Philosophy Today

DOI: 10.5840/philtoday2020128312

Ruinology
JASON PARRY

Abstract: Ruinology is defined here as the study of the speculative reconstruction

of ruins. Its remit encompasses both the study of the mechanisms of ruination as
well as attempts to reverse-engineer ruination and reconstruct architectural remains.

Key words: architecture, taphonomy, archaeoastronomy

W
hat follows here constitutes an explanation and exploration of the
concept ruinology. As a concept, ruinology has heretofore only
existed in provisional forms. For example, ruinology is defined
in a fleeting reference by Giorgio Agamben as a synonym for archaeology—as a
“science of ruins” (Agamben 2009: 82). Yet, Agamben writes that the objects of
this science “can never truly be given as an empirically present whole” because
“they exist only in the condition of partial objects or ruins” (Agamben 2009:
82). As a science of ruins, ruinology is necessarily the study of the empirically
incomplete, of forms degraded, dissolved, and destroyed. Accordingly, if ruinol-
ogy is a science, it is also an art; and, more precisely, what the art historian Hal
Foster has called “an art of missing parts” (2000: 128). Insofar as there can be a
method for ruinology, then, it must be speculative—a bridge between the visible
form and the absences that define its objects as ruins.
If ruinology names a confrontation with the absences that distinguish ruins as
“partial objects,” then perhaps a useful definition of ruinology is the study of the
speculative reconstruction of ruins. In ruins, absences of evidence create spaces for
competing interpretations that any single reconstruction must select between. As
we shall see, these absences that infuse reconstructions of ruins with uncertainty
are, counter-intuitively, absences with agency. Despite the fact that strictly speak-
ing they do not exist, these absences produce effects that persist into the present
by affecting the interpretation of existing material remains.

© Philosophy Today, Volume 63, Issue 4 (Fall 2019).

ISSN 0031-8256 1079–1089
1080 Jason Parry

While the diverse theorists associated with the new materialism have brought
much-needed attention to the creativity of matter, the concept of ruinology
complements this research by suggesting that the same processes that testify most
vividly to a vital materiality—for example, the slow encrustation of an ancient
tower swallowed by the sea—also erase material evidence. Ruinology not only
studies the capacity of buildings to retain traces of their history, but also concerns
those elements destroyed through ruination. As such, ruinology opens a space for
considering the uncertainties generated by materialism’s vitality.
This space opened by ruinology is not purely theoretical but also encompasses
a disparate set of practices carried out in wildly divergent settings, from courtrooms
to cultural museums. What is consistent, however, across these diverse instantia-
tions of speculative reconstruction is a common project and problem. In each
case, those performing the reconstructions must bridge the chasm between what
is visible and what is invisible. Speculative reconstructions are only necessary,
after all, when some aspect of a ruin’s form or history is uncertain or disputed. In
the case of particular ancient monuments, for example, the absence of adequate
documentation leaves us uncertain as to how they originally appeared when they
were first built.
The Lion Gate in Mycenae (on the Argolid Peninsula in Greece) provides an
excellent example. This gate served as the entrance to Mycenae’s citadel and was
built during the thirteenth century BCE. In a carved relief atop the gate, a pair
of animals stands either side of a central pillar. While the animals have typically
been identified as lions (thus the name of the gate in question) neither sculpture
is still intact. The heads of the animals were carved from separate stones that sub-
sequently broke off from the bodies to which they had been attached. As a result
of this absence, several competing theories regarding the identity of these animals
have been proposed: they have been alternately labeled griffins, sphinxes, lions,
and lionesses (Blackwell 2014: 472). The absence of the animals’ heads opens each
of these possibilities. All four proposed animals have leonine bodies and therefore
are consistent with the available evidence. The space of the missing heads is thus a
space of uncertainty—a space simultaneously physical and conceptual: a specific
place in an ancient ruin as well as a slight breach in the constraints governing its
interpretation. In this sense, the missing piece of the animals’ anatomy supervenes
upon the bodies that remain, infusing them with indeterminacy. The absence of
the animals’ heads produces an ambiguity that lingers on into the present.
Making the case for any specific identification of the creatures overseeing
the gate necessarily involves an appeal to the extant empirical and documentary
evidence. Archaeologists have considered the relative popularity of the different
proposed creatures elsewhere in ancient Mycenae as well as in other nearby sites.
Others have sought to analyze the carved bodies of the creatures for signs—
such as marks that could have been left by wings—that would indicate griffins
Ruinology 1081

or sphinxes rather than lions or lionesses (Blackwell 2014: 473). Each of these
proposed reconstructions, however, has been forced to negotiate the limits of
scientific objectivity. In a sense, these archaeologists are engaged in a hermeneutics
of absence: a practice of making claims about what is imperceptible through an
interrogation of the perceptible.
Ruins retain evidence of the history that produced them, but only imperfectly
so. Indeed, ruins are often rather opaque historical records whose evidentiary
value is open to question. As such, speculative reconstructions are not completely
amenable to a model of truth construed in terms of a correspondence between
claims and objective facts. Unlike scientists who can rely on experimental data,
reproducibility, and falsifiability in order to firmly establish correspondences
between objective facts and statements, it is precisely the objective fact that is in
question in speculative reconstructions. Here, the question is not so much that of
corresponding to an objective reality as attempting to reproduce a missing piece of
it. When reality is not something given, but something to be reconstructed from
limited evidence, one is frequently forced to negotiate an uneasy accord between
empirical rigor and speculation.

1.
It is at once the specificity of its remit—speculative reconstruction—and the
diversity of its applications that make ruinology a useful frame for interrogating
the link between materiality and absence. After all, a ruin is only considered a
ruin in relation to some past or future state in which it either was not or would
not have been a ruin. Crucially, all ruins are ruins of something: a ruin is tangible
proof of something missing. Moreover, the eventuality of ruin is knitted into the
very being of every building. As Jacques Derrida writes: “A ruin does not super-
vene upon a monument that was intact only yesterday. In the beginning there
is ruin” (1993: 68). The ruin, in Derrida’s estimation, is a possibility immanent
to the project of architecture, programmed as it were into the very conditions
of architecture’s existence. Ruinology is thus simultaneously the study of the
absences that define the ruin as such and of attempts to abolish these absences
through reconstruction. In short, ruinology effects a figure-ground reversal,
foregrounding the absences that, despite their absence, continue to exert a pres-
sure on interpretations of the material world.
As previously noted, ruinology encompasses numerous methods of recon-
struction, including actual reconstruction performed in situ, reconstructions on
paper, in plaster, or, increasingly, those conjured through computer simulations.
Furthermore, the motivations for speculative reconstructions are diverse: they
may be undertaken out of historical interest, for political gain, to increase tourism
revenue, or for legal purposes. Despite the different forms speculative reconstruc-
1082 Jason Parry

tions take, and notwithstanding the varied impetuses leading to their production,
each encounters—and, in its own way, answers—the same theoretical problem:
navigating the gulf between trace and event.
Ruins are defined in part by a high concentration of indices that signify the
events that ruined them. Like all signs, however, indices are distinct from their
objects, and those who seek to interpret the indices etched in ruins must work
backwards from the accumulated traces to the absent histories to which they only
partially attest (Wark 2015). Although ruins possess a material receptivity that
allows them to register the events that led to their ruination, these signs must be
interpreted if they are to become evidence of some claim about the past. The criteria
for judging the soundness of these interpretations, however, are not self-evident.
Rather, such interpretive criteria must be established and defended. This process
is one of contestation, whereby competing interpretations seek to convert ruins
into evidence of one narrative over another. Given the limitations of architecture
to act as an information storage medium and the possibility of misinterpreting
the indices wrought in ruins, the narratives woven from a ruin’s wreckage will
almost certainly contain at least small amounts of speculation. Nevertheless, while
speculation endangers the truth of a reconstruction, it is really only on the basis
of speculation that such reconstructions are possible. Ruinology thus functions
as a convenient shorthand for referring to possible conflicts over the constraints
placed on the interpretation of ruins and over the degree of speculation admissible
in a ruin’s reconstruction.
Ruination may be productively defined as the process by which information
about a building’s environment becomes embedded in the building itself. This
information is encoded into a building’s structure by means of deformations,
chemical weathering, fractures, and other detectable changes. Each of these
structural transformations is produced by an interaction between the structure
and its environment and is a record of that interaction preserved, however weakly
or temporarily, within the materiality of the structure. A ruin is thus a building
characterized by large concentrations of such material transformations—that is,
by a high number of environmental traces of such severe magnitude that they
typically render the building structurally unstable and unfit to accommodate the
aspects of domestic or public life for which it was designed.
The process of ruination, as defined here, results in what I call “the ruination
paradox.” Simply put, the ruination paradox states that information is simultane-
ously created and destroyed in ruination. For example, while acid rain may degrade
ornamental features on a building’s façade, thereby rendering them unclear or
completely indiscernible, it nevertheless transforms that building’s surface into
an index of both local air contaminants and the failure of various anti-pollution
initiatives (Weizman 2014: 14). That we may see the loss of information about
the ornamental features as more significant than the gain in information about
Ruinology 1083

air pollution content and policy effectiveness is simply the result of the greater
emphasis we place on the ornaments’ value as regards our typical experience of
place. Nevertheless, although the loss of information contained in the ornaments
is an impoverishment of the space of possible interpretations of the building,
the weathering does in fact also create new interpretive possibilities. Ruination
thus does not merely affect the building’s material condition, but also names the
reshaping of the contours of the space of possible interpretations.
The ruination paradox has an analogy in the field of taphonomy—the study of
the decay and fossilization of organisms. In their textbook on prehistoric life, Bruce
Lieberman and Roger Kaesler emphasize that, while the pursuit of paleontological
knowledge is frequently hampered by information lost through taphonomy, it also
benefits from information gained:
Taphonomy is best described as comprising all the things that can happen
to the remains of an organism as it moves from the biosphere into the litho-
sphere. . . . As used originally the term dealt primarily with the information
lost during the processes of fossilization. Taphonomy was seen as an impedi-
ment to our interpreting the fossil record. There is much more to it, however,
than this rather negative view. Since taphonomy comprises the things that
happened to the remains of an organism, it follows that careful study of ta-
phonomy can provide a lot of information about the environments in which
the ancient organisms lived, died, and were preserved. . . . Because we know
the original nature of the fossil material and understand the taphonomic
forces that operate today, we can use our knowledge to help determine what
was going on in the ancient environment. (2010: 18)
As with ruination, there is a positive dimension to taphonomy that tends to be
overlooked. Early research in taphonomy often focused on stripping away the
“taphonomic overprint”—that is, the information produced by taphonomic
processes—but, eventually, the value of this information for reconstructing an-
cient environments was noticed (Lyman 2010: 3). In the case of predation, for
example, those researchers focusing on taphonomic loss would concentrate on
the disarticulation and disturbance caused by predation to fossil assemblages.
Researchers focused on taphonomic gain, on the other hand, would emphasize
the information gained about predator-prey relationships that help us reconstruct
ancient food webs.
The zoologist Mark Wilson makes a profitable analogy between these two
views of taphonomic processes and a similar problem in the study of sedimentation:
“the taphonomic-loss approach,” he writes, “is comparable to using sedimentology
to reconstruct the rocks and mountains from which the sedimentary particles
were derived; the taphonomic-gain approach is comparable to using sedimentol-
ogy to reconstruct the weathering transportation, or depositional environment of
the sediments” (Wilson 1988: 140). Using the terms of Wilson’s comparison, we
1084 Jason Parry

see that one’s perception of information gained or lost through taphonomic and
sedimentary processes frequently depends on whether one’s aim is to reconstruct
the structure of a degraded form (of a fossilized organism or an eroded mountain,
respectively) or the history of that form’s degradation. Fossils and sedimentary
particles form assemblages of information that simultaneously indicate the struc-
tures they once composed and the processes that disintegrated those structures.
I aim to demonstrate that a similar dynamic is at work in the reconstruction
of ruins. Ruination produces an effect akin to the taphonomic overprint—an
architectural fossilization—and, depending on the aspect of the ruin being recon-
structed, the overprint will either be seen as an object of study or as an obstacle
to study. In the former case, the processes of ruination provide evidence; in the
latter case, they obscure it. What distinguishes ruinology from other theories of
ruins is not only its focus on absences of evidence as points of interpretation in
speculative reconstruction, but also the conceptual distinction developed between
reconstructions of process and reconstructions of structure. Ruins retain, how-
ever imperfectly, records of the events that led to their becoming ruins as well as
traces of the structures as they existed before they were ruins; and speculative
reconstruction is, in effect, an attempt at reverse-engineering the interactions
between buildings and their environment—either to understand the interactions
or to uncover what they conceal.

2.
In 2008, an enthusiast of Roman architecture asked the virtual archaeologist Ber-
nie Frischer if it would be possible to make a computer simulation of Hadrian’s
Villa, the name given to the sprawling home that the Roman Emperor Hadrian
designed and built for himself on the rolling hills of central Italy. Five years later,
the Digital Hadrian’s Villa Project was unveiled. The project uses a combination of
three-dimensional models and gaming software to create a virtual reconstruction
of Hadrian’s Villa through which users can move using digital avatars (Gannon
2017). While today at Hadrian’s Villa there remain only masses of brick ruins,
the simulation provides an immersive experience of strolling through the site
as it would have looked after its completion. Ceilings that have long since col-
lapsed are restored and freshly painted statues line the hallways where Hadrian
would have walked.
The comprehensive appearance of the Digital Hadrian’s Villa Project is the
product of a significant amount of speculation. A tab on the project’s website, la-
beled “paradata,” chronicles the choices made in each section of the reconstruction
that are either disputed by archaeologists or consist of outright guesswork (Gannon
2017). Nevertheless, despite the speculation involved in the virtual reconstruc-
tion’s appearance, it has yielded new insights into the layout and purpose of some
Ruinology 1085

of the Villa’s structures. In the course of developing the simulation, it occurred

to Frischer and his colleagues that their virtual reconstruction of Hadrian’s Villa
could test some hypotheses regarding the relationship between the Villa’s design,
sunlight, and shadows.
In 2006, two years before work on the Digital Hadrian’s Villa Project began,
an Italian archaeologist named Marina de Franceschini noticed that sunlight fell
exactly in the center of one panel in the wall of the circular structure referred
to as the Temple of Apollo, part of a complex in the Villa called the Accademia
(Franceschini and Veneziano 2013: 460). Upon further investigation, Franceschini
and her collaborator, Giuseppe Veneziano, found that each building in the Ac-
cademia appeared to be oriented around the solstitial axis, meaning that sunlight
would travel straight across the complex during both the sunrise of the winter
solstice and the sunset of the summer solstice. In a sense, the Accademia traced an
annual celestial pattern on the ground, effectively connecting two cosmic points
of the earth’s orbit through architecture (Franceschini and Veneziano 2013: 463).
Franceschini and Veneziano also began to suspect that another building near the
Accademia, called the Roccabruna, was also designed according to astronomi-
cal phenomena. The idea that the Roccabruna was oriented to face the solstices
was first suggested by two other archaeologists named Robert Mangurian and
Mary-Ann Ray. However, they never published their theory. It remained, then, for
Fraceschini and Veneziano to verify the relationship between the solar movement
and the Roccabruna; and, indeed, they found that during the summer solstice a
small “light conduit” above the door channeled the sunlight into a “light blade”
that moved across the floor of the ruined structure and gradually faded away
(Franceschini and Veneziano 2013: 472).
The presence of these light effects appeared to suggest a ritualistic function
for these buildings. But with so many parts of the complex missing, it was difficult
to prove that these astronomical phenomena were actually factors in the original
design. Moreover, due to the slight movement of the sun’s trajectory relative to
the earth over the years, it was difficult to gauge if the effect would have existed in
Hadrian’s time (Frischer and Fillwalk 2012: 49). The Digital Hadrian’s Villa Project
provided the ideal platform to test Franceschini and Veneziano’s hypotheses: not
only did it reconstruct the entire complex, but it was possible to simulate the angles
of the sunrise and sunset as they would have appeared in the early second century.
Not only could the ruins be reconstructed, so could the astronomical conditions
under which those ruins were first formed.
Bernie Frischer and his associates used data from NASA’s Jet Propulsion
Laboratory to determine the trajectory of the sun in the year 130 CE and found
that Franceschini and Veneziano’s findings were reflected in the virtual model
(Frischer and Fillwalk 2012: 52–53). Digital light from an artificial Roman sun
entered the recreated Roccabruna through the aforementioned light conduit during
1086 Jason Parry

the simulated summer solstice. Thanks to the Digital Hadrian’s Villa Project, there
was now compelling evidence of “archaeoastronomical” phenomena at Hadrian’s
residence, complementing those discovered at the Pantheon and Hadrian’s Mau-
soleum in Rome (Frischer and Fillwalk 2012: 50).
In other cases, however, speculations built into the digital reconstruction of
Hadrian’s Villa have led to uncertainties about the existence of other possible solar
alignments. For example, the Digital Hadrian’s Villa Project relied heavily on the
interpretations of the archaeologists Zaccaria Mari and Sergio Sgalambro (Gannon
2017). After excavating the remains of a large structure at the Villa, they concluded
that the structure was actually the tomb of Hadrian’s young lover Antinous. Con-
troversially, they also suggested that the obelisk that now stands on the Pincian
Hill in Rome (known as both the obelisk of Antinous and the Barberini obelisk)
was originally located at this tomb in Hadrian’s Villa (Mari and Sgalambro 2007:
83). Both of these claims are in competition with other suggestions put forth by
scholars regarding the location of Antinous’s tomb and the original placement of
the obelisk of Antinous. Alternative locations proposed for the tomb have included
the Circus Varianus and the Palatine Hill in Rome (Mari and Sglalambro 2007:
98–99). The interpretation proposed by Mari and Sgalambro is largely predicated
on a square concrete foundation located in the structure that appears to have been
the base for an obelisk as well as an inscription on the obelisk of Antinous itself
that seems to refer to Hadrian’s Villa.
Although the concrete foundation does appear to match the obelisk, it could
also have supported an altar or shrine (Renberg 2011: 184). Furthermore, the
meaning of the inscription is also ambiguous.1 Despite almost certainly being
made in Italy, the inscriptions on the obelisk are written in idiosyncratic Egyptian
hieroglyphics. It is quite likely that the inscription was originally written in Latin or
Greek (possibly with input from Hadrian himself) and then imperfectly translated
into hieroglyphics, accounting for some of the text’s peculiarities (Renberg 2011:
186). Mari and Sgalambro translate the crucial inscription concerning the location
of the tomb of Antinous as follows: “Antinous rests in this tomb situated inside
the garden, property of the Emperor of Rome.” According to them, the “garden”
is clearly the park of Hadrian’s Villa; thus, the tomb of Antinous must be there
(Mari and Sgalambro 2007: 99).
There is a problem with this translation, however, insofar as it is not just a
translation but also an emendation: the second-to-last hieroglyph in the inscrip-
tion, corresponding to the preposition “of ” in the phrase “of Rome,” has been
destroyed. The significance of the missing hieroglyph for the interpretation of the
whole inscription is evident in this competing translation offered by the Egyp-
tologist Jean-Claude Grenier: “The Blessed One who is in the Hereafter and who
reposes here in this consecrated place which is inside the gardens of the domain
of the Prince in Rome” (Grenier 2008: 8).2 Grenier argues that the reference to the
Ruinology 1087

domain of the prince “in Rome” implies that the tomb is located in Rome, and,
therefore, not at the Villa. He claims it is the Gardens of Adonis on the Palatine
Hill—which Hadrian possibly inherited from his mother—and not the gardens
of the Villa that are referred to in the inscription. The uncertainty regarding the
location referenced in the inscription on the obelisk slightly undercuts Mari and
Sgalambro’s claim about the location on the obelisk at Hadrian’s Villa. Despite
these uncertainties, however, their interpretation was the one chosen by the
Digital Hadrian’s Villa Project. In the virtual reconstruction, the obelisk stands
prominently in the Villa’s Egyptian-style sanctuary.
The choice to adopt Mari and Sgalambro’s interpretation of the obelisk’s
placement acquired unforeseen significance during the archaeoastronomical
experiments carried out to investigate possible solar alignments at the Villa. It
was discovered that on the Egyptian New Year, the obelisk cast a shadow directly
down the center of the adjacent temple (Gannon 2017). If the obelisk was placed
where Mari and Sgalambro suggest, the alignment of its shadow on the Egyptian-
style temple on the very day of the Egyptian New Year would be further evidence
of Hadrian’s attempt to establish a link between Antinous and the Egyptian god
Osiris after Antinous’s death. In this case, Hadrian’s attempt to deify his lover would
benefit from the exploitation of a solar phenomenon that connected his resting
place to the rotation of the heavens and the Egyptian calendar.
Scholars are left to ask: does this effect, discovered through a virtual recon-
struction, serve as additional evidence of the obelisk’s placement? Or is it simply
a coincidence? Because of the ambiguity of the source material, the validity of
the observed solar alignment remains open to question. As we can see, even the
computational power behind a computer simulation aided by NASA’s vast data
archive of celestial trajectories cannot overcome the uncertainty produced by a
single missing hieroglyph.
Although some technologies can raise certain indices inscribed in a ruin’s
form above the threshold of detectability, none can compensate for absence—that
is, for the irreversible erasure of evidence. The absences that distinguish ruins,
turning them into ruins of something, are intractable to any material analysis no
matter how sophisticated the methodologies employed. In spite of the advances
of remote sensing, ground penetrating radar, ubiquitous sensors, magnetic force
microscopy and other enhanced techniques of perception, it is unlikely that there
will ever be a time at which technology displaces ruinology. After all, no medium
is capable of exhaustively recording an event, thereby eliminating all uncertainty.
Even the Digital Hadrian’s Villa Project is limited insofar as it reconstructs
the form of the ruin but reveals relatively little about its history. Perhaps future
digital archaeologists will produce a simulation showing how the villa might have
become a ruin. However, such a reconstruction would nevertheless be subject to
its own limitations. For while Hadrian’s Villa was ruined in part to supply mate-
1088 Jason Parry

rial for St. Peter’s in the Vatican (Millon 2005: 110), Hadrian himself stole pieces
for the villa from the Agrippan Pantheon (Longfellow 2011: 195). The histories
of ruins, as we see, have a habit of running into each other. Indeed, almost every
ruin’s history runs in excess of its location and is ultimately coextensive with the
geological time of its constituent materials.
Despite the limits of speculative reconstruction to fully account either for the
absences of evidence that define a ruin or for the deep time of its material his-
tory, our link to the past is often predicated on confronting such limitations. Like
Parsifal’s spear that heals what it wounds, ruination produces historical evidence
even as it destroys it. In turn, speculative reconstruction rescues ruined histories
(or the histories of ruination) at the same moment that it exposes them to the
danger of inaccuracy or misinterpretation.
But speculative reconstruction is never simply about recovering an incomplete
past. The act of reconstruction rebuilds a lost world within this one, and even an
imperfectly rendered past retains the capacity to affect the future. In seeking a
more immersive experience of history, we summon new visions—among them,
the sight of ancient suns casting obelisk-shaped shadows across the grounds of a
digital villa. Indeed, some of the most radical experiences of the future may come
in the form of speculative reconstructions—cutting-edge creativity dedicated to
finding the truth in ruins.
Purdue University

Notes
1. I was first alerted to the competing translations of the obelisk’s inscription by the
blog Following Hadrian. See the post titled “The Obelisk of Antinous”: https://fol
lowinghadrian.com/2016/10/02/the-obelisk-of-antinous/.
2. The author has translated Grenier’s French translation of the hieroglyphics into
English.

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