1 Beyond Churches: Energetics and Economies of Construction in the Byzantine World The last forty years have witnessed a shift in the archaeology of Byzantine architecture from art-historically formal, descriptive, often evolutionary or diffusionary1 accounts of buildings and building types, to excavations2 and landscape surveys3 under the influence of Processualist paradigms, the latter typically acting to generate data for the plethora of interpretive approaches to architecture adopted by Byzantinists today. These approaches have been shaped by the historical proximity of Byzantine Studies to the disciplines of philology and art history, and at their most innovative these approaches answer to debates within those disciplines, namely the critiques of post-Structuralism: recent efforts include scholarly introspections on the practice of Byzantine archaeology and its historical intersections with nationalism,4 ethnicity and ideology;5 cognitive and symbolic assessments of the Byzantine built environment,6 sociological studies of building patronage,7 assessments of Byzantine architecture in cultural representation,8 neo-Marxist accounts of Byzantine urbanism,9 and so forth. An increased interest in the social lives of Byzantine architecture, in the life-histories visible in building fabrics and in the ways architecture negotiated social relationships between makers, users, and structure is also discernable.10 Together, such studies offer a meaningful dialogue with many of the concerns of Postprocessual archaeology as outlined by Matthew Johnson and Bruce Trigger.11 On the other hand, because of an historical tendency for archaeologists of Byzantium to confine themselves to recording and description, yoked to the framework of written history, some of Processual archaeology‟s tendencies towards anthropology, cultural ecology, and the sciences were in effect skipped over, and are only now beginning to be absorbed into broader interpretive frameworks for the Byzantine past. As Bruce Trigger noted, “the products of Processual and Postprocessual orientations are not contradictory; they are complementary in the most productive and enriching manner.”12 This is fortunate, because Hawkes‟s ladder of inference is in some sense inverted for the study of Byzantium: even though our knowledge of the Byzantine spiritual and ideological universe or superstructure (at the top of the pyramid) is unusually rich in comparison with other cultures due to the nature of the written and artistic evidence at Byzantinists‟ disposal, important questions concerning the material and economic base or infrastructure of Byzantium (at the bottom of the pyramid) remain difficult to answer 1 Krautheimer 1986 2 Striker 1997-2007 3 Poulter 2007 discusses field-walking surveys in the Byzantine context; see Nixon 2006 for a phenomenological approach, rooted in the ideas of Tilley 1994 4 Redford and Ergin 2010 5 Pickett 2012a 6 Yasin 2009 7 Baumann 1999 and Caillet 1993 8 Wharton 2006 and Curčić 2010 9 Wickham 2006: 591-635 and Haldon 1997: 92-124 10 Ousterhout 1998 11 Johnson 1999: 101-108 and Trigger 2008: 444-483 12 Trigger 2004: 49 Jordan Pickett  2 with traditional categories of evidence.13 As scholars working on the economic and social history of Byzantium through texts, pottery, and coin finds recognize their inherent limitations, a reconsideration of other categories of material culture becomes in this sense ever more crucial.14 In what follows, I will suggest that monumental architecture in particular is susceptible to a line of inquiry, “energetics,” which emerged from Processualist archaeological thought, and which has the potential to generate new kinds of quantitative evidence for old problems in the study of Byzantium. At the same time, the economic gravity of Byzantine building as a process is little known, in stark contrast to the well studied outlines of Byzantine euergetism, building techniques, and the buildings themselves.15 While Byzantine textual sources describe or prescribe general conditions of patronage, ownership, wages, and contractual relationships,16 buildings themselves exist as specific instantiations of realized economic potentials, preserved in directly measurable physical fabrics; they are unique products of human energy whose fabrics can encapsulate a wide range of priorities and capacities for the organization and exploitation of resources and labor across a landscape. Monumental architecture is common to all class-based cultures, and whatever else it may represent, “it is directly the energy expended on it.”17 The “study of the transformation, conversion, and movement of physical energy through a system” is called “energetics”.18 The theory of energetics may be traced back as far as Leibniz, and is ultimately rooted in the physical sciences, though energetics was adopted by social scientists and anthropologists in the 1960s and 1970s as a method with which to explain cultural complexity and progress.19 New World archaeologists were the first to apply energetics to architecture.20 They manually tabulated the volumes of earth-and-stone architecture in Meso-America and quantified the amount of human energy which was organized and consumed in the course of building in order to “estimate the extent of political development” associated with construction.21 Having posited that biological and physiological processes are equivalent in the present and the past (the uniformitarian assumption), they sought out rates of labor through interviews and ethno-archaeological experiment, measuring the daily output of local workers (person-days) at tasks requisite to construction: digging and carrying earth, cutting blocks of tufa, making mortar, transporting materials, laying walls, and so forth. By dividing the volumes of materials by average rates of work for requisition, processing, transport, and installation, these studies arrived at a total number of person-days in construction, the magnitude of which could be correlated directly to 13 Hawkes 1954 and Trigger 2008: 306 14 For texts see Haldon 1990: xxi-xxviii and 425-435; on the numismatic evidence see Hendy 1985: 2-18; for Byzantine pottery see Vroom 2003: 23-29 15 Veyne 1990 is the fundamental treatment of the historical sociology of euergetism in Classical and Late Antiquity. For the Late Antique and Byzantine contexts see Whittow 1990, Bowden 2001, and Saradi 2006 16 Ousterhout 1998: 43-57 17 Price 1982: 720 18 Abrams 1989: 52 19 Classically White 1943: 335-356; see also Adams 1975. For the physical sciences see Gregory 1987 20 See for instance Aaberg and Bonsignore 1975: 40-79; Cheek 1986 21 Erasmus 1965: 277 Jordan Pickett  3 cultural complexity or settlement rank.22 Elliott Abrams, Bruce Trigger, and Michael Schiffer subjected these early energetic studies of architecture to a Postprocessual critique.23 They noted the value of energetic models for hypothetical, comparative frameworks rather than the „historical truth‟ about the construction of individual buildings, and stressed the ways in which materials, design, skill or specialization, Least-Cost-Effort, and the meanings and value of manual labor were culturally-situated. They expanded the notion of “cultural complexity” to include social differentiation and social inequality – “the degree of variation in statuses and the differential access to basic resources respectively” - and argued that energetics should set out to reconstruct the scales of their expression through various architectural features.24 Abrams emphasized the need for integrating energetic models with archaeological information pertaining to the structures and landscapes under question, including phasing and life-histories of architecture, the potential re-use of materials, and local geographies of materials extraction and production.25 Abrams also identified what he saw as the chief limitations of energetics: its ability to account for neither maintenance after initial construction - which can be hard to isolate and contextualize, nor start-up or training costs, nor scarcity and the changing value or availability of labor through time.26 More recently, Janet Delaine published the results of what she called a logistical approach to the baths of Caracalla in 1997.27 Though Delaine‟s logistical approach relied on the by-now familiar conceit of measuring the time- and energy-expenditures in material requisition, transport, and installation during construction, she cited none of the previous American energetic studies in her description of methodology. Indeed, Delaine‟s goal was quite different. In contrast to the New World archaeologists, her objective was not the illumination of social and cultural processes behind building, but building itself: her work was important for highlighting the deep link between the design and building processes in Roman buildings, and constituted arguably the most detailed survey of any standing monument of the period. Aspects of Delaine‟s methodology are notable, however; in particular, the adduction of pre-industrial eighteenth- and nineteenth- century sources detailing the rates of completion for complex artisanal processes like the erection of scaffolding and vaults.28 Delaine thus removed the experimental component that provided rates of labor in the Meso-American studies in favor of ethnographic and historical comparison: because of a (thankfully diminishing) lack of experimental data and materials analysis for Late Roman or Byzantine building contexts, this is necessarily the approach that must be taken for the energetic study of Late Roman and Byzantine architecture. Not surprisingly, the Baths of Caracalla study has spawned a number of logistical spin-offs for buildings in the Roman world, though like Delaine these have largely resisted the theoretical refinements and social emphases afforded by New World perspectives on energetics, and instead have focused on issues of design.29 22 Turner, Turner, and Adams 1981: 71-88 23 Abrams 1989; Mcguire and Schiffer 1983; Trigger 1990 24 Abrams 1989: 51 25 Abrams 1987 and 1995 26 Abrams 1989: 54 27 Delaine 1997 28 See especially Pegoretti 1865; Hurst 1902; Rea 1902; and Pulver 1947 29 For another „logistical‟ study of Roman architecture on Delaine‟s model, see Lancaster 2000. Recent years have produced only a slow trickle of anthropological, energetic studies for the Jordan Pickett  4 The long scholarly tradition of architectural analyses of Byzantine buildings together with the proliferation of current fieldwork opportunities in the territories of the former empire are together capable of producing highly satisfactory and internally consistent data-sets for the energetic, social analysis of construction in the Byzantine world. 30 These data may be offset by the useful controls for understanding regional land-use and agricultural histories provided by recent accumulations of geo-archaeological, palaeo-climatological, and palaeo-palynological information for the Mediterranean world more generally, and tested against the already substantial Byzantine textual edifice erected by more than a century of philological and historical scholarship.31 Having outlined the intellectual underpinnings and targets for a Byzantine architectural energetics, what follows will lay out suggested method, contexts, and problems for 1) the archaeologically-informed creation of digital models of Byzantine architecture; 2) the automated calculation of their material volumes, from which can be ascertained 3) the estimated person-day expenditures for materials requisition, processing, transport, and installation; alongside 4) the integration of person-day values with other pertinent categories of evidence from local landscapes and the extant scholarship; and conclusively 5) the potential of this data to address persistent problems in the field of Byzantine Studies. Despite the suitability of energetics for comparative frameworks, what follows cannot by necessity be a discussion of published studies of the energetics of Byzantine architecture, but because labor and landscapes are useful fields of analysis with which we might compare historical architectures globally, it is hoped that what follows might be a catalyst for historians and archaeologists of the Mediterranean world to undertake further experimental and comparative research in these directions, and for specialists in other fields to see some of the particularities of Byzantine building cultures. MODELING BYZANTINE ARCHITECTURE Past studies of architectural energetics have relied on diligent (even tedious) manual tabulations of building material volumes. Fortunately, advances in computer-assisted drafting applications mean that the creation of virtual models of ancient and medieval architecture is now a relatively low-cost procedure that is well established in archaeology for education,32 conservation efforts, and more recently by those attempting to dynamically-reconstruct historical environments, principally in order to understand the mediating influences of light, sound, and smell on perception.33 Models are constructed with varying degrees of „truthiness,‟ and all of them are subject to the critiques of representation arising from photography and film, but their proliferation attests to their utility and flexibility for a number of interpretive approaches. One consequence of their proliferation is the pre-existence of three-dimensional digital models for Mediterranean in any period, for instance in Late Antique Corinth, by Kardulias 1995: 33-59; and for Mycenaean architecture, by Fitzsimmons 2007: 93-116. 30 See now the “Prolegomena to a Historiography of Byzantine Architecture” in Kleinbauer 1992: xxiii-cxxii 31 See Jeffreys, Haldon, and Cormack 2008: 3-20 32 Education and the generation of public interest in Byzantine heritage are primary motives for the Byzantium 1200 model, available online at http://www.byzantium1200.com. See also the accompanying volume by Kostenec 2007. 33 On visualization generally see Gaffney 2008. For a phenomenological study of light (at the Great Mosque in Cordoba), see Holod et al. 2009. Jordan Pickett  5 any number of important buildings from the ancient and medieval Mediterranean which could be ported over and modified for energetic applications. On the other hand, new models may be made based on direct measurement, photogrammetry, and laser-scanning, if a project permit is in hand; or indirectly with touristic access combined with careful photo-mosaicking and reference to extant scholarly literature and architectural description. Digital reconstruction based on photo- mosaics and traced architectural drawings is obviously less accurate than photogrammetry, but because architectural energetics sets out to „model‟ rather than „recreate‟ building materials and processes, some error is acceptable, if its range and possible sources are well stated. When buildings are poorly preserved or otherwise inaccessible, models based on a combination of historical photographs and well-drawn plans and elevations may even be preferable. The lengthy scholarly record of formalist description, drawing, and photography for Byzantine architecture facilitates such an approach. Whether directly- or in-directly measured, inherited or newly- produced models are employed, first-hand knowledge of the structures and landscapes in question is indispensable. Because a quantitative assessment of materials in construction is the foundation of architectural energetics, a typology of materials, as they can be related to skill in requisition and locations within the building, is the first desideratum. While modern buildings employ an astonishing diversity of materials, often pre-fabricated and purchased from distant specialists, the palette of materials and materials processes employed in pre-modern buildings is far more limited and local in scope.34 Byzantine monumental architecture is no exception: local building stones, brick, timber, and mortar in various permutations are the quintessential ingredients.35 Ashlar construction is common in Syro-Palestine, parts of eastern Anatolia and the Caucasus,36 and rock-cut (or „subtractive‟) architectural forms may be found in parts of central Anatolia, particularly Phrygia and Cappadocia,37 but the use of a mortar and rubble core faced with bands of brick or stone cut to varying degrees of finish is more typical in Constantinople and elsewhere in the Byzantine world.38 Roofing was of tile, stone, or lead sheeting.39 If it was present at all, marble was cut and carved into columns and capitals, the altar and bema furnishings, wall revetments, opus sectile pavements, and other forms of architectural sculpture. Quarries for colored marbles across the Roman and Early Byzantine Mediterranean were capable of shipping their products by sea, often in semi-finished form; during Late Antiquity, local manufactories and the imperially-run quarries on the island of Proconessus dominated the marble trade, the artisans in its workshops providing new architectural sculpture and marble trimmings for the 34 Davis 2006: 11-42 35 For Roman materials and techniques, many of which remained relevant in Late Antique contexts, see the extensive treatment by Adam 1995. On the materials of Byzantine construction generally, see Ousterhout 1998: 128-156 36 Fundamental studies for the masonry architecture of Anatolia and Syria are Bell 1909 and Butler 1909-1920 37 Demesnil 2010 and Thierry 2002 38 The classic study of „Constantinopolitan‟ building techniques is Ward-Perkins 1954: 52-104; compare with many of the examples in Ousterhout 1998. 39 Ousterhout 1998: 147-151 Jordan Pickett  6 sarcophagi, churches and houses of well-heeled patrons or state projects.40 The spoliation or re- use of building materials, sometimes with ideological significance attached, was always a characteristic of Roman, Byzantine, and Islamic architecture, but marbles deployed in new Byzantine constructions after the seventh or eighth centuries were invariably re-used from earlier buildings.41 Even if quantities and points of origin are known, spoliated building elements are difficult to account for from an energetic perspective. „Soft furnishings‟ include moveable furniture and silver-plate,42 but also various sorts of textiles, most notably the costly silks given by the emperor or state authorities as cash-equivalent payments and rewards. Silks were ubiquitous within Byzantine elite dwellings and churches, where they were used as carpets, curtains, and table cloths or reliquary and altar covers.43 Though primary texts describe in a general way how conspicuously-consumed metal-wares and textiles were used, these objects are not easily susceptible to energetic analysis in this context.44 Baskets, ropes, and tools are similarly almost invisible in the archaeological record of construction, though they may be estimated as a function of team-size, which is a purely secondary or tertiary consideration. On the other hand, the quantity and types of more permanent building materials can be ascertained from direct inspection and measurement of architectural remains and fabrics. In the modeling of a given building for energetic purposes the quantities of materials, in cubic meters and in kilograms, correspond to discrete human energy investments in the intertwined processes of extraction, processing, transport, and installation at the site of construction (Table 1). Steps taken towards an energetic assessment of materials and labor at the Çanlı Kilise, an early eleventh-century masonry church in Central Anatolia, are illustrative of one possible approach to the idiosyncrasies of generating energetic data in a specifically Byzantine cultural context.45 In the absence of photogrammetric data, plans, elevations, and photographs of the Çanlı Kilise were converted into a digital model via Google Sketchup which enabled the precise measurement of architectural features (Figs. 1-3). (Both AutoCAD and Google Sketchup have in-program features or downloadable plug-ins which add „slices‟ of architectural features together to arrive at reliable valuations of volume, even in highly irregular curved surfaces.) The Çanlı Kilise‟s construction is notable for its 3:2 proportions of mortar and rubble to facing, the sum of which consistently measures slightly greater than one meter in thickness. The mortar and rubble core is faced with bands of neatly-cut, small tuff ashlars alternating with brick, which are set into complex fan patterns in the blind arcades of the façade. This design and composition, which shares much in common with contemporary Constantinopolitan buildings, has at least two important consequences for energetic analysis. First, it delimits the materials and the ways in which they are prepared for construction: small tuff ashlars with a simple square finish for most of the visible walls and vaults, finely-finished ashlars cut-to-size for the blind-arched window 40 For histories of the Roman and Late Antique marble trade, see Ward-Perkins 1992 and Waelkens, De Paepe, and Moens 1988: 11-30. For the history of quarrying at Proconessus, see Asgari 1978. 41 For re-use in Roman and Late Antique contexts, see especially Kinney 2001: 138-161; for Byzantine and medieval spolia see, with further references, Ousterhout 1998: 140-147 and Greenhalgh 2009. 42 Leader-Newby 2004 43 Jacoby 2004: 197-240 44 Conspicuous consumption 45 Ousterhout 2005 Jordan Pickett  7 settings and the body-superstructure interfaces, crushed and burned limestone with sand and water for mortar, rough cut tuff stones for rubble, small amounts of highly visible clay brick in the walls and arches, and vitric-welded tuff roof tiles. Second, this design ensures that the walls of the church could not simply be extruded to full dimensions in digital reconstruction, but instead had to be drawn and measured as heterogeneous in both height and thickness. Architectural features and sections of each side of the Çanlı Kilise were drawn and recorded individually, typed by material, measured for volume and area, categorized by quality of finish, and assigned a requisite skill level for preparation and installation (Table 2). These volumetric quantities, initially tabulated as a function of the locations of materials within a given building, must subsequently be summed in terms of their material type (brick, tuff, limestone, etc.) if they are to be of use for calculating the labor investment values of essential tasks (with ethnographically derived rates, in-person days) and for contextualizing these tasks through consideration of material- and activity-locations („task-scapes‟) on the landscape.46 Generally speaking, most Byzantine construction occurred in villages, whose anthropologies preclude facile separations between skilled and unskilled labor. In village and rural societies, the bulk of architecture is domestic or functional, and is the prerogative of family or social groups within the community. Henry Glassie has emphasized that, with minimal supervision, many tasks required of building processes were within the capacity of “low skill” or “semi-skilled” workers, if these tasks and their products are typical components of domestic or vernacular architecture.47 In the region of Anatolia in which the Çanlı Kilise is situated, for instance, medieval domestic architecture was not based on timber or brick, but was a mix of both rock-cut and simple masonry forms – we might infer then that experience with basic quarrying and masonry building techniques were not simply exclusive to specialists in the building trade. 48 In such fashion can we begin to draw basic but useful distinctions about the responsibilities of specialist versus non-specialist laborers based on a typology of features as they occur in a given building, the products of culturally- and historically-situated architectural tendencies. On the other hand, certain techniques and features – like large polygonal or curved ashlars, complex façade decorations in masonry or brick, complex architectural sculpture, and sophisticated structural features like pendentives, domes, groin vaults, and mortised carpentry joints - were primarily the preserve of monumental architecture, and their presence can serve as indicators of higher levels of craftsmanship on a site, whether local or imported, formally organized or associated temporarily by need and opportunity. It should also be recognized that certain features of Byzantine architecture – like the erection of small vaults and domes without formwork, simple voussoirs, or mortar joints thicker than the brick and stone courses they bind together – save on high-skill labor or devolve responsibility onto lower-skill laborers.49 Recent years have seen an outpouring of scholarship on the mechanical processes which contributed to ancient and medieval building, and phenomenal new discoveries - like water-powered saws for veneering salvaged marble found in Late Antique Ephesus and Gerasa50 - have forced us to 46 Ingold 2000: 189-208 47 For building in vernacular and village contexts globally, see Davis 2006: 27-37 and 43-66; see also Glassie 2000. For the Byzantine village, see especially Laiou 2006: 31-53 and Belke 2006: 425-436. 48 Ousterhout 2005: 171 49 Ousterhout 1998: 210-220 50 Seigne 2006 Jordan Pickett  8 rethink the progress of ancient and medieval technologies.51 However, these discoveries likely do not alter our picture of the “technological shelf” of the options available to most quarrymen or builders. In fact, until the widespread introduction of steam-powered saws and drills during the industrial and mechanical revolutions of the latter nineteenth century, stone quarrying and processing were nearly static technologically, relying primarily on iron tools and the organization of man-power for the preparation of materials requisite to building.52 The persistence of these practices even today means that the medieval activities can in some sense be replicated and assessed in terms of energy and time consumption. Because of the lack of experimental archaeology for medieval industrial processes generally and the Byzantine world in particular, however, rates for the completion of these tasks must be sought elsewhere. The aforementioned ethnographic experiments conducted by archaeologists working in the New World in the 1970s and 1980s yielded rates (reproduced below Tables 3-5) for physically intensive tasks like digging and quarrying.53 More specialized building processes, like laying brick or the erection of scaffolding, were well documented in industrial handbooks written just at the turn of mechanization and the corporatization of the guild system of labor, in the latter eighteenth- to nineteenth centuries.54 These rates and figures, while certainly not representative of an absolute historical reality, can nonetheless be taken as helpful minima for assessing and consistently comparing the circumstances of construction – that is, under the best circumstances, a person working to the best of their ability at all times could quarry x amount of stone, or build y cubic meters of wall in one day. CONTEXTUALIZING THE DATA Accumulations of volumetric and labor data generated from one set of architectural remains cannot stand alone, but should be compared with other buildings, and contextualized as products of the surrounding landscapes. The physical relationship of construction sites to the geography of material resources is one index for the organizational strength of a project, and bears on the cultural valuation of “low cost” or “prestige” materials in a society, as weight and distance increase cost and complexity in logistics for the efficient organization of tasks. Buildings, though present to the viewer as single entities, are aggregates of consumed resources and completed tasks occurring across landscapes with the participation of a range of actors. Localization of these tasks is prerequisite to the reconstruction of total labor expenditures. The transport of materials was a key step in any building project: assessments of minimum energy expenditures in transportation can be ascertained as a function of quantities moved at an hypothetical average speed over the distance between sites of extraction/processing and consumption, and the draught-strength of work animals like oxen, for which we have eighteenth- /nineteenth-century sources and more recent anthropological data.55 In landscapes characterized by prominent changes in slope, further integration with Least-Cost-Path analysis is ideal. 51 Wilson 2010: 225-236 and Aiyar, Dalgaard, and Moav 2008: 125-144 52 Bryer 2002: 101-115 53 Abrams 1989: 70 54 Langley 1749; Dobson 1850; Pegoretti 1865. 55 Campbell 1990; Belke 2008; Raepset 2008; Safeguard for Agricultural Varieties in Europe 2005 Jordan Pickett  9 Though we often read of the great distance over which marbles were transported for use in an imperially-funded church, there are few notices of the quarrying or transport of more common building stones, like lime- or sand-stone, in the Byzantine literary record.56 The requisition and transport of materiel required by an urban project depended on that center‟s own location and accessibility, as well the resources of its immediate hinterland. Though the relationships between churches and source-quarries are understudied, landscape surveys often find that Byzantine churches are situated in close proximity to water sources (yielding clay and sand, and likely irrigation agriculture) and quarries for primary building stones. For instance at the Çanlı Kilise, survey revealed the quarry from which the church‟s tuff was extracted, slightly less than one kilometer away, at the northern edge of the settlement.57 Quarries are often easily located if one knows how to look for them, though they may lie on the periphery or outside of the plowed agricultural zones that are the typical focus of field-walking surveys. Sometimes partially-detached blocks, marks left by wedges in vertical faces or the horizontal ledge face, and quarry-surfaces worked with the characteristically Roman or medieval “step technique” may be discernable, while continuities of quarry-exploitation in other locations can make more than the determination of a match between building-stones and source geological-formations difficult in other contexts. Extreme proximity between construction- and resource- locations can suggest that materials were not purchased, but were provided by the patron at the cost of energy in extraction. On the other hand, distance between resources increases the demand for distributed labor in each „taskscape‟, as well as the demand for unskilled labor in transport and the complexity of logistical concerns generally. At least in Central Anatolia, indications are that primary building stones were sought at distances greater than approximately ten kilometers only after the transition to Seljuk control, especially during the wave of mosque and caravanserai construction in the early thirteenth century.58 Materials analysis for Byzantine building materials is still widely lacking: brick is one example. At the Çanlı Kilise, brick is visually prominent in the blind arcades, though it constitutes less than 2% of all materials. The source of clay here is not securely known but clay- beds may be found some five kilometers to the north. At sites associated with the Kievan Rus‟, kilns were located close to the site of construction or a few kilometers away, usually near clay beds, and accessible by river transport.59 On the other hand, there is disputed evidence to suggest that brick was sometimes transported over long-distances, probably as saleable ship ballast, for use in construction. At Dereağzi, a Middle Byzantine masonry church in Lycia, materials analysis indicated that the church‟s bricks were made on the north or south coast of the Sea of Marmara or in the Dardanelles, and then shipped by boat and then overland by cart to the site, which is located between two rivers.60 Variation in the composition and properties of mortars is a closely related problem.61 Lime is a constant need for masonry construction, and whereas quarries for primary building stones can be found in proximity to Byzantine building sites, limestone and lime could present more difficulty, sometimes necessitating transport over distances exceeding a day‟s journey – in 56 Ousterhout 1998: 136-139 57 Ousterhout 2005: 116 58 Erdmann 1961; Tavukchuoğlu, A. et al. 2006 59 Rappoport 1995: 28 60 Morganstern 1983: 93-95 61 Initial studies are emerging from Western Europe, see Miriello 2003 Jordan Pickett  10 these cases it may be likely that the limestone was incinerated at the site of extraction so as to facilitate transport in powdered quicklime form. For example, while the Çanlı Kilise‟s source of limestone was located in a bluff overlooking the church, requiring only the force of gravity to make its transit to lime-kilns at the construction site below, a comparative study of other masonry constructions in Western Cappadocia suggested that lime used in the mortar of Late Antique churches traveled as far as ~20 kilometers from the nearest limestone beds to sites of construction, as necessarily occurred at the Kızıl Kilise.62 Variations in local resource geographies thus inform on the abilities of patrons to gather resources and manipulate labor, and have obvious ramifications for any consideration of a building-project‟s gravity on local landscapes and populations. Social geographies are also within the remit of architectural energetics, though one should not underestimate the capacity of building-as-process to “disguise, invert, and distort social relations.”63 At the Çanlı Kilise (Table 6), calculations of requisite labor in construction indicate that, even though building materials were deployed with complex decorative flourish and great skill in the blind arcades of the façade, the vast majority of the church‟s construction was within the capacity of unskilled labor, likely consumed in the course of materials extraction and transportation. The shift in proportions of ashlar facing to mortar and rubble (for example, from 4:1 at the nearby Late Antique Kızıl Kilise to 2:3 at Çanlı Kilise), and the Çanlı Kilise‟s greater reliance on rough cut rather than ashlar stones had the practical effect of devolving more responsibility onto rough-cut quarrying and mortar preparation, definitively low-skill tasks, than at nearby Late Antique, solidly ashlar-built churches.64 With only 2% of materials classifiable as „complex ashlars‟, most stones at the Çanlı Kilise needed only to be lightly shaped on their exterior edges and corners to fit into the complex decorative articulations of the façade, an event which necessarily occurred at the construction site itself. This practice perhaps corresponds with the increasing ambiguity of literary sources as they refer to specializations in building during the Middle and Late Byzantine periods generally: at Çanlı Kilise, it seems that professionals were responsible for stone processing in addition to all the other tasks in building at the site of construction itself.65 We can also arrive at estimates for the total numbers of skilled and unskilled workers per season, by taking the person-day totals for all processes into account, and dividing by a hypothetical season length (90 days) and the number of seasons (2, as a minimum, due to time required for the drying of mortar). At the Çanlı Kilise, required specialists were few in number and present almost exclusively in the final stages of construction – specialists in construction account for 79% of skilled effort, but only 18% of total labor. In line with some of our Byzantine sources, like descriptions of the Isaurian builders, data from the Western Cappadocian churches indicates that teams of master builders and masons at these sites were probably quite small – in the case of the Çanlı Kilise, the number of specialists can be estimated at just 3 persons per season, while unskilled labor required a minimum of 10 persons per season.66 Comparative energetic study of Late Antique and 13th century Seljuk monuments on the same landscape reveals that Middle Byzantine church construction was a relatively low cost enterprise, at least in 62 Pickett 2012b 63 Trigger 2008: 453 and Hodder 1986 64 Restle 1979 65 Discussed by Ousterhout 1998: 52. 66 Mango 1966: 358-365 Jordan Pickett  11 human terms – if church construction was monetarily expensive, it would seem that the majority of cost was constituted by payments for soft-furnishings like silks and silver, or to teams of specialist builders and painters.67 What was the status of non-specialist Byzantine laborers? Hagiographies and praktika, administrative documents, and court histories provide a wealth of information pertaining to the for-pay-contracts and temporary associations through which Byzantine professional builders entered into a project.68 However, these sources rarely mention the engagement of non-specialist labor: the Life of St. Nikon is a rare exception, as it narrates the simultaneous collectivization of villagers, led by the eponymous saint, for the construction of a parish church.69 Though this may be a plausible scenario for the erection of some village churches, Byzantines were more apt to build churches for their own commemoration than for one another as a community, and so it is likely that the organization of a suitable low-skill labor force relied not on pious collectivization, but on the privilege and authority of patrons.70 This privilege could be translated either monetarily, through payments given to day workers or through corvée, labor imposed by the state or a landlord. In non-urban areas characterized by lower population-densities, the construction of even modest churches would have affected labor availability, while urban populations were likely little affected except in the case of exceptionally large scale or simultaneous constructions.71 It must be noted however, that even where the Middle and Late Byzantine elite were sufficiently well funded for large-scale building works, the scale of their church construction was not dictated by social or material carrying capacities, or by the physical environment, but by a culturally realized idea of form, the modestly sized cross-in-square church. Though modern landscapes are all too often retrojected onto the Byzantine past, palaeoclimatological and paleopalynological data suggest dynamic changes in land use between Late Antiquity and the end of the Byzantine period which should be accounted for when contextualizing the energetics of architecture. For instance, recent paleopalynological studies indicate that Cappadocia witnessed an intensification of arboricultural land-use (a long term investment) during Late Antiquity, while other evidence indicates the widespread development of new, small-scale nucleated settlements as ecclesial centers, military outposts, and organic outgrowths from imperial road-stations or estates.72 Cappadocia‟s multitude of Late Antique churches in historically isolated areas, and the longer distances over which their component materials were necessarily transported suggests the pre-existence or development of specialized networks for the organization of labor and materials drawn from these centers. During the Middle Byzantine period on the other hand, which witnessed the re-establishment of cerealiculture and pastoral lifestyles after a period of landscape abandonment, settlements in Cappadocia became smaller and more dispersed, while disparities between elite and non-elite communities became more apparent; these developments coincide with energetic data suggesting that materials became ever more proximal to construction sites, and that increased responsibility 67 Pickett 2012b 68 Ousterhout 1998: 46-57 69 Sullivan 1987: 114-119; see also Magoulias 1976: 20-21 70 Neville 2004: 126-130 71 Contrast with the Roman building industry, for which employment of the urban poor seems to have been a major prerogative: Suetonius, Vespasian 18 and Wilson 2006: 231. On construction frequencies in Constantinople, see Striker et al. 2008: 1-12 72 England et al. 2008: 1229-1245 Jordan Pickett  12 was devolved onto low-skill workers as categories of specialist labor for extraction and processing of materials became less diversified. Since one man became as good for most jobs as any other, labor organization could have become more dependent on corvée, whether of tenant soldiers or villagers generally. Rather than treat people and products in isolation, architectural energetics compels us to see construction as a social, material process that entailed costs, and which activated and directed architects and artists, quarrymen and masons, brick and tile bakers, foresters, livestock-suppliers, farmers, and unskilled laborers alike. By comparing the organizational and material outlays required by buildings of the same or different functional genres, either synchronically or diachronically, in like or unlike ecologies, the energetics of architecture presents new opportunities for buildings to be fit into broader frameworks of knowledge about the medieval past. At the same time, energetic modeling is a discursive, iterative process, insofar as it forces us to return to the buildings themselves, generating new questions for traditional architectural historical approaches concerning the efficiency of different building forms, types, or techniques. Byzantine church architecture was a challenge for the architects and master builders, but it can be seen from this preliminary data that it was could be yet a bigger burden for the inhabitants of an area affected by the project‟s labor and supply requirements, even if we can only rarely hear their voices in the literary record. Though studies of Byzantine architectural history are too often studies of built environments without people, the energetic analysis of architecture offers a way to repopulate these landscapes and their monuments. Jordan Pickett  13 Beyond Churches: Energetics and Economies of Construction in the Byzantine World TABLES AND FIGURES Table 1 – The mass of common Byzantine building materials as a function of volume. Material type Kilograms per cubic meter (Adapted from Le Systeme International d‟Unites) Tuff - solid 2201 Limestone – solid/broken 2611/1554 Basalt – solid/broken 3011/1954 Sandstone – solid/broken 2323/1370-1450 Brick – fired clay/silica 2403/2050 Dry lime – fine/lump 1201/849 Wet lime/Mortar 1540 Table 2 – Sample Volumetric Assessment from Materials in Çanlı Kilise, North Side Component Primary Height (m) Total Material type Facing Mortared Material Volume Volume Rubble (m3) Volume Stylobate Tuff 0.5 6.05 Solid Ashlar 6.05 0 First course Tuff 0.69 8.60 Ashlar on 3.44 5.16 Mortar/rubble Second Brick 0.38 4.80 Brick on 1.92 2.88 course Mortar/Rubble Third Tuff 0.57 7.52 Ashlar on 3.00 4.51 course Mortar/rubble Fourth Brick 0.38 5.80 Brick on 2.32 3.48 course Mortar/Rubble Fifth Tuff 0.49 6.35 Ashlar on 2.54 3.81 course Mortar/rubble Arcade Tuff/brick 1.55 13.50 Stone and 5.40 8.10 window Brick on level Mortar/Rubble Arcade Brick 1.55 328 bricks window total level (manual count) Attic level Tuff 2.21 28.19 Ashlar on 11.27 16.91 Mortar/Rubble Gable level Tuff 2.97 7.32 Ashlar on 2.92 4.39 Mortar/rubble Totals 35.23 52.90 Table 3 – Rates for Tasks in Extraction Extraction Task Rate Source Picking up cobbles 7.2 tons/day Abrams Quarrying ashlar 0.75 tons/day Abrams Jordan Pickett  14 stone Quarrying rough-cut 2 tons/day Pulver stone Digging earth 2.6m3/day Abrams Gathering water 10L / 12 sec Abrams Cutting trees 13, 44, 66, and 88 Abrams minutes / tree73 Table 4 - Rates for Tasks in Processing Processing Task Rate Source Simple ashlars 1.16m3/day Abrams Complex ashlars 11.16m3/day (30% Abrams specialist) Simple sculpture 1.92m2/day Abrams Complex sculpture 0.535cm2/day Abrams Slaking lime 1.2d/m3 Pegoretti Mixing mortar, 0.5d/m3 Pegoretti foundations Mixing mortar, walls 0.7d/m3 Pegoretti Making plaster 43.9d/m3 Abrams Table 5 - Rates for Tasks in Construction Construction Task Rate Specialist Labor Source 2 Scaffolding, erect 0.021d per m of 1/3 low-skill Pegoretti face Scaffolding, upright 0.25d per m2 of 1/5 low-skill Pegoretti face Prepare and erect 0.1d per m2 of Equal to low-skill Pegoretti centering, small or face simple vaults Prepare and erect 0.2d per m2 of Equal to low-skill Pegoretti centering, large or face complex vaults Laying Substructural 4.8m3/d 1/3 low-skill Abrams fill Laying Superstructural 4.8m3/d 1/3 low-skill Abrams fill Laying dressed 0.8m3/d 1/3 low-skill Abrams masonry walls Plastering 10m2/d Abrams 73 The 4 rates of tree-cutting depend on four categories of tree hardness and diameter. See Abrams 71. Jordan Pickett  15 Table 6 – Labor Costs at the Canli Kilise Task Low-skill High-Skill P- Sum P-d (% of P-D (% of D (% of high total) low skill skill total) total) Quarrying 636 (28%) 71(11%) 707 (25%) Processing 230 (10%) 69 (10%) 299 (10%) Mortar 155 (7%) 0 155 (5%) Transport 414 (19%) 0 414 (14%) Construction 796 (36%) 529 (79%) 1325 (46%) Sum totals = 2900 2231 669 2900 (100%) (100/77%) (100/23%) Jordan Pickett  16 Fig 1 – Google Sketchup Model of the Çanlı Kilise Fig 2 – Google Sketchup Model of the Çanlı Kilise Jordan Pickett  17 Fig 3 – Photograph of the Çanlı Kilise (author) Jordan Pickett  18 Beyond Churches: Energetics and Economies of Construction in the Byzantine World BIBLIOGRAPHY Aaberg, S. and Bonsignore, J. (1975), “A Consideration of Time and Labor Expenditure in the Construction Process at the Teotihuacan Pyramid of the Sun and the Poverty Point Mound,” in Three Papers on Mesoamerican Archaeology. Berkeley: 40-79 Abrams, E. M. 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