Afterword 2: Contextualizing Houses, Households, and Homes in the Classical World and Beyond

Defining the Household

Perhaps most strikingly, the reader is treated to wonderfully vivid pictures. For example, Dorothy Thompson’s portrait of a Ptolemaic village in the South Fayum in chapter 4 sets the physical structures of the houses among the other amenities of the village and identifies the inhabitants of this village by their names, ages, family relationships, occupations, and sometimes ethnicities. Such details show how houses (and the individuals dwelling within them) lay enmeshed within wider physical and social networks. Other textual sources, such as those drawn on by Youssri Abdelwahed in chapter 6, offer more specific information about various locations around and within the house: in this case, where violent assaults were alleged to have taken place. Although the layout of the domestic environment is more in evidence here in the pinpointing of the settings for these incidents, it still constitutes a backdrop, and as such its organization is not described in detail. By contrast, the material remains of the houses themselves provide vivid detail of a different kind, as Bethany Simpson demonstrates in chapter 2. Specifically, one of the strengths of the archaeological record is that it enables us to reconstruct physical relationships between spaces: relationships which must have both shaped, and been shaped by, the lives of the inhabitants of these villages and towns. Thus, two fundamentally different sources of evidence (texts and archaeology) offer the opportunity to reach an understanding of Egyptian society that encompasses an unusually wide variety of dimensions.

The immense quantity of evidence not only offers the possibility of telling the unique story of an individual household, as attested through a single document or archive, or through a specific domestic building, it also offers the prospect of constructing a more generalized picture of continuities and discontinuities across settlements and regions, or between social groups. In chapter 7, Richard Alston describes a few of the difficulties involved in making this kind of leap in scale, in relation to Bourdieu’s famous interpretation of the Kabyle house as a macrocosm of Kabyle society.¹ But such a step can arguably be taken by aggregating evidence, as a number of the chapters here demonstrate. A rigorous theoretical framework can assist in this process, helping to frame questions and to order the information that might help to address them. In chapter 8, Anna Boozer’s use of Lynn Meskell’s concept of “material habitus” shows nicely how such theoretical perspectives can be crucial aids in this process.² Frameworks like these enable us to move systematically beyond simply reconstructing the physical settings of a single house or group of houses, and toward understanding the more general patterns of social interactions. At the same time, they facilitate a reorientation away from culture-historical observation toward a more analytical perspective.

Together, the case studies gathered in this volume ask a fundamental question: How should the household be defined, both physically and socially, in research on the Egyptian context? Discussions of the “household” in archaeological studies have tended to focus on its collective productive, reproductive, and symbolic activities.³ Thompson adopts a somewhat more inclusive definition in chapter 4, encompassing also those who “lived, ate, and slept together … or joined in daily activities.” The degree of specificity about household membership that the evidence affords is also illustrated by a number of the other chapters, including the very particular contexts of the creditor-debtor arrangements discussed in chapter 5 by Sabine Huebner. Then, in chapter 7, Alston challenges the validity of the standard anthropological terminology to describe the relationships between household members, because that terminology is not calibrated to the specific Egyptian situation. Overall, the scholarship on this material needs to move beyond the urge to build normative models of the household and instead to take advantage of the unique character of the available evidence in order to embrace, investigate, and understand diversity.

Several chapters address this challenge and collectively nuance the definition of “household” in interesting and complex ways. Although there is a common assumption in household archaeology that the physical house and social household are coterminous, such a one-to-one relationship does not always actually exist. This assumption of a direct correspondence between architectural space and social unit has therefore been criticized as imposing modern Western cultural expectations.⁴Documentary evidence presented in chapter 7 (Alston) suggests that these expectations certainly do not hold true in Roman Egypt; instead, Alston identifies a range of potential arrangements, from individual houses that were split between several households, to a single household that had interests in multiple properties. At the same time, the evidence presented in chapters 11 (Brooks Hedstrom) and 12 (Gates-Foster, Redon, and Godsey) shows that a household (defined in terms of residence and/or economic cooperation) did not necessarily always consist of a nuclear or extended family, or indeed rely on any other kind of blood relationship. On the contrary, a household could also consist of individuals whose relationships were created and sustained by a shared system of values (in chapter 11, religious ones) or by a shared occupation or mission (like the military one in chapter 12). Untangling the social significance of a single structure identified in an archaeological context is thus very challenging, but what this evidence does show is that in the context of any research project on households, it is important to build up a culturally specific set of assumptions about who the occupants of a structure may have been, how they may or may not have been related, and in what sense (if at all) they may have constituted a single household.

The Roles of Houses and Households

Related to the definition of the household is the role played by the house itself. As a structure, the house was obviously of key importance in providing shelter for the household to perform some of its functions, such as production and reproduction (as Alston points out in chapter 7). But it is clear from a number of the different chapters that it had major significance in other respects, too. One of these was as an economic asset—an aspect that emerges clearly from Huebner’s study of the legal right of habitatio (chapter 5). This framework effectively separated the economic value of a house from the right to reside in it, enabling different individuals to benefit from each. The law further complicates an already complex situation in which a single house seems not infrequently to have been split between multiple owners and/or households (as mentioned by Alston). For archaeologists working in this and other cultural contexts, it is a sobering fact that the physical structures of such buildings rarely offer any indication of modification or subdivision that might correspond with such intricate ownership situations.⁵ We are faced, then, with the fact that an excavated house can be a poor guide to some of the realities of its occupants’ social lives.

The practical role played by domestic space may have outweighed its symbolic importance, but the two may have also been closely linked. Perhaps partly as a result of their economic significance, Egyptian houses did have a variety of powerful symbolic valences. In particular, David Frankfurter focuses on this aspect of the house in chapter 10. At one level, the building materialized the success of its owner, because the ability to possess a house depended on economic prosperity. At another, less tangible, level, it was also viewed as a place of refuge and safety which contrasted with an outside world fraught with dangers. Some of these were literal, physical threats, and the possibility that they could result in actual violations underlies the documents discussed by Abdelwahed in chapter 6. The power of these acts may have stemmed in part from the fact that they broke the illusion that a house was a safe place. Besides such immediate dangers from other humans, Frankfurter focuses on a second realm in chapter 10: that of jealous and malevolent spirits—perhaps envisioned as resentful of the prosperity embodied in the house and conjured through the insecurities of owners aware of their own good fortune and how rapidly their luck could change. Whatever the precise explanation, Frankfurter’s evidence shows the seriousness of the residents’ concerns through the elaborate rituals that were apparently devised in order to keep such forces at bay. The remains of domestic ritual, found both in Egyptian contexts and elsewhere in the ancient world, provide independent witness to the reality of such practices.⁶

In chapter 9, Ross Thomas touches on a different aspect of the symbolic role of housing: its ability to express identity, including (in this case) ethnic and cultural affiliations. Such use of domestic buildings has been well attested by cross-cultural anthropological studies⁷ and has also been a focus of scholarship on households both in prehistory and in the classical world.⁸ While the compiler of Thompson’s village survey in chapter 4 sometimes labels the occupants of a particular house as “Jew” or “Arab,” Thomas’s analysis of the use of terracottas shows that from the perspective of the house’s occupants, the realities were likely to have been more complicated. Identity was contextual and multifaceted; a single household used material culture to express a range of different intersecting (and potentially even contradictory) affiliations. Remarkably, this kind of intersectionality is an area in which the material culture, rather than the texts, gives much of the insight into some of the subtleties involved.⁹ The material culture offers multiple different strands of evidence that provide insight into a range of cultural practices that may have been used to create complementary—or even apparently conflicting—facets of a household’s identity. It also provides an opportunity to explore the identities that households were creating for themselves, rather than—as in Thompson’s examples—an identity perceived (or possibly imposed) by an outsider.

The Context of Houses and Households

Another important discussion emerging from several chapters relates to notions of “public” and “private.” These terms are sometimes applied uncritically to ancient domestic contexts.¹⁰ Nevertheless, it must be recognized that, like the definition of “household,” the relevance and significance of these terms are determined by the cultural context in which they are deployed.¹¹ We must also ask whether they map onto emic concepts and/or are justifiable in an etic sense. In relation to our Egyptian material, Abdelwahed emphasizes in chapter 6 the importance of the house frontage as a common location for domestic violence and suggests that a violation of this area may have been particularly heinous, because it combined an assault on the household and its members with an open display of that assault to outsiders (that is, an action that was in some way “public”). The importance of the threshold as both a physical boundary (as demonstrated by Brooks Hedstrom in chapter 11) and a symbolic one (as shown by Frankfurter in chapter 10) reinforces the view that there was indeed an important distinction made between the interior and exterior of the house. While this evidence implies that there were contrasting public and private spheres in the Egyptian context, Alston in chapter 7 presents an argument that the two were conceptualized in an imprecise manner, owing to the fuzzy boundaries applied in Egyptian thought to both house and household. This understanding is supported and further unpacked by Paola Davoli’s analysis in chapter 1, in which she describes ways that households may have controlled accessways and gates lying beyond the walls of their individual properties—again blurring the distinction between the property of individual households and that of their communities. In chapter 2, Simpson’s discussion of the sharing of facilities such as courtyards and ovens, which apparently lay within the confines of individual houses, supports a similar conclusion, suggesting communal use of areas and structures that might otherwise have been considered as restricted to use by a single household. Therefore, while some degree of public and private distinction existed, the spheres may not have been as sharply divided as one might expect. Conceptual boundaries may not have always corresponded to physical ones, and the right places and the right cues are key to interpreting the evidence in these terms.

Consideration of the dichotomy between public and private in literal, physical terms, as a distinction between the exterior and interior spaces of a house, raises the question of how the household related to the wider community, both as a collective and through its members as individuals. The corollary of an emphasis on the importance of the physical house as the location of production and reproduction in a material sense is an awareness of how these roles play out in the social realm, with economic ties and kinship bonds that stretch outward, binding the household to the wider community. Nevertheless, the example of monastic households in chapter 11 (Brooks Hedstrom) shows that the extent of such contacts varied according to context. In some of these communities, she shows that active measures discouraged interactions between the inhabitants and the outside world, such as sinking the residential space below ground out of sight of the occupants of nearby settlements. It is unclear to what extent contact with the wider world may have been perceived as undesirable for some of the same reasons as those identified by Frankfurter in chapter 10 in the case of nonmonastic households.

The Dynamics of Houses and Households

A criticism sometimes leveled at household archaeology in general is that the vision of domestic life that it presents is too static.¹² The extensive Egyptian database offers an opportunity to move beyond such models to a more dynamic understanding of continuity and change across time and space—the potential to explore what Thompson refers to in chapter 4 as the “changing lives … of dwellings.” How is such change made visible here, then? As Davoli suggests in chapter 1, the material record has much to contribute, even at a small scale. For example, mud-brick buildings are fairly undemanding to construct and modify, but offer great flexibility in terms of the house forms that can be made with them, and their potential to adapt to changing social and practical requirements. Alterations to the physical structure of the house thus potentially offer clues about changing household sizes and relationships. On the textual side, while Alston remarks on the difficulty of capturing change from the available sources, as Thompson points out, there are ways in which this can be done by adjusting the scale of the inquiry: for example, by thinking about such change on a longer time frame between the Ptolemaic and Roman Periods. The material evidence can be useful at this kind of broader scale, too. For example, regarding regional patterns of organization, as discussed by Davoli in chapter 1, on the one hand, there is evidence for a relative uniformity in the available building materials and the construction techniques applied to them, but on the other hand, archaeologists could still do more to understand the localized effects of geographical, geomorphological, and environmental contexts as sources of variability. An additional scale to consider is an intermediate spatial one: the neighborhood. This features anecdotally in some of the documents, such as Thompson’s village survey, but both the neighborhood and the larger regional unit (the district) can potentially serve as units of analysis that are intermediate between the individual household and the settlement as a whole.¹³ Such an approach would build on the observations already made in chapters 1 and 2 (by Davoli and Simpson), but shifting the focus more explicitly to this scale might open up new questions about urban structure. To what extent did kinship, occupation, socioeconomic factors, or ethnic-cultural identities influence the spatial clustering of households? Similarly, what factors may have determined ease of access to community facilities like temples?

As noted above, the Egyptian evidence explored in the present volume is uniquely detailed because of the unparalleled preservation of both the remains of the houses themselves, and also the texts relating to houses and households. However, the approaches are in some ways comparable with those being taken to ancient housing in other regions and periods. Drawing explicit parallels highlights some of the strengths and weaknesses of the trajectories of research in different subfields, and at the same time reveals new avenues of research that may already have been explored in other contexts. A key question underlying research on all ancient housing is how best to relate our textual and material sources. The authors in this volume generally adopt a balanced approach in which the two are evaluated independently. In the study of both ancient Greek and Roman housing, the situation was historically very different, with texts playing a dominant role. In the context of Classical Greece, the few texts mentioning aspects of domestic organization were used actively to shape interpretations of archaeological finds. For example, the fourteen volumes of David Robinson’s Excavations at Olynthus (published between 1929 and 1952) include, alongside description of the excavated remains of large numbers of houses, appendices listing words from ancient Greek texts considered relevant to the description of the house.¹⁴ Literary testimonia are also quoted in translation through brief, three-line excerpts that excise the wider literary context and ignore the subtleties of the original language.¹⁵ In many cases, transliterated terms from these texts were confidently applied to the physical remains of the excavated houses.¹⁶ Such a move entails a series of assumptions that today appear questionable, including that the world of the elite, male, Athenian authors of texts of various genres was similar to the lived experience of members of typical households in the city of Olynthos, some 250 miles to the north. In the context of work on Roman Italy, texts were comparably dominant: for example, early excavators at Pompeii sometimes seem to have moved the furnishings of the houses they were excavating, in order to make their finds resemble more closely those houses they had read about in the works of Latin authors (especially Vitruvius).¹⁷

Subsequent pioneering work focused on the underlying principles of spatial organization suggested by the texts, rather than on the architectural and other details. In the context of the Greek world, a binary separation of the two sexes was singled out as being the most significant social expectation articulated by Classical Attic writers and was argued to have influenced house layout.¹⁸ In Roman contexts, the writings of Apuleius and Vitruvius were used as lenses through which to understand ways in which the architecture of elite houses may have supported elite social life.¹⁹ By the mid-1980s, however, it became apparent that such text-based approaches gave access only to a rather narrow perspective and that the discussion needed to be broadened to include other types of structure as well as a wider range of social groups.²⁰ At the same time, re-examination of the archaeological evidence of a variety of Classical Greek houses indicated that a binary spatial pattern, which one might expect from direct application of the gendering of space articulated in the texts, was not obviously discernable in most archaeological evidence. In fact, there is a startling disjunction between the norms articulated in the texts and the layouts of the houses themselves: the plans of excavated structures at Olynthos, Athens, and elsewhere consist largely of rooms clustered around a single space.²¹ Finding that, superficially at least, archaeological and textual evidence suggest differing interpretations of ancient social life should prompt us to reflect on a methodology that implicitly assumes the primacy of one type of source over another. But perhaps more interestingly, this discrepancy between archaeological and textual evidence also raises complex questions about the reasons why the two are seemingly in conflict, inviting more nuanced approaches to understanding how authors, builders, and inhabitants manipulated the impressions that texts, architecture, and furnishings made on their readers or viewers.

The Future of Household Archaeology

With reference to our Egyptian examples, some of the chapters of this volume already use several types of sources together to good effect, especially where one source on its own is insufficient (as, for example, with Marouard’s study of Ptolemaic tower houses in chapter 3). In other instances, juxtaposition of a wider range of types of evidence might prompt further reflection. For instance, to what extent and in what ways might the importance of the house façade and entrance, highlighted by Abdelwahed based on texts, have been signaled physically through the architecture and/or decoration of this area in the houses themselves? In Greek and Roman contexts, the liminality of entrances is sometimes marked symbolically with a decorative motif, such as a protective Herakles or other painted or relief carved motif.²² Interestingly, in some of his other work, Abdelwahed has shown that, both in Pharaonic and in later times, the entrances to Egyptian houses were sometimes a location for religious ritual.²³

Other methodological issues of interest to those working on households across a range of cultural contexts might also benefit from examination through the Egyptian evidence. From an archaeological perspective, it is tempting to wonder how the often excellent preservation of houses and other structures might help with the development of conceptual frameworks for thinking about the use of domestic space in ancient contexts. For example, Boozer importantly details in chapter 8 a range of post-abandonment factors that can affect the state of the architectural remains of houses, as well as the range and locations of artifacts found in the houses, at Amheida. In chapter 12, Gates-Foster, Redon, and Godsey raise similar questions about whether the artifacts associated with the floors of the fort at B’ir Samut can be interpreted as evidence of the activities carried out in the spaces in which they were found. Thus, understanding depositional and post-depositional processes is important for the reconstruction of activity areas in any context, and the modeling of the cultural processes that lie behind artifact distributions at well-preserved historical (as opposed to prehistoric) sites is in many ways underdeveloped in comparison with discussions of the kinds of post-abandonment processes that Boozer discusses.

Moving forward, can the exceptionally well-preserved deposits at any of these sites help us to clarify how we can identify the range of activities carried out in multifunctional spaces? Or, for that matter, how might we differentiate multifunctional spaces from those that played a single role at any one time, but whose role changed over time—whether in a linear fashion, or following a cyclical pattern over a period of, say, a day or a year? Careful examination (microscopic as well as macroscopic) of the deposits in which artifacts were found might enable us to model some of the signatures of these different scenarios, in order to look for them in other parts of the ancient world. There is, however, a limit to the extent of possible comparison between cultures, sites, or even different houses at a single site, as both the activities of the inhabitants and the abandonment/post-abandonment processes can vary significantly. Therefore, although the Egyptian evidence is “good to think with” because of the wide range of types of material that survive and their typically good preservation, conclusions drawn from it will not always be generalizable to other parts of the ancient world. (This point is familiar in the context of other types of study, such as demography.)²⁴

In conclusion, the case studies here reveal a number of common themes that relate to wider debates taking place in the analysis of households in the ancient world and beyond. The authors show that the Egyptian evidence has enormous potential to contribute to those debates but also to nuance them in unique ways, through the quantity and detail of the material available. This work creates the potential for a major synthesis in the future: by blending archaeological and textual evidence and structuring that evidence by period and area, we may hope to draw out patterns of continuity and change across time and space.

Notes

1Bourdieu 1960.

2Meskell 2005.

3For a recent discussion, see, for example, Beaudry 2015.

4Respectively, Douglass and Gonlin 2012, 2; and Briz i Godino and Madella 2013, 2, with earlier references.

5See Muhs 2008.

6In the Greek context, for example, see Rotroff 2013.

7For a classic example, see Blanton 1994.

8See, for example, Nanoglou 2008 and Hales 2003, respectively.

9On intersectionality, see the work of Kimberlé Crenshaw, for example Crenshaw 2017.

10For example, Morgan 2010, passim, in relation to Classical Greek society.

11The case is made in detail for the Roman world by Andrew Riggsby 1997; for a more recent example, see Tuori 2015, esp. 10–11.

12For example, Souvatzi 2008, 21–46.

13In relation to archaeological contexts generally, see for example Smith and Novic 2012; and Smith et al. 2015.

14Robinson 1946, 453–71.

15Robinson, 1946, 359–462.

16For example, Robinson 1938.

17See, for example, Allison 1997.

18Walker 1993 (first published in 1983).

19Thébert 1987, with respect to Roman Africa; on Roman Italy, Wallace-Hadrill 1988; 1994, 3–61.

20For example, Pirson 1999; Wallace-Hadrill 1996.

21Nevett 1999.

22See, for example, Bruneau 1964; Coralini 2001.

23Abdelwahed 2016, 17–25 (I thank Caitlín Barrett for drawing this book to my attention).

24See for example Scheidel 2001, 16.

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