 communication 28, 41, 66, 67, 68, 68 n.  4, 72 n.  11, 79, 103, 104, 108, 110, 123 n.  7, 124, 155, 167, 253, 309 community 19, 29, 42, 64, 78, 88, 89, 123 n. 7, 124, 124 n. 9, 133, 143, 144, 148, 153, 153 n.  97, 155, 156, 157, 172, 184, 186, 188, 190, 192, 197, 200, 214, 228, 229, 284, 291 n.  29, 321, 335, 336, 337, 339 Constantine 51 Corded Ware Culture 230 cosmic 110, 127 n.  14, 184, 192, 220, 334, 335, 336 cosmology, cosmological 22, 124, 127 n.  14, 199, 200, 206, 212, 214, 220, 221, 227-228, 237, 239, 241, 242-244, 251, 255, 275, 277 cosmos 191, 219, 266, 272, 275, 290, 333 cranial deformation 189 creation 37, 64, 79, 81, 83, 92, 106, 115, 124, 124 n.  9, 143, 157, 285, 321 n. 4, 336 cult 21, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 86 n.  28, 103, 104, 105, 106, 108, 109, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 119, 143, 220, 237, 291, 295, 296, 300 n. 67, 351, 353 cult image 51, 55, 258 cultic building 292, 292 n. 37, 298, 300, 300 n. 69 cuneiform 66, 69 Cybele 54 cylinder seal 78 Danaë 215 day-ship 209

367

INDEX

Dead Sea 133, 145 n.  70, 167, 321 n. 4, 335 Dead Sea Scrolls 22, 319, 320 n.  2, 321 n. 3, 322 n. 5, 329, 336, 339 death 38, 38 n.  29, 39, 64, 86, 94, 104, 105, 106, 116, 117, 133, 141, 144, 147, 150, 156, 169, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 220, 242, 296 n. 53, 344 deer 142 definition of  religion 89, 124, 204 deity 51-58, 84, 158, 210, 212, 214, 221, 225, 260, 268, 270-272, 291, 296 n.  54, 300, 301, 303, 304, 309 Delphi 55 demigod 332 Deuteronomist 289, 309 didactic 307 n. 89, 332, 335 diffusion 64, 65, 71 Dioscuri 211 discourse 18, 20, 27, 27 n. 1, 38, 41, 61-63, 64, 65, 67, 70, 70 n.  6, 71-75, 78-83, 85-86, 88-96, 123 n. 7, 156, 251, 332 discursive 18, 27, 28, 31, 32, 45 disposal of  the dead 180, 184, 187 divine 30, 43, 51, 73, 83, 93, 199, 201, 203, 204, 208, 210, 213, 214, 216, 218, 219, 220, 224, 225, 255 n.  2, 266, 270, 283, 285, 287, 288, 296, 297, 297 n.  62, 298, 305, 319, 327, 329, 347, 348, 349, 350, 357 domestication 21, 35, 123, 167, 171, 172, 187, 190, 192, 193 dream 43, 110, 330, 331, 331 n. 25, 332 Dumézil, G. 58, 353 Durkheim, É. 37, 89 Early Neolithic 21, 76, 121, 123, 127 n.  14, 142, 153 n.  97, 154, 167, 169, 171, 172, 173, 174, 176, 178, 181, 184, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 192, 197 earth 51, 67, 68, 107, 154, 205, 210,

216, 220, 263, 275, 286, 287, 288, 294 n. 44, 327, 333, 334 Egypt, Egyptian 21, 27, 31, 36-37, 62, 65, 69, 70, 70 n.  8, 71-74, 76, 81-82, 84, 85-87, 91-93, 214215, 219, 255, 259, 266, 268, 270, 291 n.  32, 326, 327, 328 n. 21, 330 elite 40, 67, 76, 90, 93, 206, 260, 269, 272 embodiment 185, 282, 283, 284, 288, 306 n. 85, 307 emotion 32, 109, 122, 126, 127, 147, 155, 156, 167, 191 empty space 300, 305 Enlightenment 93, 282 Epipalaeolithic 138, 139, 142, 144 Epona 57 Eridu 85 eschatological 287, 333, 334 Etruscan 56 eucharist 53, 287, 355 Euphrates 123, 129, 133, 135, 138, 145, 147-148, 149, 158, 167 Europe 40 n. 37, 87, 105, 106, 108, 112, 114, 115, 116, 230, 263, 266, 270, 286, 287 n.  16, 349, 361 exegetical 320 externalization 103 Fabius Pictor 52 falcon 214, 215, 216, 218 Fårdal 208 Faroese 270 feasting 21, 169, 170, 172, 179, 185, 187, 191 female 86, 111, 139, 180, 188, 193, 206, 207, 208, 270, 271, 327, 329, 332, 332 n. 27 fertility 86, 108, 148, 237 figurative art 103, 108, 158, 167 figurine 30, 30 n. 11, 112, 139, 141, 148, 169, 208, 260, 274, 298 n. 62 fish 68, 204, 209, 210, 216, 218, 225 Fiskbæk 266

368

INDEX

Flagstone Building 130 flint 19, 92, 111 food 85, 104, 113, 115, 284, 284 n. 5, 290 n. 24 Foucault, M. 34, 34 n. 18, 46 free church group 286, 286 n. 11 Friedrichshain 354 funerary practice 104, 186 Gallic 57 Genesis Apocryphon 22, 319-320, 320 n. 2, 321, 321 n. 3, 322, 322 n.  5, 323-331, 331 n.  20, 332337 Ghwair 172 Gilgamesh 269 Glasbakke 266 Göbekli Tepe 21, 121, 130, 131, 139, 141, 142, 143, 146, 147 god 94, 116, 124, 139, 141, 169, 191, 192, 203, 210, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 219, 221, 225, 270, 271, 272, 285, 285 n.  10, 288, 288 n. 20 goddess 30, 30 n. 11, 54, 55, 90, 348 gold 36, 37, 76, 78, 83, 84 n. 26, 87, 201, 205, 258, 269, 272, 306 n. 82, 331 Gothic 93 grave 17, 183, 206, 254, 255, 258, 260, 263, 267, 268, 273 Greece, Greek 27, 52, 54, 55, 56, 63, 63 n. 24, 69, 76, 87, 89, 93, 211, 214, 259, 268, 271, 296, 347, 348, 351, 357 green 76, 87, 270, 290, 293, 298 greenstone 76, 83, 87, 183 Grevensvænge 208 Gryde 265 Gyldensgård 258-260, 267 Halula 145 Har Karkom 111, 112, 113 heaven 51, 204, 275, 286, 287, 288, 291, 294 n. 44, 321 n. 4, 347 Hebrew Bible 22, 75, 87, 281, 281 n.  2, 282, 283, 284 n.  5, 289, 291-294, 294 nn.  43, 44, 297

n. 58, 299, 308 n. 95, 309, 310, 318 Heimdal 214 hell 40 Hellas 55 Hellenistic 51, 54, 56, 332 Hellenistic-Roman 319 Hermes 57 Herod 58 hierarchy 78, 80, 124, 156, 348 Hinduism 83 Hittite 71 n. 9, 77 n. 2, 268 Hjordkjær 237, 238 Hohøj 232 Holocaust 22, 344, 244 n. 10 Holocene 111, 122-123, 125, 131, 138, 139, 143, 148, 149, 153, 156, 158, 167 Homer 269 homo sapiens 19, 103, 105-109, 112, 116, 117, 157 n. 110 Hopi 52 horror vacui 307 horse 57, 204, 205, 208, 209, 210, 215, 216, 217, 218, 225, 255, 255 n.  2, 263, 264, 265, 270, 271, 274 horse figure 201, 203, 218 Horus 73, 215, 216 house 19, 35, 36, 38, 39, 45, 46, 54, 90, 116, 127 n.  14, 146, 173, 174, 176, 178, 179, 188, 189 n.  44, 193, 220, 233, 273, 284, 326, 327, 341, 344, 351, 353, 361 hunter-gatherer 34, 35, 44, 105, 106, 107, 112, 143, 151, 152, 154, 155, 156, 158 n. 111 hunting 35, 110, 148, 172, 173 hunting magic 86 hunting rite 108 hymn 52, 71, 74 icon 240, 241, 244, 287 iconography 125, 199, 208, 227, 228, 237, 239, 240, 244, 288, 290 nn. 25, 28, 305 n. 80, 309 iconostasis 287

369

INDEX

identity 34 n.  16, 43, 69, 107, 108, 110, 114, 115, 119, 121, 122, 122 n.  5, 146, 148, 157, 167, 182, 242, 300 n.  67, 331, 337, 348, 349, 350, 351 ideological, ideology 27, 86, 89, 106, 108, 121, 124, 124 n.  9, 127 n.  14, 167, 201, 242, 251, 269, 272, 293, 355-356, 359 ideological term 63 ideological universe 269 image 17, 21, 22, 30, 32, 40, 51, 53, 57, 78, 79, 83, 111, 114, 119, 135, 142, 153, 158, 199, 200, 201, 208, 211, 212, 213, 224, 255, 263, 264, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 275, 277, 282, 283, 285, 287, 289, 291, 291 n.  32, 292, 293, 293 nn.  39, 41, 294, 295, 295 n. 46, 296, 296 nn. 53, 54, 297, 297 n.  62, 298, 298 n.  65, 299, 300 nn.  67, 69, 301, 303, 303 n. 73, 304, 305, 306, 306 n. 84, 307, 307 n.  89, 308, 309, 310, 318 imaginary 110, 274 IMF (International Monetary Fund) 66, 66 n. 3, 67, 68 n. 4, 84 n. 26, 94 Inanna 74, 74 n. 18, 82 n. 23, 84, 90, 91 Indo-European 58, 63, 70 n.  6, 77 n. 21, 200, 346 information 30 n. 10, 34, 61, 62, 66, 67, 68, 68 n. 4, 79, 94, 108, 121, 122, 123, 123 n.  7, 126, 131, 204, 266 n. 21, 269, 329 initiation 105, 106, 107, 108, 113, 119 inquisition 40 inscription 71 installation 113, 117, 174, 175, 176, 183, 184, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 341 institution 28, 38, 41, 43, 44, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 84, 91, 124, 158, 197, 228

Inuit 113 invisible 30 n.  10, 103, 104, 108, 110, 121, 122, 124, 125, 153, 156, 158, 264, 265, 270, 271, 281, 298, 318 Irish 271 Iron Age 62, 64, 69, 266, 272, 289, 292, 297 n. 37, 300 Islam, Islamic 27, 44, 62, 83, 89, 282, 289, 289 n. 22, 305 n. 82 Israel, Israelite 63, 289, 290-292, 292 n.  37, 293-294, 294 n.  44, 295, 296 n.  53, 297, 299-301, 309, 310, 321 n. 4, 329 Israel-Palestine 292, 299, 300 jade 76, 78, 87 Jahveh (see also Yhwh) 58 Japan, Japanese 82, 83 n. 24, 89 Jerf  el-Ahmar 129, 131, 136, 139, 141 Jericho 129, 145 Jerusalem 22, 58, 290, 292, 300, 300 n. 67, 310 Jew, Jewish 58, 63, 300 n.  67, 296, 305, 310, 319, 320 n.  2, 335, 336-337, 344 Jewish literature 319 Jordan 21, 143 n. 56, 169, 171, 197 Judaic-Christian 63 Judaism 58, 282, 300, 320 n. 1 Kakadu 114 Karahan Tepe 136 katchina 52 Khepri 216 Kimberley 114 king 51, 52, 74, 82 n. 23, 84, 85, 91, 92, 94, 269, 296 n. 53, 327, 329, 330, 331, 333, 348 Kivig, Kivik 22, 253, 258, 259, 263, 263 n.  14, 265, 266, 268-275, 277 Kivig cist 255, 259, 260, 265, 267270, 272 Kivik-cairn 232 Körtik Tepe 136, 138, 139, 142, 145 Kreuzberg 354

370

INDEX

Lactantius 51, 59 Lamech 321, 327-330, 332, 334-335 lapis lazuli 36-37, 76, 83, 87, 91 Leroi-Gourhan, A. 31 Levallois 92 libation 54 liminal 184 Linear A 69 Linear B 69 Lion 137, 139, 148, 307 literary 70, 74-5, 81, 93, 125, 204, 321-323, 335, 339 Lithuania 260, 262, 270 liturgy 286-288, 349 Loki 214 Lutheran 217 n. 16 Madsebakke 272 magic 74, 86, 355 Malta 85 Mamurius Veturius 345-346, 350, 359 mandible 180, 183, 185-189 marked 38-39, 39 n.  33, 189, 204205, 208, 237, 239, 290, matrona 57 Mecca 58 mediality 122-123, 123 n.  7, 126127, 142-143, 145, 147, 149, 156, 158, 167, 169 mediation, mediator 156, 190, 192193, 209-210, 331, 334 medieval 40, 53, 213, 225 Mediterranean 56, 75, 99, 255, 268269, 277 meeting room 286-287 megalith 117, 230 memory 21-22, 103-104, 107-108, 110, 113, 142, 144, 146-147, 147 n. 75, 148, 158, 158 n. 110, 169, 179, 188, 191-193, 284, 300 n.  67, 303, 306, 306 n.  84, 323, 341, 242 n.  1, 343-345, 347, 347 n.  21, 359-351, 353355, 357-359, 361 menhir 89 mental 27, 32, 40, 44, 50, 103, 106, 108, 121, 157 n. 110, 167

Mercurius 266, 271 Mesopotamia 21, 29, 42, 66, 69-70, 70 n. 8, 71-72, 74, 78-81, 84-86, 91-93, 132-33, 135 n.  33, 138, 142-143, 269 metaphor 83, 298, 307 methodology 20, 22, 66, 78 n.  21, 86, 122, 125, 339 Middle Paleolithic 105, 108, 113, 116 midrash 320 migration 111, 114-115 Mithras 55 Mjeltehaugen 267 mnemonic device 170 moon 52-53, 264-265, 267, 270 mortuary 21, 86 n. 28, 91, 169-170, 175, 184-193 Moses 321 n. 4 mother 57, 109, 307 mound 220, 230, 232-242, 258, 260-263, 267 MPPNB 169 n. 3, 189 n. 44 Müller, M. 58 Müller S. 201-204 Mureybet 129, 139 Muslim 58 Mycenae 69, 76, 268 myth 22, 38, 43, 56, 61, 65, 70-75, 79, 85-86, 89-91, 122-124, 192, 199-200, 206, 209-210, 214, 220, 224, 244, 345, 347-350, 354-355 mythical ancestor 109, 114, 116, 119 mythology 21-22, 104, 106, 108, 114-116, 122, 199, 206, 20910, 212-214, 220, 225, 227-228, 244, 251, 267, 349-351, 253354, 359 name 20, 30, 36-37, 51-53, 58, 6970, 72, 189, 191-192, 201, 281, 286, 306, 306 n.  85, 353 n.  34, 354-355, 359 narrative 65, 72, 79-81, 94, 142, 192, 224, 227, 237, 244, 320 n. 1, 326-328, 333, 336

371

INDEX

National Socialist 344, 351 Natufian 131 Neanderthal 19, 21, 106 Neder Hvolris 204, 209 Negev 111 Neolithic 21, 38, 50, 63, 65, 76, 77 n.  21, 78, 80, 87, 94, 99, 106, 117, 121, 123, 127 n.  14, 139, 142, 144-145, 154-155, 167, 169, 169, 171, 186, 193, 197, 230, 237, 272 neolithisation 123 netherworld 74, 266, 268, 270 neurobiology 21, 146, 148, 156, 157 n. 110, 167 Nevalı Çori 137, 141-142 Newgrange 85 night 55, 199-200, 208-210, 214, 216, 220, 224, 264, 268, 270, 330 Noah 321, 322 n. 5, 327-336 Numa 346-348, 350, 357 Nunivak 52 Nyau 110 occult 108 Odin 214, 266-267, 271 offering 73, 291 n. 29 Old Testament 281 n. 2, 294 n. 44, 295 n. 49, 320 omen 71-72 n. 9 oracle 55, 71-72 n. 9 origins of  religion 44-45, 62-63, 86 orthodox 286-287, 288 n. 21, 291 Osiris 73, 91, 216, 270 palace 55, 74, 82, 82 n.  23, 84-85, 87, 91-93, 268, 319 Palaeolithic 34-35, 50, 63-65, 94, 99, 114, 117, 148, 269 Palestine 292, 299, 300-301, 319 palimpsest 22, 180, 188, 191, 319, 322-326, 330, 333, 335-337 panther 137, 139 Parthenon 84 patriarch 22, 321 n. 4, 326, 328, 330, 332-333

Perniola, M. 22, 345-346, 348-349, 353-354, 357 Persian 36, 76, 84 n. 36 personhood 190-191 Pessinus 54 phallos 52-53 pharaoh 326-327, 329-332 philology 319, 347 n. 20 Phoenician 69 pilgrim 286 Plutarch 346-348 Poland 269, 343 Poseidon 215 PPNA 123, 127, 129, 133, 136, 144, 147-148 PPNB 78, 127, 129, 131-133, 141144 Priapus 53 priest 40, 80, 114, 117, 156, 228, 262, 271, 353 proto-religion 86 pseudepigraph 320-321, 335 public 51, 67-68, 92, 122-123, 127 n.  14, 145-146, 156, 158 n.  10, 167, 344-345, 350-351, 353, 361 pueblo 52 purgatory 40 Pyramid Texts 70, 73-74 rain-making rite 108 Ramad 145 razor 22, 200, 204, 206-211, 217219, 225, 258 rebirth 209, 220 red 76 Red Sea 172 Reformation 93 religion 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 27, 27 n. 1, 28, 29, 30, 30 nn. 10, 11, 31, 32, 33, 34, 34 n.  18, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 50, 51, 56, 59, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 72, 72 n.  9, 73, 74, 82, 83, 85, 86, 89, 90, 95, 96, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 113, 114, 116, 117, 119, 121, 123, 124, 124 n.  9, 158, 167, 187, 193, 197, 199, 200, 201, 204, 213,

372

INDEX

214, 215, 216, 219, 220, 225, 227, 228, 229, 244, 245, 251, 270, 272, 277, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 286, 288, 289, 289 n.  22, 291, 292, 293, 294, 300, 309, 310, 318, 337, 341, 334, 344, 345, 346, 348, 349, 351, 353, 357, 358 religious 17, 18, 20, 21, 23, 33, 38, 43, 44, 45, 46, 58, 59, 63, 65, 68, 71, 73, 82, 86, 89, 92, 93, 94, 105, 106, 152, 156, 167, 200, 206, 284, 285, 286, 287, 293 n. 37 religious act 288 religious idea 245, 251, 286, 293, 337 religious identity 300 n. 67 religious institution 158 religious knowledge 228, 229, 242, 243, 244 religious monumentality 228 religious object 229, 283 religious practice 82, 284 religious research 117, 124 religious revival 227 religious sphere 227 religious structure 117 religious system 213 Remus 349 Renaissance 93 revival 192, 227 revolution 68 n.  4, 81, 93, 96, 99, 122, 299 rite 54, 73, 75, 86, 108, 113, 114, 175, 185, 189, 190, 192, 206, 345, 346, 351, 354, 357 rite-de-passage 184, 237 ritual 21, 38 n. 29, 53, 54, 55, 56, 64, 85, 86, 86 n.  28, 90, 104-107, 114-117, 121, 124, 125, 131, 133, 143, 144, 144 n.  57, 145 n.  70, 146, 153, 155, 156, 167, 181, 186, 186 n.  39, 190, 191, 192, 193, 197, 201, 208, 212, 213, 228, 229, 243, 266, 267, 270, 282, 283, 284, 284 nn.  5, 6, 289 n. 21, 345, 347, 350, 353, 358, 359

ritual act 289 n. 21 ritual activities 237 ritual cultivation 351 ritual sequence 237, 242 ritual site 272 ritual structure 237 ritual practice 244, 251 rock art 21, 103, 107, 109, 110-112, 114-116, 119, 200, 208 rock carving 199, 200, 203, 212, 227, 237, 239, 254, 255, 262, 265, 267, 268, 272, 273, 275, 277 rock crystal 83 rock shelter 89 Roman-Catholic 286 n. 12, 287 n. 16 Rome, Roman 22, 27, 52, 53, 54, 56, 57, 58, 63, 74, 93, 94, 319, 341, 345, 346, 347, 348, 348 n.  23, 349, 350, 351, 353, 354, 355, 357, 358, 361 Romulus 348, 349 ruler 53, 55, 70, 71, 78, 268 sacred 20, 22-23, 27-31, 39, 41-43, 108, 110, 113, 115-116, 119, 143, 206, 283, 344-345, 359, 361 Sagaholm 267 San 27 sanctuary 105, 107-108, 111-114, 116, 290, 292, 296, 298, 300, 305 n. 79 Santa Claus 52 Sarah, Sarai 326-327, 329-331, 331 n. 25, 334 Satan 335 Scarab 214-216, 291 n. 32, 293, 293 n. 39 scorpion 137, 139, 147-148, 154 scripture 295, 297 n.  56, 321, 325, 332, 336 sea 258, 263-264, 268, 275 seal 78, 292-293, 293 n. 39 Sea-Woman 52 sedentarism 116, 122, 148, 150-152, 155, 157-158, 298 Sedna 52 semi-human 115

373

INDEX

Semitic 69, 77 n. 21 sensory 191 Seth 73 shaman, shamanism 116-117, 154, 156 Shamash 84 Shang Dynasty 71, n. 9 shen 266, 270 shield 266, 267 n. 23, 274, 348-350, 361 ship 199-200, 206-214, 217-221, 225, 258, 268-269, 272-73 Shkārat Msaied 21, 169, 169 n.  3, 171-172, 176, 184-193, 197 shrine 107, 272, 292 Shu 216 Siberian 43, 112, 116 silver 76, 83-84, 84 n. 26, 331 Sinai 111, 172 single grave culture 230 Sinti 344 skeleton, skeletal 133, 170, 172, 18487, 193, 197, 258 Skelhøj 233-234, 237-238 skull 130-133, 133 n.  30, 142, 145 n. 63, 183-185, 188-190, 193 sky 36-37, 87, 91, 111, 117, 208, 220, 263, 265, 268, 271, 274275 snake 136, 139, 147-148, 154, 210, 214-216, 218, 225 social life 36, 99, 337 social practice 27, 85, 89 Solomon 292, 295-296, 296 n. 53 soul 105, 108-109, 115, 212, 219221, 225, 281 n. 1 spider 148 spiral 201, 204, 207, 218, 240, 271 spirit 52, 108, 115, 348 spiritual, spirituality 43-44, 106, 113, 130, 156, 188, 193, 197, 281 n. 1 statue 19, 54, 57, 84, 111, 283, 291, 291 n.  31, 296, 296 n.  53, 297 n. 59, 298 status 39, 144, 173, 189, 206, 263, 269, 302, 320, 336-337 Stolperstein 341-346, 349-359 Stone Age 113, 115, 253 n. 1

Stonehenge 85 study of  religion 20, 22, 30-31, 33, 34 n. 18, 38-39, 45, 62-63 Sumerian 31, 36, 62, 69-70, 75 sun 21-22, 36-37, 74, 87, 138, 199220, 224-225, 237, 239, 263271, 274, 309 superhuman 28, 30, 41, 333, 336 supernatural 20, 28, 30, 43-44, 50, 61, 115, 117, 119, 124, 141, 281, 327, 333, 336 survival after death 106 symbolic 35, 61, 114, 117, 121-122, 123 n.  7, 124-125, 127, 133, 142-143, 146-149, 153, 155156, 158 n.  110, 167, 218, 227, 229, 237-238 tabernacle 290 targum 320, 322 Tell Aswad 144, 145 n. 63 Tell Q aramel 135 n. 33, 136, 138 temple 22, 51, 53-55, 58, 82-85, 86 n.  28, 87, 89, 91, 93, 117, 144 n. 57, 290, 292, 292 n. 37, 295296, 297 n.  99, 298-299, 299 n.  66, 300, 300 n.  67, 305, 306 n. 84, 310, 319 theriomorphic 291, 305 Third Reich 350-351, 353, 355-359, 361 Thor 214 throne 57, 268, 291 n. 31, 297 n. 62, 300, 300 n. 68 Thucydides 84, 87 Thutmosis III 216 Tigris 123, 131 n. 26, 135, 145, 147149, 158, 167 tomb 85, 92-93, 104, 230 tool 27, 80, 104, 113, 172-173, 285, 290 n. 28 Torah 305 totem 108, 112, 115, 136, 141 trance 43-44 transcendence, transcendent 20-21, 28, 30, 39, 43, 45, 50, 64, 124, 200, 204, 212, 225, 281, 288, 308, 347, 353

374

INDEX

transempirical 59, 201, 204, 213, 219, 221 transformation 38 n.  29, 184, 189, 191, 214, 225, 266 tribal 103, 104, 110, 115, 119 Trier 57 Trundholm 201, 203, 208, 263-265 turquoise 76, 83, 87, 172 tutulus 263, 274-275 typology 51 Ugarit 69, 75 underworld 40, 117, 199-200, 205, 209-210, 216, 220, 264-265, 270 Upper Paleolithic 20, 99, 107, 112, 116 Urfa 142, 148 Uruk 68-69, 77-78, 81-82, 84-85, 90-91, 93 vættir 53 Vättern 267 veneration 133, 144, 325 Venus from Willendorf  30, 30 n. 11 Viking Age 200, 213, 225, 230 village 36, 38-39, 81, 131 n. 27, 143,

149, 172, 174, 180, 185, 189190, 193, 292 visual art 103-104, 106-109, 308 Voldtofte 217 voyage 199-200, 208, 210, 214, 220 Wadi Araba 172 Wadi Faynan 121, 129 water 19, 113, 130, 138, 148, 171, 263-264, 264 n. 6 weapon 173, 258, 270 white 76, 111, 208, 287 Wilson, P.J. 34-35, 37, 44 world sea 263 worship 51-52, 54-56, 59, 82-83, 104, 115, 2013, 214, 293, 296 n. 53, 297 n. 58, 305, 350 yellow 36, 76, 87 Yhwh 291 n.  29, 294, 294 n.  44, 295-296, 296 nn.  53, 54, 297, 297 n.  59, 298, 298 nn.  62, 65, 299, 308, 308 n. 95, 309 Zeus 214-215 zoomorphic 111-112, 210, 213, 217, 219, 225

375

CONTRIBUTORS

Emmanuel Anati Centro Camuno di Studi Preistorici Via Santa Maria Vecchia 7 25044 Capo di Ponte (BS), Italy E-mail: [email protected] Marion Benz Institut für Vorderasiatische Archäologie, Institut für Orientalistik Albert-Ludwigs Universität, Freiburg Platz der Universität 3 79085 Freiburg i.Br., Germany E-mail: [email protected] Lisbeth Bredholt Christensen Danevirke Museum Ochsenweg 5 24867 Dannewerk, Germany E-mail: [email protected] Izaak J. de Hulster Faculty of  Theology University of  Helsinki PO Box 4 00014 University of  Helsinki, Finland E-mail: [email protected] Trine Bjørnung Hasselbalch Vesterbrogade 127 A, 3. Tv. 1620 København V, Denmark E-mail: [email protected] Bo Dahl Hermansen Rådmand Steins Alle 16B, 102 2000 Frederiksberg, Denmark E-mail: [email protected]

377

CONTRIBUTORS

Mads Kähler Holst Moesgård Museum Moesgård Allé 20 8270 Højbjerg, Denmark E-mail: [email protected] Flemming Kaul Nationalmuseet, Danmarks Oldtid Frederiksholms Kanal 12 1220 Copenhagen K, Denmark E-mail: [email protected] Lars Östman Department of  English, Germanic and Romance Studies University of  Copenhagen Njalsgade 128 2300 Copenhagen S, Denmark E-mail: [email protected] Klavs Randsborg SAXO Institute University of  Copenhagen Karen Blixens Vej 4 2300 Copenhagen S, Denmark Jesper Tae Jensen The Danish Institute for Mediterranean Studies (DIOMEDES) Amager Strandvej 158D, St Th. 2300 Copenhagen S, Denmark E-mail: [email protected] David A. Warburton Excellence Cluster Topoi Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin Hannoversche Straße 6 10099 Berlin, Germany E-mail: [email protected] Morten Warmind Department of  Cross-Cultural and Regional Studies University of  Copenhagen Karen Blixens Vej 4 2300 Copenhagen S, Denmark E-mail: [email protected]

378