Not Seeing Is Believing: Ritual Practice and Architecture at Chalcolithic Çadır Höyük in Anatolia

Abstract

Chalcolithic religious practice at the site of Çadır Höyük (central Anatolia) included the insertion of ritual deposits into the architectural fabric of the settlement, “consecrating” spaces or imbuing them with symbolic properties. These deposits are recognizable in the archaeological record by their consistent use of ritually-charged material, such as ochre, copper, human and animal bone, and certain kinds of ceramics. During the 800-year period considered in this paper, the material practice of making these ritual deposits remained remarkably consistent. However, the types of spaces where the deposits are made change as shifting social organization reforms the divisions between private and public space.

1. Introduction

The guest editors for “Housing the Sacred” identified themes that are applicable to virtually any location in the world that existed at any time in the past. It is not surprising, therefore, that the present authors immediately recognized that the buildings and spaces at Late Chalcolithic Çadır Höyük, on the central Anatolian plateau, were contexts that fit snugly into the framework outlined for this thematic issue. In particular, the guest editors ask, “what makes a building [and the authors here would add, ‘a space’] religious, and further, do “buildings [and spaces] ‘capture’ the sacred and root it in place”? The guest editors invite authors to investigate the notion of “visibility,” and whether, in effect, seeing is believing. While the site of Çadır Höyük offers insights into all of these questions, the latter two themes are most intriguing and are the focus here.

The Chalcolithic period (

Table 1. Chalcolithic periodization used in the text (based on Schoop 2011a).

Early Chalcolithic	ca. 6100–5500 BCE
Middle Chalcolithic	ca. 5500–4250 BCE
Late Chalcolithic	ca. 4250–3000 BCE

) in Anatolia is a critical but rather poorly understood span of three millennia (ca. 6100–3000 BCE) that sees the transition from hunting-gathering and early farming settlements in the previous Neolithic period to the rise of urban centers in the following Early Bronze Age (Bertram and Bertram 2021; Düring 2011). The dynamic changes through these millennia are only fleetingly glimpsed at Chalcolithic sites across the Anatolian peninsula. Furthermore, Turkey’s geographical position, which earned it the nickname of “the crossroads” between Europe and Asia, is equally evident in the Chalcolithic. The material culture found at sites dotting the western coast contains elements, and likely represented ideologies, more commonly found on Aegean islands, while sites in the northwestern region of Turkey are often included in discussions treating the Chalcolithic of southeastern Europe. The southeastern region of Anatolia is frequently intertwined, both in scholarship and in Chalcolithic reality, with peoples and places in northern Mesopotamia. This might suggest that the central plateau, within which Çadır Höyük rests, would then exist as its own regional and cultural entity, but the ceramic evidence does not confirm this (Schoop 2005). The complicated patchwork that is Chalcolithic Anatolia remains a work in progress for scholars devoted to this time and place.

Çadır Höyük rests within the bend of the Kızılırmak (river) in the province of Yozgat (Figure 1, Figure 2 and Figure 3). Since 1994, continuous excavations have revealed 6000 years of occupation on the Çadır mound, spanning the late sixth millennium BCE to the 14th century of this era (Cassis et al. 2019; Ross et al. 2019a; Steadman et al. 2019a). Excavations on all four slopes of the mound, as well as on the North Terrace, have revealed the fortifications built by residents during the second millennium BCE Hittite age (Ross et al. 2019b; Steadman and McMahon 2015), and the various industries undertaken during the Iron Age (first millennium BCE) Phrygian and later empires (Steadman et al. 2019b, forthcoming). Work at Çadır Höyük has also contributed significantly to the understanding of the Late Antique and Byzantine hinterland over the last two millennia (Cassis and Steadman 2014; Cassis and Lauricella 2021). The present study on religion and space is focused on the Late Chalcolithic settlement (3800–3000 BCE).

In particular, we focus on two of the themes in this Special Issue: How sacredness may be “captured” in the built environment, and the degree to which this may be displayed or concealed by the inhabitants of a place. In view of the first of these themes, we argue that ritual practices within the settlement consecrated both domestic and public space, effectively materializing and “storing” memories and symbolic ideas about social life and the family in the architectural fabric of the settlement. We also discuss how residents dealt conceptually with the destruction and ultimate abandonment of these consecrated spaces. The consideration of the second and related theme, visibility, allows us to chart the changing social relationships: rising social complexity at the site appears to have created a desire among the elite to conceal their own ritual practices, while simultaneously compelling the rest of the group to move their observance from the domestic to the public sphere.

2. The Late Chalcolithic Lower Town at Çadır Höyük

As noted above, the Late Chalcolithic is a poorly understood period in Anatolian prehistory, mainly due to the dearth of excavated sites. There are only two sites that offer contemporary comparanda in the region surrounding Çadır Höyük. A small Late Chalcolithic exposure at Alişar Höyük in the 1930s revealed minimal architecture and a few burials (von der Osten 1937). Detailed excavations at the nearby site of Çamlibel Tarlası offered a glimpse of a small seasonal encampment at which infant interments were identified (Schoop 2009, 2011b, 2015). The Late Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age (prehistoric; ca. 3800–2800 BCE) settlement at Çadır Höyük has been uncovered in a nearly 700-m² area of exposure (Figure 2). Excavations have revealed that at least by the later fourth millennium BCE, and probably earlier, the prehistoric settlement was built as a terraced community with a “Lower Town” and an “Upper Town” (Figure 3). Excavations in the Upper Town have revealed the Early Bronze Age occupation (ca. 3000–2800) and have recently exposed the latest stages of the Late Chalcolithic area dating to the end of the fourth millennium. The larger Lower Town expanse has afforded the Çadır team the opportunity to investigate the fourth millennium Late Chalcolithic occupation of the site (ca. 3800–3000 BCE).

In the earliest levels so far excavated, the settlement is composed of household compounds that are comparable to one another and suggest a relatively unstratified social arrangement (Steadman et al. 2019c, 2019d). We refer to this phase as the Agglutinated (ca. 3800–3600 BCE) after a dominant architectural style of small rooms, probably in two stories, clustered around open courtyards. Household-scale work, such as food preparation and tool production, was done in the courtyards, the lower rooms were used for storage, and the upper rooms or roofs were used for living space. Of the two compounds we have excavated, one contains a courtyard that appears to have been reserved for religious use, which we will return to in detail below.

The next major phase at Çadır is termed the “Burnt House/Omphalos Building” phase (ca. 3600–3200 BCE). At this time the spatial organization gradually shifts to a preference for larger open areas accessed directly from the main street, while the living spaces are moved to the back of compounds fronted by courtyards designed to bar physical and visual access to the interior of the home. Points of access to the religious space noted above are considerably restricted, with the only entrance being through the private space of the domestic compound. At the same time, the settlement is enclosed by a substantial wall. We have interpreted these architectural changes as evidence of increasing social stratification and an attendant desire for privacy, as well as the control and organization of labor at a community, rather than household, scale (Hackley et al. 2018; Selover et al., forthcoming; Steadman et al. 2019c, 2019d). We believe that these changes were the result of Çadır’s increasing participation in networks of long-range trade, emanating from Mesopotamia and reaching into southeastern Anatolia and onto the plateau, which brought new materials into the settlement and created an incentive for Çadırites to produce beyond their own household needs (Steadman et al. 2019d). The final two centuries (ca. 3200–3000), termed the “Transitional” phase at Çadır, saw a slow abandonment of the Lower Town and steady movement to the Upper Town.

The variety of architectural contexts present in the Chalcolithic excavations at Çadır allows for an investigation of the complex ways in which inhabitants engaged in symbolic or religious activities, and how these behaviors were affected by a changing social system. The picture that emerges is one of a consistent vocabulary of ritual practice, which remains in the archaeological record in the form of deposits inserted into the architectural space of the settlement. These deposits occur in domestic and non-domestic buildings, and appear to primarily mark life-cycle events of both people and structures. They occur in homes and public courtyards, as well as in spaces that were probably designated for religious activity. The general characteristics of these deposits remain unchanged through the Late Chalcolithic, but as the organization of space in the settlement evolves from a group of standard household compounds to a more stratified arrangement of carefully designed public and private areas, the placement and composition of the deposits changes in minor but interesting ways. In the following sections, we will discuss architectural foundation deposits, evidence for ritualized house “killing,” and the insertion of child burials in different types of architectural spaces. As a group, these deposits tell us a great deal about how moveable items, architecture, and the bodies of the dead functioned together in Chalcolithic religious practice.

3. Sacred Spaces in the Chalcolithic: Making, Seeing, and Destroying

Anatolia is no stranger to scholarly discussions about religious spaces and ritual practices (Baird et al. 2011, 2017; Hodder 2006; Özbaşaran 1998; Watkins 2015). However, a brief review of the literature will find that it overwhelmingly treats the Neolithic rather than the Chalcolithic period due to the existence of quite eye-catching material culture such as wall paintings, “skull cults,” and fascinating figurines at Neolithic sites such as Çatal Höyük, Hacılar, and Köşk Höyük (Bonogofsky 2003; Croucher and Belcher 2017; Hodder 2006, 2010; Öztan 2007; Pilloud et al. 2020), suggesting some elements of a dominant symbolism (see Verhoeven 2002b) at this time. An even more spectacular highlighting of Neolithic religion and ritual can be found at the southeastern Anatolian site of Göbekli Tepe (Banning 2011; Peters and Schmidt 2004; Schmidt 2011) where a breathtaking open-air structure features stone carvings rich in symbolism. Ritual practice in the Anatolian Neolithic can, in part, be characterized as being meant for public participation and display (termed “communality” by (Verhoeven 2002b, p. 245)). It is not surprising, then, that what appears to be a far more understated approach to religion and ritual in the Chalcolithic has received far less treatment in the scholarly literature (Yıldırım and Steadman 2021).

The archaeological subtlety of the Chalcolithic religion may be rooted in what has been argued is a shift from more public ritual activities in public or communal buildings and spaces in the Neolithic, to smaller-scale activities employing portable (and often disposable) objects in non-public venues (Erdoğu 2009; Hodder 2006). Such objects include anthropomorphic and zoomorphic figurines, often found broken and disposed of in streets and middens at Chalcolithic sites (see Yıldırım and Steadman 2021); the painted decorative arts on Neolithic ceramics give way to the somewhat more sedate representations of geometric figures and animals in the Chalcolithic (Atakuman 2015). If ritual focus in the Chalcolithic was reoriented to “things” and away from architecture, one might wonder what this contribution is doing in this Special Issue. It is posited here that while this Chalcolithic reorientation may well have involved a greater prominence of objects, it also moved the notion of the sacred from a singular locality to include a broad spectrum of space and place across the community. Inherent in this shift is a Chalcolithic reimagining of what makes a building or a place “religious” and whether that religiosity need be visible to anyone. A recent review of Chalcolithic religion (Yıldırım and Steadman 2021) suggests that residents during these millennia may have had an even more all-encompassing approach to the understanding of what were sacred buildings and spaces in their Chalcolithic communities than their Neolithic predecessors.

While the shift from Neolithic monumental ceremonial architecture to Chalcolithic object-centered devotional practice complicates the identification of distinctly “religious” contexts at Chalcolithic Çadır, the recognition that any space in the settlement may have been the location of religious activity allows a nuanced and pragmatic interpretation of the archaeological evidence. Disentangling the sacred and the profane can be difficult even in cultural contexts that we know intimately, let alone in prehistory. The archaeological evidence leads us to a set of symbolic practices based on the manipulation and precise deposition of everyday objects in everyday spaces, suggesting a focus on personal practice, accessible materials, shared ritual knowledge, and the generative symbolism of domestic life. While these material practices appear to remain consistent throughout the millennia of contexts we have excavated, their relationship with the architectural fabric and organization of the settlement can be seen to change in response to social and cultural developments.

Here, we organize the ritual practices of Çadır Höyük around three material practices: making, seeing (or concealing), and destroying. Each interacts with the architectural environment in different ways.

3.1. Making

The identification of what we call religious behavior at Chalcolithic Çadır is reliant on the presence of intentional, formal deposits that are incorporated into the architectural fabric of the settlement. These occur in both domestic and non-domestic spaces, and in open and enclosed areas. As described below, the format and contents of these deposits is extremely consistent, indicating that the practice of creating them was well-established, uncontroversial, and communicated and replicated across generations. Furthermore, the deposits consist of materials that were widely available, many of them used in the production of household objects: ochre (also used for decorating pottery and other items); human and animal bone; obsidian blanks, cores, or broken tools; colored stones; small balls of plaster; and ceramics. Phytoliths indicate the inclusion of textiles in some deposits, as well. The availability of these materials suggests that the deposits could be assembled by anyone, without the assistance of a specialist. It furthermore suggests the dual nature of these materials, which would have been handled daily by many members of the community. That they could be imbued with ritual significance through the circumstances of their deposition shows the flexible nature of Chalcolithic thing-oriented practice.

The creation of architectural deposits is a widespread human practice, noted from prehistory to the modern period in Australia (Burke et al. 2016), Africa (Bartosiewicz 2000; Müller 2018), the Near East (Gebel 2002; Helmer et al. 2004; Russell et al. 2009; Verhoeven 2002a, 2002b), Europe (Bailey 2018; Herva and Yilmaunu 2009; Woodward and Woodward 2004), the Americas (Hendon 2000, 2010; Kunen et al. 2002; Manning 2014a), and elsewhere. In ethnographic and historical examples, the practice is consistently characterized as a “folk” tradition, that is to say, as a widespread symbolic activity undertaken by individuals that is determined by magical or religious thinking and is structured in order to explore analogical relationships between humans and the world around them (Herva and Yilmaunu 2009). Here, we refer to this sort of behavior as “ritual,” although we take to heart Joanna Brück’s (1999) warning that this designation may unnaturally and unnecessarily divorce some symbolic behavior from the integrated, everyday landscapes of ancient relational thinking. In recent years, anthropologists and archaeologists have begun exploring the ways in which the perceived properties of things and materials cause humans to habitually include them in relational frameworks and to use them as stand-ins, mnemonics, or agents in symbolic practices (Bird-David 1999; Harvey 2005; Ingold 2000, 2006; Willerslev 2007). Their work shows that it is crucial to think flexibly about the multivalent properties of objects and materials when identifying and interpreting votive deposits in archaeological contexts.

In most contexts where they occur, architectural deposits are composed of quotidian, accessible materials: vessels, broken tools, bits of clothing, colored stones or shells, and hair, fingernails, bone, or other biological matter. This sometimes makes them difficult to distinguish from unintentional or incidental deposits, a difficulty magnified by the partial or total concealment that is often critical to the deposit’s ritual efficacy. Some are even burned in place and appear as only a bit of ash (Gerritsen 2003), rendering them nearly undetectable. For both the original depositor and the archaeologist, it is the relationships of the materials to one another, and even more importantly, the location of their deposit that makes them recognizable as meaningful, potent interventions in the human environment.

In Anatolia, the practice of making ritual deposits in architectural space is observed throughout antiquity. In addition to the Prehistoric examples discussed here, architectural deposits have been excavated in Bronze Age and Classical contexts. Hittite ritual texts detail the sacrifice of piglets, which are inserted into pits dug in the built environment; the purpose of the ritual is to attract chthonic deities to cleanse or protect a structure or home (Collins 2002). A pig fetus buried with bronze pins was found within the Hittite sanctuary of Yazılıkaya (Hauptmann 1975). The disarticulated skeleton of a young sheep was found in a Late Bronze Age pit inside a ritual building at Kilise Tepe. The pit dates to a major reconstruction of the building, and the contents possibly represent the remains of a foundation ritual (Popkin 2013). Pits are understood in Hittite texts as a site of communication with deities and as an interface through which they can receive offerings and communicate with humans. In Hittite ritual texts, pit offerings are explicitly connected with architectural foundation rituals, with the protection of the Sun Goddess, and with protective chthonic deities (Collins 2002; Popkin 2013). A preserved Hittite foundation ritual from Ortaköy indicates several types of ritual observance associated with the consecration of a new temple, including feasting and the sacrifice of many animals, the burning of incense, and the burial of the “hearts of the gods” below the structure (Soysal and Süel 2016).

The sacrifice of young pigs was a hallmark of the Thesmophoria, the principal festival of the Demeter cult in Greece. During the first day of the festival, piglets were hurled into a pit and left to rot, and adult animals were prepared as sacrificial offerings as part of the feast on the third day. The decomposed remains of the piglets were mixed with seed and placed on the altar of the goddess. The pits for the piglets seem to have been permanent features in Demeter sanctuaries (Collins 2002). In the Classical/Hellenistic sanctuary of Demeter at Mytilene, similar pits contained burnt remains of young pigs, sheep, and goats as well as scallops and oysters. Unburned remains of goose, partridge, pigeon, and chicken have been interpreted as sacred meals, possibly sacrificed as a scaled-down version of the ritual (Villing 2017).

Shallow pits filled with scorched pottery and bones from sheep, goat, and chicken have been found in houses and commercial buildings in Classical and early Hellenistic Athens. These deposits, usually labeled “Pyre deposits,” are interpreted as the remains of ritual meals as the pottery includes drinking vessels and cooking pots, but the purpose and recipient of the ritual remains unclear. At the Mausoleum at Halikarnassos, dated to around 350 BC, an enormous funerary sacrifice was excavated at the subterranean entrance to the burial chamber. Although there was no sign of fire or cooking, the animal bones suggest a huge meal offering to the deceased ruler (Ekroth 2017).

The inclusion of sacrificial animals which are not consumed in feasting suggests that they had additional magical significance as foci for purification, attractors of fertility, and offerings to deities. The emphasis on young animals such as piglets and lambs, their insertion in subterranean pits, and the association with seed suggest persistent conceptual connections with fertility, rejuvenation, prosperity, and protection.

The Chalcolithic deposits that we have identified at Çadır Höyük can mainly be divided into two categories: “foundation deposits,” created at the time of a building’s construction or during major renovations, and similar assemblages that are inserted into the architecture later, usually under the floor or in the masonry of the wall at ground level. These deposits can further be divided into those that contain the burial of an infant or very young child and those that do not. Based on the locations and material characteristics of these deposits, it is the excavators’ sense that they function in similar ways (Yıldırım et al. 2018). As we elaborate on below, we believe that these deposits serve to “ensoul” the architecture of the settlement and to commemorate life-cycle events of architecture considered to be animate and agentive.

Foundation deposits consecrate and formalize architecture in many periods and cultures, including modern, Western ones: consider the practice of ceremonially laying an inscribed cornerstone at the beginning of construction. In ancient Anatolia, foundation deposits are well-attested, from the Neolithic (Carter et al. 2015; Russell and Meece 2006), through the Chalcolithic (Gülçur and Kiper 2007; Yıldırım et al. 2018; Steadman et al. 2019c), and well into the Bronze Age (see Bertram and Bertram 2021 for an overview of Early Bronze sites). Infant burials may seem more exceptional but are in fact ubiquitous domestic deposits across ancient Anatolia, the Aegean, and the Near East (McGeorge 2013; Moses 2012; Thomas 2017; Yıldırım et al. 2018; Duru 1996; Lloyd and Mellaart 1962; Schoop 2015; von der Osten 1937; Özgen and Helwing 2003; Özbek 2001; Esin 2000; Massa 2014; Selover and Durgun 2019). While some excavators (e.g., Moses 2008, 2012) have assumed that these burials were evidence of the consecration of buildings through child sacrifice, the frequency of intramural infant burials is generally accepted to match the expected rate of infant mortality in prehistoric communities (Hillson et al. 2013; Carter et al. 2015).

Ethnographic studies of modern intramural infant burial show that the practice is born from a desire to keep the souls of infants close, both from an unwillingness to consign their remains to an extramural, adult cemetery and from the hope that the soul of the infant will thereby be encouraged to rejoin the family through a subsequent pregnancy (Scott 1999). Other reasons include the comfort given the dead infant by the warmth of the hearth or the hope that the child will remain a member of the family as a protective spirit and ward against the evil eye (the latter falling into the realm of “magical properties,” see below). In ancient Roman examples, small children are buried near hearths and grain storage, suggesting connections with warmth and domestic security and with fertility and prosperity more generally (Scott 1991; Moore 2009).

It is not difficult to imagine that the impulse to inter very young children within the house sprang simultaneously from the desire to protect a young family member and to be protected by an entity that was somehow between the realms of living and dead. We have argued elsewhere (Yıldırım et al. 2018) that the Anatolian practice of including the bodies of baby animals, obsidian blanks and flakes, ochre, metal, and other raw materials with young children in these deposits is connected with ideas about youth and potential: the power of materials that are capable of being made into something. Obsidian and metal, particularly, are malleable materials that are often refashioned when an object breaks or “dies”.

If it is true that these were considered “young” materials, their inclusion in deposits marking the foundation of structures makes considerable sense. Likewise, the periodic internment of infant family members within the house and the addition to these inserted burials of the same raw materials can be seen as “re-charging” the structure, and perhaps the grieving family, with positive, generative energy.

3.2. Seeing

A notable feature of the domestic deposits considered here is their partial or complete concealment from view, within the fabric of the settlement. Note that this is the virtual opposite of the type of “communality” present in the Neolithic (Verhoeven 2002b), noted above. In many cultural contexts where foundation and other architectural deposits are made, concealment seems to be an important aspect of their design and efficacy (e.g., Manning 2014a; Burke et al. 2016). Chris Manning, discussing deposits in North America, sees this aspect as such an important part of the practice that he prefers to call the items “ritual concealments”.

In the Anatolian context, foundation deposits were completely hidden by the surfaces of the structure, especially the layers of plaster, now lost, that would have been used on walls and floors. However, considering the relatively short life-cycles of mudbrick houses, and the likelihood that the construction of each house involved members of the family living in it, it is very possible to imagine that the positions of ritual deposits would be known and remembered by the home’s inhabitants.

The same is true of the infant burials inserted through the architectural surfaces, although these were often somewhat more marked: at the very least, the disturbance in brick and plaster would have been visible, but several of the infant burials are also located directly under the “scoops” in the floor used for work and storage. For inhabitants who knew that these signs marked the positions of the burials, they would have provided touchpoints for memory and commemoration. In both cases, the knowledge of ritual deposits contained within the house would have served to continuously and subtly interweave elements of the quotidian and consecrated through daily activity within the structure.

Identifying the presence of ritually concealed objects and humans in an archaeological context is significantly easier than comprehending the purpose behind the action of creating that invisible deposit. Perhaps the import of concealing it should be considered of utmost relevance: those involved in the creation and possibly clandestine placing of the object-based cache, or burial, have the all-important secret knowledge (as noted above) of its presence. Those involved perhaps derived critical comfort through knowledge of the contents and placement of it, while those from without might only surmise, and possibly fear, that such exists. Invisibility in essence heightens the efficacy of the deposit.

A belief in the magical properties of things (including deceased humans) serves as one avenue of interpretation for the physical but invisible presence of such deposits. While the study of magical practice has long been a mainstay in sociocultural anthropology (e.g., Frazier 1890; Malinowski 1925; Hubert and Mauss 1902; van Gennep 1909), the application of such interpretive models has only gained traction in the archaeological field more recently (Chadwick 2012; Fowles 2012; Manning 2014b; Merrifield 1987). In the Near East, magic-based actions and rituals in ancient texts have long been recognized and analyzed (e.g., McMahon 2002; Michalowski 1985; Schwemer 2011; Reiner 1995), but slower has been the concerted effort to embrace magic as an interpretive vehicle for prehistoric ritual behaviors (e.g., Gebel et al. 2002; Nakamura 2010; Nakamura and Pels 2014; Verhoeven 2002b).

If Çadır Höyük’s foundation deposits were ensconced within the realm of magical practice, there are three elements to consider: the performative actions associated with the magical items (Taussig 1998); the essentially required belief in the agency of objects (Gell 1998; Feldman 2010); and, related to both, but particularly to object agency, the intended outcome of the action.

The performative aspect associated with the prehistoric emplacement of ritual or magical deposits, is, alas, unknowable, at least in most cases. Who was allowed, or required, to attend the emplacement is essential to understanding the entire purpose of the action. Community-wide versus family-only participation would yield significantly varied archaeological interpretations of action intentionality and goals. While elusive, such insights might be partially retrievable from both the location and the nature of apparent sacramental deposits; locations in private or public spaces, small or widely scattered deposits, deeply personal or more culturally “generic” contents might offer relevant clues. In the Chalcolithic areas at Çadır Höyük, the nature and location of ritual deposits appears to correlate with social change, allowing us to propose some theories about the mechanics of the practice in this context.

The ability of the physical objects, or burials, to effect ethereal (magical) agency, in aid of the humans in their spaces, and the intended goals of that anticipated agency, are also enigmatic. Placement within and under walls brings to mind the possible importance of boundaries, whether defining who belongs and who does not, what actions should or should not take place, or other boundary-based denominators. Placement in outer walls might also bear the task of protection, raising the question of whether protection was needed against humans, animals, the inanimate, or all of these. The nature of the deposit may also lead to certain interpretations: humans (babies and children), could, as noted above, “ensoul” a structure and/or ensure reproduction of new life (and offer protection to that new life by magical means). Everyday objects (broken ceramics, lithics, animal bone) could serve to ensure solvency (a household never without the necessities of life), or myriad other magically induced outcomes.

3.3. Destroying

If foundation deposits can be seen as marking the beginning of a structure’s life, and the insertion of infant burials as sustaining a house by incorporating the material of the family into its walls, then the analogy may be taken through to the inevitable “death” of the structure and the ritual acknowledgement of this lifecycle event.

With a few relevant exceptions, discussed below, all of the structures that we have excavated are constructed of mudbrick. This material is ubiquitous in the region and in the Near East generally. This malleable, accessible building material is usually sourced from very near the buildings constructed with it, and its sustained use creates the slowly rising settlement mounds called tells or höyüks that are found across the Near East. Ethnographic studies suggest that unbaked mudbrick architecture has a life of about 50 to 70 years, at which point a structure will be dismantled and rebuilt, often on the same plan as the preceding architecture (Rosen 1986). The same pattern has been observed in ancient Anatolian contexts at Çatal Höyük, Çamlıbel Tarlası, and Çadır Höyük (Hackley et al. 2018; Schoop 2015; Russell et al. 2014; Steadman 2005; Steadman and Ross 2020; Steadman et al., forthcoming). We have argued elsewhere that the persistent reconstruction of buildings on the same plan is evidence of a desire to preserve the same structure despite the perishable nature of the building medium, and that this desire springs from an awareness that the physical structure of the home is an important holder of family memory and identity (Hackley et al. 2018). In this, we follow the work of many scholars and archaeologists who consider architecture to be an agentive part of human life that forms, stores, and communicates memory (Hendon 2010; Dovey 1999; Chapman 1997; Chippendale 1992; Waterson 1990; Khambatta 1989; Bachelard 1958). In addition to being a repository and container of memory, it is also possible to view the house as an animated entity in its own right. This idea has been put forward by many theorists (e.g., Bachelard 1958; Tuan 1977; Jager 1985; Lang 1985; Parker Pearson and Richards 1994), who explore the ways in which human societies acknowledge buildings as social actors and kin. Put more explicitly, many societies consider houses to be entities with souls and social lives (Hodder and Pels 2010; Willerslev 2007; Ingold 2006; Harvey 2005; Herva 2005). In particular, the identification of “history houses” (Hodder 2016; Hodder and Pels 2010; and see Lercari and Busacca 2020) at Neolithic Çatalhöyük is a useful model for understanding the emotional, physical, and mental investment residents place in their built environment over life-spans and generations.

The concept of an ensouled house experiencing its own lifecycle as a member of a kin group is compatible with the practice of incorporating foundation deposits and infant burials into a structure throughout its life, as these practices explicitly materialize lifecycle events occurring while the building stands and cause it to participate in the rhythms of domestic life (Yıldırım et al. 2018). Critically, these deposits are found under floors or at the foundations of walls, where they are less likely to be disturbed by rebuilding as long as the new walls continue to be built on the existing foundations.

However, at certain points in the history of a settlement, changing social or spatial requirements or even the extinction, departure, or addition of kinship groups will create a need for new architectural arrangements. This presents the problem of how to end the life of the agentive, animated house, in order to make room for new structures that respond to changing needs. The solution to this problem can be seen in the practice of “house-killing,” in which the terminal demolition of a structure is marked with ritual actions not unlike those associated with funeral and burial. The best-documented instances of ritual house “killing” or “closing” are found at Neolithic Çatalhöyük, where individual structures are intentionally burned and then collapsed, usually with commemorative ritual deposits inside (Russell et al. 2014).

The archaeological evidence at Çadır Höyük suggests that house-killing was consistently practiced when there was a need to reorganize an architectural space. Such events were marked by votive deposits, which included the same materials that made up ritual deposits throughout the settlement. In at least one case, the façade wall of the structure was carefully collapsed in one piece (see below) before the rest of the house was burned; there is emerging evidence that this practice was also applied to other structures at the site. Structures that were being closed or “killed” were then intentionally burned at a high temperature (indicated by charred wood fragments indicating added fuel as well as baked and even vitrified mudbrick), sealing the deposits from the house’s lifetime under a layer of compact debris. The death and burial of a house, accompanied by the appropriate disposition of ritual deposits and valuable fuel, can be seen as a controlled, deliberate ritual intended to respectfully and thoroughly end the agentive career of the structure and the deposits concealed within it. In this way, the site was prepared for a new architectural entity, outfitted with a new set of deposits.

4. Changing Contexts and Stable Practice at Çadır Höyük

Although the assessment of “ritual space” is difficult for the reasons discussed above, the archaeological evidence underscores the importance of thinking about Chalcolithic religion as a set of material practices that were braided throughout everyday activities and were intended to commemorate, materialize, and fossilize important moments or events. Here, we discuss Chalcolithic material-religious practices at Çadır Höyük in detail and consider the social and architectural contexts in which they were carried out.

4.1. Domestic Compounds and Household Ritual: The Agglutinated Phase (ca. 3800–3600 BCE)

As briefly noted above, the earliest excavated phases at Çadır are referred to as the “Agglutinated” after the prevailing form of architecture (Figure 4). We have fully excavated an entire domestic compound composed of small rooms (usually not more than 2.5 m in area) that encircle larger open courtyards with central hearths. The courtyards seem to have been the location of most of the activity of daily life: we have excavated the detritus of lithic production, food preparation, and even pottery making. The main courtyard of the earliest Agglutinated house opens directly to the street, and access to the inner rooms of the structure is not restricted (Figure 4). Botanical remains indicate that the ground-level rooms were primarily used for the storage of grain and legumes, which were kept in baskets (von Baeyer 2018; von Baeyer et al. 2021). The organization of the compound suggests that the lifestyle of the social group living here was highly communal, and mostly carried out in the open, shared spaces. The excavated compound probably represents only one kinship or domestic unit, but the variety of production tasks carried out within the home, as well as the ample space devoted to food storage, suggest that this was a household that largely supplied its own needs (Selover et al., forthcoming). Although it has not yet been excavated to the same level, emerging walls indicate a similar domestic compound of a comparable size and layout in trenches to the west. The overall picture is one of a community composed of relatively equal household units, each producing for their own needs in parallel.

Just to the east of the domestic compound, and accessible from both the street and the edge of the settlement, is an area that we refer to as the “Non-Domestic” building (Figure 4), although, in the Agglutinated phase, this area seems to have been an open space or courtyard. A large foundation deposit in a pit sealed under the floor of the space contained a great deal of fine ochre-painted pottery, as well as lithics, a bead made from the head of an animal femur, lumps of copper and possibly copper ore, colored stones, and a substantial amount of red and yellow ochre (Steadman et al. 2019a, 2019b; Yıldırım et al. 2018) (Figure 5). The fact that all of these materials were ritually charged and also consistent with the contents of smaller deposits throughout the settlement, as well as the pits’ location under a building that is reserved for ritual practice, indicates that this is an intentional deposit rather than a rubbish dump from an earlier phase. A two-year old pig was found buried under the floor of this structure (Steadman et al. 2019d), perhaps also a type of ritual deposit (see discussion above on Hittite and Classical ritual treatment of pigs). Both deposits were located under the center of the open space in the non-domestic building and sealed under layers of high-quality plaster. Although, unfortunately, the eastern end of the area is lost, the remaining architectural traces (mainly, a waist-high beehive-shaped mudbrick construction with a posthole or “libation” basin in the top) have been interpreted as an installation at least partially associated with the movements of the sun (see Yıldırım and Steadman 2021 for discussion).

The domestic architecture of the early Agglutinated phase is also marked by the inclusion of votive deposits, found throughout the structure (Figure 4). These can be separated into foundation deposits, which were incorporated into the fabric of the walls or under floors at the time they were built, and caches of ritually charged material that were inserted later through modification of the existing architecture. In both cases, the deposits are recognizable as examples of ritual behavior through the consistency of their contents. The materials most frequently included are red and yellow ochre, obsidian debitage, animal bone or horn, isolated elements of adult human skeletons such as fingers or teeth, and complete skeletons of human infants or toddlers.

Five or possibly as many as six burials, all children and all incorporated into the architecture, belong to the Agglutinated phase (Yıldırım et al. 2018) (Figure 4). The poor preservation of the bones of very young children, coupled with the similarities between infant burials and non-burial ritual deposits, means that it can be difficult to assess whether a deposit may have originally included an infant burial. All burials were contained in large black-burnished jars with the rims knocked off in order to widen the mouth of the vessel (Figure 6). All of these were clearly incorporated into the architecture at the time of building: two were built into the corners of rooms used for storing grain (Steadman et al. 2019a), and one was built into a doorway or threshold (Yıldırım et al. 2018). Two were inserted under the floor of the inner courtyard sometime during the use life of the structure.

It is notable that all of the infant burials of this phase are placed either with grain stores, suggesting a link with fertility, prosperity, and protection, or in central courtyards where family life and household production took place. Based on the evidence available, the burials in the storage rooms would have been entirely concealed within the wall, activating the (magical) powers of invisible deposits discussed above. The burials in the courtyard, on the other hand, left visible marks where the plaster was broken and replaced. This would have created subtle but perceivable traces visible to members of the family who remembered the internment, allowing the memory of the young children to continue participating in the day-to-day lives of the family who gathered in the space. They might also be recognizable to visitors to the space, possibly offering welcome and comfort, or perhaps serving as a warning (protecting the home), depending on the intended agency of the ritual action of deposition.

Domestic foundation deposits that included young things, unshaped materials, and infant members of the family suggest a symbolic resonance between the lifespan of a house and the lifespan of a family’s generation. The focus on human remains, particularly the remains of small children, evokes a kinship between the material substance of the house and that of its inhabitants. The inclusion of these deposits in the fabric of the family home indicates a focus on the soul of the home and the household unit, without exterior influence or organization. This points to domestic, private family practices that center the physical house and the remains of family members as the material medium for religious practice.

The character of the ritual or symbolic behavior being carried out in the shared “Non-Domestic” space at this time is less clear, although we hypothesize that it may have focused on solar observances that concerned the community as a whole. The space was founded upon an unusually large and varied foundation deposit, but it is notable that the deposit did not contain human remains. This would appear to indicate that a specific family connection to the space was not present in this early phase, or at least not expressed with physical remains, drawing a distinction between this community-centered sphere and the family-centered sphere of domestic ritual.

4.2. House Killing and the Repurposing of Domestic Space: The Burnt House Transition and Pre-Omphalos Phase

As mentioned above, the Chalcolithic settlement at Çadır Höyük undergoes a relatively radical reorganization of space and activity in the mid-fourth millennium BCE. A specific date for this interphase is nearly impossible to ascertain, particularly as it may have lasted only weeks or months. The plan of the Agglutinated architecture, which persisted through several phases of rebuilding and remodeling, is abandoned in favor of a layout that balances private living spaces with larger community work areas. Unlike the minor modifications that are evident throughout the Agglutinated phase, it is clear that the intention at this moment was to build an entirely new house, with a different floor plan, rather than a new iteration of the old house (Figure 7). This final demolition of the older structure was achieved through burning and through a carefully executed collapse of the facade wall onto the surface of the primary courtyard, sealing a deliberately arranged array of votive deposits under the debris (Steadman et al. 2019a, 2019b; Yıldırım et al. 2018).

Materially speaking, this house-killing event included all the elements of religious activity that are present in the earlier foundation deposits: numerous animal bones and horns, lumps of ochre, lithics, pottery associated with ritual uses (“fruit-stands” and incised-decorated pieces), and the remains of a human infant contained within a jar (Figure 8). Presaging the foundation deposits of the following period, this assemblage also featured a few small pieces of copper, previously an extremely rare material.

Prior to the demolition of the building, the courtyard appears to have been carefully swept and dusted with ochre. The items mentioned above (see Figure 8) were arranged on the courtyard surface (see “L133” on Figure 7), and then the entirety of the 2.5 m high mudbrick house wall was pushed over on top of them, in one piece. The intentional, precise nature of the arrangement on the courtyard surface, composed of ritually charged materials, coupled with the clean severing of the façade wall from the rest of the structure, is a strong indication that the collapse was carefully timed and executed and was not an accidental event. The collapse of the wall, the full 2.5 m height of which lays intact and articulated on the courtyard surface, would probably have required the careful coordination of several people to achieve. The remains of the house then appear to have been burned, and charred timbers excavated from the debris indicate that valuable wooden beams were left inside the house rather than being salvaged and reused; the incineration of the structure probably also required additional hot-burning fuel, which is borne out by the unusually high concentration of wood fragments and phytoliths in the debris, as well as baked and thoroughly vitrified mudbrick. Many of the Agglutinated rooms are filled with a deposit of ash and burned debris that exceeds 1m in depth, indicating the amount of material that was incinerated in this event (Steadman et al. 2019a). Finally, the debris was leveled to create a clean surface for the construction of the Burnt House in the next phase.

The need to mark the demolition of the Agglutinated house with precise, carefully executed ritual acts suggest that the structure was an important entity and that its destruction was considered a life-cycle event. The intentional and thorough destruction of the house ensured not only that there were no standing remnants to continue the life of the structure, but also that the entire assemblage of architectural material, votive deposits, and infant burials from the structure’s life was sealed together in one unit under the debris. In effect, this achieved a burial of this material, hiding it from view, relieving the community of the responsibility to actively remember it, and ending the apotropaic careers of the deposits themselves. Considering the agentive power that these deposits may have had, and their hidden nature, it would be important that the structure they were protecting or animating be entirely destroyed before a new house entity could take its place.

A similar demolition may have occurred in the Western Compound as part of the same general spatial reorganization of the community. The “Pre-Omphalos” compound was non-domestic in nature and devoted to light industrial activities: it featured a kiln, an oval ash dump, a storage space with three small rooms, pits, and a bin for storing pottery production materials (this light industrial area likely began its life in the late Agglutinated phase). Although it has not yet been completely excavated to the Agglutinated levels, it is clear that the open courtyard of the transitional Pre-Omphalos phase was built over earlier Agglutinated domestic architecture, comparable to that of the Eastern compound described above, that was flattened and sealed. A thick layer of articulated mudbrick debris suggests that this area was cleared through house-killing rituals similar to those performed in the Eastern Agglutinated compound, in which entire facades were pushed over intact. Although the creation of the Pre-Omphalos pottery production space marks a transition from domestic to industrial use, the foundations of the compound boundary walls from the Agglutinated period are reused (Steadman et al. 2017, 2019d). This indicates that structures were dismantled individually and that the areas they occupied were seen as distinct units even through profound changes in the use of the space (Hackley et al. 2018).

4.3. Changing Economies, Changing Rituals: The Burnt House and Omphalos Building Phases (ca. 3600–3200 BCE)

The radical renovations that mark the change from Agglutinated to Burnt House phase architecture can be connected with important societal shifts at Çadır Höyük (Figure 9). Elsewhere, we have argued that these changes were the result of rising social inequality caused in part by increased participation in long-range trade networks, and the emergence of a local elite who attempted to control production for and profit from this trade (Steadman et al. 2019c, 2019d) commensurate with the wide-ranging expansion of the Mesopotamian Uruk system that effected localized economic and political changes across the breadth of southwest Asia (Algaze 1993; Frangipane 2009; Rothman 2011). Major architectural changes associated with this phase were primarily related to access: domestic spaces were concealed behind a series of courtyards, while the amount of open space that could be entered directly from the street increased and seems to have been given over to communal labor. At this time, the Non-Domestic area mentioned above was enclosed with stone walls and seems to have become a focal area for more formal ritual activity than previously.

The new Non-Domestic building was constructed with substantial stone foundations (Figure 9 and Figure 10), suggesting that the architects anticipated that it would have a permanence that was not required of the short-lived mudbrick domestic architecture around it. Critically, the only entrance to the space, once it was enclosed (the missing eastern wall of the structure would have backed up to the preserved enclosure wall of the settlement, with no space for an entrance or approach), was through the private domestic areas of the newly constructed Burnt House, enabling the inhabitants of this residence to regulate access to or even commandeer the previously open ritual area for their own use. The walls would have concealed the ritual activity happening inside from view, reflecting a concern with personal privacy that is also seen in the architecture of the Burnt House. At the same time, constricting domestic space elsewhere in the settlement seems to correlate with the movement of much other ritual activity into the public or open areas.

Inside the Non-Domestic building, the curious circular mudbrick construction that dominated the space in the Agglutinated phase remained a focus of the layout. Another posthole on the western side of this feature was flanked by deposits of wild and domestic grain, held in scooped depressions in the floor of the building. Symmetrically arranged around these central features were three pot emplacements at floor level (Figure 11 and Figure 12). Two of the three were situated directly above infant burials; the third was over a buried pot that may have contained an infant that was not preserved. Other installations included a bench along the north side of the structure, with a central depression filled with ochre. Scattered across the floor of the 5 × 5 m area were unusual objects: a very fine bronze axe head, a T-shaped quartz amulet, several broken obsidian blades and flakes, a tiny human figurine made of unbaked clay, and ceramic “fruit-stands” and other unusual ceramics, including a vessel for pouring (Steadman et al. 2019a; Yıldırım and Steadman 2021). These items may represent part of a terminal deposit, such as that seen in the Agglutinated courtyard, rather than presenting a sample of everyday use. Nevertheless, the unusual nature of the assemblage, with some of the only figurines and quality metal objects found at the site in this phase, suggests that the space was different from those around it.

The presence of child burials in the Non-Domestic building also distinguishes it from the domestic architecture of this phase. In point of fact, no Burnt House phase burials are found in interior spaces, but instead are inserted in exterior courtyards and at the feet of the enclosure walls. This shows a shifting intention in the practice of burying children intramurally. As discussed above, in the earlier period, child and infant burials seem to be clearly associated with the house and with interior, domestic life. Their function, we speculate, was to both protect and be protected by the agentive, animate house, and to continue participating in the life of the family inhabiting it. By the Burnt House phase the position of the burials indicates that this is no longer the case, although it is less clear what the new patterns of placement signify. Perhaps the deposition of children around the edges of the structure indicates a concern with harnessing their ritual power for protection from outside forces, consistent with the concern for privacy and concealment that marks architecture of this period generally (Hackley et al. 2018). It may also be that the placement of child burials in public courtyards and workspaces indicates a new emphasis on communal gathering and organized labor, which could have been reinforced by the movement of previously domestic ritual into more public contexts.

Two child burials of the very early Burnt House phase are cut into the remodeled area at the southern edge of the complex, a broad courtyard built over the filled-in Agglutinated storerooms. The courtyard seems to have been used for community work rather than domestic work based on the open access from the main street and the presence of several small hearths and ovens. One burial was the skeleton of a toddler, and the other was a child of six or seven years, with a copper ring or hair slide next to the head (Figure 13). In a break from the earlier Agglutinated practice, neither was contained within a pot, but instead laid into cavities hollowed in the hard-packed fill of the subfloor. The copper piece is the earliest article of adornment so far found in this area. The inclusion of metal jewelry in the burial of a young child suggests both the increased availability of copper in this period and the rising status of the family occupying the Burnt House.

The architectural organization of the non-domestic Western “Omphalos” Compound changes at the same time as the Burnt House and Non-Domestic building are constructed in the Eastern Compound (see Figure 9). The area appears to have continued as an industrial quarter devoted to pottery production, storage, and pottery distribution activities, with several examples of an Omphalos-type serving dish that give the structure its name (Steadman et al. 2017). The architectural and material evidence suggests rearrangements of the Omphalos Building and its associated courtyard. Two major stages of construction can be recognized in the Omphalos Building. The earliest layout was designed as a single room, but a divider made of organic material probably separated the inner space along the north–south axis. The northern room may have been reserved for storage purposes while the bigger room on the south provided entrance to the building. The main (southern) room may have served as a place where ceramics were displayed or distributed, as evident from various pottery containers found in situ. A large kiln was located in the northeastern corner of the compound.

Three infant burials were placed in proximity to the boundary walls during the transition from the Pre-Omphalos open-air industrial area to the construction of the first Omphalos building. One of these burials (“F100” on Figure 9) was inserted next to stone steps leading into to the earlier phase of the courtyard of the complex (Figure 14), and the other two were found near the southeast and eastern walls (Steadman et al. 2017; Yıldırım et al. 2018). The placement and timing of these burials suggest they correspond to architectural destruction, change or renewal; their interment, in these very public areas, may have been accompanied by community-wide ceremony.

The second and main building stage of the Omphalos Building retained the outer compound walls; the inner space was divided by a mudbrick wall on a northwest–southeast axis. The eastern room appears to have been largely an open area, perhaps partially covered by a (thatch?) roof (see Figure 9). The western room was filled with ceramics resting on wooden shelving. A square bin containing a bull-headed andiron was located in front of the main entrance to the western room, buried beneath the plaster floor (see F88 on Figure 9). The northeast corner of the compound was heavily damaged by later Hittite building activities and erosional effects, but it likely continued to house a kiln, especially as ash pits were found in this area. The eastern open courtyard area was likely linked to pottery production while the Omphalos Building seems to have been a pottery distribution center (Steadman et al. 2017, 2019b).

Three jar burials were introduced into the southeast corner of the Omphalos Building complex but they are not associated with a building (Figure 15 and Figure 16). Children/infants aged 9 months, 2, and 3–3.5 years were buried in a triangular arrangement under a stone pavement (Erdal 2019); much ceremony may have accompanied these interments which required the removal of paving stones and the placement of additional fill sloping up toward the southeast (Steadman et al. 2019b; Yıldırım et al. 2018). The limestone pavement, which pre-existed the burial of the children (possibly dating to as early as the Agglutinated phase), included an unusual stone featuring “natural” designs. The southeast quadrant of the Eastern Compound may have long been considered an area for specialized behavior and built with stones to ensure permanency of place.

The infant and children were buried with unusually rich ornaments including copper bracelets, copper hair slides, and an Omphalos-type bowl with a food offering (Yıldırım et al. 2018; Steadman et al. 2018). The three-year-old had been subjected to intentional head shaping (Figure 17). This has been interpreted as a cultural practice intended to increase an individual’s social validation and status (Erdal 2019). The incorporation of the burials “visibly” into the open, public area, with rich grave goods, instead of “invisibly” into the fabric of the home suggests that these burials were also intended to display social status. Clearly, community members showed special care in depositing the bodies in an apparently important, beautifully-constructed, and public space. The rich burial goods and head-shaping may suggest that only a particular segment of the Çadır society (the most prominent members?) could select this particular place for the burial of their young. The social context of these otherwise unusual infant burials appears to have co-evolved with centralized social control and increasingly complex, stratified social interactions (Steadman et al. 2018, 2019c, 2019d). The copper grave goods and the bull-headed andiron recovered from the Omphalos building, the latter possibly a very special foundation deposit, provide context on both ritual practices and the shift in the use of space. The changing materiality of ritual behavior very likely relates to the social networks of communication that had begun to connect the central Anatolian plateau with regions to the east and south (Steadman et al. 2019c, 2019d).

The increasing organization of the ceramics-based economy within the settlement suggests the emergence of a group capable of controlling labor while simultaneously bringing religious spaces under their system of control. The new, more public practice of interring children in community spaces raises questions about whether these burials continued to function as ritually active deposits as the earlier concealed domestic burials may have. It is possible that the social shift toward community, rather than household, production brought shared workspaces into the same conceptual realm that household courtyards had previously occupied, making the burial of children there a continuation of practice. It is equally possible, however, that a newly ascendant elite organizing the community’s labor compelled public child burial in order to encourage social investment in shared space and shared production and to diminish the freedom of individual families to create private, concealed ritual material.

5. Demolition and Abandonment

Sometime between 3200 and 3100 BCE, at the very end of the Chalcolithic period (known as the “Transitional” phase at Çadır), and on the cusp of the transition into the Early Bronze Age, the settlement at Çadır Höyük underwent another major reorganization. The center of the town shifted up the mound, and shortly afterward, an enclosure wall was rebuilt in the Upper Town, excluding the Lower Town contexts that have been the focus of our discussion here. Even before the new wall was constructed, it is apparent that the Burnt House and Omphalos Building were replaced by flimsy, ephemeral structures, probably related to industrial tasks.

The foundation deposits, child burials, and the Non-Domestic building were all now outside the settlement, and the reuse of the space indicates that they were no longer a focus of ritual behavior. In part, this is unsurprising given the fact that over 800 years have passed since the installation of the first deposits described here, but the long-term preservation of the lines and fabric of the settlement for most of that time (Hackley et al. 2018), speaks to a real concern for the safety of the deposits, and an inter-generational awareness of their locations, coupled with a stability of practice: very similar deposits and child burials are included within the walls of the new Early Bronze structures in the Upper Town (Steadman et al. 2015).

The gradual abandonment of the ritual deposits of previous generations can therefore be seen as balancing pragmatism with closing rituals such as the house-killing described at the end of the Agglutinated phase. These rituals can be thought of as designed to provide emotional closure to residents, freeing them from the responsibility to continue maintaining and caring for the deposits in the “dead” structure. The closing rituals are also orchestrated to create sealed burials for the deposits in the older structures by covering them with thick layers of debris. The smoothing of debris over these contexts fully conceals any trace of the previous house, and presumably also specific memories of the deposits that it contained. This allows the old house and its contents to transition from specific—a structure freighted with family memories, materialized in deposits and burials that are marked on the surfaces of the building—to general: the substrate of the settlement mound, which Chalcolithic Çadırites surely knew was composed of the compressed material of many generations of human occupation.

The pragmatic abandonment and memory destruction of unneeded structures points toward a ritual system in which practice—making—is more important than the space in which it is carried out. The stability of the practice of making votive deposits and incorporating them into structures suggests that this mode of religious activity remained useful to the residents of Çadır Höyük, even as it was transposed to different types of structures and spaces to meet the changing social demands of life in the community.

6. Conclusions

The ritual behavior that we can recognize in the archaeological record at Chalcolithic Çadır Höyük is focused on architectural deposits that incorporate ritually active, agentive material into the physical fabric of the built environment (Figure 18).

We argue that the practice of making these deposits was intended to imbue the structures of the settlement with a liveliness that enabled them to function as individual entities or even as kin. The fact that many of the deposits seem to commemorate lifecycle events not only of the family occupying the house but of the house itself indicates that this may be the case. In the Agglutinated phase, the emphasis of this practice is on the concealment of these deposits at the core of the home, which fully and invisibly integrates them into the physical structure. Significantly, the deposits are placed in and around the spaces of the home where daily activities were carried out, allowing constant contact (through proximity) with items that were otherwise concealed. The creation and placement of the deposits does not appear to have required specialist knowledge, rare materials, or anything else that would require the participation of individuals from outside the domestic unit, suggesting that this was a private and family-oriented practice.

At the very end of the Chalcolithic period, increasing contact with long-range trade networks appears to have had a profound effect on the systems of production and social organization at the site. Significant evidence points to the formation of a group at Çadır Höyük who were able to control the labor of other residents, and the focus of production seems to have been pottery, perhaps intended for trade. At this time, much of the space in the Chalcolithic settlement is reorganized in order to create areas where communal, supervised labor might be carried out. The architecture of this period suggests that an elite group inhabiting the Burnt House had a preoccupation with concealing their own activities, while being able to observe the activities of others. This extends to the mechanics of ritual practice: the Burnt House group encloses a ritual space that was formerly open, or at least visible, to the entire settlement. At the same time, intramural infant burials cease to be located within domestic spaces and are instead made in public courtyards and workspaces. It is unclear whether this reflected changing conceptions about the power and function of such deposits, or was an effort on the part of the organizational class to co-opt the ritual power of private, concealed burials. A move to public internments could theoretically have encouraged the entire settlement’s investment in communal work, while at the same time providing an opportunity for elite factions to turn burials into public displays of status and control.

Whatever the case, it is significant that the overall practice of making ritual deposits remained fundamentally the same through several centuries of Chalcolithic habitation, even as cultural changes shaped and reshaped the spaces in which they took place. The logic of where these practices were engaged in varied based on social organization, but the practices themselves reproduced stable ideas about how to be religious. These practices weathered nearly a millennium of rapid social change at the site.