Reading Ancient Temples through the Lens of Disability Studies and Mobility Design

Disability Studies

Disability studies originally had two basic divisions of the medical and social approaches. The medical approach views an impairment as a bodily defect and seeks its cause using the same reductionist perspective in the practice of medicine. It similarly follows the process of looking for a diagnosis and then evidence of an attempted cure (Ghaemi, 2017). Yet, this approach ignores the relationship between disability and the socio-cultural expression of religion (Zucconi, 2019; Moss & Schipper, 2011). The medical approach does have value for archaeological investigations of the lived experiences of those with disabilities (Ikram, Kaiser, & Walker, 2015).

The social approach understands impairment as a trait that deviates from a fixed, often medically defined norm in contrast to a disability which is discrimination embedded in social structures centered on ableist ideologies (Moss & Schipper, 2011). New Historicism in Disability Studies developed from the social approach by incorporating a temporal-cultural perspective that recognizes a recursive relationship between the disabled and society. Moss and Schipper describe it succinctly as “the ways that cultures use physical and cognitive differences to narrate, organize, and interpret their world” (Moss & Schipper, 2011). Culture changes in response to biological variability.

Demographics of Mobility Impairment

Archaeologists often work with the assumption that only a small segment of the population, especially outside of healing sites and/or large cities, have a disability, particularly mobility impairments. This is one reason why archaeology tends to assume an able population interacting with the structural environment.

Terminology has an impact on how sites and artifacts are analyzed. By using “disability,” the connotation for many outside of Disability Studies is the modern popular sense of that term: someone who through disease (acquired or congenital) uses a wheelchair or other assistance device. This leads to the idea that the disabled population is small and statistically insignificant for overall site analysis and interpretation. It also, inadvertently, leads archaeologists to think in terms of modern accommodations when analyzing material culture such as ramps. We, as archaeologists, then look for things that can be accessed by a wheelchair. Yet, the ancient world was not wheel-bound. Most people did not use carts as everyday transport for themselves. Most people did not function with an ideology of time is money which necessitates faster, wheeled mobility. Carts were for heavy or sizeable loads, not necessarily time.

Using terminology that more clinically describes function such as the mobility impaired can help to shed such connotations of the modern world. It allows archaeologists to think in terms of movement: who can move on two legs under their own power, who needs assistance such as a staff, who cannot move at all on their own? With a change in terminology, “who” then constitutes the population of mobility impaired and becomes a much more sizeable, statistically relevant demographic than previously thought.

Sneed correctly identified small children, pregnant individuals, and the elderly as expanding the demographics of mobility impairment (Sneed, 2020). They may have functioning legs but may not be able to traverse by themselves distances or able-bodied adult-oriented objects such as stairs with tall risers. An older population may have difficulty simply from aging such as balance issues, arthritis, sciatica, and chronic lower back strain among other issues. Many still work with the misconception that ancient populations did not live much past middle-aged. This stems from biases in skeletal-age estimations with a low sampling of older individuals compounded by difficulties in determining age as well as confusion between life expectancy and longevity in statistical modeling (Chamberlain, 2006).

Other important categories that have so far not been included in the scholarly discussionare the elites of society as well as the gods. Public display of status meant elite individuals would either ride an animal or be carried in a litter of some sort whether wheeled or shoulder borne. Although they may not have had a somatic issue with mobility, culturally, they were not allowed to move through religious spaces without some form of assistance. They perhaps would exit the litter or dismount when entering the temple, but they may also have used that transport into the temple precinct or temple itself.

Similarly, statues of gods cannot move on their own. Ancient Egyptian as well as Greek religion used processions as an integral part of ritual. Greek temples housed multiple images of gods with the smaller ones carried out by a siophoros (bearer of the god) for bathing in the sea or attend meetings of citizen assemblies (Spawforth, 2006). The special status of a siophoros may translate to those who carry mobility impaired mortals as an analogous pious act. Since the gods must move, temple architecture must accommodate their mobility impairment. Unlike the modern world with legally regulated accommodations, that is a change in structures, to make sites accessible to those with mobility impairment, the ancient world likely already had some accessibility in terms of religious sites that had traveling gods. The mobility impairment of the gods stands as an example of Pudsey’s assertion that culture-bound factors determine disability as much as physiology and the environment (Pudsey, 2017).

Mobility Design

The New Mobilities Paradigm (Sheller & Urry, 2006) has given rise to Mobility Design theory which can serve as a bridge to integrating Disability Studies with the interpretation of archaeological sites. The definition of Mobility Design as “the nexus between design (architecture, urban design, service design, etc.) and mobilities” as well as “the interrelation of practical issues and actual materialities” (Jensen, Lanng, & Wind, 2016) helps us to recognize the medical and social/New Historicism approaches of mobility impairment in the material culture. Archaeologists should think in terms of how people moved through spaces and structures, or interacted with them, when constructing site interpretations. It should account for heterogeneity of movement rather than assuming homogeneity.

According to mobility design theory, everyday navigation of space has three components: 1. the material spaces and design, 2. social interactions, and 3. embodied performances (Jensen, Lanng, & Wind, 2016). Together, these create situational mobilities which can be applied to the structural design of temples to allow a particular form of mobility. Mobility Design also uses the concept of “affordance,” that is what the given environment provides (with a neutral valuation) to a person (Jensen, Lanng, & Wind, 2016). By analyzing the affor-dances of various temples, archaeologists gain insight to the social interactions around these spaces. “Everyday mobility, which is often performed together, is also a social space that (re)affirms a sense of family and enacts belonging and community amongst family members.” Although Jensen et al reference the situation of driving a family car, the gist of the statement holds true for an ancient family carrying one of their own with a mobility impairment. Ramps may afford a person easy access to a temple under their own power and may have a performative function in certainhealing rituals (e.g. at Epidauros), but steps at other temples also create social interaction between the mobility impaired and others with its own performative value in cultic contexts.

Another important insight from Mobility Design is the paired perspectives of “staged from above” and “staged from below” (Jensen, Lanng, & Wind, 2016). Staged from above is a concept that mobility is staged by authorities designing buildings and regulating movement within and around them. Conversely, staging from below is people performing mobility different from those envisioned by the designers of the space. Greek architects did not design most temples for access by the mobility impaired, but people found a way to still participate in the cultic, civic, and social life of the temple.

Kristensen’s work on the seating niches, called exedrae at Epidauros demonstrates the relationship between staged from above and below (Kristensen, 2018). These exedrae dedicated to prominent families, likely from the priests, are situated on the eastern side of the main processional way to the Temple of Asklepios in view of the altar and on the route to the Thymele. They developed over time creating an in-group with a good viewing of the rituals while also blocking the view of others. The original staging from above designed the altar with open space for people to observe the rituals. The later addition of exedrae to the sanctuary shows actions originally staged from below by spectators, that is the consistent and exclusionary gathering of the prominent families around the altar became, once again, staged from above as yet another set of built structures.

Greek Temples

Using the category of mobility impairment that includes the young, elderly, pregnant, social elites, and the gods in conjunction with Mobility Design’s situational mobilities and staging, let us now proceed with case analyses for Greece, Egypt, and the Levant. Can the layout and structures of the temples reveal the lived experience of the mobility impaired in these cultures? Or do we need to reassess what we expect to find in a temple in order to see the mobility impaired?

The overall design of Greek and later Roman temples is a sanctuary complex (hieron) enclosing a rectangular structure (naos) surrounded by columns sitting on a three stepped platform or crepidoma. This style of temple originated around the 8th century BCE and continued into the reign of Hadrian in the early 2nd century CE (Spawforth, 2006). An interesting practice of classical archaeologists when describing these temples is to give the dimensions for only the top step of the platform or stylobate; quite often the risers of the first and second steps leading to the top platform are not mentioned in final published reports. Even without such noted dimensions, a quick visual scan of many temples shows the steps to the top platform are too large even for an able-bodied person to ascend quickly with ease. As we shall see, the staging from above forces a mobility that requires pausing and careful, deliberate ascension into the temple.

Pausanias and Strabo list hundreds of asklepieia with the most famous at Epidauros serving as a model for many other Greco-Roman healing temples. Although some structures in the sanctuary date to the 6th century or earlier, the Temple of Asklepios with a raised platform dates to the 5th c. BCE (Trümper, 2014) with a top step measuring 39x78 feet (Spawforth, 2006). Its ramp dimensions such as length and grade are not given in the published reports. Similarly, the ramps of the Propylaia on the northside of the sanctuary, the ramp into the propylon of the estiatorion, and the tholos/Thymele lack published dimensions. Tomlinson notes that many of the structures at Epidauros feature ramps but he never gives measurements unlike the top platforms and the various drums used in constructing the columns (Tomlinson, 1983). Kavvadias originally identified the estiatorion as a gymnasium (Kavvadias, 1900) but Tomlinson’s analysis determined it functioned more as a dining hall for the healthy visitors to the sanctuary whereas those seeking a cure ate their meals in the abaton (Tomlinson, 1969). This assessment was later refined with the assertion that the estiatorion ramp serviced ritual processions (Tomlinson & Wilkins, 2003). Interestingly, the abaton (for incubation) had two stories on its west side which also adjoined a fountain structure likely used for bathing. The katagogion or hostel within the sanctuary also had two stories with a total of 160 rooms. Pergamon contained a two-story circular abaton as well (Hartigan, 2009). It is never questioned why the multi-storied structures service those with mobility impairments and other disabilities while the structure for the healthy has a ramp; in typical archaeological fashion, the ramp is attributed to cultic functions.

The temples of Asklepios in the Classical and Hellenistic periods frequently had a central ramp leading into them as exhibited in places like Corinth (Hartigan, 2009). At some sites like Lebena, monumental staircases were found near rooms thought to function as a treasury. The asklepieion at Kos spread over three artificial terraces with monumental stairs approaching each level although the spacing of columns for the temple on the middle terrace is noted as being unusually wide (Spawforth, 2006). The third level had rooms for the sick seemingly accessible only by staircase, but Hartigan notes that the walk from the city center to the sanctuary was a sloped “easy walk” (Hartigan, 2009) likely facilitating the processionals occurring at Kos and attested in Herodas’ mimiamb (or a short humorous story in verse) on women making a sacrifice to Asklepios (Zanker, 2009).

The mimiamb of women sacrificing to Asklepios highlights a feature of all Greek temples, including non-healing ones, that people moved around inside them. Typically, they would circumambulate the main deity’s statue and also move towards other smaller statuary for offerings. Attendants within the temple assisted by collecting the offerings. Many temples such as at Tegai and the Force del Sele temple to Hera in Italy contained processional ramps for these purposes but also for the occasions when the smaller statuary of the gods left the temple themselves. Spawforth surmises that Greeks borrowed the processional ramp from Egypt and noted that temples without them used an alternative of “a sensible flight of steps” (Spawforth, 2006, p. 90) which begs the question of what qualifies as sensible. For a society with mobility impairments, the lack of clarity in characterizing the steps as sensible becomes more acute when considering the divine statuary carried by attendants like the siophoros for Poseidon.

Festivals for the gods drew large crowds in what is known as heoria or religious tourism with the Acropolis in Athens being one of the most notable. Modern scholars frequently remark on the difficulty of the path leading to the Parthenon and its monumental staircases. Less often mentioned is the thirty-foot wide earthen ramp from the Temple of Haephestos in the Agora to the top of the Acropolis built in the 6^th century BCE. It ran for several hundred feet with stone retaining walls on its northern and southern sides. The ramp “produced a concept of the civic by enabling the entirety of the polis to ascend the Acropolis together and to be seen as one mass tout court” (Gissen, 2014). This ramp was destroyed under Caligula and replaced with the monumental staircase. Interesting comparisons may be made between the asklepieia and the Athenian Temple of Haephestos given the god had a mobility impairment and metal smithing was an occupation open to those with certain disabilities.

Let us now return to the question of who comprises the demography for mobility impairment in ancient Greece and their interaction with temples. The smaller statuary of gods would on occasion be taken from their places within the temple and at the very least moved towards the altars. Most Greek temples were open to all people, men, women, young, and old with the only restriction being purity. Physical conditions such as just giving birth or interacting with the dead made one impure, but this could be washed away (Mikalson, 2009). A physical condition such as a mobility impairment did not create impurity. The Greeks defined sickness as an imbalance of substances which may be considered an impurity, but the act of washing would remove the excess thus restoring the balance enough to allow entrance into a temple such as an asklepieion (Avalos, 1995). Priests were drawn from the population, usually elder members of a temple’s founding aristocratic families serving for life or, in the case of Athens, by yearly lot of citizen families (Mikalson, 2009). This means those with mobility impairments due to age or any other condition could be in regular attendance at the temple as a priest.

Mobility impairments did not block anyone from visiting a Greek temple on theological grounds which raises the question: how did those with mobility impairments accessed these spaces? Places like Epidauros may have built structures with a plethora of ramps but most temples did not use them and in fact created monumental staircases and frequently chose elevated sites for the temples. Gissen’s description of a mass of people moving together as a civic body from the Temple of Haephestos to the top of the Acropolis holds the key and reads perfectly as a case of mobility design theory. Greek society accommodated impairments not necessarily with architectural design but through their personal interactions understood as civic and religious duties. Those needing assistance were helped along by crutches, litters, or simply carried by another person through the hieron and the into the temple. Tomlinson assessed the ramp at Epidauros’ estiatorion as facilitating processionals but limited the diners to healthy, able-bodied visitors. If the mobility impaired could be carried to the upper rooms of an abaton, then they could just as easily have used the ramps to partake in the sacrificial meats at the estiatorion. Similarly, the assistance needed to bring people to the upper floors of an abaton could also be used to bring them into any temple structure.

Egyptian Temples

Like in Greek culture, Egyptian temples functioned as the houses of the gods and administrative centers but also as the locus of mortuary cults for the deceased kings. They housed treasuries, offices, schools, and slaughterhouses making parts of the temple complex open to a wide array of people.

The temples of Dynastic Egypt appear to be an amalgam of several different pre-dynastic strains. An initial temple complex at the religious center in Upper Egypt at Nekhen/Hierakonpolis dates to 3500 BCE. It consisted of a U-shaped mud-covered reed fence delineating the temenos (sacred space) with a sand mound and a large pole at the apex. The gateway stood on the north while the shrine sat on the south side. This shrine had a curved roof rising in the front. Buto acted as the religious center for Lower Egypt with no surviving archaeological remains of a shrine, but iconography show it to have a curved roof. Abydos appears to have been a ceremonial gathering place for the gods with a sacred space designed as a fortification whose walls had inset niches called a “palace façade” (Wilkinson, 2000). What is striking about all of these styles of temples is the sloped interiors called the “primordial mound” important to religious ceremonies, like the Sed-festival rejuvenating the king’s power.

By 1500 BCE, temples evolved into the axial procession plan (Quirke, 2015). These consisted of an entrance gate to an open courtyard, then a columned hall, leading further into a sanctuary. As one progressed towards the sanctuary, the floor would slope upwards as the roof gradually lowered making the innermost sanctuary, where the statue of the god resided, small and dark (Bell, 1997; Wilkinson, 2000). Mortuary temples had followed a similar plan since the reign of Khafre (2520-2494 BCE). The causeways into all of these temples were level surfaces not stepped. Egyptian temples built outside of Kmt (The Egyptian term for Egypt) proper still followed this plan of access through flat or ramped causeways with the temples to Hathor and Sopet at Serabit el-Khadim in the Sinai standing as examples (Bonnet & Valbelle, 1997).

Some mortuary temples used monumental terracing such as Hapshepsut and its predecessor Nebhapetre Mentuhotep at Deir el-Bahri. These terraces have ramped causeways. Although a set of steps exist in the central portion of the ramp, essentially two-thirds of it allow for mobility impairment access on a gradually sloping surface. Even smaller structures within the temple complex such as the White Chapel of Senwosret I at Karnak have a small rise with only eight steps yet the central portion is a smooth ramp. An exception to this can be found in sun temples at Iunu/Heliopolis whose primordial mound is a stepped platform reserved for the king’s use. Even this stepped structure has at least a balustrade that may be used as an assistance for mobility impairments (Quirke, 2015).

Ancient Egyptian medico-religious culture did not create a separate healing temple like the Greco-Roman asklepieion. The only example of a healing temple is the Temple of Hathor at Iunt/Dendara that functioned as a sanatorium from the Ptolemaic period into the Roman era with its earliest still standing structure the mammisi or “birth house” built in the reign of Nectanebo (380-362 BCE) (Zignani, 2010). The birth house functioned as a symbolic place for the birth of the god and not a labor and delivery center for people. Although, the layout of the mammisi followed the form used in “child arbors” in which women did give birth (Fauerbach, 2012). It would often have a set of three or four low steps without a ramp. The healing function of Dendara is a late cultural addition; excavations outside the temenos for the Temples of Hathor and Isis revealed settlements dating as far back as the Naqada IIC-D period in the mid-4th millennium (Marouard, 2017). Similarly, sections of the mortuary temple for Hatshepsut at Deir el-Bahri and the Temple of Imhotep at Elephantine served as healing shrines during the Ptolemaic period. At Dendara, the distinctive feature making it a healing temple was the chambers for the rituals of ablution and incubation adapted from the rituals linked to Asklepios. Although this type of medico-religious ritual was borrowed from the Greeks, the temple itself mostly followed the Egyptian plan with essentially flat causeways rather than the Greek monumentality necessitating staircases.

Egyptian temples from the dynastic period, especially the New Kingdom, often had an architectural feature of the “hearing ear” such as the Temple of Amun at Karnak and the Eastern High Gate at Medinet Habu which could be “easily and discreetly approached” (Teeter, 2011). Teeter similarly describes the hearing ears at Kom Ombo as having “easy and unfettered access.” The “hearing ear” was a niche with a pair of ears carved into the wall at the rear of the temple. Anyone could approach these ears and submit their petition for help from the gods for any situation, but it is commonly described as being particularly used by those suffering illnesses (Wilkinson, 2000). On the inside of the temple were “priest holes” that allowed the priests to sit and listen to the prayers and maybe give an oracular response. Yet such petitions were not limited to the temples. Stelae with carved ears were erected away from the temples giving the same access to the gods (Teeter, 2011). The placement of the hearing ears meant that someone with a mobility impairment did not have to navigate the interiors of the monumental structures. Approach to these sites would likely be a fairly even, flat surface.

These hearing ears and petitions to the gods highlights the intersection between the demography of mobility impairments and who had access to the Egyptian temples or more specifically, access to the gods. Contact between the gods and humans was not entirely dependent on the mobility of humans but rather a two-way process of movement since the gods frequently exited the temples but not under their own power.

Documentation of several festivals demonstrate the frequency with which the gods exited the temples. Processions occurred between Karnak and Deir el-Bahri, Karnak and Luxor, Luxor and Medinet Habu, as well as the longer journey of Dendara to Edfu. The Festival of the Valley, held since the 11th Dynasty, celebrated the transition of the living to the dead “confirming family over the individual” (Bell, 1997) with a statue of Amun leaving the temple of Karnak on the east bank in a barque carried by priests to visit the royal tombs on the west bank at Deir el-Bahri with large crowds assembled to view the procession giving access to the gods (Teeter, 2011). At the end of the procession, people could approach the barques to ask yes-no questions to which the barque would dip and sway with an answer (Bell, 1997; Teeter, 2011). The Opet-festival celebrating the rejuvenation of the king’s ka provided another opportunity as statues of the gods traveled from Karnak to Luxor. The Osiris festival took place throughout Kmt when people created statues of Osiris and other gods placing them in shrines with the same type of ceremonial processions seen in the royal ceremonies associated with the major temples (Teeter, 2011).

Other opportunities for people to interact with the gods occurred during gatherings at temples like the People’s Gate in the Ramesside Court and Great Hypostyle Hall opposite the processional gate facing the Nile (Bell, 1997). Interestingly, a cache of 750 statues was discovered at Karnak between the seventh pylon and the Hypostyle Hall that represented worshipers. Whether specially commissioned or bought as stock figures, they had the worshiper’s name carved on them thus functioned as a surrogate for the physical person being present in the temple (Teeter, 2011). No special purity law governed access to these peripheral spaces (Gee, 1998; Teeter, 2011).

Purity regulations dictated who could directly approach the gods and their degree of interaction. The common person essentially existed in a state of impurity whereas the king naturally had the purity necessary to approach the gods. Purity, though, was a transient state not a permanent condition thus even a king would need purification when interacting with the gods (Teeter, 2011). Rituals of purification carried out in the temple’s per duat or “house of the morning” transformed the hem-netjer or servants of the gods/priests into the king’s proxy allowing them access to the gods (Teeter, 2011). Even the temple at Serabit el-Khadim had a per duat (Gee, 1998). Similarly, mortuary temples of the kings had a place of purification (Teeter, 2011). Instructions on the purity required to enter certain temple spaces could be found written on the doorways in the Temple of Amun at Karnak while tomb inscriptions caution against impurities acquired through diet and sexual activity (Teeter, 2011). Some argue that these behavioral purity regulations, at least for priests, derived from the Book of the Dead 125 (Gee, 1998).

Yet, the priestly group had degrees with the wab or pure priest as the lowest ranking. The wab priest would carry offerings as well as the barques of the gods but with limited access to the interior sections of the temple. Higher ranks such as the God’s Father, lector, and sem priests were distinguished by specific dress and could have direct contact with the statues. Priests were not a dedicated class living only in the temples but served on a rotational basis of four or five groups throughout the year with the majority of their time spent on other occupations and living with their families (Quirke, 2015). The higher ranks were appointed by the king and could become hereditary but royal associations as a pre-requisite were on the wane by the New Kingdom (Teeter, 2011). One qualified for the priestly ranks through knowledge of the duties, rituals, and literacy.

What is important to note about purity and access to the gods in the temples is that physical disabilities such as a mobility impairment did not theologically bar anyone whether commoner, priest, or king. Ramps functioned as an accommodation for the least mobile population, the gods themselves, therefore they accommodated mortals with mobility impairments as simply a by-product of their primary function. The Egyptian temple accommodation for mobility impairment really centered on the gods’ movement, not mortals. Care for the gods and festivals that stressed community cohesion over individuality likely translated to similar care for the disabled when accessing the physical space of the temple or the processional aspects of festivals. The sloping interiors of the temples representing the primordial mound. Mobility Design interprets all of this as staging from above. Yet, it also served mobility impairments as an incidental feature and allowed staging from below for people to access both peripheral and internal spaces.

Levantine Temples and the Hebrew Bible

The Hebrew Bible has a very different situation from the ancient Greeks and Egyptians in that purity laws did restrict access to the temples based on physical disabilities. Additionally, construction of the Temple in Jerusalem meant YHWH became a fixed, non-traveling deity. Yet, these aspects were not always a part of ancient Israelite religion. Determining the locus of Israelite religious practices during the Iron Age presents problems in and of itself since a wide variety of temples, shrines, and even natural sites like E207 in Samaria and Jerusalem Cave 1 were used (Steiner, 1997). Classifying them is a major undertaking by many archaeologists whose work has been summarized by Schmitt (Schmitt, 2014).

The Deuteronomistic Historian sets up a contrast between temples and bāmôt used essentially by apostates. The passage in I Kgs 14:23 also contributes to the frequently used translation of “high place” creating the sense that bāmôt were open air shrines on hills. Debate surrounds the exact nature of a bāmā ranging from an open-air shrine to a structure akin to a temple drawing upon the feast in a hall depicted in I Sam 9:22 (Emerton, 1997; Catron, 2009). Emerton advises thinking of bāmôt as a local sanctuary rather than a distinct and particular construction of a site. At the very least, it could contain any combination of an altar, masseba (standing stone), and/or an ashera (wooden pole) as well as a building. Holladay put forth an often used set of typologies distinguishing establishment from non-conformist cultic sites (Holladay, 1987). Based on these considerations, Alpert Nakhai describes a two-tiered religious system in Iron Age Israel consisting of royal cults centered at temples like Jerusalem, Bethel, and Dan while a system of bāmôt provided more localized regional access to the gods (Alpert Nakhai, 2001). The Bible depicts the priests for these bāmôt drawn from the general population rather than the Levites (I Kgs 12:31) underscoring the theological use of the term rather than a structural one discernible in the archaeological record.

Archaeologists frequently employ the distinction public and domestic cultic sites with temples constituting public while shrines within households are classified as domestic. This creates an issue though for cultic sites within or near workshops as public or domestic. Additionally, if the cultic site served an extended family, the point at which it became a public cultic site for a tribe or clan is unclear. The integrated relationship between nomadic and sedentary elements of the Canaanites and Israelites makes these issues even more complex (Salzman, 1972; Porter, 2012). Ben-Yosef’s recent archaeological work on Timna in the Wadi Arabah demonstrates social complexity without monumental architecture (Ben-Yosef, 2021) making a survey of access to cultic sites in ancient Israel difficult. Settling the extent of applying public, domestic, and non-conformist to a cultic site is beyond the scope of this study but it does highlight that integrating mobility design and disability studies with archaeology needs to also consider access to small scale religious structures whether outdoors or contained within buildings whose primary function is not religious.

Archaeologists must be aware of the locations and time periods when theological shifts occur effecting the material remains within Levantine religious culture in order to interpret the interaction between mobility impairments and structures. As a proof of concept, this study is limited to the Solomonic Temple in Jerusalem and a few pertinent archaeologically identified temples.

Unfortunately, excavations cannot be carried out on the Solomonic temple in Jerusalem therefore we must rely on the description provided in I Kgs 6 a text dated to the 8th century BCE (Hurowitz, 2010) a few hundred years after the purported building of the structure. Although some argue a Jerusalem Temple did not exist until the Persian period (Liverani, 2003; Edelman, 2012) or never at all (McCormick, 2002). This study eschews the Minimalist approach in favor of understanding the Biblical texts in light of recent archaeological finds at Khirbet Qeiyafa and Tel Moza (Kisilevitz, 2015) dating to the 10th and 9th centuries respectively indicating a temple in Jerusalem likely stood during the Iron Age.

The basic structure contains a ulam (forecourt) with two pillars called Jachin and Boaz, hechal (outer sanctum), devir (holy of holies), and yatsia sovev (side chamber). The description of I Kgs 6:5-6 gives the impression of a three-tiered structure with the side chamber accessed on the right side by a winding staircase or lul (I Kgs 6:8). The overall height of the temple stood 30 cubits (I Kgs 6:2) while the height of the holy of holies was only 20 cubits (I Kgs 6:20) creating a difference of approximately 10 cubits between the two rooms.

Garfinkel analyzes the Biblical text describing the structure of the temple in conjunction with archaeological finds noting that many reconstructions since 1887 erroneously place steps in front of the Jerusalem Temple (Garfinkel & Mumcuoglu, 2019). His reconstruction of the Jerusalem Temple determines that the forecourt and outer sanctum have a smooth transition with no steps between them. He draws upon the model of a temple from Khirbet Qeifaya to determine that the entrance to the outer sanctum contained a four-post recessed niche but ignores that the model shows a stepped entrance. The Kh. Qeifaya model has three protruding rectangles as the doorway frame with the fourth protruding rectangle representing the outer walls of the temple. This model also has one large step upon which rests the outer wall frame and the first two protruding rectangles. The third or innermost protruding rectangle rests on a smaller step. If the entrance to the outer sanctum had no steps, then it would stand to reason the model would terminate all the posts on the same level plane. It is possible that the large bottom step of the model is simply the base upon which the model sits while the smaller step represents a doorsill used in many structures. Garfinkel interprets the model as having no steps, yet the model may be read as having a raised entrance. Similarly, entrances and thresholds for the temple at ‘Ain Dara indicate they may be elevated enough to present an issue for the mobility impaired.

The Hebrew Bible describes the holy of holies with an elevation difference of ten cubits. For Garfinkel, this necessitates a set of stairs thus he follows the same floor plan as Watzinger (Garfinkel & Mumcuoglu, 2019; Watzinger, 1933). Interestingly, the Biblical text mentions a staircase for the side chambers but is silent upon the method of accessing the holy of holies given the stated height difference. The temple from Tel Motza has the exact same layout of a courtyard with pillars, a pre-cella, a cella, and corridor/side chamber as described for the Jerusalem temple. The pre-cella has a packed earth floor with plaster and a fragmented stone pavement near the entry to the cella that stands only .2 m or just under 8 inches higher than the floor of the pre-cella itself (Kisilevitz, 2015). This brings up the possibility that the holy of holies in the Jerusalem Temple did not need a significant set of steps resolving the ten cubits difference. Like the Egyptian temples, the interior ceiling may have lowered while the floor had minimal elevations as they approached the holy of holies.

Other temples exist with a set of steps separating the room divisions such as the ‘Ain Dara temple built over three phases ranging from 1300 to 740 BCE in northern Syria. This temple follows the same basic layout as Tel Motza with a courtyard including pillars, a pre-cella, and a cella as well as a surrounding corridor (Abu-Assaf, 1993). ‘Ain Dara has a set of four to five large basalt steps between the pillars leading into the paved courtyard with an overall dimension of 1.90 x 1.43 x .82 meters. Another set of limestone steps leads from the courtyard into the pre-cella measuring 3.87 x 2.20 x .40 meters for the first step with the imprint of two large feet. The second step measures 4.00 x 2.50 x .40 meters with a single left footprint. From the pre-cella to the cella is a height difference of 70 centimeters. Abu-Assaf refers to the steps here as a monumental staircase consisting of three basalt steps with a height of 25 centimeters for each. These lead to a limestone slab measuring 3.69 x 2.68 x .60 meters with the imprint of a large right foot. There is also nearly a two meters height difference between the pre-cella and the corridor entrance in the southern corner suggesting a staircase. Within the cella is a podium elevated from the paved flooring; scattered basalt blocks indicate a possible ramp to the podium.

The footsteps on the thresholds at the ‘Ain Dara temple provide for interesting interpretations. Some have argued that they represent the god of the temple such as Ishtar (Thomas, 2008) while others suggest they act as reminders for the worshiper to pause then enter rooms with a specific leading foot during a ritual procession (Abu-Assaf, 1993). The latter theory dovetails with Mobility Design’s staging from above in which the temple design forces a particular type of deliberate movement. Both of these interpretations have implications for the demography of mobility impairment and mobility design theory applied to archaeology. The religious rituals of the Levant and the Israelites in particular did not typically have processions of statues of the gods moving to and from monumental temples. These gods’ sedentary practises thus excluded most people, let alone the mobility impaired, from viewing them. Consequently, the temple architecture would not have disability accommodations as a by-product of the gods’ movement routines. The use of figurines found in domestic shrines as well as the reference to household idols for nomadic tribes in Gen 31:19 contradict this impression of divine fixity for the religious life of the Levant overall.

The North-East Temple at Tel Lachish represents another interesting structural design incorporating ritual practices that may have simultaneously accommodated mobility impairments. This temple can be classified as a tower temple, a subset of the Syrian model, with examples found at Megiddo and Shechem (Weissbein, et al., 2019). The North-East Temple at Lachish may also be a precursor to the basic layout seen at ‘Ain Dara, Motza, and the Jerusalem Temple as described in the Hebrew Bible. Rooms B and C form the base of a tower staircase. Finds within room D, i.e. the main hall, indicate a rooftop altar that had collapsed into the temple. Although the rituals carried out on the roof may have barred the mobility impaired from direct participation at that altar, it would allow a similar worshiper visual access from below and perhaps more inclusion than an altar in the courtyard of the temple which may be visually blocked by crowds. It should be noted that the rooftop altar likely fulfilled theological ritual needs related to the god rather than an intentional accommodation for a specific demographic. Like the sloping floors of the Egyptian temples, the Syrian/Canaanite tower temple provided accommodation as a by-product of its theology.

Yet, the developing theology in the Hebrew Bible explicitly limits those with certain disabilities from accessing the Jerusalem Temple on grounds of purity. The Levitical category of tāmîm, meaning “whole/able/acceptable,” designates those things that are in a state of purity allowing access to god. This is in contrast to ḥūmʾâ, or unclean arising from natural processes such as childbirth (Lev 12:2) or nocturnal emission (Lev 15:2), causing a temporary suspension from ritual participation. Within in this broad continuum of pure and impure is the specific category of mûmîm causing permanent disbarment of priests from rituals at the altar and holy of holies. Lev 21:18-19 lists pissēaḥ (lame), ḥārum (stunted limb), sārûaʿ (overgrown limb), and šeber rāgel and šeber yād (a broken leg or arm as defective) as mûmîm. These prohibitions for just the priesthood eventually extended to the general population as seen in the 2 Sam 5:8 prohibition, “no one who is blind or lame may enter the house” and may be related to the bāmôt serviced by non-Levitcal priests. Even with the democratization of purity regulations, people had access to some parts of the temple such as the courtyard (Avalos, 1995). If the courtyard at ‘Ain Dara serves as an example of many monumental temples, this creates a situation similar to ancient Greece in which the staging from above prima facie excludes people with mobility impairments. Further study of social interactions and embodied performances in Canaanite and specifically Israelite culture needs to be conducted in order to understand the situational mobilities or movement strategies relating to Levantine temples and sanctuaries that may have allowed access to the mobility impaired.

Interestingly, the theology of the Hebrew Bible contains a sense of accommodation for disability by asserting that altering or correcting the environment not the person can serve as a type of cure. Jer 31:9 describes a restoration of Israel by a “level road where they will not stumble.” A changed environment, rather than direct healing, is the cause for tottering knees to strengthen and the lame to leap like a deer in Isaiah 35. Isa 3:1-12 uses disability imagery to establish the natural political order of the Israelites depending upon a king (Couey, 2014). Jerusalem and Judah are depicted with a mobility impairment from the phrasing mašen umašenāh (staff and stay). Verses 8 and 12 subsequently show Jerusalem stumbling and destroyed paths. Isaiah 3 represents a cultural context in which those with mobility impairments are as natural as kingship and that a lack of care for them is unjust. Yahweh’s solution is not to change the character of the leaders nor to obliterate kingship altogether but to replace them, that is, to change the environment for the Israelites by giving them a better staff.

Isa 3 parallels the Hebrew Bible’s temple design in I Kings 6. The theology underlying the layout of the Temple in Jerusalem takes precedent (staging from above), yet the behavior of the people can provide the necessary access to the mobility impaired (staging from below). Further study is needed on the various religious sites broadly categorized as bāmôt/non-establishment and domestic in terms of their access using Mobility Design and how this affected the lived experience of those with disability. If Alpert Nakhai’s two-tiered system is accurate, the integration of Mobility Design and Disability Studies with archaeology has paramount importance in understanding the practices of a heterogeneous Israel.

Conclusion

Sneed’s work on healing temple access (2020) expands the category of mobility impairment to include the elderly, pregnant women, and children; this study follows that model to further incorporate the social elite and the gods using both the medical and social approaches of Disability Studies. The addition of Mobility Design theory allows archaeologists to interpret spaces and structures acknowledging a variety of movement strategies. Both ramps and steps create opportunities for social interaction between the mobility impaired and non-impaired. The design of temples (staging from above) presents challenges for which the population must then develop their own navigational strategies (staging from below).

Staging from above in Greek temples forced people to have a deliberate, slow ascent even if fully able-bodied. The mixed use of ramps and steps at Greek healing temples do not fall into the obvious categories of abled and mobility impaired leading archaeologists to default but vague explanations of cultic ritual for the ramps. The design of Egyptian temples centered on the primordial mound necessitating a sloped approach rather than steps for theological and ritual purposes. Monumental staircases did exist but always accompanied by a ramp allowing for processions of the gods. Often, people did not need to access the temple interiors due to “hearing ears” on the outer walls as well as proxy worshipper statues placed inside. The movement of the proxy statues like the gods meant that significant temple use was accessible to those with mobility impairments.

For both Greek and Egyptian religion, mobility impairment did not constitute an impurity barring temple access. The Hebrew Bible presents a different situation in which mobility impairment does restrict temple access and the centralized Temple in Jerusalem housed a non-traveling god. Yet, prior to the Jerusalem Temple, Israelites and Canaanites employed a variety of sanctuary structures such as high places, open air, public, and domestic shrines in conjunction with nomadic gods thus a comprehensive survey as done for Greek and Egyptian temples is not as easily accomplished for Israelites and other Canaanites. Additionally, reconstruction of the Jerusalem Temple layout must rely on comparisons with the Kh. Qeifaya model as well as temple remains at ‘Ain Dara which infer a structure with steps. The temple at Tel Motza indicates access to the Holy of Holies would not require significant steps, especially if the roof sloped as in Egyptian temples, in order to reconcile it with the description of the Temple in the Hebrew Bible. The steps within known Canaanite temples indicate the design from above functioned much like the Greek temples making one pause with deliberate planned movements allowing for social interaction for the mobility impaired. It is this heterogeneity of form, function, and interactive strategies that archaeologists must incorporate in order to interpret temple sites and their role in society.