the past in the past: the reuse of ancient monuments || sardinia's nuraghi: four millennia of...

Sardinia's Nuraghi: Four Millennia of BecomingAuthor(s): Emma BlakeSource: World Archaeology, Vol. 30, No. 1, The Past in the Past: The Reuse of AncientMonuments (Jun., 1998), pp. 59-71Published by: Taylor & Francis, Ltd.Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/125009 .

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Sardinia's nuraghi: four millennia of becoming

Emma Blake

Abstract

The purpose of this paper is to examine the social impact of the enduring presence of the nuraghi, Sardinia's monumental Bronze Age towers. From later prehistory through the modern era, the towers have featured prominently in both the social and environmental landscapes of the island. Their enduring importance has been attributed to cultural conservatism or functionalist moti- vations. Instead this paper considers the sustained social impact of the nuraghi as an ongoing and disjointed process of identity formation, shifting the focus away from the tower's origins and on to the ongoing repercussions of their presence. While the premise of this paper is a pragmatist-inspired epistemology, its theme is what Edward Soja (1985) has called 'the spatiality of social life', the complex interplay between space and society, and the manner in which conceptions of each are constituted by the other.

Keywords

Nuraghi; Sardinia; monumental reuse; spatiality.

Introduction: the nuraghi

The most distinctive traces of Sardinia's prehistory are the Bronze Age conical stone towers known as nuraghi. Reaching several storeys in height and with an external diameter of ten or more metres, these massive structures are built of large blocks of local stone, usually basalt or granite. An estimated 7,000 of the towers are found all over the island, and in many cases they are still remarkably intact. Most typically they are in the shape of a squat truncated cone, with a single entrance into a circular chamber averaging 4 metres in diameter, with a vaulted ceiling and an internal staircase providing access to a second storey or a rooftop balcony. Their numbers and size, together with their frequent siting in prominent locales, make these monuments unavoidable features of the contemporary landscape.

World Archaeology Vol. 30(1): 59-71 The Past in the Past ? Routledge 1998 0043-8243



60 Emma Blake

Emphasizing spatiality

The production of spatiality in conjunction with the making of history can thus be described as both the medium and the outcome, the presupposition and embodiment, of social action and relationship, of society itself.

(Soja 1989: 127)

Archaeology permits us to consider the long-term narrative of a place's meaning, as a way to understanding social life. As social geographers insist, humans' sense of the world emerges from their situated experiences. To paraphrase Pred (1986: 262), all actions take place; that is, they occur in a space. No action is independent of the space in which it tran- spires. Architecture, as a characterization of space, helps both to express and influence perceptions of the world as long as it is standing. While the inception of a monument may offer insights into the original world views and the normative dispositions of its creators, the monument's story does not end there. In later periods the monument, as an established place unhindered by the intentions behind its production, would continue to influence human practices.

In his study of the chambered cairns of Scotland, Hingley (1996) discusses the 'reinvention' of the tombs by later prehistoric peoples, who were interpreting them through a limited knowledge of the past. It is the implication of this sort of encounter that I will explore here. The changing significance of a monument emerges through the activities surrounding it in the social contexts in which these activities occurred. Looking at several key phases in the nuraghe's existence, this paper will demonstrate that, while the narrative of the nuraghe unfolds temporally, evocations of its age and origins alone do not account for its significance. Rather, it is its spatiality that guides its ongoing identity- formation, its relentless becoming.

Monumental reuse on Sardinia: breadth and scope

The phrase 'post-Nuragic use of a nuraghe' sounds paradoxical but is conventionally accu- rate. The duration of their existence until the arrival of the Carthaginians is labeled the Nuragic period, and all subsequent activity at the sites is deemed reuse. The term 'reuse' is straightforward yet not unnuanced. It connotes a discontinuity between the original and subsequent uses, either due to a time lapse or a change of use or of the users. Given the standard emphasis on origins and intentions, the act of change involved in reuse typically invites greater scrutiny than does continuity, though each is a choice. Though the stories of the individual nuraghi resist any neat temporal punctuation, the organization of this brief account into sequential periods provides a broad overview of the context of this phenomenon.

Sardinia is rich with examples of reuse throughout its history. While the focus here is on the nuraghi as the most notable and extensive monuments to be reused, numerous Nuragic sites without nuraghi were frequented in Roman and medieval times (Lilliu 1994: 212; Sanges and LoSchiavo 1988: 168; Fadda 1992: 84). The rock-cut tombs of the Neolithic and Chalcolithic periods were also widely used from later prehistory until the end of the last



Sardinia's nuraghi: four millennia of becoming 61

century (Serra 1976; Ferrarese Ceruti 1968: 137). Occasionally the nuraghi themselves were constructed on or associated with earlier prehistoric sites, as at Ruinacchesos-Sorgono, where a nuraghe was built on a Neolithic settlement (AA.VV. 1990: 89).

The data concerning reuse of nuraghi come from one hundred years of excavations, scattered regional surveys of varying rigour, and casual surface finds. While the excavations offer the most insights into individual examples of reuse, the surveys, though as yet unconsolidated and limited to certain periods, are essential for grasping the breadth of the phenomenon. In the survey of the county of Oliena, all the Phoenician-Punic, Roman and medieval materials of the region were found at prehistoric sites, primarily nuraghi, with no traces of ex novo sites from those periods (Sanges and Lo Schiavo 1988: 171). In the county of Dorgali, of the seventy-seven known Roman sites, only twenty-four were not constructed on Nuragic settlements. Of the region's twenty-nine medieval findspots, twenty-five are at Nuragic sites (Manunza 1985: 373). We may also consider the phenomenon from another angle, that is, what proportion of nuraghi were reused. The Roman period reuse is the best documented. From six field surveys studying 850 nuraghi in total, the percentage of reused nuraghi in each survey ranged from 34 to 70 per cent, with an overall average of 56 per cent (Blake 1996).1 Clearly, these structures were as much Roman and medieval locales as they had been Nuragic ones.

The Nuragic nuraghe: domesticity then disunity

The term 'nuraghi' constitutes a hypothetical grouping of several related structures encompassing the conical single towers, the multi-tower complexes, and the subrectan- gular corridor nuraghi. The nuraghi were residences, though their massive size and for- midable appearance suggest a defensive role as well. The first nuraghi, the single-tower structures, appeared in the Early Bronze Age in the second millennium BC, reaching their apogee in the Late Bronze Age with the complex multi-towered structures. These were either expansions of earlier single towers as at Nuraghe Su Nuraxi-Barumini or built all at once as at Nuraghe Arrubiu-Orroli. Until the Late Bronze Age, the single-tower nuraghi were the primary form of domestic architecture, in what appears to have been a relatively egalitarian social order. Dispersed through the landscape, often in strategic positions and intervisible, the arrangement of the nuraghi suggests both autonomous control over each tower's immediate vicinity and voluntary participation in a local social network.

Over time the tower apparently changed from a unifying symbol to one emphasizing social divisions. In the LBA, the construction of residential huts around nuraghi as well as independently of them introduced a concrete distinction between those who lived in the nuraghi and those who did not, possibly heralding a corresponding conceptual distinction. The elaboration of some of the nuraghi into vast complexes is also evidence for social stratification. The destruction and burning of several nuraghi from that time through the Iron Age, together with changed ritual practices and burgeoning villages, indicate a restructuring of space into a hierarchized landscape (Ugas 1989: 79). The Iron Age transformation of a portion of Nuraghe Su Mulinu-Villanovafranca into a cult site (Ugas and Paderi 1990), together with the emergence of miniature models of nuraghi in cult settings (Moravetti 1980), contrast with the former totalizing identity of the towers



62 Emma Blake

and demonstrate the erosion of the established socio-spatial order where secular and sacred occupied discrete spaces. The evidence thus belies the implied uniformity of the blanket term 'Nuragic culture'.

The Punic nuraghe: a beleaguered survival

The evidence for post-Nuragic activity at the nuraghi is scrappy immediately following the Nuragic era, when the island was ruled by Carthage from the late sixth to the third centuries BC. The traditional explanation, that the period was one of wholescale upheaval, is now under review. Indeed, it has been recently argued that this period has left scant traces because the Nuragic way of life persisted outside of the Punic coastal cities, with no clear breaks in the archaeological record (Rowland 1992). The localized nature of Punic pottery production and the scarcity of recognizable imports have complicated attempts to identify Punic activity, despite the formal homogeneity of the Punic ceramic repertoire. This has made most data supporting the claim for the Punic period depopulation of the countryside and abandonment of nuraghi unreliable. In the first project that fully addresses these prob- lems, the ongoing 'Riu Mannu' survey work in the west central zone has demonstrated a surprising density of modest Punic period settlements in the countryside. Interestingly, the surveyors have noted a dichotomy between the coastal area, where the majority of the nuraghi remained abandoned, and the interior, where reuse of nuraghi was common (van Dommelen 1997). This supports the notion that the lifestyles of the less Punicized interior populations made them disposed to use these places, while the practices of the coastal peoples had shifted their attentions elsewhere. This is not to say that their reasons for reusing them were purely functionalist or passively traditional. Rather, the social life of the rural interior corresponded in a dialectical manner with the presence of the nuraghi in such a way that it was appropriate for them to be used.

The nature of the reuse appears to have been primarily domestic, though it is not always clear whether a residence was permanent or merely occasional. Some of these habitations continued unceasingly from the Nuragic period, while others, such as Nuraghe Losa- Abbasanta, were abandoned for a few centuries and started up again late in the Punic period. Significantly, the implied class distinction and hierarchized spatial order between the multi-towered and single-towered nuraghi in the Late Nuragic Period seem to have dissolved, as the material culture is uniformly modest at big and small nuraghi alike. Sites of formerly diverse ranking were equally subsumed under the new foreign authority.

Nuraghe Losa was a modest residence from the late Punic period through to the seventh century AD (Santoni 1993: 48).The fact that the Punic ceramics found there had been produced at the nearby Punic city of Tharros, together with the evidence of intensive agri- cultural processing, make it clear that this once powerful locale was no longer autonomous (Tronchetti 1993: 111-16). The shift of allocative power to the Carthaginians had turned this former central place into a subordinate one, part of the peripheral hinterland of Tharros.

A few nuraghi were transformed into cult centres, as at Lugherras-Paulilatino (Lilliu 1990: 433). Given the example of Nuraghe Su Mulinu-Villanovafranca, the rupture implied by this can instead be seen as a carry-over from the late Nuragic era, overlaid with



Sardinia's nuraghi:four millennia of becoming 63

features of the Punic religion. In light of the general social 'downscaling' of the nuraghi, it is as likely that these cult sites are a testament to the structures' decreased importance as an affirmation of their potency. The absence of burials in the nuraghi further supports the idea that practices were not so disrupted as to obliterate from memory the nuraghi's previous identity, though their importance had been eroded with the reconfiguration of politicized space. Thus in the Punic period the activity at the nuraghi is less a break with the past lifestyle than a diminished continuation of it.

The Roman nuraghe: an ethno-political emblem

Activity at nuraghi in the Roman period is far more extensively documented than in the Punic period. This is partly because the Roman occupation lasted much longer (238 BC- 455 AD), during which time even isolated areas became involved in the imperial economy (Tronchetti 1995: 158). The resulting standardization of ceramics and the identifiable imports make Roman period activity relatively easy to spot. Nevertheless, the numerous examples of nuraghi frequented for the first time since the Nuragic era, as at Nuraghe Arrubiu-Orroli (Lo Schiavo and Sanges 1994: 75-7), suggest a phenomenon that cannot be explained away by the vagaries of data collection.2

The Roman period reuse took various forms, though residential functions predomi- nated. Occasionally part of the structure was used as a granary, as at the complex Nuraghe San Pietro-Torpe (Fadda 1992:72). Twelve nuraghi have demonstrated Roman period cult activity, some persisting into the Early Middle Ages (Lilliu 1990: 431-2; Santoni 1993: 67). The use of nuraghi for mortuary purposes is rare but not unknown, as in the courtyard of Nuraghe Su Nuraxi-Barumini (Lilliu 1990: 431).

More frequently than in the Punic period, the original structure was added to or modi- fied, as at Nuraghe Santu Antine-Torralba where rectilinear walls were added to create a villa (Contu 1988). These often elaborate constructions make it clear that reuse was not merely a matter of inertia or poverty. Generally though, ceramic fragments continue to be the only evidence of frequentation.

Life at Nuraghe Losa apparently continued much as it had in the Punic period (Tronchetti 1995: 163). However, the site shifted from being a satellite of Tharros to being a rural centre in its own right, albeit a partially Romanized one tied to the Roman econ- omic networks. It is only in the Imperial period that finewares are present at the nuraghe, suggesting that it was a long time before any of its inhabitants enjoyed prosperity (Tronchetti 1993: 117).

The Nuraghe Aidu Entos-Bortigali exemplifies the complexity of the nuraghi's role in a Romanized Sardinia. The tower's basalt architrave is engraved with a Latin inscription, in a poorly formed script, declaring this place to be the boundary of a local Sard tribe, the Ilienses (Mastino 1993: 500). The use of the language of Roman culture and the com- municative vehicle of writing on a pre-Roman structure, to convey information about a previously preliterate indigenous group, show the degree to which the standard dichotomies of past and present, Roman and native, had been broken down. In addition, the idea of a locale as simultaneously centre and margin articulates the paradoxes inher- ent in constructed geographies.



64 Emma Blake

The Roman occupation was not one of disengaged exploitation, but instead involved the imposition of a new lifestyle to be syncretically woven into the existing one. In the light of the ideological bombardment of the Sardinian populations by Roman culture, activities taking place at pre-Roman sites must be interpreted as manifestly political ges- tures. As I have argued elsewhere (Blake 1996), Roman period reuse of the nuraghi was not a mere passive ethno-cultural continuity but constituted a purposeful statement by the local populations as they forged a Romano-Sard identity.

The medieval nuraghe: a recalcitrant convert

In the early medieval period, the marked decrease in population and the decline of the coastal cities resulted in a renewed positioning of the nuraghi in localized lifeways, now more independent of extra-insular networks. In fact, so many medieval ceramics from the sixth to eighth centuries AD were found at nuraghi that it was only in recent years that they were recognized as medieval rather than Nuragic (Lilliu 1994: 176). Of the thirty-one locations where medieval ceramics have been found, ten were from Nuragic sites: seven from nuraghi, three from villages (Lilliu 1994: 235). Though medieval period use was less extensive than the Roman period in absolute terms, domestic and mortuary activities occurred at the nuraghi in the medieval period (Santoni et al. 1988: 71-83). Nuraghe Losa continued to be occupied in the Middle Ages (Lilliu 1994: 232-4). The practice of using the nuraghi as granaries also persisted, as at Nuraghe Santa Barbara-Macomer (Lilliu 1994: 230), with material from as late as the thirteenth to sixteenth centuries (Moravetti 1986: 84).

In east central Sardinia, a surface survey produced eleven pieces of early medieval storage vessels, all from Nuragic sites. In all cases these sites were elevated spots and nat- urally defensible. The surveyors suggest that the Vandal invasions in the fifth century and the threat of Moorish attacks led to the reoccupation of secure prehistoric sites, a phenomenon akin to the incastellamento of the Italian peninsula (AA.VV. 1990: 141).

The best evidence for the importance of the nuraghi at this time is the keen interest the Early Church took in them. The labeling of the nuraghi with Christian names such as Santu Antine originated at this time, perhaps in an effort to mitigate their non-Christian import. While there was no systematic destruction of the nuraghi, the case of the Church of San Giovanni Battista di Nurachi, whose foundations are composed largely of basalt blocks stripped from the nearby complex nuraghe Su Nurachi, is not uncommon.

Superbly symbolic was the penchant for constructing the island's earliest churches on top of nuraghi, as at Santu Perdu (AA.VV. 1990: 141) and San Saturnino-Bultei (Tanda 1992: 128), and on sacred wells, as at Sant'Anastasia-Sardara (Taramelli 1918: 100). By situating them in the familiar locales, the aim was clearly a smooth transference of alle- giances from the older structures to the new ones, and by extension from older social practices to new ones.

The Church of Santa Sabina-Silanus (Plate 1) was constructed in the mid-eleventh century, just 34 metres from a dramatic single-tower nuraghe on the same vast plain. The church's unusual plan consists of a circular central chamber with an ovoidal cupola between two smaller naves (Botteri 1979: 144). This plan is not unlike the early Christian baptister- ies, but for a rural church it is surprising. Upon entering the similarly sized circular chamber




Plate 1 Church of Santa Sabina-Silanus with adjacent nuraghe in background.

of the adjacent nuraghe, with its vaulted ceiling, one has no doubt that this was the source of the churchbuilders' inspiration. Some of the stones used to build the church came from the nuraghe, now an occasional shelter for cows (AA.VV.1983: 21-3).

The modern-day nuraghe: from site to sight

The modern valorization of the past has resulted in yet another reinvention of the nuraghi. At best the perception of them as 'heritage' means greater concern for their preservation and a reason for insular pride. Severe damage to the structures had occurred in the nine- teenth century with the enactment of enclosure laws. In the ensuing run of fieldwall building, farmers availed themselves of the conveniently pre-cut stones of nearby nuraghi. The heightened awareness of the towers' uniqueness limits this sort of damage. The Nuraghe Su Nurachi, formerly pillaged for stones in the Middle Ages, now enjoys the admiration of the surrounding community, which was named for it and whose town crest bears its image (Plate 2) (AA.VV.1985: 21-4).

However, the ensuing commodification of the nuraghi as valuable objects rather than places leads to pillaging of the structures by clandestine diggers3 and tensions between the preservationists and the landowners who are now forbidden from building or farming immediately around a nuraghe, and whose land may be confiscated by the state if there is a site of extreme historical value on it. The structures' enforced isolation and the continued depopulation of the rural areas reduce their quotidian importance.



66 Emma Blake

S~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Plate 2 Crest of the town of Su Nurachi on a civic utility vehicle, depicting the eponymous nuraghe.

Those nuraghi adjacent to modern buildings constructed prior to the preservation laws still feature in everyday practices. While I know of no cases of people currently occupy- ing nuraghi, early this century Mackenzie (1913: 130) mentions shepherds reroofing and then residing in the Nuraghe Sotteri. More commonly, shepherd's huts have been attached to sites, and nuraghi which are not filled with rubble are often used as pens for sheep or cattle, and may have pens attached to them, as at Nuraghe Ruju- Chiaramonti (Plate 3).

Plate 3 Nuraghe Ruju-Chiaramonti with livestock enclosure attached.




Plate 4 Sagama: altar in the shape of a nuraghe with Virgin Mary statue on top.

X4

; fA49 n.,4

More often though, the nuraghi are no longer places to be passed through but rather parts of a scene to be viewed. The elaborate folklore that surrounded them until the end of the last century is, if not forgotten, of less relevance now that the structures themselves are less relevant. When heritage is spoken of, it is more often with regards to folk customs and traditional farming practices and craftmaking, as though the more recent past is easier to incorporate into the present than the unmalleable towers. In the past they were part of a network of spaces, natural and social. Now they are increasingly conceptually isolated.

However, that the nuraghi retain some importance in contemporary society is exempli- fied by the modern shrine at Sagama, a small village overlooked by a nuraghe on a hill behind it. This shrine comprises a model of a single-tower nuraghe with a statue of the Virgin Mary on top (Plate 4). This explicit incorporation of the two seemingly antipathetic images indicates that, whether or not the implied ideological syncretism exists, the attempts to appropriate the symbolic identity of the nuraghi into the Christian ideological framework are ongoing.

Despite its objectification as a commodity, the nuraghe is surprisingly unexploited by the island's tourist industry. Thus, though Nuraghe Losa has been cleaned up and sign- posted for visitors, the information provided is terse and facilities are minimal. There are few postcards of nuraghi.



68 Emma Blake

The nuraghi as progressive metaphor

There are two standard misconceptions about the nuraghi. The first is that they were, are and always will be representative of Nuragic period society. As has been argued widely over the past fifteen years, material culture does not just represent society, it is active in shaping it. The nuraghe constituted the domestic sphere of Nuragic society. As such, it was a microcosm for social interaction and a locale of quotidian practices, and in turn it would have guided these practices and interactions, as Bourdieu (1977) has argued. Thus the nuraghi would have been involved in the creation and recreation of Nuragic society.

Following on from the first misconception, it is supposed that the nuraghi, as essentially and unchangingly 'representative of Nuragic society', operated in subsequent periods as inert settings of action. These later uses are then analysed in light of the towers' origins, as either demonstrating continuity or disjuncture, remembrance or forgetting, innovation or tradition. The first problem with this approach is that these binary oppositions are not a priori causes but are human choices, so the selection of one or another as an explanation is no explanation at all. Memory and tradition alone do not preserve an object's identity, it is the ongoing incorporation of that object into routinized practices that generates its meaning.

The second argument against this position is an epistemological one, and concerns the distinction between what is real and what is true. Pragmatist philosophers4 reject the correspondence theory of truth and assert that manifest reality is always experienced indi- rectly, diluted by our biases and filtered through our beliefs. Truths are produced that permit us to make sense of this reality. The world is indeed 'out there', but our knowledge of it, the language we use to describe it, and the meanings we ascribe to it, in short the truth of it, is ever contingent and open to revision.5

Thus, I agree that there exist real towers 'out there', and that there is currently a con- sensus that it is true that they were built in the Nuragic period. However, in the absence of an essential correspondence between the manifest reality of the things themselves and the truth of their conceptual identity, the teleological aspect, while interesting, is of little relevance when discussing later periods. In each successive context, the nuraghi have not only meant something different, they have been something different. While the nuraghi's identity of today and their identity one thousand years ago are both ways of making sense of the structures 'out there', these two ways have no necessary bearing on one other. The nuraghi's real essence is not revealed by a fixed identity, but rather is best grasped, as I have attempted to demonstrate here, through a series of progressive and intersubjectively determined metaphors.

Dynamism, formerly conceived as the sole purview of the temporal dimension, char- acterizes the spatial dimension as well. Thus the nuraghi, as places, do not merely situate actions yet nor do they determine them: they enable them.While much of the action occur- ring at the nuraghi over the past four millennia was perhaps mundane and unspectacular, it is this use, preconditioned by the towers' presence, that grounded them in localized lifeways and allowed them to survive broad social and political changes. It is difficult to con- ceive of a time when the nuraghi will once again be closely tied with daily practices. However, their constant presence over four thousand years should make us hesitate to predict their demise any time soon.




Acknowledgements

I am grateful to Richard Bradley, Ian Hodder, Lynn Meskell and Stuart Reevell for com- ments on an earlier version of this paper. I have benefited from discussions with Victor Buchli and Carol McDavid on some of the ideas behind the paper.

Darwin College Cambridge University

Notes

1 Compiled from: Boninu 1988; Diana 1959; Dyson and Rowland 1992; Lilliu and Zucca 1988; Rowland 1984.

2 For a fuller discussion of the extent of Roman-period reuse of nuraghi, see Blake 1996. 3 The nuraghi have perhaps suffered less from this than the tombs or sacred wells. The

nuraghi are harder to access as they are often filled with boulders. Secondly, as domestic sites they offer little of financial value, rarely producing whole ceramic vessels or the much-prized bronze figurines, so they are less tempting.

4 A good introduction to Pragmatism and the positions of its leading proponents can be found in Goodman 1995.

5 Julian Thomas seems to be saying something similar when he talks of 'perspectivism' (1996: 66).

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