Houses of the Holy: The Evolution of Ritual Buildings

Bill Finlayson

This paper seeks to provide a local historical context for the ‘Ain Ghazal Late PPNB cultic buildings, interpreted as
shrines and temples, with the latter in particular being understood to represent a significant change in ritual behaviour
relating to the increased population present. Our knowledge of early Neolithic communal architecture has grown
substantially since the ‘Ain Ghazal excavations were conducted, providing much more information on their possible
antecedents. The paper also seeks to examine our interpretation of these buildings, both in a southern Levantine context
and within the wider reconstructions of Neolithic ritual and religion.

Introduction to a radical shift in society. Subsequent discoveries, most

Gary Rollefson is well known for his discovery and
identification of two forms of ritual architecture at Late Pre-
Pottery Neolithic B (PPNB) ‘Ain Ghazal: cultic shrines and
temples (e.g. Rollefson 1983; 1986; Rollefson and Kafafi
1994; 1997). Although these structures were immediately
included within regional syntheses, and despite the reams
of text that have been poured out on Neolithic symbolic
worlds and the birth of the gods (e.g. Cauvin 1994; 2000;
Stordeur 2010), the ‘Ain Ghazal temples have often seemed
to be relegated to a surprisingly marginal role. Rollefson’s
own view of Cauvin’s treatment of the subject would
appear to be easily summed up by the title of his review
of the English translation of Cauvin’s work: “2001: an
archaeological odyssey” (Rollefson 2001). My own suspicion
is that there has been a failure to appreciate the importance
of these southern Levantine temples, and that this failure is
because Gary did not manage to find panthers, and bears,
and snakes. The Judy Garland ‘Lions, and tigers, and bears!
Oh my!’ response to northern Levantine imagery is more of a
collective failing in archaeological thought and illustrative of
the ready attraction of naturalistic art than a reflection on the
real significance of developments in the southern Levant.
There are two issues I wish to explore briefly in this essay.
The first is to examine the southern Levantine Late PPNB
shrines and temples in context, in particular to consider
their rarely examined potential architectural antecedents.
There is a tendency amongst archaeologists to consider our
finds as the earliest evidence of something new and to track
their progression forwards in time. When first discovered,
the temples at ‘Ain Ghazal did indeed seem to be a new
phenomenon, appearing pretty much out of nowhere and,
as Rollefson has argued (Rollefson 2010), they emerge
beside an apparent wider change in ritual, figurative and
burial practices, suggesting that their appearance is related
dramatically from excavation at Göbekli Tepe, but also
elsewhere in the northern Levant at Nevalı Çori and Çayönü
(Hauptmann 1988; 1993; Özdoğan and Özdoğan 1990;
1998), and on the Middle Euphrates, for example at Jerf
el-Ahmar (Stordeur et al. 2000), have suggested a longer
development sequence for ritual buildings. More recently
new discoveries in the southern Levant, for example at
Shkarat Msaiad (Kinzel et al. 2011), WF16 (Finlayson et
al. 2011) and el-Hemmeh (Makarewicz and Rose 2011),
combined with older excavation data from Jericho (Kenyon
1957) and Beidha (Byrd 2005) may have begun to reveal a
local history that provides a context for the emergence of
temples in the Late PPNB.
The second issue is our interpretation of these temples,
often placed at a critical juncture between the magic and
ritual associated with prehistoric hunter-gatherers and the
idea of religion, associated with people like us, the farmers.
Although ritual and religion continue to be identified
in Neolithic archaeological contexts at least partially
by virtue of an absence of apparent practical utility, at
the same time the development of ritual and religion is
interpreted in highly functional ways as elements of a new
symbology that is required to pragmatically organize new,
larger, more permanent communities. Despite our largely
uncontested identification of the structures at ‘Ain Ghazal
as temples and shrines, discussion of the symbolic world
has become dominated by the northern Levant and central
Anatolia, where a more immediately accessible repertoire of
naturalistic art is deployed. An entire cosmology has been
built up around the dominance of this northern symbolism
represented by fierce animals, provoking caution by Bloch,
who warns of “too easily thought provoking murals” (Bloch
2010, 149), a cautionary note that could be widened to all
of the figurative material.

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134 Settlement, Survey, and Stone
Furthermore, and especially centred on Anatolia,
researchers have increasingly been arguing that all buildings
are houses (e.g. Hodder 2010; Hodder and Pels 2010); there
are no temples, and there is no separation between ritual and
the mundane. Banning (2011, 264) has provided a useful
summary discussion of anthropological debates regarding
the separation of sacred from profane, from arguments that
the difference is so strict it should be easily identifiable, to
the other end of the spectrum with the view that ritual is
pervasive throughout human behaviour, with a continuum
between sacred to secular ritual. This debate is central to
our discussions, and it is probably fair to assume that the
weight of archaeological opinion is that within hunter-
gatherer societies there is little or no separation between
secular and profane, and that (after Cauvin) part of our
discussion regarding the Neolithic is whether some form
of separation, or even the development of formal religion,
commences during this period and the transition to farming
societies. The risk we run is that the identification of
temples, especially when substantially based on analogies
with much later structures, is not only that such places
of worship are anachronistic in the Neolithic (Banning
2011), but more fundamentally leads us exclude alternative
explanations for these structures that may encompass what
may be a more secular ritual, or at least a ritual content that
is less strictly religious. Such alternatives, like men’s houses,
diwan or madhafa (cf Kafafi 2005) or the combination of
performative and celebratory action associated with practical
work, such as the harvest processing we have very tentatively
suggested for WF16 (Finlayson et al. 2011), should figure
more largely within our discussions. Banning has taken this
point further, arguing that if we interpret every special and
unusual building as being related to ritual, we consequently
exclude interpretations involving chief ’s houses or other
non-egalitarian structures, thereby unwittingly reinforcing
the idea that Neolithic societies were egalitarian.
The idea that the ‘Ain Ghazal buildings are shrines and
temples, as with similar claims for buildings at Nevalı Çori
and Çayönü is, to a great extent, based on the significant
difference between these buildings, both in their overall form
and in their internal layout, and the other buildings present
on these sites. This is not only in contrast to the Çatalhöyük
situation, where the excavators argue that all buildings are
houses, but also to Göbekli Tepe, where the excavator argues
they are all temples (Schmidt 2005). Banning (2011) has
proposed that we should re-consider this basic assumption,
and questions whether the large structures at Göbekli Tepe
might not also be houses. Hodder and Meskell adopt a rather
equivocal position on this, accepting that the symbolism at
Göbekli Tepe is concentrated in ‘separate’ temples (2010,
33), but also arguing that the large and small structures are
so similar in form that there is no clear division between
them, or, as with Banning, suggesting that the large
structures may have been ‘communal houses’ (2010, 62).
From these contradictions, it would appear that the data is
open to many conflicting interpretations, to the extent that
in contrast to the general tenor of archaeological discussion,
Bloch asserts that he is certain there was no religion at
Çatalhöyük (2010).
This largely northern Levantine and Anatolian debate is
generally conducted as if it encompassed the whole Neolithic
world, and the developments discussed represent some form
of critical path in the evolution of society. However, while
this debate has flourished, little attention has been paid to
the way the southern Levantine evidence appears to indicate
a rather different course in architectural, ritual and religious
development, and Rollefson’s temples need to be brought
back into play. At the very least they are a reminder of how
much variation existed throughout the PPN world.
Late PPNB shrines and temples in context
Rollefson has interpreted the Late PPNB buildings that he
identifies as temples as representing a major change in social
organization at ‘Ain Ghazal, in the context of the massive
growth in population seen at this time (e.g. Rollefson 2005).
Importantly, this is integral to his interpretation of the way
the community at ‘Ain Ghazal expanded with the arrival
of distinct communities, maintaining differing identities
within the settlement. This temple-based organization is
placed in contrast with evidence of Middle PPNB ritual
practices such as under-floor burials, the plastering of skulls,
and the production of figurines, which are seen collectively
to represent kin-based ancestral cults (e.g. Goring-Morris
2005; Kuijt 2002).
After the initial identification of shrines at Jericho
(Garstang and Garstang 1948), more specifically within the
PPNB (Kenyon 1957), at Beidha (Kirkbride 1968), and at
Çatalhöyük by Mellaart (1967) there was a considerable
hiatus in such identification until the 1980s and Rollefson’s
interpretation of buildings as shrines and temples at ‘Ain
Ghazal (Rollefson 1983), followed by the identification of
special-purpose buildings at a number of sites throughout
the wider region, especially in the northern Levant. When
Cauvin was initially developing his ideas (Cauvin 1994),
Rollefson’s discoveries at ‘Ain Ghazal were only just reaching
a wider audience (Rollefson 1992), but Cauvin rapidly
incorporated the ‘Ain Ghazal structures into his view that
built sanctuaries become part of ritual life by the PPNB. As
Banning (2011) has pointed out, this new identification of
special-purpose buildings occurred at the same time as the
renewed excavations at Çatalhöyük were revealing that all the
buildings there combined domestic and symbolic features
(Hodder and Cessford 2004; Hodder 2010), suggesting that,
at Çatalhöyük at least, no such sharp division between ritual
and domestic space existed. Mellaart’s shrines had played a
significant role in Cauvin’s ideas, and this reinterpretation
 Finlayson: Houses of the Holy: The Evolution of Ritual Buildings
might have been expected to have undermined Cauvin’s
grand account of the birth of the gods (Cauvin 1994). In
actuality, the reversal in interpretation was taking place
just as Cauvin’s work reached a wider audience through
its publication in English (2000) amid a renewed interest
in the development of new symbolic worlds and cognitive
revolutions (Renfrew 2003; Stordeur 2010, Watkins 2004).
However, and significantly, the evidence that emerged
from ‘Ain Ghazal and other new excavations was different
from Çatalhöyük; different in the sort of detail that is often
lost in regional homogenizing syntheses. The shrines and
temples were clearly distinct from the other, presumed to
be domestic, architecture. Not only were they distinct and
different, but in the case of the temples, physically separate
from the remainder of the site, while the buildings identified
as shrines were distinct in form, but were integrated within
the settlement. Also, again in contrast to northern contexts,
there was no sign of any ritual objects within the buildings;
in the southern Levant there is actually a general decline
in figurative art during the Late PPNB compared to the
Middle PPNB.
The context for the ‘Ain Ghazal temples is both
geographically and chronologically defined. While this
may (or at least should) seem self-evident, a problem that
seems to affect much discussion of ritual buildings in the
Neolithic is a hopping around the whole of Southwest Asia,
jumping from every period in the Neolithic and onwards.
While this cherry picking approach may arise because there
are actually relatively few comparable sites or buildings,
and of course because there are interesting comparisons to
make at the regional level, it masks the real diversity in the
evidence and subsumes some very different patterns within
a single narrative. This problem is ubiquitous; even in an
otherwise very thorough review, Banning resorts to the
“characterization of PPN ritual” (Banning 2011, 639) as if it
were a single practice. Kafafi (2005) is one of the few who has
unambiguously stated that ritual structures in Anatolia and
the Levant were different, in date, method of construction,
and perhaps even in the concepts that lay behind them.
The process of archaeological homogenization is
exacerbated by the smash and grab raid on ethnographic
analogy. While it may come as no surprise that archaeologists
resort to ethnography in discussions of ritual behaviour, it is
surprising just how widespread through time and space the
analogies are. Bloch’s use of his own ethnographic studies
are typical of the problem, presenting the ethnographic
material he knows best as a good analogy, whilst at the same
as pointing out how atypical his data is. His case study of
the Zafimaniry on Madagascar describes how they neither
have the meeting places typical of their neighbours, nor
the tombs that are such well-known ritual foci of related
societies (Bloch 2010). Taking a locally atypical society and
using it as a reference point for ritual practices separated by
135
thousands of years and miles is problematic, as are all the
casual references to kivas, sweat lodges and what-have-you
that pepper the literature.
Antecedents and evolution
The focus on the new ritual behaviour represented by
the temples in Jordan has been principally on the contrast
between the burial practices and figurative objects of the
Middle PPNB and the special buildings identified in the
Late PPNB, almost exclusively found at ‘Ain Ghazal. This
emphasis on the contrast with the past appears to obviate
any need to look for antecedents for the shrines and temples,
as their narrative function is to be new. Instead, most of
our focus has been on how in some way, these buildings
stand at the start of the development of near eastern temple
architecture (Kafafi 2010). The consideration of earlier ritual
development in terms of the contrasts with burial practices
in the Middle PPNB has meant there has been relatively
little discussion of the potential role of architecture, except
for occasional reconsiderations of the tower at Jericho
(Bar-Yosef 1986; Barkai and Liran 2008; Ronen and Adler
2001). While Cauvin took a similar line and argued that the
sanctuaries of Nevalı Çori and Çayönü ‘anticipate’ those of
the Ubaid culture by over a millennium (Cauvin 2000), his
language shows the weak links in the sequence.
To be fair, evidence for earlier southern Levantine
community ritual reflected in architecture was until recently
relatively rare beyond the PPNA tower at Jericho. This
structure was initially interpreted as having a defensive
function, and its potential PPNA ritual role has sometimes
been masked by the PPNB re-use of the tower for burial.
Kenyon’s identification at Jericho of one example of a Middle
PPNB structure with a curved annex as a “cult centre or
temple” is also rarely discussed (Kenyon 1981, 74, but see
Rollefson 2005 for a rare reference to this information).
Although Kirkbride identified the shrine complex at Beidha
in southern Jordan as having a religious role (1968), it
has not yet been directly dated. It has been assumed to
be broadly Middle PPNB in date, in line with the rest of
the site, and also on the basis of its curvilinear architecture
(Rollefson 2005). Perhaps because of the lack of a direct
date, this shrine complex has not appeared very often in
the literature, although Cauvin recognized the presence of
specialized buildings indicating ceremonial activity (2000,
218). It is currently difficult to incorporate the Beidha
shrine into the wider discussion of the evolution of ritual
buildings without clear chronological control, especially
given Rollefson’s own suggestion regarding the presence of
a Late PPNB component at Beidha (based on the equally
undated pier house architecture). The shrines at ‘Ain Ghazal
appear to maintain a curvilinear form in the Late PPNB and
if the Beidha shrine complex might also date to the Late
PPNB, rather than being an antecedent for ‘Ain Ghazal, it
136 Settlement, Survey, and Stone
would then be what would still be a rare parallel for clearly
ritual temple buildings.
In the absence of a well-known earlier architectural
history, discussion of earlier ritual has therefore rested almost
entirely on the evidence of burial practices, plastered skulls
and figurative material (e.g. Kuijt 2008). Rollefson (2004)
argued that the appearance of ceremonial architecture
was one of the chief differences between Late PPNB and
Middle PPNB architecture, proposing that during the Late
PPNB, circular cult buildings within the settlement evolved
from apsidal buildings, probably associated with kin group
rituals. He labels these kin group related buildings as shrines.
Larger, rectangular buildings outside the settlement he labels
as temples, seeing them as related to wider community
matters, requiring more work effort than could be provided
by a single kin group, both for their construction and for the
subsequent burial of one of the temple buildings.
The contrast with the Middle PPNB appears dramatic.
There is the absence of shrines and temples, or any
community architecture in the Middle PPNB of ‘Ain
Ghazal. The decapitated under-floor burials of the Middle
PPNB and the presumably associated plastered skulls vanish.
There are fewer burials from the Late PPNB, they all have
their skulls attached, and no plastered skulls have yet been
found. No plaster statues have been found from the Late
PPNB, although a stylized anthropomorphic stone blocked
one of the temple doorways. This suggested to Rollefson a
shift to a less personalized deity than in the Middle PPNB
and he argues for a religion more distant from the general
population, with religious control dominating developing
social hierarchy (Rollefson 2004). The contrast in evidence
between the Middle PPNB and the Late PPNB from
architecture, burial practices, the use of plastered skulls,
and, at ‘Ain Ghazal the end of the plaster statue tradition,
all provides the clear basis for the argument that the temple
and shrine architecture in Late PPNB ‘Ain Ghazal represents
a sudden new development with a dramatic shift in the
organization of ritual life.
The apparent gap in the Jordanian record of ritual
architecture before the Late PPNB has left us relying on the
known early history of the development of ritual architecture
on the Middle Euphrates at recently excavated sites such as
Jerf el-Ahmar, Tell Abr and the anomalous Göbekli Tepe. In
this northern area the evidence suggests developments were
occurring from the PPNA to Early PPNB transition. The
collective amnesia regarding both PPNA and Middle PPNB
ritual architecture at Jericho aside, this is a clear example
of the primacy awarded to recent fieldwork results in our
discussions, which creates a form of tunnel vision in our
modes of interpretation. The focus on the recent work on
the Middle Euphrates may explain why the large annular
Building 37 at Beidha has been given so little attention
(Byrd 2005). Building 37 is distinguished not only by its
scale (on a par with the communal buildings in the northern
Levant), but also by its cobbled floor, an unusual feature it
shares in common with the Beidha shrine complex, and also
by its distinctive architectural features, such as its apparent
free-standing position, unique for the annular buildings at
Beidha. Byrd notes the similarities between Building 37
at Beidha and the northern Levantine buildings, and how
different it is to the other structures (Byrd 2005), but this
recognition does not appear to have been picked up in
the recent debates on communal architecture, which have
almost exclusively discussed recent finds (Stordeur et al.
2000; Finlayson et al. 2011).
If Beidha Building 37 shows the presence of a Middle
PPNB tradition of communal architecture, is there more
evidence of such traditions in the southern Levant? Perhaps
most striking is the site of Kfar HaHoresh, a site that in
the Middle PPNB appears to be serving the sort of function
argued for Göbekli Tepe – a central ritual site, without
habitation, for the surrounding population (e.g. Goring-
Morris 2000). Kfar HaHoresh has also managed to be
omitted from the discussion of architecture as it has largely
been discussed within the framework of Middle PPNB
ritual as expressed through burial, another illustration of
the tunnel vision of our interpretative practices. While it
is recognized that Kfar HaHoresh is clearly more than a
cemetery site and must be playing a major role in communal
ritual and ceremonial practices, the realization that Middle
PPNB burial practices are not restricted to private practices
rooted in ideas of ancestor and household does not appear
to be extrapolated to the wider discussion.
There is other Middle PPNB evidence suggestive of
community-wide ritual. For example, a building centrally
located at Shkarat Msaiad (Kinzel et al. 2011) seems to have
served as a communal burial structure. The multiple burials
in a single structure argue against the idea of a single-room
household ritual focus. This should be no surprise, given that
Kuijt has previously argued that the cycle of Middle PPNB
burial practice, including primary burial, skull plastering
and secondary burial, suggests ritual at different scales, some
restricted to households, others to the wider community
(Kuijt 2008). As such, arguments for a dominance of
household ritual in the Middle PPNB seem less convincing,
and Middle PPNB ritual most likely included public
performance, probably at ‘Ain Ghazal involving the public
use of the plaster statues, and this reduces the contrast with
the Late PPNB.
Such communal burial structures may extend back
into the PPNA at el-Hemmeh (Makarewicz and Rose
2011) and the development of communal architecture
very visibly goes back into the PPNA (and earlier, to the
Natufian large, plaster-benched building at Mallaha). This
of course includes the tower at Jericho, but also the recently
discovered communal structure at WF16 (Finlayson et al.
 Finlayson: Houses of the Holy: The Evolution of Ritual Buildings
2011). However, interpretation of these buildings remains
difficult. The communal buildings identified at Jerf el-
Ahmar, and now at WF16 do not show an easily identified
distinct ritual component – indeed the earliest manifestation
of a communal building at Jerf el-Ahmar has been identified
primarily as a common store (Stordeur et al. 2000). In this it
may have more in common with apparent storage buildings
seen at Dhra’ (Kuijt and Finlayson 2009) and WF16 rather
than as a ritual centre. Similar buildings at Mureybet were
initially simply identified as domestic buildings with internal
divisions (Stordeur et al. 2000). A more obvious active
communal social role at Jerf el-Ahmar does not appear until
a little later, when the open-plan version of the structures is
seen as providing a meeting place, although its scale is small
and the group able to use the interior space must have been
highly selective. The presence of selected faunal remains
within the fabric of the building, combined with decorative
elements on the faces of the bench around its wall, show a
symbolic aspect to such meetings, which presumably reflects
ritualized activities.
The structures at Jericho and Göbekli Tepe appear to
represent more obvious early communal ritual endeavours.
These structures, both in terms of their monumentality
and visibility appear to have required the participation of
a large number of people, although Banning has suggested
the numbers are far lower than generally assumed (Banning
2011). Even at Göbekli Tepe however, no matter the scale
of the work required to carve and move the stones and
build the structures, their semi-subterranean closed form
suggests that at some stage in the process they ceased to be
public and, as with most of the communal buildings of the
PPN, must have served their role through the activities of a
subset of the population. As Verhoeven has noted, at all the
apparent ‘temple’ buildings, at ‘Ain Ghazal, Göbekli Tepe,
Nevalı Çori or Çayönü, only small numbers of people could
have got into the buildings (Verhoeven 2002, 245). Jericho
is unusual in that however the tower was used, its visibility
would have given it a highly public dimension.
At WF16 we have argued that most buildings probably
served a communal role, having specific functions such as
storage, food processing, bead making, rather than being
simple ‘houses’, and a similar case can be made for the site of
Dhra’ (Finlayson et al. 2011). The large open space structure
at WF16 (Structure O75) has been described as possibly
providing a venue for some form of community performance.
This is obviously just a rather coy (or cautious) way of saying
that a large part of the site was given over to activities that must
have had a highly visible ritual purpose, and in this case the
scale of building compared to the size of the overall settlement
suggests it may well have involved the community as a whole.
As at Jerf el-Ahmar, there is evidence for the incorporation of
symbols into the structure during its use, including decoration
during repeated re-plastering events, and the presence of pairs
137
of goat horns buried in the early fills.
The positioning of the most likely candidates for
communal ceremonial PPNA structures within their
settlements is distinctive. The tower at Jericho, the building
at Jerf el-Ahmar, and the large WF16 structure O75 are all
located on the margins of their settlements. This may be
a specific feature that we can track as continuous through
the Beidha shrine and onto the Late PPNB ‘Ain Ghazal
temples. There is also a multi-storey building at Shkarat
Msaiad located on the edge of the site that, with its internal
flight of stairs, is at present unique and may therefore also
bear mention as a ‘special’ building. A possible explanation
for this location in the PPNA has been that one of the roles
of these structures may have been in acting as the interface
between the community and visitors, but other functions
are equally possible, such as times when any individuals or
group had to be separated from the community. Such liminal
roles are obvious candidates for highly ritualized behaviour,
but they are not necessarily religious.
Wherever the antecedents of the Late PPNB ritual
buildings lie, it is clear that the path is not a simple one.
However, we can now suggest that we should be a little more
careful in assuming quite such a dramatic contrast between
Late PPNB temples and what came before. We can stretch
this building tradition further back and suggest that not only
was an interest in community-wide ritual practices clear in
the PPNA, but not all were associated with burial practice,
and many of the structures probably involved sub-sets of the
overall community. These PPNA and early PPNB structures
may have, to use Cauvin’s word, ‘anticipated’ the temples
of Late PPNB ‘Ain Ghazal. The Middle PPNB appears to
maintain an interest in community function, even though
it is most commonly combined with burial, before these
activities once again were disaggregated in the Late PPNB.
Interpretation of PPN ritual buildings
The identification and interpretation of ritual buildings
and behaviour is both difficult and potentially highly
rewarding. The identification process appears relatively
straightforward. Keane (2010) has provided an interesting
anthropological perspective on this archaeological process,
which he notes still tends to identify anything without
obvious practical utility as ritual. Mithen, for example, has
talked about “artefacts which relate directly to religious ideas
lack any utilitarian explanation” (1998, 98). Keane raises
several concerns with this approach. There is a contradiction
in first denying utility, but then explaining symbolism in
terms of its meaningfulness, while still suggesting that the
practical side of activity can have no symbolic value. In
particular he notes that it is impossible for us to identify
a lack of perceived utility in the past, referring to Sahlins
(1972) who argued that decisions are always based on
cultural choices which go back to essential value systems. To
138 Settlement, Survey, and Stone
anyone living within a cultural and religious system, ritual
can be seen as highly utilitarian, providing for example
‘protection against misfortune’ or ‘access to divine powers’
(Keane 2010, 191). Boyd also believes that ritual practice
is not distinguishable from the secular and domestic: “what
anthropologists routinely identify as ritual is generally
considered practical and effective action by its practitioners”
(Boyd 2005, 26). Arguably, our confidence in identifying
ritual may be misplaced.
The interpretation of ritual is acknowledged to be even
more difficult. Almost all attempts to achieve this have
rested on analogy with later behaviour, whether through
ethnographic analogy (e.g. Rollefson’s 2010 analogy with the
Anasazi and Mogollon, or Bloch (2010) and the Zafimaniry);
reference to subsequent known religious practices (e.g. Kafafi
2010 linking the Late PPNB to the historical Canaanite);
reference to recent and modern religious frameworks
(Cauvin (2000) who argued for the birth of the gods, in
other words the start of formal religion, in the late PPNB);
or cognitive behaviours, for example with Watkins (1990)
who initially argued for the development of the idea of home
as being a key aspect of emerging sedentism and closely tied
to ancestor cults, which he subsequently expanded into a
cognitive revolution as communities developed new ways of
communicating (Watkins 2004; 2005a); or even to simple
imaginative reconstructions based on personal views of the
artwork.
Identification and interpretation of ritual behaviour is
critical, as in many versions of the Neolithic narrative the
growth of symbolism is understood to be at the core of the
processes of domestication, food production and sedentism
(e.g. Cauvin 2000). Indeed, ignoring over 100,000 years of
developments in symbolic behaviour (Stringer 2011), some
have even assumed that the symbolic revolution within
the Neolithic may be the start of recognizable humanity
(Renfrew 2003). The model of change that appears to
underpin many narratives firmly places PPNB developments
in Jordan within a widely employed general evolutionary
model, with a shift from hunter-gatherer hunting magic
and shamanism, to the emergence of ancestor cults within
early food production and an increasing concern with
ownership, onto the development of organized religions that
accompanies the emergence of social hierarchies.
Given that important models for the Neolithic
transition have rested on symbolism, it is obvious that our
identification and analysis of this symbolic data has to be
both careful and sophisticated. As Kafafi has noted, many
approaches to religion in archaeology have been naïve
(Kafafi 2010; and see Insoll 2004). A key issue is how the
idea of ritual is approached – from functional explanations
such as Kuijt (2008) where ritual is interpreted as the social
construction of identity and memory, to where ritual is seen
as a manifestation of religion that relates to a pervasive,
underpinning understanding of how the world works.
Hodder has argued that religion should be invoked “not
because it is separate from everyday life, but because it
focuses attention, arouses, refers to broader imaginings and
deals with the relationship between self and community”
(Hodder 2010, 17). In the world of growing Neolithic
communities such relationships are obviously important,
but this definition returns us to the question of how we, as
archaeologists, can identify this meaningfully?
The intensity of research at Çatalhöyük and the
spectacular nature of Göbekli Tepe help to explain the
recent focus within southwest Asia on the symbolism of
the northern Levant and Anatolia, with many accounts
detailing the importance of the wild and dangerous, the
sharp and pointy, to ritual behaviour. Figurative material
in the earlier phases of Çatalhöyük is dominated by animal
representations (Hodder and Meskell 2010). At Göbekli
Tepe, although most of the carvings on the T-shaped pillars
are of animals, it is argued that the pillars themselves are
human representations, and the impression that the carvings
are dominated by dangerous animals has been moderated by
subsequent discoveries of less threatening species, including
various water birds. The concept of danger that is argued
to be represented by the animal figurative material may be
either in the eyes of modern beholders, or a very specific
aspect of Çatalhöyük life. This highly specific world-view
is taken further through the belief that the symbolism of
wild can be equated to male, and that this reflects a level of
internal violence in the community (Hodder and Meskell
2010, 46).
None of this appears to be reflected in the southern
Levant. The temples at ‘Ain Ghazal appear in a south
Levantine world hardly touched by imagery of the wild and
dangerous, showing that there were alternative developments
in process, and that we are perhaps seduced by the easy
symbolism of naturalistic art which make it relatively easy
for us to create interpretative stories. The most significant
symbolism in the Middle PPNB in the southern Levant
appears to be related to people, through plastered skulls and
statues and, by the Late PPNB, contrary to the northern
Levantine world and the claimed revolution of symbols, large
communities appear to be being created and held together
without a mass of material symbolism. The absence of ritual
objects in the temples at ‘Ain Ghazal is striking, although of
course this could relate to cleaning of these buildings before
their abandonment.
Rollefson has combined the role of ritual buildings with
changes in community and architecture to suggest overall
changes in social structure. Rollefson (2010) has argued for
a major change in ritual ceremonies with the Late PPNB as
population numbers rose steeply – requiring new forms that
went beyond inward-looking ‘kin-based ancestral cults’ to
‘new specialized architecture’ that cut across kinship groups
 Finlayson: Houses of the Holy: The Evolution of Ritual Buildings
to hold together the larger communities. Middle PPNB
ritual was based on shamanistic practices and ancestor
cult with figurines, statues, plaster modelled skulls and
decapitated sub-floor burials. These belonged to a world of
‘individual family ritual’ that was replaced in the Late PPNB
by ‘extended household ceremonies’ when the first ritual
buildings appeared at ‘Ain Ghazal, with religious specialists
looking after the spiritual welfare of the entire community.
It appears significant that the largest ritual structures seem
to have moved outside the built community at ‘Ain Ghazal
(a pattern possibly reflected at Beidha). The scale of the
temples suggests that rituals undertaken within them were
not public, and perhaps their binding nature was not due to
mass participation, but significant rites for specific groups,
for example, rites of passage.
In light of the common association of Neolithic temples
with later religious structures, the emergence of a separation
of religion and the secular world through the creation of
temples outside the settlement in the Late PPNB becomes a
specific element to consider within the possible emergence
of doctrinal ritual. We need to be careful not to overstate this
– there are still ‘shrines’ within the settlement at ‘Ain Ghazal,
and elsewhere Middle PPNB practices in terms of skull
treatment appear to continue, even appearing in one burial
at Çatalhöyük. However, the difference between the ‘house
societies’ of central Anatolia, and what is happening in the
southern Levant is extremely clear. Even if, contra Hodder
(2010), we were to accept During’s idea of ‘special houses’ at
Çatalhöyük (2006), the difference is fundamental.
An interesting argument has been developed relating
to the evidence of Çatalhöyük and the distinction between
doctrinal and imagistic modes of religion (e.g. Whitehouse
and Hodder 2010). Following Whitehouse’s cross-cultural
study of two different forms of religion, or experiencing
ritual (Whitehouse 2004), the authors seek to examine
whether they can see the transition from one to the other
at Çatalhöyük. They suggested that elders, ritual leaders, or
‘shamans’, may have engineered the shift to a more doctrinal
form in the upper layers of the site, building on the ideas found
in the imagistic practices of the lower layers. Whitehouse
and Hodder argue that the transition at Çatalhöyük occurs
at the same time as the shift to the Pottery Neolithic in the
Levant, directly presaging the development of new political
systems in Mesopotamia (2010, 142). Despite the way that
the location of such symbolism and ritual behaviour is based
in the household during the Neolithic at Çatalhöyük, this
closely follows the arguments of scholars such as Cauvin
and Kafafi; that PPN temples prefigure the development
of Mesopotamian religion. This argument appears highly
relevant to what may have been happening at ‘Ain Ghazal.
With the appearance of the discrete, separate temples,
and the disappearance of the more immediately imagistic
(but here predominately human) figurines and burial
139
practices, it seems that the ‘Ain Ghazal evidence might
represent a clearer, and earlier, example of such a shift than
at Çatalhöyük. If this interpretation were correct, the ‘Ain
Ghazal evidence would seem to support Whitehouse and
Hodder’s general argument that the doctrinal mode emerges
long before literacy. However, given we know that there are
earlier communal buildings, the building of purpose-made
Late PPNB structures may be misleading us. Can we safely
argue that the temples suggest the inception of a doctrinal
mode of ritual?
Insoll (2004) has suggested that rather than studying
symbolism and ritual as if they were a distinct sub-system of
human behaviour, it might be more productive to start from
the premise that religion will have provided the framework
for people’s understanding of the world and their place
in it. For obvious reasons, prehistoric religion is generally
only brought into discussion where apparent physical
manifestations of ritual can be observed, and these are most
evident in the treatment of the dead. While within the
Neolithic any figurative or art object tends to be subsumed
into ritual this may still be a minimalist approach. If religion
permeates an understanding of the way the world works, we
should not limit our definition of ritual to the tangible traces
left in material culture, but should recognize that it will have
affected all life, and admit that its apparent absence is most
likely because it is hard for us to see it. This has several direct
consequences. The first is to recognize that what we identify
as ritual material culture is simply the tip of an iceberg in
its representation of behaviour. Secondly, if we should not
identify ritual practices as belonging to a separate activity,
then we should also not assume that it relates to the actions
of specialist ritual practitioners.
If we work from a set of models that emphasise the
importance of symbolism, ritual and the start of religion in
the Neolithic, we may well be guilty of over interpretation.
No matter how elaborate the arena may be, and no matter
how confident we are that it was used for ritual activity,
claiming such ritual as being religious is yet another step on
the inferential ladder. Banning makes the point that “the
interpretation of every Neolithic building that shows any
evidence of spectacular art or unusual architectural features
as a specialized shrine is problematic” (Banning 2011, 624).
He is not trying to say that no buildings were non-domestic,
just that the distinction between ‘house’ and ‘temple’ may be
‘inappropriate’ (2011, 629). Schmidt has argued the opposite,
and states that Göbekli Tepe has to be sacred, as “we know
what settlements and houses look like from this period”
(Schmidt 2005, 14). Two problems seem to be conflated
here, the first is that any unusual and decorated structure has
to be ritual, and the second that ritual means sacred.
If we were to accept the ubiquity of symbolism in ordinary
houses – not just at Çatalhöyük but also at other sites such as
Qermez Dere (Watkins 1990), then the ubiquitous nature of
140 Settlement, Survey, and Stone
symbols at Göbekli Tepe might indicate they are not ‘special’.
Banning accepts that some buildings might have a special
function, but “evidence for ritual or conspicuous symbolism
does not automatically imply specialized temples” (2011,
625). This is a key point: in the southern Levant there is a
very different pattern, with only a few buildings apparently
fulfilling the special function and therefore inherently, in
Banning’s terms, more likely to be truly special.
Discussion
The idea that there is some pan-Levantine Neolithic,
that shares a common ideology, appears as a common trope
in the literature. Warburton, for example, states that “we
would argue that the value of a shared ideology was the
premise upon which the subsequent economic revolution
was founded” (2005, 45). Banning’s detailed discussion
of ritual is problematic as, although targeted at Göbekli
Tepe, it hops around grabbing data from southwest Asia
throughout the PPN, which is only really acceptable if we
are dealing with a single phenomenon. His ‘characterization
of PPN ritual’ (Banning 2011, 639) is exactly that – it is the
synthetic assumption that there is a single PPN ritual, a view
criticized by Belfer-Cohen and Goring-Morris (2011, 643),
who have emphasized that there is no single Neolithic pan-
Levantine package (Belfer-Cohen and Goring-Morris 2005).
That Banning does not discuss Rollefson’s temples in his
otherwise thorough review is another problem. The evidence
is either all in, and the problems faced, or the pan-regional
synthesis remains superficial. Throwing in assorted bits of
ethnography and other archaeology from around the world
makes the matter worse, not better. The idea of a single pan-
regional model appears incompatible with current models
suggesting that the economic revolution manifested itself in
different forms throughout the region, and did not derive
from a single centre of innovation.
The lack of geographical focus seems to be matched
by an equivalent chronological imprecision in a blurry
PPN. Cauvin (2000) placed the birth of the gods in the
Late PPNB, an idea rephrased by Whitehouse and Hodder
(2010) as the beginning of formal religion at the end of
the Late PPNB, and matched by Verhoeven (2002) who
contrasts a homogenized PPNB with the Pottery Neolithic.
These broad-brush approaches are concisely criticized by
Warburton as “we would not necessarily argue that what
was important in 10,000 B.C. was still decisive in 6,500
B.C.” (2005, 45). One important aspect of Rollefson’s
work has been to note the changes occurring within the
PPNB, emphasizing the substantial temporal variability.
Belfer-Cohen and Goring-Morris expand on this point by
noting that not only do we need to be aware that meaning
changes over time but, more than that, that the religious
terminology often employed is applied in retrospect (2005),
and its meaning is very modern.
PPNA sites repeatedly show a highly site-specific
expression of communal behaviour; indeed, while PPNA
community structures have become almost commonplace,
they are always different. This presumably reflects not only
secular social organization, but is an expression of PPNA
beliefs. Arguably, the heterogeneity of the burial and
architectural evidence, while clearly fitting within an overall
regional PPNA loose framework, would correspond to
Whitehouse and Hodder’s idea (2010) that imagistic rituals,
only performed occasionally, are prone to considerable
variation as their performance and interpretation is subject
to re-interpretation, both due to the infrequency of their
performance and to direct participation in emotionally
(and often physically) highly charged activities. However,
as an alternative, it is possible that the picture of diversity
– chronologically and geographically – may reflect the
significance of ritual practice as a marker of community
identity, or even ethnicity. Religion and ritual practice are
potentially a prime way to create and demarcate community
and ethnicity, which may have become increasingly important
with increasing sedentism and tethered economic resources.
Conclusion
Our knowledge of the PPN in the southern Levant has
grown significantly since ritual buildings were first identified
at ‘Ain Ghazal. In particular, new evidence from PPNA
and Early PPNB contexts has begun to break down the
established models regarding both the development of ritual
behaviour, and the architectural model that assumes that
Middle PPNB houses derive directly from hunter-gatherer
huts through early Neolithic homes for nuclear families. This
reassessment suggests that there is a shift from community,
as represented in the architecture of the PPNA and Early
PPNB, to a more hierarchical society, as represented by the
closed and small ritual buildings, or temples, of the Late
PPNB, placed outside the community. This creates a question
regarding our interpretation of the intervening Middle
PPNB evidence, which has appeared to be dominated by
household-level ritual. It is plausible that at ‘Ain Ghazal the
Middle PPNB plaster statues, made in a manner suitable for
display or procession, and apparently discarded en masse,
were not markers of an inward-looking kin-based practice,
but of a very open and outward expression, continuing
the earlier community based behaviour. This accords
with arguments that the plastered skulls do not represent
ancestors, but are part of a collective process that is revealed
through the practice of secondary burial. It also appears
that some Middle PPNB structures, such as the shrines of
Jericho and the collective burial structure and the two-storey
building at Shkarat Msaiad represent a degree of continuity
in architectural expression.
Discussions of the growth of ritual behaviour, symbolism,
or religion that focus mainly on the northern Levant and
 Finlayson: Houses of the Holy: The Evolution of Ritual Buildings
Anatolia, ignoring the rather different pattern in the south,
are clearly only partial accounts. We can see a long path of a
southern Levantine architectural tradition that has contained
‘special’ buildings from Natufian Mallaha onwards. In that
sense, the shrines and temples of Late PPNB ‘Ain Ghazal
reflect a development out of this tradition, rather than a
sudden appearance of a radically new phenomenon. The
apparent presence of both the shrines and the temples in
use around the same time may well be a simple reflection of
the new scale of community, and possibly its multi ‘ethnic’
origins (Rollefson 2005). The more radical visible shift
appears to be in burial practices and in the way plastered
skulls and statues go out of use.
The bigger question is what to make of all this evidence.
Rollefson (2005) admits there are terminological problems,
especially with his use of the word temple, perhaps less so
with shrine. Kenyon used both terms at Jericho (1981) and
Kirkbride saw the shrine complex at Beidha as being religious
(1968). It is the religious connection between temple and a
place of worship that is most problematic. We should not
forget that Near Eastern archaeology substantially grew out
of biblical archaeology, and that the identification of early
religion was an inevitable component of the study. Such an
interest continues; in their editorial in NeoLithics of 2005
Gebel and Rollefson issued a call asking colleagues to extend
their discussion of city and state-based ritual to the Neolithic
periods (Gebel and Rollefson 2005). Unfortunately, we may
be making unjustified claims for the presence of religion (as
we understand it) in the PPN. The separation of the religious
from the secular is not only a relatively modern practice, but
it is restricted to only some of our world religions. While
recognizing that some structures were built as foci for ritual
activity, we should not make the very large scale jump to
assuming this represents the separation of religion from
secular, or indeed even the appearance of the doctrinal.
Cauvin argued that the first public buildings go back to
the PPNB and that ‘they were indeed sanctuaries’ – the first
time that people gathered for purposes that were ‘beyond
the everyday’ (2000, 120). Our growing body of evidence
shows that the history of this phenomenon goes back further.
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