Lecture

HOMOGENEITY VERSUS DIVERSITY: DYNAMICS OF THE CENTRAL ANATOLIAN NEOLITHIC

Roger MATTHEWS
Institute of Archaeology, University College London, 31-34 Gordon Square, London WC1H 0PY, UK.
roger.matthews@ucl.ac.uk

                                                                                       
Introduction

In this paper I wish to consider two basic issues relating to the Neolithic of Central Anatolia:

1. Internal dynamics. Is Central Anatolia a culturally homogeneous entity during the 9th–6th millennia cal BC? To what extent is there cultural diversity between the western part (Çatalhöyük) and the eastern part (Asikli Höyük) of Central Anatolia? Do large sites differ from small sites?

2. External dynamics. Is Central Anatolia a culturally isolated, self-contained region in the Neolithic? How does it relate to contemporary developments in neighbouring regions?

In attempting to answer these rather broad and interconnected questions the aim is to explore wide concerns of origins, development and regional interaction. Initially, however, some general points are worth making. At the most basic level, we need to bear in mind that research into the Anatolian Neolithic is still at a young stage. It was only 45 years ago that Seton Lloyd could assert that ‘the greater part of modern Turkey, and especially the region more correctly described as Anatolia, shows no sign whatever of habitation during the Neolithic period’ (Lloyd 1956:53), a lack ascribed by Lloyd to climatic severity, particularly the ‘extreme cold of the Anatolian winter’ (1956:53). In fact by this time James Mellaart had already spotted the mound of Çatalhöyük from a distance (in 1952), although identification of its full Neolithic significance had to wait till November 1958 when Mellaart, David French and Alan Hall detected Neolithic materials all over the main mound of the site, followed by excavations through the 1960s (Mellaart 1967). As a subject for study, then, the Neolithic of Central Anatolia is barely 40 years old.

Mehmet Özdogan has underlined the relative paucity of fieldwork within the Neolithic of Turkey in general. According to his figures, in the past thirty years there have been excavations of about 30 Neolithic settlement sites in Turkey, compared to about 300 in the Balkans and about 400 in the Levant (Özdogan 2001:39). Although he has concluded that ‘the available evidence of Anatolian Neolithic is not yet adequate to manipulate complex theoretical assessments’ (Özdogan 1999:11), the currently healthy state of research into this topic, epitomised by the holding of this conference, will hopefully encourage us all to be a little bolder as time goes by.

A second, and related, important preliminary point, again already stressed by Özdogan (Özdogan 1999:11), is that there are substantial gaps in our knowledge of the Neolithic of Anatolia from place to place and period to period. The fact that much of Turkey remains substantially unexplored, or only cursorily explored, in terms of its early prehistoric past means that we can have little confidence in the size and reliability of our sample universe. Of course as fieldwork progresses from year to year this problem will gradually diminish, we hope, but for now we need to be aware that the four regions of Turkey so far studied with some intensity from a Neolithic aspect (Urfa/Diyarbakir, Konya/Aksaray, Lake District, Marmara region – see Özdogan 1999:11) are presently islands of light in a large ocean of darkness.

It is worth mentioning at this point that negative evidence needs also to be taken into consideration in dealing with the Neolithic of Anatolia. Thus, the fact that regional surveys in Northern Anatolia have consistently failed to find convincing evidence of Neolithic settlement can no longer be ascribed solely to a lack of suitable investigation and must now be considered as potentially a real feature of the archaeological record and treated accordingly. In effect, Seton Lloyd’s words of 1956 still hold true for the northern half of the Anatolian plateau and we currently lack an adequate explanation for what increasingly appears to be a genuine and substantial hiatus in settlement. Fortunately that particular issue lies beyond the scope of this paper.

Internal dynamics: the cultural identity of Central Anatolia in the Neolithic

This issue can best be addressed by examining the evidence from several key excavated sites of the region. There is not the time or space here to examine all aspects of the material culture of relevant excavated sites, relatively few as they are, and so I am going to focus on those aspects which might in some way impinge on our understanding of ideology and social structure of the Neolithic communities of Central Anatolia. I am here following the approach of Earle in his recent cross-cultural study of chiefdoms How chiefs come to power (Earle 1997), although I am not thereby suggesting that there is evidence for the existence of chiefdoms in the Neolithic of Central Anatolia. In particular, I am concerned to explore how ‘the materialisation of ideology’, to use Earle’s phrase (1997:151), might manifest itself in concrete ways in the archaeological evidence from a range of sites.

I begin with Çatalhöyük, where the materialised evidence for ideology appears to be unusually rich. Here a series of levels of mud-brick houses, tightly packed and constructed atop each other through a period of 700 years, were excavated by James Mellaart (1967), with more recent work by Ian Hodder (1999). The evidence from Çatalhöyük is well enough known for me not to have present it in detail, nor is there the time, and so I will concentrate on selected points.

Firstly, I want to stress the evidence for the consistently structured nature of material culture at Çatalhöyük. It seems that virtually every building follows a code of practice that dictates its construction and layout as well as its use and abandonment. Mellaart’s work at the macro scale and Hodder’s work at the micro scale conjoin in underlining the pervasive force of this code. Elements include eschewal of party walls (thus giving each building its own four walls), adherence to south-north and east-west principles as regards the conduct of activities such as entering buildings, cooking at hearths, storing foodstuffs, sitting or lying on platforms, decorating wall surfaces, and burying the dead. In general these codes of practice are reasonably well known and I am not going to explicate them in detail here (Forest 1993). My point is that the adherence to such codes of practice has something to tell us about social behaviour at Çatalhöyük. The entire archaeological record from Çatalhöyük seems to have something to say about the materialisation of ideology. But perhaps the record from every site can serve in this way if we know how to read it.

Secondly, attempts to see some of the buildings as special structures, shrines or priestly residences (Mellaart 1967:77–8) are no longer convincing in light of the ubiquity and consistency of social practice at the settlement. If buildings differ, in terms of layout, decorative elaboration, under-floor burials or artefacts left on floors, it appears more likely to be a matter of when in that building’s individual life history it has become incorporated into the archaeological record, rather than a matter of the intrinsic activity focus of that building. All buildings appear to fluctuate through their lifetimes along a spectrum of elaboration and domesticity, with elements of both extremes always present.

What can we say about an ideology of Çatalhöyük? The overwhelming message appears to be one of cultural egalitarianism. But if we look for evidence of the types of materialised ideology specified by Earle, we might gain a better foothold on the cliffs of interpretation. Earle sees as critical the conduct of public ceremonies, the use of symbolic objects, and the construction and maintenance of public monuments and landscapes (1997:153–8), as archaeologically detectable materialisations of ideology.

1. Public ceremonies/social practice. In one sense, the above-mentioned codes of practice attested by the buildings at Çatalhöyük point to a shared community of experience at the site that might be seen as assuming the role of public ceremony, even if they fail to meet a conventional definition of what public ceremony should be. What about wall-paintings? Depictions of groups of humans with animals, admittedly rare, may show scenes of communal practice or ceremony rather than conventional hunting scenes per se. Animals are depicted as being taunted (tongue and tail-pulling) rather than being successfully caught and killed. The mood is one of social cooperation and endeavour as well as excitement and activity, all elements of public ceremony. People act together to achieve a result, which may ultimately be the perpetuation of their social modes of being. Such is a prime role of ideology. The presence of headless, bichrome human figures in several of these communal scenes may indicate the significance of lineage respect in such ceremonies, as headless bodies occur as burials within buildings and skulls occur as building foundation deposits. The occurrence of figurative communal scenes only in the later levels at Çatalhöyük may indicate a need more explicitly to articulate a social ideology at a time of social change and development. Repeated portrayals of human hands, often in groups of several dozen, may also give a sense of social cooperation or public ceremony in the broad sense – ‘all hands’ to the task, as Mellaart put it (1967:165). The role of the animal wall-paintings in terms of legitimating an emergent elite, allowed exclusive access to the privilege of taunting and killing spectacular ‘wild’ animals, analogous to that of Assyrian royal lion-hunt scenes, remains open to debate.

2. Symbolic objects. By definition, symbolic objects are highly significant within the context of materialised ideology. Insofar as they can be procured, exchanged, donated, confiscated, inherited and buried they play a role within the generation and implementation of social relationships. Such objects may serve as ritual paraphernalia and/or as symbols of social status in a more secular setting. Mellaart identified stone statuettes as serving as cult foci for use in shrines (Mellaart 1967:180), but there is a danger of a circularity of argument here as it was partly the presence of such statuettes that caused Mellaart to identify specific buildings as shrines. The high variety of stone statuettes from Çatalhöyük suggests again an egalitarian and multi-sourced aspect to its ideology, lacking a consistency of representation that a dominant and domineering ideology might dictate. It may be that particular lineages adhered to particular gods or to particular aspects of gods.

Mellaart suggested that depictions of vultures may represent humans dressed in cultic paraphernalia rather than real vultures (Mellaart 1967:167), and this idea finds an echo in the remarkable deposit of wings, presumably originally with feathers attached, from vultures, eagles and bustards found at the 9th millennium cal BC site of Zawi Chemi Shanidar in northern Iraq (Solecki 1977). Here we see the role of specific objects within a materialised narrative of death and disposal which may again be connected to the importance of lineages at Çatalhöyük, as the portrayal of headless corpses in vulture paintings once more brings us to the link with headless burials and skulls as significant events in the history of specific buildings.

Other candidates for symbolic objects include clay figurines, bone belt fasteners and elegantly manufactured flint daggers with carved bone handles, according to Mellaart found only ‘as gifts in shrines or with male burials beneath shrines’ (Mellaart 1967:208), but again there is a danger of circularity of argument. The important point here is to note the wealth and variety of symbolically charged artefacts participating in the daily interactions of social life at Çatalhöyük.

3. Public monuments and landscapes. There is no evidence yet for truly exceptional structures at Çatalhöyük, such as are now well known from Southeast Anatolia and, less dramatically, from closer sites such as Asikli Höyük (see below). Much of the site remains unexcavated, however, and we must also consider the possibility of public monuments being constructed and used in the surrounding landscape rather than inside the settlement where there may have been inadequate space. Certainly, communal meetings of all of the several thousand of inhabitants of Çatalhöyük at any one time would have required substantial areas of open space.
In this regard I would like to return to the few figurative wall-paintings for some clues about constructed landscapes as arenas for social discourse. In these paintings, as I have mentioned, we see the practice of taunting and teasing of wild animals as a focus for social activity. The best modern parallels for such practices are perhaps bull-fighting, bull-running, rodeo-riding, and the like. In all cases there is a need to exercise control over the supply of such animals in order that they are available for public ceremonies. I believe there is every possibility that large wild animals, such as boar, cattle and deer, were captured while young and raised in corals in the vicinity of the settlement at Çatalhöyük, ready for use in public ceremony. Such corals and ceremonial enclosures may thus have formed part of the constructed landscape of the settlement and its environs.

I would now like to look at Asikli Höyük in a similar manner. Let me begin by saying that in comparing Asikli Höyük with Çatalhöyük we are not really comparing like with like, because the two sites are not contemporary. What we may see as structural differences may in fact relate to the chronological dimension. This issue will not be addressed adequately until we find and excavate a substantial ECA I site on the Konya Plain or a substantial ECA II–III site in Western Cappadocia, if such sites even exist. In the meantime we need to be very cautious in making statements about points of contrast between the two sites.
To take Earle’s scheme in the context of Asikli Höyük, then, I begin with:

1. Public ceremonies/social practice. As with Çatalhöyük, I approach this element from the point of view of settlement layout and use of space, in the absence of any more direct evidence. There is considerable consistency in the use of space through time at Asikli Höyük, with structures built one on top of another through centuries of occupation, again suggesting both a concern with adherence to codes of practice in the architectural context and perhaps with lineages through long time periods. There is also some consistency in the ways in which individual buildings are built and used, although the cardinal division of space so well attested at Çatalhöyük is not so pervasive at Asikli. The presence of a substantial street and probable non-domestic buildings in the large exposures of level 2 made at Asikli indicate a concern with settlement layout through time, assuming that there are earlier versions of the non-domestic buildings underlying the excavated examples, just as there are with the street, at a level above that of the purely domestic. Who was organising and materialising such a concern? At present we have little idea. Even the statement that Asikli was ‘a society working under a leader or group of rulers, a busy, cooperative, and well organised group’ (Esin and Harmankaya 1999:130) is open to question.

2. Symbolic objects. It is striking that in figurative art there is such a poor representation of objects at Asikli, only one small clay animal figurine having been recovered (Esin and Harmankaya 1999:130). Here we have a marked contrast to Çatalhöyük. Apart from the great wealth of obsidian artefacts and debris, possibly significant objects comprise polished bone belt fasteners, and beads of agate and copper. The extent to which Asikli was involved in control of exploitation and trade in obsidian is itself a matter of debate. Overall, in terms of symbolic objects, the feeling is of a community much less concerned than Çatalhöyük with the materialisation of ideology through such means. Such a distinction may indicate a chronological trend towards increasing concern with symbolic objects as the Neolithic of Central Anatolia progressed, perhaps as a means of regularising or manipulating social relations between individuals.

3. Public monuments. In level 2 of Asikli there is a building complex substantially differing from the typical domestic plan, comprising structures HV and T in the southwest corner of the settlement. These rooms contain painted floors and benches, and a portico overlooking the Melendiz River, as well as associated burials. Points of comparison have been made with the Terrazzo Building at Çayönü and the Temple at Nevali Çori (Esin and Harmankaya 1999:124), and could also be made with the Shrine Phase of Höyücek in the Lake District (Duru 1999:176–7). A red-painted structure similar to Building T also occurs at the nearby site of Musular (Özbasaran 1999:150). Another possibly public structure is the enclosure wall in the northeast part of the settlement, associated with red-painted rooms and burials, which may also indicate a special purpose for this part of the site. To some extent, then, we have better evidence for social differentiation, as architecturally expressed, from Asikli than we do from Çatalhöyük, but we need to keep in mind the fact that a much greater proportion of the 3.5–4 hectare settlement at Asikli has been excavated than of the 13.5 hectare settlement at Çatalhöyük.

The two large sites of Çatalhöyük and Asikli, even looked at in this cursory and selective way, already show quite marked points of divergence in the ways in which their ideology, in the widest sense, is materialised. Other papers at this conference may highlight further divergences in terms of subsistence economy or architecture, which are not touched upon here.

I would now like to look briefly at the two small sites of Suberde and Erbaba in order to see if we can detect points of divergence or convergence between them and the large sites already examined. These two sites lie on the eastern fringes of the Lake District and can be considered western outliers of the Konya Plain (Duru 1999). Due to the rather random manner in which Suberde was excavated, and its lack of suitable publication, we cannot say a great deal about it. Radiocarbon dates suggest an occupation from mid-8th to early 7th millennia cal BC, overlapping with early Çatalhöyük, that is ECA II. Duru has suggested that the lack of pottery at Suberde may be a cultural trait rather than a chronological one (Duru 1999:187). Suggestions that Suberde may have functioned as a specialised hunting camp for sheep/goat have not met with approval (Payne 1972), but the presence of wild boar bones, boar figurines and ornaments made of boars’ tusks may indicate a special significance for these animals (Yakar 1991:175). Here alone we see an element of the site perhaps more attuned to the symbolically charged atmosphere of Çatalhöyük rather than that of Asikli, but again we need to be aware of the chronological dimension.

Also difficult to compare with Çatalhöyük and Asikli, is the nearby site of Erbaba, located on the eastern bank of Lake Beysehir (Duru 1999; Yakar 1991). Occupation here spans the second half of the 7th millennium cal BC, overlapping with upper Çatalhöyük, thus belonging to ECA III. Use of stone foundations and red painted floors has parallels with some of the architecture of Asikli, but also with that of Hacilar to the west of the lakes. The closely packed architecture of Erbaba, with occasional courts and alleys and access through the roof, is very much in the Central Anatolian tradition, even if built of stone rather than mud-brick. There are no suggestions of public structures, and representative art is restricted to three fragmentary human figurines of clay. A rich assemblage of worked bone and antler tools, including a piece of a polished bone belt fastener, match well with materials from Çatalhöyük and Asikli.

In sum, when we look at the internal picture of the Neolithic in Central Anatolia, we are presented with many points of convergence in architecture, symbolic objects and other aspects of lifestyle, but always accompanied by points of divergence too. I think the key point is that the environmental diversity of such a large region would inevitably lead to significant divergences in many aspects of the human communities settled across this region. Even where we can detect points of convergence, such as in the use of red-painted floors or stone foundations, it is not at all clear that such convergences result from genuine and regular communication across several hundred kilometres or just parallel and essentially isolated developments of specific strategies of living. We still need far more securely excavated and well-published information on this and many other issues.

External dynamics: the relations of Central Anatolia with neighbouring regions in the Neolithic

Again, there is not the time to do more than make some very general observations about this topic. I would like to consider Central Anatolia in the light of excavated material from sites in other regions of Turkey, with the focus on some specific traits that we have discerned in the above internal study.

1. Architectural continuity. As we have seen, there is a very strong trait of locational, constructional and functional continuity in the architecture of Central Anatolia, with buildings at least similar, often more or less identical, in size, orientation, plan and location, being constructed successively through long time periods, as we see at Çatalhöyük and Asikli in particular. This continuity of practice can be sharply contrasted with a much more fluid trajectory attested in sequences of architecture at Hacilar and Höyücek in the Lake District (Mellaart 1970; Duru 1999), Çayönü (A. Özdogan 1999) and Cafer Höyük (Cauvin et al. 1999) in Southeast Anatolia, Yumuktepe on the Mediterranean coast (Caneva 1999) and Ilipinar in northwest Anatolia (Roodenberg 1999), at all of which sites architectural layouts and construction methods alter quite dramatically through time, while not necessarily accompanied by significant changes in other elements of surviving material culture. We could also point to the lack of evidence for fortification in the architecture of Central Anatolia, in contrast to equivocal evidence from Lake District sites such as Kuruçay in the ECA III period and Hacilar in the ECA IV period (Duru 1999).

2. The role of hunting. A stress on hunting within the Neolithic of Central Anatolia has often been underlined, and appears to be supported by the evidence of wild animals in the zooarchaeological assemblages from Çatalhöyük and Asikli, as well as the wall-paintings from Çatalhöyük. We need to bear in mind, however, the suggestions made at this conference and elsewhere that animals exploited at these two sites may have been a long way down the road to domestication, even if morphologically not clearly so, and that wall-paintings, as suggested above, may depict animals whose condition could be described as tamed, at least. Nevertheless, the evidence from sites such as Yumuktepe (Caneva 1999:112–3) does suggest that certain areas outside Central Anatolia employed subsistence strategies more rooted in exploitation of a restricted suite of domesticates.

3. The role of symbolism. We have seen above that the Neolithic of Central Anatolia includes much that appears to be highly charged with symbolic meaning, even if the meanings themselves remain elusive. This symbolism manifests itself in architectural and artefactual materialisations, as we have seen. Other papers here will examine the nature of symbolic divergence/convergence as regards the wider context of Central Anatolia, but I think we are safe in saying that many of the specifics of symbolism at, above all, Çatalhöyük do not find good comparanda anywhere else in the Neolithic of Anatolia. This site still stands out as unique and as a unique representative of the Neolithic of Central Anatolia. Its continued investigation and explication remain a major challenge for the future study of the Neolithic of Central Anatolia.

In sum, I believe we can still agree, 35 years later, with the statement by James Mellaart that ‘it would be premature to speculate further about the ancestry of Çatal Hüyük until excavation has been carried further, nor would a comparison with contemporary cultures in the Near East be of any profit as long as so much intervening territory remains to be explored, and other key-sites remain unpublished’ (Mellaart 1967:226–7). In spite of all the great achievements of the past 35 years, we still have almost everything to learn about the internal and external dynamics of the Central Anatolian Neolithic.

References

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Go to the related debate (Panel : Frederic Gerard, Laurens Thissen)