Body Parts and Bodies Whole

1.    Body Parts and Bodies Whole: Introduction

Katharina Rebay-Salisbury, Marie Louise Stig Sørensen and Jessica Hughes

Several human heads lay in the corner of a room, surrounded by small ceramic fragments, their necks broken (Fig. 1.1). The viewer who chances upon this scene is immediately implicated in formulating a narrative. When and how were these ceramic heads shattered? Was it an accident, or an intentional act of violence? On closer inspection, the heads seem to have been carefully and deliberately arranged: their blank gazes follow the same axis of vision, while the smaller terracotta fragments are gathered into neat little piles at the bases of their necks hinting at the former existence of more parts. This trace of an unseen agent intensifies the viewer’s search for meaning. Who do these heads represent? What relationship do they bear to one another? Our impulse to identify individual ‘portraits’ is renounced by the identical clay faces, each of which wears the same benign expression. The message that the heads communicate is that they belong together: they are ‘parts’ of the (whole) group, as much as they are parts of the (absent) bodies from which they have – apparently – been removed.

Fig. 1.1: Ex-Votos – Men and Women (detail; photo courtesy of Christie Brown).

This intriguing scene is the creation of Christie Brown, a London-based artist whose sculptures engage with archaeology, mythology and psychoanalysis. Brown’s description of the work reveals how both the heads and smaller fragments recall – or literally embody – past objects and practices:

In Ex-Votos – Men and Women the heads are filled with the shards of past abandoned works, now destroyed as whole entities but reduced to indestructible fragments, which contain evidence of histories and memories. This work, which developed into a larger scale floor piece, made reference to the ancient practice of gifts to the gods in exchange for healing and was informed by an interest in the parallels between archaeology and psychoanalysis where layers are carefully stripped away to uncover knowledge. Referencing the cataloguing and classification of museum artefacts, each head was marked in black with dollar or yen signs to indicate their timeless worth and the making method of casting and press moulding refers to the patterns and repetitions in human life. Ex-Votos was part of a larger series of work entitled Between the Dog and the Wolf which explored metamorphoses and change (Christie Brown, pers. comm.).

This piece of contemporary art caught our attention because it dramatises a number of the themes that we wanted to investigate in this volume on body parts and bodies whole. Archaeologists routinely encounter parts of human and animal bodies in their excavations, as well as broken inorganic material. Such fragmentary evidence has often been created through accidental damage and the passage of time – nevertheless, it can also signify a deliberate and meaningful act of fragmentation. As a fragment a part may acquire a distinct meaning through its enchained relationship to the whole or alternatively it may be used in a more straightforward manner to represent the whole or even act as stand-in for other variables. In recent years, the volume of literature helping to make sense of this kind of evidence has grown, with much of the scholarship directly focussing on the body in pieces coming from a range of humanities and social science disciplines. For instance, an important volume edited by David Hillman and Carla Mazzio collected together body parts that were scattered through literary and cultural texts of early modern Europe (1997), Jonathan Sawday’s landmark study of The Body Emblazoned focused on anatomical dissection in the same period (1995), while Linda Nochlin’s (2001) The Body in Pieces has provided an overview of cropped, mutilated and ruined bodies in the art of the eighteenth century (cf. also Petrone and D’Onofrio 2004, Bynum 1991, Pingeot 1990).

Within archaeology, John Chapman’s work in particular has been concerned with the relationship between parts and whole. In his exploration of the relationship between whole and fragmented objects in the Balkan Neolithic (Chapman 2000), he suggested an interpretation of fragmentation in which social relations are built through a process of ‘enchainment’. This theory posits that the breaking of an object does not automatically entail its loss; on the contrary, the parts of the broken object can become independently meaningful and play a role in a variety of contexts. For instance, the distribution of parts of things or bodies between people can function as a marker of social relations. This echoes work on dividual personhood, in particular the hugely influential work of Marilyn Strathern (1988). With Bisserka Gaydarska, John Chapman expanded his work on artefact fragmentation by further exploring the biography of objects and their lifecycle in the monograph Parts and wholes (2007). Meanwhile, in comparison with the fragmentation of objects, the relationship between body parts and body wholes seems to introduce new dimensions to the ways people and things may be enchained. In particular, the impact of the life cycle including death and the challenges of the changeable body may inspire the construction of different conceptional frameworks which aim to confirm the character of the body or help in its transformation. From history and ethnography we have a wide range of examples showing how the body can be physically partitioned and transformed, how body parts may stand metonymically for whole bodies, or how parts may still be symbolically linked even when they are separated, or alternatively, how parts may be differentiated and their links to the whole severed. In all cases, body parts lose their original function when disarticulated from the whole, but at the same time they can acquire new meanings and significances.

In response, archaeological studies have begun to explore how body parts were circulated and may have played a role in the formation of social relations between deceased members of a community and between the dead and the living (Brück 2006, Brück 2009, Chapman 2000, Fowler 2001, Fowler 2002, Thomas 2000). Chris Fowler has recently taken the discussion further by defining and applying the concept of the fractal person more broadly to archaeology (Fowler 2008), and by comparing formal and structural similarities between bodies, substances and the environment to better understand the logical system in which bodies play a part.

These previous works have indicated something of the diversity of ways in which body parts and wholes can be presented and given meaning. By now it is commonly recognised that the image of the body in pieces does not necessarily indicate violence, death and poignant loss, but can communicate very different messages and be due to specific deliberate practices: body parts can stand metonymically for whole bodies, can function as objects of exchange, symbols of fertility, as well as proofs of ancestry and inheritance. In the same way, a variety of beliefs about where exactly human qualities and abilities are situated within the body exist, and these different cognitive body-maps inform cultural behaviour. In western culture, for instance, we often present the head as the locus of rationality and the heart as the locus of empathy.

The current volume expands on these ideas and approaches. Body Parts and Bodies Whole grew out of an interdisciplinary discussion held in the context of the Leverhulme-funded project ‘Changing Beliefs in the Human Body’. As we began to present the preliminary results of our research, the image of the body in pieces soon emerged as a potent site of attitudes about the body and associated practices in many periods. After several fruitful exchanges in our internal research seminars, we felt encouraged to open out the discussion to scholars working on other areas and with other kinds of contexts than our own. At a meeting of the European Association of Archaeologists at Zadar in September 2007, scholars from all over Europe, including Norway, Romania and Austria as well as the UK, participated in a session dedicated to this topic of body parts and bodies whole and their relationship to each other. Taking as its starting point the famous question of whether the whole is more than the sum of its parts, the session explored the juxtaposition between the human body as an integrated whole and a collection of pieces. But it did not satisfy itself with an abstract discourse on this relationship, rather it aimed to delve into how different contexts – diverse in their spatial, temporal and cultural characteristics – may question or rephrase the nature of these relationships and their implications for perceptions of the body. Most of the participants are contributors to this book, with a small number of new papers being added to ensure broader coverage.

This collection is different from previous work on body parts because it puts bodily fragmentation into a long-term historical perspective. As we saw above, many earlier studies of body parts focus on a single period, implicitly suggesting that the fragmentation of the body occurs uniquely or mainly at that particular point in history. At the same time, in the study of certain periods the fragmented body is very much pushed to the sidelines – students of classical antiquity, for instance, might be forgiven for thinking that the ancient Greek and Roman world was populated solely by impermeable, ideal bodies, since the art historical canon has traditionally excluded any evidence that speaks to the contrary. The temporal spread of the papers collected in this volume indicates both the consistent importance and the varied perception of body parts in the archaeological record of Europe and the Near East. By bringing these different case studies together, we hope to indicate how this fundamental practice might be explored with the aim of discovering changing beliefs about the relationship between body parts and bodies whole. Primarily, therefore, our aim is to encourage questioning of the status of the body in different cultural contexts.

Many of the following chapters deal directly with the physical remains of the dead body, but each case study brings a different insight to the role of body parts and body wholes. Amongst these, John Chapman’s provides a scrutiny of Later Balkan Prehistory, where the manipulation of bodies and body parts (variously configured as fragmentation, removal, re-combination, substitution and re-integration) was a regular social practice for the survivors of the prehistoric communities he studies. Jo Appleby brings a new perspective to our understanding of fragmentation as she uses burial evidence from the Early Bronze Age cemeteries of the Traisental in Lower Austria, to argue for the aging process as a process of fragmentation. Katharina Rebay-Salisbury focuses on cremation in Late Bronze and Early Iron Age central Europe; she uses this evidence to suggest that although cremation can be seen as a process of fragmentation, it does not necessarily destroy the sense of a bodily entity – the treatment of the burnt remains show the attempt to reconstitute the fragments as a whole body. Karina Croucher’s discussion of Neolithic sites from the ‘Near East’ shows an emphasis on the constructions of new bodies in death through the use of objects or animal bones. This suggests that bodily integrity was challenged through explicit discourses on the body and identity. Kirsi Lorentz’s chapter shows, by juxtaposing processes of bodily fragmentation in mortuary contexts and contemporary anthropomorphic depictions, how these were underpinned by fundamental concerns and social ideals in Chalcolithic Cyprus. Estella Weiss-Krejci discusses the history and changing meanings of heart burial in post-medieval German-speaking Europe between the twelfth and the seventeenth century AD and reveals the explicit political dimension associated with the possession of body parts, whereas Annia Cherryson shows yet another attitude to the body. She demonstrates the attitudes to the body as a corpse and commodity, which shine through in the records on dissection, post-mortem surgery and the retention of body parts from the mid-eighteenth to the midnineteenth century in Britain, when human corpses became an integral part of medical teaching.

Other chapters in the volume take their starting point in the different ways in which body parts are represented visually or in other ways stressed or materialised. Marie Louise Stig Sørensen considers Bronze Age embodiment from the perspective of how the social body was constructed within a structural framework that can be linked to maps and coordinates, showing how various adornments and performances were used by people of the European Bronze Age to accentuate and divide their bodies. Nona Palincaş, considering the ceramics from the Middle and Lower Danube, argues for a new interpretation based on perspectivism. Reviewing the compositional character of much of the ceramics where parts of bodies, animals, things and cosmological elements are combined, she argues for a Late Bronze Age perception of the world in which parts were interchangeable and in flux. Lotte Hedeager’s paper also addresses human-animal imagery and the fusion between these two forms, but her paper is set in the Late Iron/Viking Age of Scandinavia. She uses decorative traditions to show different notions of personhood, and to argue that the human ‘self’ was a hybrid embodiment, which far exceeded the sum of its many different parts. Jessica Hughes also looks at humananimal hybrids, this time as they appear in Graeco-Roman literary and material culture. Moving away from notions of fusion and addition, she argues that these beasts might also be seen as inherently unstable beings, prone to collapse and disassembly. Meanwhile, the practices considered in Ian Armit’s paper show how specific value and status may be granted to a particular part of the body, in this case the human head. He considers various practices in Iron Age Mediterranean France in which the detached head is used on its own. He discusses, for example, the sculptural representations of heads alongside human crania attached to monumental architecture, observing and theorising differences in how the image of the isolated head is treated over time.

Of course, the above division of the chapters into ‘real’ and ‘represented’ bodies is far from unproblematic. Whereas at one level we intuitively recognise human bones and ceramic vessels, as ‘body’ and as ‘object’, in reality the distinction is not so clear-cut and may be differently perceived in different cultural contexts. Objects and images can be, have, produce or modify bodies, while bodies can, in turn, be objects themselves. An obvious example of this continuous interplay is the crucifix in Christianity, a cross with the representation of Jesus’ body. The cross became a powerful symbol of religion and power, embodying whole sets of meanings during the history of the church – with and without the representation of the body it has the power to evoke memories, emotion and devotion. To draw some examples from the pages of this volume Marie Louise Stig Sørensen’s paper shows how objects can extend the body’s capacity, whereas Nona Palincaş’ and Lotte Hedager’s papers show the fusion between bodies and other entities. The classical statue presents a normative ideal for bodies to aspire to, while an underlying aim of early medical dissection was to discover the ‘standard body’. The dead body is also often treated as a material commodity and thus potentially also as a political and social resource. This is very clear in Estella Weiss-Krejci’s chapter, where the hearts of prince-bishops were coveted, exchanged and stolen by monastic communities over Europe; in turn, Annia Cherryson emphasises the practicalities of acquiring the corpses as a material resource for teaching. Finally, the often elaborate arrangement and display of dead bodies also blurs the boundary between reality and representation as Ian Armit strikingly shows in his description of the arrangement of the crania in the portico in Iron Age Gaul (Fig. 9.8).

The practices and representations covered in this volume confirm the sheer variability of treatments of the body throughout human history. At the same time, the juxtaposition of these different data sets reveals several interesting thematic overlaps. For instance, a number of the case studies can be tied into John Chapman’s theory of enchainment. Jo Appleby’s paper, for example, reads the fragmentation of the aging body as implicated in a process of temporal enchainment which serves to link communities with their ancestral past. Meanwhile, Estella Weiss-Krejci’s detailed study of medieval heart burials shows bodies being fragmented and then dispersed to create invisible links, not only between the dead person and the place where the heart was buried, but also between the places which held the heart, the intestines and (the remainder of ) the body. John Chapman’s own paper shows how the fragmentation of the body served to create a specific kind of enchained personhood rather than simply the denial of individual identity.

Another recurring theme which can be read across the volume concerns the relationship between humans and animals. The chapters by Lotte Hedeager, Jessica Hughes and Nona Palincaş all deal with images that can be described as human and animal ‘hybrids’, although that term implies a structural distinction between humans and animals which may not have applied in all past societies. Indeed, Lotte Hedeager sees her Late Iron Age images as the product of a world in which man and animal were not clearly distinguished; Jessica Hughes, on the other hand, sees the classical images themselves as actively doing the cultural work of distinguishing, reinforcing and naturalising the boundaries between animals and men. The theme of human and animal relations also surfaces in other chapters which deal with body parts in the mortuary record. Karina Croucher, for instance, shows how the treatment of human bones in secondary burials was mirrored in treatment of animal bones and broken artefacts.

A number of the papers also draw our attention to the figure of the viewer, whose act of contemplating a body or an object can alter its meaning. What is revealed and what is concealed at any one moment depends on the viewer’s position. Nona Palincaş, for example, shows how viewing the Danube ceramics from different perspectives changes the object from a human to an animal representation. The narrative designs on Lotte Hedager’s Late Iron Age objects suggest intimate links to wider cosmological structures, while Kirsi Lorenz argues that the Cypriot figurines can be read in multiple ways, including viewing them as wholes and as single body parts. Similarly, the viewer’s movement around a sarcophagus, or their turning-over of a vessel, can change what is seen from male to female, human to animal. All these examples remind us that the objects under consideration were deeply implicated with the bodies and the movements of their users as well as being parts of wider cultural practices.

These are just a few of the themes that can be read across the whole volume; there are many others, and the reader is invited to construct their own links between the various chapters and case studies. However, every one of the contributions shows how looking at how the human body is divided into pieces or parts can give us deeper insights into the beliefs of the particular society which produced these practices and representations.

And what about our own society? The twenty-first century has witnessed some dramatic changes in how the human body is broken down and reassembled. Organ transplants, skin grafts, reproductive and other biomedical technologies have completely revolutionised our most deep-seated perceptions about where the boundaries between bodies are located. The advances in the Human Genome Project have produced a fractal notion of personhood whereby each ‘individual’ can be reduced to a single cell which contains all their data. This understanding of the body is not sequestered inside the laboratory, but impinges on everyday life in very concrete ways. Victims of catastrophe, for instance, no longer need to be identified from their fingerprints or dental records; instead, it is enough to have a tiny trace of biological tissue. Any part of the human body is enough to identify the whole.

Such a paradigmatic shift in how the ‘individual’ human body is broken down and related to others induces a certain amount of anxiety about the retention of personal identity. It is only when looking at other cultures that we recognise the inevitability of profound change, and the contingency of our own ‘traditional’ views of the body. Realising that ours is not, and never has been, the ‘only way’ to view the human body will perhaps make us feel less apprehensive as we watch it mutate and disappear.

References

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Brück, J. 2006. Death, Exchange and Reproduction in the British Bronze Age. European Journal of Archaeology 9, 1: 73–101.

Brück, J. 2009. Women, Death and Social Change in the British Bronze Age. Norwegian Archaeological Review 42, 1: 1–23.

Bynum, C. W. (1991) Fragmentation and Redemption: Essays on Gender and the Human Body in Medieval Religion. New York: Urzone Publishers.

Chapman, J., and B. Gaydarska. 2007. Parts and Wholes. Fragmentation in Prehistoric Context. Oxford: Oxbow.

Chapman, J. C. 2000. Fragmentation in archaeology: People, places and broken objects in the prehistory of South-eastern Europe. London: Routledge.

Fowler, C. 2001. Personhood and social relations in the British Neolithic with a case study from the Isle of Man. Journal of Material Culture 6: 137–163.

Fowler, C. 2002. Body parts: personhood and materiality in the Manx Neolithic, in Y. Hamilakis, M. Pluciennik, and S. Tarlow (eds) Thinking through the body: archaeologies of corporeality. 47–69. London: Kluwer Academic/Plenum Publishers.

Fowler, C. 2004. The archaeology of personhood: an anthropological approach. London: Routledge.

Fowler, C. 2008. Fractal bodies in the past and present, in D. Borić and J. Robb (eds) Past Bodies. Body-Centred Research in Archaeology. 47–58. Oxford: Oxbow.

Hall, S. 2000. Who needs ‘identity’?, in P. du Gay, J. Evans, and P. Redman (eds) Identity: a reader. 15–30. London: Sage.

Hillman, D., and C. Mazzio (eds) 1997. The body in parts. Fantasies of corporeality in early modern Europe. London: Routledge.

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Nochlin, L. 2001. The Body in Pieces. London: Thames & Hudson.

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Sørensen, M. L. S., K. Rebay-Salisbury, and L. Bender Jørgensen(eds) in preparation. Embodied Knowledge: Historical Perspectives on Technology and Belief. Oxford: Oxbow.

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2.    Bodies in pieces in the Neolithic Near East

Karina Croucher

Recent anthropological and archaeological literature has highlighted the possibilities of alternative experiences of personhood and the body, showing that bodily identity can be substantially different from our modern Western perspectives and understandings. Concepts such as dividual, partible and permeable persons have been discussed by Strathern (2000), Bird-David (1991), Busby (1997) and others, offering insights into a variety of experiences of the human body. Literature theorising the body has discussed the varied roles of bodies, which can be sites for performance (Butler 1993; Morris 1995; Roscoe 1998; Joyce 2008; Perry and Joyce 2001; Gill et al. 2005), reflections of beliefs and ideals, tools for communication, and mediums through which perceptions and understandings of the world are constructed (Devisch 1993; James 1986; Roach-Higgins and Eicher 1992; Masquelier 1996). Bodies can also be used as devices for participating in community activity and expressing community ideals (Turner 1991; Giddens 1991; Shilling 1994), as demonstrated in ethnographic works on rites of passage, for example amongst the Nuer of Sudan (Polhemus 1978) or the Ga’anda of Northeast Nigeria (Berns 1986, 1988). These examples have been taken from across the globe and are situated within their own historical contexts; thus, rather than indicating universal themes, they demonstrate the variety of human experience with relation to concepts of the body and identity.

In the early 1990s, Shilling (1993) and Giddens (1991) argued that the concept of individuality was a construct of modernity when, in the absence of community identity, the individual body became the focus for attention. Their work indicates that we should be thinking differently about the body and identity construction in the past, rather than projecting our modern Western expectations and experiences onto archaeological material. In the same vein, neither should we unthinkingly apply to the past models drawn from modern ethnographic case studies. Yet ethnography does serve to demonstrate the variety of human experience, and enable us to think beyond modern, Western expectations and experiences. Such reflections are demonstrated in studies of British and European prehistory, most notably in the works of Fowler (2001; 2004), Thomas (2004), Chapman (2000) and Brück (2001, 2005, 2006).

Research into Near Eastern prehistory has contrasted with that of British and European practices, with Near Eastern approaches focused on large-scale grand narratives, with ethnographies often used in more of an analogous manner than would be desired. However, there are exceptions, and a growing number of scholars are demonstrating more nuanced uses of ethnography and a contrast from the previous grand-narrative interpretations (i.e. Boyd 2004; 2005; Campbell 2007–8; Jones 2009, and others). Adding to this body of research, this paper explores how alternative perceptions and experiences of the body can be discussed in relation to archaeology from the Neolithic of Southwest Asia (traditionally named the ‘Near East’), primarily using mortuary evidence. This work both discusses alternative approaches to the concept of the body in modern Western thought, and offers small-scale, bottom-up approaches, contrasting with the large-scale grand narratives traditionally seen in Near Eastern prehistory. Following a brief discussion of death and archaeological approaches to mortuary material, I will introduce three case studies (Fig. 2.1): Çayönü Tepesi’s Skull Building (c. 7600–6600 BC), Domuztepe’s Death Pit (c. 5500 BC), and the sites of Yarim Tepe I and II. It will become clear that notions of ‘individuality’ may not have been intended in the mortuary domain at these sites and that concepts of fragmentation and circulation are more suitable interpretations for this evidence. Interpretations of Domuztepe and Yarim Tepe build on an analysis of this material by Campbell (2007–8), who locates the fragmentation of the deceased with situating ancestors in the locales of the living, and discusses the role of mortuary practices in structuring settlement and social landscapes. A final fourth case study will offer insights into ‘whole’ bodies in the mortuary arena, through the sites of Sabi Abyad, Hakemi Use and Arpachiyah.

Fig. 2.1: Location of sites.

Death and mortuary practice

For us in the modern West, death is perceived as the final event in life. Whilst ashes may be retained or graves revisited, these are usually memorial devices, and rarely reflect a belief that the dead still somehow inhabit the physical remains. Yet this version of the relationship between the living and the dead is far from universal. As prominent works such as Bloch’s (1988) investigation of Madagascan practices, and Barley’s (1995) exploration of death in Indonesia have revealed, in many communities a strong connection is maintained with the remains of the deceased. Physical interactions with the deceased are often continued beyond death, with the living very actively touching and moving the dead. Amongst the most famous examples are the Madagascan Famadihana practices (Bloch 1971; Larson 2001), which involve the removal of bones from tombs, rewrapping, and ‘dancing the dead’. The dead are perceived as still having an identity, a position within society, and a purpose; the same applies in some societies to the unborn child (Hockey 2005), where the actual possession of a physical body is not an essential requirement for having an identity and perceived existence.

In addition to the sense of touch, experienced through the processing and physical contact of human remains, other senses are experienced in dealings with the dead. Smell is one often overlooked by archaeologists, who deal primarily (at least in Near Eastern archaeology) with dry, sterile bones, rather than fleshed or decomposing remains (Croucher and Campbell 2009; Croucher forthcoming). Taste can also play a role in mortuary practices, in terms of participating in funerary feasts and communal eating, as well as rarer cases of consumption of the deceased. In our own world such practices would be considered vile and depraved; nevertheless, ethnographic sources demonstrate that this is not a universal reaction. Beth Conklin (2001) shows how, amongst the Wari of Amazonian Brazil, eating the dead can indicate reverence, respect and honour. Hertz (1960: 32–33) has discussed mortuary practices amongst the Dayak of Borneo, where decompositional fluids of dead royalty would be collected as they decomposed, mixed with rice and consumed during the funeral. Clearly interactions with the dead vary hugely; in this respect we should not be surprised to find past practices and beliefs which are far removed from our own experiences.

Within Near Eastern archaeology, and archaeology more broadly, mortuary practices have traditionally been viewed as indicators of social hierarchies and complexity, identifying the status of the deceased, and the complexity of the community more widely (Saxe 1970; Binford 1971; Tainter 1978). Whilst it is challenged by post-processual and interpretative archaeologies, this traditional approach is still dominant in studies of the Near East, with the use of large-scale patterns, frameworks and chronologies (i.e. Flannery 1998; Kuijt and Goring-Morris 2002). Material is slotted into its correct position on a social-evolutionary developmental framework according to subsistence strategy and complexity, from hunter-gathering, to agriculture, and ultimately city-states, with the identification of a chronology of culture-groups, such as the ‘Ubaid’ or ‘Halaf ’. These groups are often perceived as almost ‘real entities’ in the past, with their identification often given more attention than the analysis of actual practices and events (see Campbell 1992a, 1998, 2007; Croucher and Campbell 2009; Croucher 2005a; Watkins 1998 for more on this discussion).

Whilst the development of such frameworks has been a necessary and valuable development, they present a far more simplistic view of the past than is actually suggested by the evidence, and often lead to complexities and differences being overlooked (Barrett 2005). The evidence provides opportunities for the study of a range of avenues, including discussions of families or gender, human-animal relationships, or relationships and engagements with material culture and the landscape. Only recently are these areas becoming focal points for discussion in studies of Near Eastern prehistory.¹

The discussion of such transitory, elusive and often ambiguous concepts as identity, bodily experience and relationships clearly presents many challenges. The most obvious way to start, I would suggest, is by examining the evidence on a small, immediate scale, from the ‘bottom up’ (Shanks and Tilley 1992; Hodder 1986). So, in my analysis of the mortuary evidence, I will focus on individual sites, and features within sites, rather than on a whole region, period or ‘type’ of burial.

Domuztepe

My first case study is that of the Death Pit at Domuztepe, situated in the Karahmanmaras region of SE Anatolia, and dated to the mid 6th millennium BC. The Death Pit, which is the focus of my case study,