Structures

The first chapter starts with an overview of recent work on the “So-called imperial cult temple for Domitian,” located to the west of the Upper Agora, by the excavation director S. Ladstätter. In the light of new results, the different hypotheses concerning the period of construction, architectural form, and usage are meticulously evaluated. Undoubtedly due to the scanty remains of the sanctuary, the paper does not much engage with actual religious practice, a feature it shares with several other contributions. Nevertheless, the massive scale of the temple's building program and the large area of urban space that was given up for its construction already go far in underlining the importance of the imperial cult at Ephesos during the Flavian period. Interestingly, the sanctuary appears to have been violently destroyed, one of few instances where this could be shown. Unfortunately this suggestion by Ladstätter is not elaborated; it would have been interesting to situate the complex within the narrative of the fate of temples in Late Antiquity.Footnote ⁶

Chapter 2, on the “So-called Serapeion,” by T. Schulz, is essentially an architectural study of the monument that only briefly touches upon its original religious function. As with many ancient sanctuaries, its identification as a Serapeion is not necessarily straightforward,Footnote ⁷ to the extent that an entirely different function as a Museion was proposed for the complex by P. Scherrer.Footnote ⁸ Schulz's contribution endorses the association with the worship of Egyptian gods, based on architectural elements that may have played a role in rituals of water purification and initiation, while focusing on the history of the excavation and architectural documentation of the monument. The characterization of the worship of Egyptian gods at Ephesos as “Egyptian religions” (57–58), however, is no longer tenable after numerous studies have explicitly identified the worship of Nilotic deities outside of Egypt as adapted forms of Egyptian cult that were current in the Mediterranean world.Footnote ⁹ As one of the best-preserved temples of western Asia Minor, the so-called Serapeion obviously did not meet the same kind of violent demise as the aforementioned temple of the Flavians, offering an appealing but unexplored avenue of comparison.

In her short chapter on the “Cave of St. Paul,” R. Pillinger discusses an early Christian sanctuary on the northern slope of Bulbul Dağ, consisting of two manmade grottoes preceded by a porch. After a short presentation of the fresco remains, the paper focuses on the scene of Paul and Thekla that has given the sanctuary its name. The late 5th-c. CE fresco of Paul and Thekla is briefly situated in the context of such scenes to underline its exceptional nature. Pillinger even suggests that the apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thekla were written in Ephesos, a hypothesis that has to remain pure speculation: given the popularity of Thekla's cult in southern Asia Minor as early as the 4th c. CE,Footnote ¹⁰ the area of Silifke is surely a more likely candidate. On the other hand, Pillinger's suggestion that the cave-like sanctuary was intentionally created to imitate the cave where Thekla allegedly descended into earth is an interesting idea that warrants further investigation. It could also explain the rather peripheral location that was chosen to accommodate the important figure of Saint Paul into the developing Christian grid of Ephesos.

The contribution “Selected evidence of Christian residents” by A. Pülz gives a general overview of the Christianization of Ephesos by presenting archaeological evidence from both public and private contexts for the new religious orientation of its inhabitants. While the chapter should be applauded for going beyond formal church-building in the city, the investigation of Christian presence in public and private space would have benefitted from a more systematic approach to fewer contexts than the selection presented here. With its rich archaeological record, Ephesos is ideally placed to illustrate the phenomenon of early Christian domestic cult from an archaeological perspective, as recently elaborated by V. Fugger.Footnote ¹¹ For example, a study of spaces within private houses identified as rooms for religious practices associated with Christianity – similar to the approach of N. Zimmermann for polytheistic practices in the Terrace Houses (see below) – could have been a prime case. The criteria for identification could then have been helpfully expounded, producing a methodological framework applicable at sites which are “less blessed” than Ephesos. As Pülz also points out, still too often the presence of small finds – for instance, objects with cross decoration – is considered sufficient to identify a space as Christian, not taking into account the fluidity of religious identity in Late Antiquity, or even post-depositional processes.

Spaces

The second section of the volume starts with the chapter by D. Steuernagel on the “Upper Agora,” in essence a deconstruction of its identification as a Staatsmarkt. The original identification as the State Agora of Ephesos was made on the basis of the way the set of public buildings was lined up, especially alongside the northern edge of the square. What is more, this was seen as the result of a unified program of architectural development during the early Roman Imperial period, with a temple on the longitudinal axis of the square and framed by stoas, greatly resembling the enclosed, regular fora of the West. This led to the idea of an all-encompassing master plan aimed at introducing imperial rule into the city by using forms and concepts of the Roman West, promoted by imperial authorities or local “Rome-friendly” groups, as a programmatic manifestation of imperial ideology. This idea has now come under scrutiny by a new research project conducted by Steuernagel. Its preliminary results reveal a gradual accumulation of architectural elements added during a lengthy formative process, as is characteristic for many public squares.Footnote ¹² While tremendously interesting for the urban development of the city, this chapter seems somewhat out of place in this volume, as no apparent link is made with religious life. The religious implications of such identification are hardly considered in this paper, nor the role of religious traditions in the socially diverse processes that shaped the square.

Religious life in Ephesos is perhaps nowhere more vividly evoked than in the so-called Salutaris inscription: C. Vibius Salutaris (104 CE) endowed funds to finance recurring religious processions from the Artemision to the local theatre.Footnote ¹³ This important part of 2nd-c. CE ceremonial life is set by A. Sokolicek within the framework of his recent research at the “Magnesian Gate.” After discussing the chronology of the gate complex, Sokolicek turns to its cultural and religious roles. Originally part of the late Hellenistic fortifications of the city, the defensive role of the gate became obsolete during the early Roman Imperial period, and the functions related to religion, traffic, and representation became dominant.Footnote ¹⁴ The Magnesian Gate is explicitly mentioned in the Salutaris inscription as a station in the processions: reference is made to a ritual transfer of sacred objects that were carried from the Artemision to the city, hinting at the gate as a kind of religious boundary. The Magnesian Gate was the first station in this pompa, the place where the ephebes or young men of the city took the sacred items from the religious officials of the sanctuary and carried them to the theatre. By receiving these ritual objects at the gate, the ephebes became responsible for their safe transport. Sokolicek sees this act as part of a rite of socialization, preparing these youths for an active role in society. He interestingly underlines how the physical liminality of the gate and biological liminality of the adolescents had a symbolic coherence. Yet, his assumption that this handing over of sacred objects indicates that the priests of the Artemision were not supposed to enter Ephesos with the signs of their sacred power seems unfounded, as the priests are not mentioned. Instead, the neopoioi or cult officials responsible for the administration of the sanctuary, who didn't hold a priestly position, handed over the sacred items.Footnote ¹⁵ The parallel with Roman generals laying down their signs of military power at the Roman pomerium therefore seems untenable.

In his chapter on the “Mortuary landscape and group identity in Ephesos,” M. Steskal discusses different funerary practices, in search of the identity of the individuals or groups that adopted them. Although only around 50 percent of cinerary urns were used by people with a Roman/Italic background, Steskal suggests an exclusive link between cremation and the use of ostothekai and Roman citizens and their freedmen during the early Roman Imperial period. He sees this link as part of a ritual strategy designed to set the Roman citizens and freedmen ethnically apart from other inhabitants. Yet, the prolific use of these box-shaped ash containers by inhabitants of inland regions of Anatolia such as Lycaonia and Pisidia during the 1st c. BCE and CEFootnote ¹⁶ suggests the custom reflected a more widespread change in burial practices at the time. From the use of a standard type of burial house during the 2nd c. CE, which apparently provided little opportunity to advertise the social status of the deceased, Steskal deduced that funerary rituals such as the procession and celebration were the elements that defined status, rather than grave form. Although clear evidence is lacking, Steskal assumes here that these burial houses were also used by the Ephesian elite. Less ostentatious grave architecture is seen by him as an indicator of a stable society, in which the top stratum did not have to justify its rank within the community. While this demonstration of social status through the funeral procession may have been true for the average citizen of Ephesos, the presence of more opulent grave forms such as sarcophagi and temple tombs, represented in all regions of Asia Minor during the 2nd and 3rd centuries CE,Footnote ¹⁷ indicates that funerary architecture was still very much a tool of social differentiation; the famous Celsus Library may serve as case in point. Steskal persuasively reads the necropolis as reflecting the structure of local society, but it most probably did so in a more differentiated manner than portrayed here.

Chapter 8, “Sacred space for Dionysos in Ephesos” by H. Thür, starts with an overview of the structures around the theatre that can possibly be associated with the god's worship. The portico above the upper tier of seats in the spectacle building contained inscribed lists of participants in various Dionysiac associations who may have assembled there for ritual activities such as common meals. Remains of an Ionic building found in the area are interpreted as belonging to a temple for the god, and a peristyle house above the theatre as a clubhouse of a Dionysiac association, on the basis of their proximity to the theatre; a nearby banquet hall is seen in the same light. The identification of the theatre area as a district devoted to the cult of Dionysos is therefore based on circumstantial evidence and remains speculative. Unit 6 of Terrace House 2, on the other hand, identified by an inscription in the peristyle court as the house of C. Fl. Furius Aptus, a local priest of Dionysos during the 2nd c. CE, has been more widely accepted as a meeting place of a Dionysiac association. Thür argues that the plan of the house (which had a southern wing that could be closed off from the rest), its furnishings, and some special installations provide sufficient architectural and archaeological evidence that the house not only hosted banquets but could also be used for the celebration of mysteries and initiation rites. Consequently, Aptus is considered not only a municipal priest of Dionysos but also the leader of a private religious association. Thür claims a similar function for the domus of Terrace House 1 on the basis of its plan, but the evidence is less convincing in this instance. To establish a common design concept behind the Ephesian examples, as Thür attempts, is hence reaching beyond what the evidence can bear. She rightly contends that “the function of the clubhouses should be defined in relation to religious activities” (154); to develop this idea, a comparison with other religious associations and their rituals attested within the city seems a necessary next step.Footnote ¹⁸

In Chapter 9, “The Artemision in the Roman Era,” L. Zabrana focuses on an important gap in our knowledge of the sanctuary, namely the built-up sacred precinct around the temple. A complex of buildings corresponding to the multidimensional character of the sanctuary, with its own administration and jurisdiction, can be expected: accommodation for refugees seeking asylum and personnel serving the cult can be assumed, as well as installations related to the Artemisia festival celebrated every four years. Re-examination of the excavation reports of J. T. Wood are combined with results of recent archaeological research in the area to shed light on the nature of the dense structures documented within the sacred precinct. Even if only preliminary results are presented here, they already permit a better understanding of the built-up nature of the sanctuary and the different functions it housed. One particularly interesting Roman-period structure is the Augusteum-Sebasteion built in 6/5 BCE. It represents a form of “temple-sharing” as a way of introducing the imperial cult into the religious fabric of a community by associating the emperor with the traditional deities of the city.Footnote ¹⁹

Although featuring among the earliest Christian communities attested in literary sources, the Christians of Ephesos in the first three centuries CE are archaeologically poorly known due to the lack of a distinct material culture or religious architecture. In Chapter 10, C. Thomas tries to approach these archaeologically “Invisible ‘Christians’” by investigating the shared urban landscape through recently conducted geophysical surveys. Even though she admits that there is no “conclusive evidence of the economic status of the Christ worshippers” at Ephesos (188), guided by preconceptions of low economic status and marginality, Thomas looks for these people of humble means and low education in the artisanal and mercantile quarters of Ephesos during the Roman Imperial period. The results of the surveys indicate that a new industrial and commercial quarter developed in the harbor area during the early Roman Imperial period. It is in such peripheral areas that the earliest followers of Christ should be sought, according to Thomas, rather than in the monumental city centers. Yet, she somewhat contradicts her own hypothesis by citing the Christian graffiti from the agora at Smyrna,Footnote ²⁰ a quintessentially monumental context.

Objects

The third section starts with Chapter 11, “Ruler cults and imperial cults in Ephesos,” in which F. Kirbihler discusses in general terms the development of the imperial cult at Ephesos, first on a municipal level, then on a provincial level, based on his research over the last decade into the cult and its priests. Although the foundation of the imperial cult is traditionally placed in 29 BCE, Kirbihler argues on the basis of an inscription and bronze coinage for the existence of a “prehistory” of this ruler worship, in the form of a cult for Roma and Divus Julius during the second triumvirate (43–32 BCE). He places this cult in the Artemision, though the evidence is circumstantial. By 6/5 BCE, the cult of Roma and Divus Julius was amalgamated into (or replaced by) the imperial cult in the Augusteum there (see the contribution of Zabrana). An additional temple for Augustus may also have been built on the Upper Agora by the end of his reign, but this was not part of a unified construction project, as already demonstrated by Steuernagel. This municipal cult disappeared, according to Kirbihler, when Ephesos received the first neokorate during the reign of Domitian, with local high priests now being replaced by the high priests of the Provincia Asia, also known as asiarchoi.

“Archaeological evidence for private worship and domestic religion” found in the seven peristyle houses that make up the insula of Terrace House 2 is presented in Chapter 12 by N. Zimmermann in order to reconstruct domestic cult practices. Given the complicated building phases, destruction events, and remodeling of the Terrace Houses, Zimmerman is appropriately careful in interpreting the impressive array of objects and installations. He found that in the Hanghäuser of Ephesos, religious activity was not confined to any one part of the house. Rather, a range of religious phenomena appear throughout each dwelling unit, as representations of deities offered various possibilities for the creation of sacred and devotional places. Having said that, some constants stand out: the protection of entrances through different apotropaic devices; the presence of domestic shrines focusing on ancestor worship; and the divine protection of fireplaces. Regarding the complicated building history of the dwellings, the presence of foundation deposits is especially significant, as this ritual practice is not known from literary sources. These remnants of sacrifices made during the construction or renovation of a building to ensure stability and durability generally took the form of sets of ceramic or glass objects used during a ritual meal. They are usually found in the center of a courtyard or behind a doorsill. Interesting is the repetition of foundation deposits at liminal points in the house, intended to keep the dwelling safe.

Finally, E. Rathmayr discusses the “Meaning and use of terracotta figurines” found in the Terrace Houses. Her chapter is a highly valuable contribution concerning the domestic use of figurines, as this aspect is generally difficult to approach due to the lack of primary contexts of use.Footnote ²¹ The exceptional state of preservation of the Terrace Houses, as also pointed out by Zimmermann, provides us with a case study for domestic ritual practices in which terracotta figurines played a primary role. Rathmayr also makes a valuable point of dealing with representations in terracotta and more valuable materials together, refuting once and for all the characterization of terracottas as a poor man's substitute for marble and metal.Footnote ²² They can be more appropriately understood as a means of representation accessible to all social classes. Having said all that, some caveats should be raised concerning Rathmayr's interpretation of the material. The figurines found in the destruction layer of the houses, on top of the floors and other levels of deposition, can of course be related to the houses’ final occupation phases during the 3rd c. CE and therefore used to shed light on the figurines’ use in domestic context. They included representations of Serapis, Harpokrates, Herakles, Nike, and gladiators, reflecting the religious and cultural perspectives of the occupants. Yet, to assume a similar relationship for the figurines found below the final floor level is problematic. Stratigraphically, they cannot be related to the occupation of the houses if originating from levelling or other forms of construction-related deposits – excluding of course the closed foundation deposits discussed by Zimmermann. Even in better-preserved instances, it is impossible to determine the original context of use when figurines stem from these secondary deposits. Given the diverse nature of the contexts, it is therefore not possible to make diachronic comparisons regarding the materiality and themes of representations, especially in relation to domestic cult practices.