Interwoven with issues of chronology are broader issues concerning the identity of the patronage and exchange networks which underpinned the evolution of the monastic and cult landscape of the Syro-Palestinian region. As was addressed above, the widely accepted premise that monasticism was characterised by its close dependence upon external networks and individuals requires substantial review. Nonetheless, general acceptance of the theory has resulted in the tendency in recent studies to view monastic/cult sites as a homogenous
219 Prignaud 1963.
220 Preliminary reports appear in Al-Daire 2001, Vriezen, Wagner-Lux, Mulder and Guineé 2001 and Weber
1998.
221 For Mevo Modi’im: Eisenberg and Ovidiah 1998. For Horvath Qasra: Kloner 1990. For Horvat Hani: Dahari
2003: 269-272 and Deir Ghazali, Avner 2000.
222 This is because whilst the identification of later intervention at these sites (which is currently facilitated
through the re-interpretation of dated epigraphic material) may support a potential shift in the understanding of their occupational span (at least beyond the seventh century), this approach is admittedly restricted in its capacity to reconstruct a complete occupational profile for such sites. For monasteries or pilgrimage sites such as Martyrios at Ma‘ale Adummim and Shepherd’s Fields, the discussion remains primarily one of identifying flaws in the present chronologies rather than a comprehensive archaeological reappraisal.
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social category characterised by uniform socio-economic relationships. Monastic production and exploitation of their rural hinterlands is one element where hagiographical accounts have proved hugely influential in defining a portrait of Palestinian monastic economies as largely self-sufficient and marginal to the wider economic framework of their rural and urban
hinterlands.223 Surviving accounts from the Sergios and Bakkhos monastery at Nessana,
which detail considerable monastic involvement in the orchestration of agricultural yields and production, provides some tentative indications of the weakness of this model, but one which
has not received sufficient study to draw more extensive conclusions at present.224 Similarly,
monastic land ownership and exploitation, features which must surely have a role in explaining the post-Byzantine trajectories of sites, are so poorly understood as to render their incorporation into the present study unfeasible.
Archaeological strategies have remained unsuccessful in acknowledging the potential complexities of monastic patron economies and relationships to concurrent networks of exchange. Partly, as mentioned earlier in this discussion, this is because the data presented in the major synthetic studies of ‘Palestinian monasticism’ derives primarily from monasteries in the Judean Desert and because archaeological strategies, alongside related publications, are predominantly weighted towards the exploration of architectural layouts or ceramic and glass typologies. Investigative procedures such as bio-archaeology or petrographic analysis, which often provide evidence of more ephemeral networks of exchange, are only in their infancy among excavations in modern Israel and Jordan although, where they have been
implemented, have revealed the large extent of monastic exchange networks.225 The analysis
223 Hirschfeld 1992: 102-112. Preliminary attempts at sites such as Jabal Harūn are beginning to emerge, see
Lavento et al; 2007: 145-156. These, however, occasionally show the influence on the hagiographically-driven models characteristic of approaches to the Judean Desert, see Ibid: 145-150.
224 Mayerson 1962: 224-256. See also P. Colt 44-46 and P. Colt 82, 90.
225 I have used the term ‘bio-archaeology’ in accordance with the British-European definition which includes all
biological remains encountered during excavation. Recent environmental analysis of remains from Deir ʿAin ʿAbata, have revealed the presence of Scaridae (Red Sea Parrot fish) as an important component of the monastic diet. This suggests that the community remained connected to exchange networks with the Red Sea
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of human burial also remains comparatively understudied, with often only cursory discussion of paleodemographic information – biological gender and approximate age – presented
within subsequent final reports.226 This is primarily a product of the cultural appropriation of
human remains by contemporary religious or political communities,227 alongside ongoing
ethical debates, which often prevent the application of more intrusive investigative techniques on human remains. This has, however, important implications for present discussions of Palestinian monasticism where the question of ‘ethnogenesis’ – essentially the geographical origins of monastic individuals – remains a dominant point of debate in contemporary scholarship. In addition, the lack of systematic analysis of human remains within monastic archaeology, has permitted the continued application of practices and approaches to skeletal remains which have been universally discredited by broader archaeological scholarship. Examples where the biological ethnicity of human remains is determined by skeletal characteristics or craniofacial anthropometry (which assume distinctions between European, Arab/Bedouin and Jewish skeletal structure can be measured in quantitative terms) remains
the most common of these residual, but critically outdated, approaches.228 Collectively,
results derived from this problematic methodology are still routinely enlisted to underpin the perception of the Palestinian monastic milieu as comprised of Aegean-Mediterranean migrants irrespective of the increasing contradiction of this hypothesis in contemporary
osteo-archaeological and anthropological research.229 As it currently stands, this lack of
(approximately 600 km distance) in the eighth to early ninth centuries, see Politis 1992: 284 and Beech and Prame 2012: 479-489.
226 See, for example, the report of skeletal material from the North Church of Rehovot-in-the-Negev:
Hershkovitz, Ring, Rak and Arensburg 1988.
227 In some cases, such as the site of Martyrios at Ma’ale Adummim, skeletal remains were handed over to
church authorities for re-burial see Magen 1993: 178.
228 Thus Reich 1996 and Nagar 2003. This also influenced the analysis of the remains at Rehovot-in-the-Negev
which distinguished between Jewish and Christian burials from skeletal remains: Hershkovitz, Ring, Rak and Arensburg 1988: 193-209.
229 Boaz 1995 and Williams et al 2005: 340-346 using case studies from Pleistocene and Nubia respectively
period draw attention to the relative difficulties in this approach. Armelagos and Van Gerven 2003: 53-65 provides an overview of developments since the late nineteenth century. Jones 1997a offers a useful summary of the abuses of these concepts in Palestinian archaeology. For the most comprehensive discussion of the question of ethnicity in archaeological research, see Jones 1997b. For a discussion of the problematic concept of
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systematic analytical investigation inhibits our ability to determine whether or not Palestine’s monastic-pilgrim milieu was ‘Palestinian’ or ‘non-Palestinian’ in its human composition or economic basis.
A further casualty of this methodological blind spot is our incapacity to observe potential fluctuations in the living conditions of such ‘monastic’ individuals across the Byzantine and early Islamic periods.
This limitation will undoubtedly be resolved as the profile and methodological sophistication of Byzantine and early Islamic archaeology in Syria-Palestine expands and matures in coming years and useful results for further debate begin to follow. A more straightforward limitation, one which can be more readily engaged with the available archaeological data, centres on the question of resource and technical quality: in effect, the geographical provenance of the materials used in the construction of a monastic complex or
pilgrimage church, and how we can measure the technical sophistication of their use.230
Although architectural surveys and excavation reports habitually note stone typologies
represented in individual constructions and features,231 few studies have sought to correlate
this data with reference to the wider geological landscape of Syria-Palestine in order to
postulate where such communities acquired resources for construction.232 This is, however,
critical to our understanding of the extent of the economic outlay and exchange systems
ethnicity in early medieval contexts see Pohl 1998: 13-24. Anthropologists have consistently emphasised the essentially problematic nature of the terminology ‘race’ which can incorporate a broad spectrum of traits including, religious faith, biological race, culture, language and geographical spaces. Wallman 1977: 531–532 conveys the relatively difficulty with the terms and the varied interpretation of them between scholars of European and American backgrounds.
230 These approaches are already established for sites in Anatolia, see Ousterhout 2008: 128-156 and Pickett
2011a.
231 This concentrates primarily on the embellishment of the main basilical church.
232 We lack, for example, a detailed archaeological survey of Roman, Byzantine and early Islamic quarries in the
region. Recent isotopic studies directed at sculptures of the Roman period have begun to investigate the original quarries of marble work in Umm Qays/Gadara,ʿAmmān/Philadelphia and Jarash/Gerasa are beginning to reveal links between these cities and the marble quarries of western Turkey and Thassos, see Friedland and Tykot 2010. Al-Naddaf, Al-Bashaireh and Al-Waked 2010: 75-83, have identified two chancel screens made from Proconnesian marble from churches in northern Jordan. Both screens are, however, poorly provenanced having been confiscated from treasure hunters. However, the study raises some interesting perspectives which warrant further application in more secure contexts.
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which facilitated monumental construction in rural and urban contexts. Where this material is available, as at Sinai and Nessana, even preliminary observations of the material and technical investment utilised in church construction, demonstrate the immediate distinction in the scale of their respective patron support bases. Whilst the redevelopments of the eighteenth and nineteenth century impede a more complete rendering of the original appearance of the main monastic church at Sinai, the sixth-century apse mosaic of the Transfiguration, delicately executed in glass as well as gold and silver tesserae, provides a useful comparative
of economic scale (Fig. 1.13, 1.14).233
A comparative observation of the Sergios-Bakkhos monastery of Nessana, where epigraphic and papyrological data appear to portray a more localised patronal support base limited to local family units or village collectives, reflects the more modest capacity of its primary economic sponsors. Here, the main church demonstrates far higher use of local building materials, the use of wall paintings – though we lack spectroscopic investigation which would enable us to determine their compositional materials – and a lower, though still
proficient, level of technical skill.234 The architectural report by Welbury Kendall noted the
particular use of local limestone in the main fabric of the building,235 with Harris Dunscombe
Colt noting the more limited use of marble for architectural embellishments and liturgical
233 Forsyth 1979: 62-64, Weitzmann 1966: 392-405 and Weitzmann 1979: 82-86. Discussions of glass mosaic
tesserae, including production methods and costs, are offered in James 2006: 29–47. James has pointed to the production of glass tesserae at the sites of Petra and in Jarash and has proposed that the production of glass tesserae was less expensive than previously assumed. I would accept this hypothesis but would argue that its findings do not substantially alter the central point of this study. The Hagia Maria Church in Petra, for example, appears to have been the main church of the urban centre and was closely associated with the locally prominent Obodianos family. In contrast, the apparent lack of similar use of glass tesserae in the churches of Kastron Mefaʿa or Umm el-Jimal, which appear to have been plastered, may reflect their relative integration into more modest and localised patron networks. Surviving plaster fragments from the Church of the Priest Waʿil suggest that the apses of some of the churches were decorated with wall paintings rather than mosaic, see Piccirillo 1993b: pl. 5.
234 This has also been observed in the example of Umm el-Jimal, where architectural analysis of the churches
and domestic structures has demonstrated the prevalent use of local material and construction techniques which did not require intensive labour investment. See the discussion by De Vries 1985. Similar techniques and use of local materials are also apparent among the smaller churches of Kastron Mefaʿa. Liturgical furniture in the Church of the Lions and the Church of Hagios Paulos, for example, were primarily fashioned from oil shale, see Piccirillo 1992: 207-209 and Piccirillo 1997: 379-381. For a similar discussion for the Churches of Hagios Sergios and Hagios Stephanos, which exhibit the use of bituminous schist and some limited use of marble, see Acconci 1994: 290-313.
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furnishing.236 The recent analysis of Bert De Vries on a series of buildings in Umm el-Jimal
has drawn further perspectives of the value of analysing construction methods within this discussion.237
In the examples of Umm el-Jimal, the use of economical building techniques and stone materials, which could be used without the additional support of sophisticated mechanical apparatus or extensive manpower, offers further examples of church construction
methods within more modest economic scales (Fig.1.15, 1.16).238 The characteristics of Umm
el-Jimal are replicated at Kastron Mefaʿa, where a similar use of local materials (fossiliferous limestone for architectural features and bituminous schist for liturgical furnishing) and stone masonry techniques (such as door lintels) that could be used with minimal technical investment characterise the smaller churches of the Priest Waʿil, the Church of the Tabula
Ansata and the Church of the Palm Tree (Fig. 1.17, 1.18).239
Observations of buildings materials may not facilitate a full appraisal of the economic distinctions between all individual monasteries or cult sites. Nonetheless, such straightforward comparisons between sites of similar date, such as Sinai, Nessana and Kastron Mefa’a, reveal considerable variations in the economic and exchange networks which facilitated their creation. This may appear an arbitrary point, but given the frequent assumption that the monastic and cult landscape of Palestine developed as a result of a
homogenous series of social and economic connections, it is worth stressing here.240 Given
the paucity of surviving documented evidence, archaeological material, due to its relative
236 Colt 1962: 50.
237 De Vries 1985: 252-254. 238 Ibid.
239 Both the churches of the Priest Waʿil and the Church of the Tabula Ansata reflect the use of locally sourced
limestone and bituminous schist. On the Church of the Priest Waʿil, see the discussion in Piccirillo1993b. For the Church of the Tabula Ansata, see Piccirillo2003a. Similar use of local stone also characterises the Church of the Lions; see Piccirillo 1992: 201-208 and the Church of Hagios Paulos, see Piccirillo 1997: 379-381.
81 Fig.1.14 Mount Sinai, St Katherine’s Monastery, detail of Moses, reflecting the use of gold-leaf and glass tesserae. The Mosaic of the burning bush scene.
©http://www.solo-mosaico.org 2010/2011
Fig.1.13 Sinai, St Katherine’s basilica, apse mosaic. ©Talmoryair 2007. Creative Commons Licence 3.0
82 Fig.1.15 Umm el-Jimal, House XVIII.
83 Fig.1.16 Umm el-Jimal, door lintel.
84 Fig. 1.17 Kastron Mefaʿa, Church of the Priest Wa’il, dated to 586 (facing south east). The use of smaller stones for the construction of the walls, which were subsequently plastered, finds parallels in the
contemporary techniques observed at Umm el-Jimal. ©Reynolds 2010
Fig. 1.18 Kastron Mefaʿa, Church of the Priest Wa’il, dated to 586 (facing north east). The connecting arch, similar to those of Umm el-Jimal, is comprised on small, easily lifted, voussoirs, which De Vries estimates could be positioned with relatively simple equipment.
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availability, provides the most effective means through which we may recognise that not all monasteries or pilgrimage centres entered the early Islamic period on identical patronal, economic or social bases. As will be explored in the subsequent chapters of this study, these distinctions are important to explaining the subsequent survival of sites beyond the seventh century.