Homelessness in the Old World, Part Greece

            So far, I’ve only discussed examples of studies that have taken place very recently, exploring the ways in which archaeology can offer a new perspective on what most people walking around a city would regard as “junk.” This post, however, is a little bit different. If I haven’t mentioned this yet, I think I should let you all know that the body of research done on homelessness via archaeology is really quite limited. I started out with about eight articles to choose from, after scouring the databases available to Oberlin College, then dallying about on Google for a couple of hours. Eight. Since picking those articles, two have been deemed inappropriate for this particular blog (not that they weren’t interesting or correct, just that they didn’t quite hit on the subject at hand). I’ve been left with six articles. Six articles. This is, of course, enough to keep me posting through the end of the grading period (that’s this Thursday, so yeah, I’m not concerned about making it to the due date), but I’ve become attached to this project, even moreso than expected, and I’m not inclined to let it taper away so soon after the end of the semester (though a brief hiatus is probable). So I want more readings.

            Determined to change the situation, even if only expanding my resources by a marginal amount, I dove into the library stacks and got pretty excited. There’s still not a lot available, mind you, but what I found is different from what we’ve had so far. This article will explore classical archaeology, a discipline within historical archaeology that focuses on Greek and Roman artefacts. See why I’m excited yet? Historical archaeology is new territory wherein we get to look at how homeless was perceived and characterized in ancient societies, societies we can imagine but cannot ourselves take part in. The value in historical archaeology is that with these different perspectives in mind, we can make comparisons between what we know and understand about homelessness and what homelessness might have been like hundreds and thousands of years ago.

            Take a step back from what you know about homelessness in our time. Do it right now. I’ll wait. Use the objective lens of an archaeologist to turn your attention to this next study because it won’t be exactly as you expect.

            Chapter 9 of Ancient Greek Houses and Households is entitled “Housing the Poor and Homeless in Ancient Greece.” The author of this section, Bradley Ault, begins by introducing how viable it really is to study the homeless in ancient sites. Frankly, having discussed the kinds of artefacts left over by modern homeless, we can understand how their changeable lifestyles can be hard to detect hundreds of years later, when much of what might tell of their life has long since faded away. This is the challenge of archaeology, that it relies directly on the material record, which is not always permanent. However, Ault is more optimistic in his attempt to discuss “the archaeological evidence, or apparent lack thereof, for lower class housing, as well as to explore alternative domestic and living arrangements” (140). His task, in this chapter, is to dismiss the idea that it is impossible to track homelessness into an ancient archaeological record, and also to explore that variety of definitions of “homelessness” in a society that is different from our own.

            The key to understanding much of the evidence that is present is to start with a foundation based on historical documents. To start with, there are writings that clarify various classes within those considered “poor” in ancient Greece. For example, “dependent” poor were characterized mostly as slaves, often foreign, and were of higher rank than the “independent” poor who were the lowest class, cited in historical documents often as the rowers on naval ships, as well as some resident aliens (141). Their existence in the archaeological record is marked by two examples of likely housing units. The first, in the Industrial Quarter of Thorikos was composed of buildings that had many “small cubicles that could well have housed slaves as they did mine owners and their families or overseers left in charge” (142). Within the larger rooms of the buildings, other clusters of smaller rooms were tucked away, likely for the use of poorer individuals or their families. Another site, Delos, is known via historical records to be a hot spot for trading slaves and is littered with human “chattel“– chattel being a term used in the article to comprise all material belongings, moveable or immoveable except for real estate or associated property, which may have included woman and children, as at some times and places throughout history they were considered property. Most notable in this city is a wall within one of these small, cramped rooms which has on it graffiti by a surprisingly literate patron, accepted by scholars to have been written by a slave (142). It bears a striking parallel to habits of the poor or homeless practices in our current time.

            Ault then turns his attention to those we would typically think of as “homeless,” a population assured throughout history because of the inevitable droughts, plagues, natural disasters, and man-made calamities such as war. Again, it is brought to our attention that remains of them are hard to come by, most likely having resided in temporary camps using temporary shelters and tents (146). Most of this knowledge comes, again, from historical sources, since, as we’ve established, the material markers do not last. I find it interesting, still, that adaptations of the homeless in ancient Greece do not differ much from those of today’s homeless in their use of whatever material available to create a temporary structure for shelter. It gives us insight into just how invisible this population can be, not only now but also looking back into the past. What remains of them is almost nothing, so study of the here and now because increasingly important because it may be a rare opportunity to look upon the material remains of a historically untraceable group. But I digress.

            For a study of the materials that do remain, Ault does not despair. At this point in the chapter, it becomes important for us to look at the more comprehensive definition of “homelessness” in ancient Greek society. Homelessness here is not limited to the lack of a roof over one’s head but rather encompasses a greater sort of “lack of possessions.” We consider the common term for a Greek household, “oikos;” this type of house, home, or household is not limited to what we defined as “chattel” earlier. Oikos goes beyond material possessions and encompasses the household as material possessions, property ownership, and also a family, whether kin or considered part of the family unit as a slave. To be homeless in these terms, to be without an oikos, is to be detached from not only possessions or a roof over one’s head, but to be without family, a sense of belonging, or legitimacy as an individual (147). This state could be temporary or permanent, and from an archaeological standpoint, should not be understood to be an unhappy state. Homelessness may “carry with it a longing for hearth and home, but often it is also a time of liberation and adventure” (147). I think this perspective is incredibly important to maintain, not only in looking at this study but also when approaching all studies of homelessness or those marginalized. Pity is often an instinctive response to people in what is considered a “socially unacceptable or poor condition;” however, attached to the feeling of pity is the assumption that something is inherently “bad” or “good,” “better” or “worse.” It is incorrect to automatically place these assumptions into a situation that you might not fully understand. It is not your responsibility to place judgment on a situation, especially homelessness which can be tangled deeply with individual experience and emotion.

            Ault takes this newly enriched definition of homelessness and examines two sites, each which targets a specific type of “homeless” group. The first group is that of prostitutes in ancient Greece, and the study focuses on a structure called Building Z in Athens. The structure itself has fallen twice, once to an earthquake and once during the Peloponnesian War, but evidence of its original layouts are salvageable via excavation, and its third construction is comparatively well-preserved. Its original layout suggests a large space, far from the dark, squalid spaces that often come to mind when considering what a brothel might look like, much like a private residence. Significant differences, however, between a private space and this particular structure are evident in three rooms that show evidence of having been used as banqueting spaces (numerous sherds of pottery vessels associated with food and drink), more than a private home would have needed (149). Very little of the second structure was preserved in the aftermath of the Peloponnesian War. The third structure, larger than its predecessors, contained a great number of cell-like rooms, and the space was rich with artefacts such as loom weights, fine ware vessels, figurines, amulets, and jewelry, much of which are suggestive of the goddess Aphrodite. The loom weights suggest the occupation of women living in the space when not entertaining, and the large number of fine pottery sherds tell of plenty food and drink; thus Ault does not hesitate to assert his opinion that this space was very likely used as a tavern and brothel (150).

            The second group of “homeless” Ault examines are along the lines of the temporary homeless: travelers. While on the road, whether for business or pilgrimage, one’s detachment from family and possessions entered him/her into the world of the homeless. To look at this group, Ault examines the archaeological remains of hostels from ancient Greece. He looks at four major structures: the Leonidaion at Olympia, one hostel in Epidauros, the South Stoa at Corinth, and the xenon from Nema (152). Evidence suggests that these buildings were highly specialized to fit as many travelers as possible in high-traffic cities, often with small, narrow rooms bunched together along a either rectangular site with a single corridor or a square site with a central peristyle courtyard (a courtyard framed with a series of columns– a colonnade), and many were affixed with commodities like water pumps. The site at South Stoa bears strong evidence of a second story so that the total building would have comprised an open tavern space on the ground level, with temporary residence space on the second floor. The hostel at Epidauros has inconclusive suggestions of a second story as well. Ault uses these more lavish structures for finding shelter among the “homeless” as a way to examine the ways that the context of a living space is just as varied at the Greek definition for homelessness. The variety of living structures, from “tents to more ad hoc structures to fine hotels … [mirror] the social spectrum” (155). He concludes that homeless was as relevant as social issue in ancient Greece as it is at the present time.

            What do we make of this? What do we do with information from so long ago, following a definition of homelessness that doesn’t conform to ours? Well, I told you to take a step back, right? Take a look at our current expectations of the word “homeless.” Look at the structure of our society from the eyes of an outsider. Maybe put yourself in the place of an ancient Greek and think about what would be strange or familiar to them about our social constructions. Homelessness isn’t a new problem, even if the Greeks had a more expansive definition of who fell under the particular category. Homelessness has persisted in large-scale civilizations for more than a couple thousand years. So compare the situations with the information given to you: what differences are there between brothels of 2000 years ago and today? Why might those differences exist? What are positives and negatives for both situations? What can be done to bring out the positive, eliminate the negative? Look at travelers, high or low scale, and ask yourselves the same questions. These may not be the questions that achieve global social equality tomorrow, or even put a dent in it years from now. But see how these problems persist from one civilization to the other and ask yourself: what is the same? what is different? and what can we do to change it?

Work Cited

Ault, Bradley. “Housing the Poor and Homeless in Ancient Greece.” Ancient Greek Houses and Households: Chronological, Regional, and Social Diversity. Ed. Ault, Bradley; Nevett, Lisa. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2005. 140-160.