In the last few years there has been a growing interest in the labyrinth as an aid to meditation and a means to get in touch with the sacred. In the early 1990's the Rev. Canon Dr. Lauren Artress, a priest at Grace Episcopal Cathedral in San Francisco, traveled to France and discovered a labyrinth laid out on the floor of Chartres cathedral. It had been forgotten, covered with furniture for seating, and hadn’t been used in decades, as far as anyone knew. Intrigued, the American priest had them move the seating and made a serious study of the labyrinth. Read More About Lauren Artress She discovered that it had been put in place in the late middle ages after the crusades had ended, as a kind of symbolic alternative to the pilgrimage, particularly the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. The labyrinth became a symbolic "journey in place," symbolizing the quest for the sacred in one’s life. In 1992, Artress had a replica of the Chartres labyrinth installed in the front of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, and began promoting the labyrinth among churches and spiritual seekers around the U.S.A. Since then, labyrinths have been installed in public parks and denominational conference centers. Portable ones have been painted onto canvas or woven into carpets, to be taken around the country for labyrinth workshops. Stored in church basements, they can be rolled out for special "labyrinth walk" dates in congregational calendars. This labyrinth revival is happening as much among neo-pagans as among Christians. It seems to be a manifestation of a pervasive postmodern desire for "spiritual" experiences. At the risk of being inquisitorial, I propose to ask: Is the practice of labyrinth-walking compatible with Christian faith? At first glance, the answer may well be "yes." Artress first encountered the labyrinth in a Christian cathedral, on the floor below the rose window. A large number of churches, from the ninth to the nineteenth centuries (and now in the twenty-first century) have installed labyrinths on their floors. In late medieval and renaissance Christian literature, the labyrinth appears as a metaphor for Christian salvation. We find woodcuts illustrating the "labyrinth of this world" "the labyrinth of hell" and the "labyrinth of heaven." All this would tend to suggest that there is some legitimacy for labyrinths in the Christian tradition. But the mere appearance of a thing within the Christian tradition does not guarantee that it is therefore compatible with Christian faith. The appearance of a labyrinth on the floor of a cathedral doesn’t ratify it as Christ-like, any more than a pope’s endorsement of the Crusades makes them consistent with the will of Christ. Other tests might legitimately be applied. Legend has it that the labyrinth was laid in the floor of the Chartres cathedral because it was a way to bring the pagans into the church. The church was built on a site where a pagan turf labyrinth had long existed, which lay just outside the church door. The builders of the cathedral saw that pagans came and made frequent use of the turf labyrinth, but didn’t enter the cathedral. As a means of evangelizing them, the cathedral removed the turf labyrinth, but built an interior one, to draw the pagans in. This story demonstrates two things: it illustrates the church’s long-standing practice of adapting pagan practices to convert the pagans; and it suggests that the labyrinth was a pagan device long before it became a part of the church. Indeed it was. Archeological and literary evidence suggests that the labyrinth emerged as early as the third millennium BCE. A linear B text refers to a labyrinth in ancient Minoan Crete around 1400 BCE. Minoan culture, which elaborated and celebrated the labyrinth, was the force that established the labyrinth as a motif in cultural history. The word "labyrinth" itself probably originated from the Minoan word "labrys" the ceremonial axe -- the predominant symbol of Minoan culture. We cannot directly observe the rituals in which these pagans put the labyrinth to use. We have to rely on literary and archeological traces to reconstruct what exactly happened in these ancient religions. When we assemble these traces, the picture that emerges is one of human sacrifice. As briefly as I can, I will summarize what those traces are: Traces in Myth There is the literary evidence in the Greek legend of Theseus and the minotaur. The legend suggests that the Minoans used the labyrinth for human sacrifice, for Theseus entered on his quest to put an end to the murder of Athenian youths who were taken as tribute from the Greeks and thrown into the labyrinth to be killed by the minotaur. Theseus' killing of the minotaur is probably also a trace of a ritual killing associated with the labyrinth. There is archeological evidence that the Minoans practiced human sacrifice. Corpses from the third century BCE, found in a cave on Crete, show signs of having been ritually killed. Other evidence, although somewhat controversial, has been found suggesting a relationship between the Cretan labyrinth tradition and human sacrifice. The symbols of Minoan culture suggest that human sacrifice was a central part of their religion. First of course is the "labrys" itelf -- a ceremonial axe, ubiquitous in Minoan symbology, obviously suitable for the killing of sacrificial victims. The bull symbol is important, suggesting a relationship with the baalist religions of the Canaanites and Phoenicians. These religions, we know from a variety of sources were avid practitioners of human sacrifice, especially the sacrifice of children. The sacrifice of the victim was believed to be an offering to the god at the same time that it was a re-enactment of the god's own death and resurrection in the harvest. As the victim is offered to the god, the victim also in part becomes the god. The minotaur, as half-bull, half-human is probably a trace of this same mythological idea. Theseus' killing of the minotaur in the labyrinth likely reflects the labyrinth's use for human sacrifice by the Minoans. In several different cultures, the labyrinth is associated with fertility cults. It is extraordinarily common, if not universal, for ancient fertility cults to have practiced human sacrifice. Celtic - type labyrinths have been found in association with Viking, druid, and Celtic cultures, and the Cretan-type labyrinth with the culture of Baal worship, all of which practiced human sacrifice. The Dancing Ground The labyrinth probably originated as a dancing ground. Vestiges of this origin still exist in southern France in folk dances that involve labyrinths, including a Basque chain dance and a French Mardi-gras dance. If we assume that the labyrinth was used in connection with human sacrifice, its role as a dancing ground becomes more meaningful. Sacrificial rituals often involve group dances. In the ancient Greek Dionysian ritual, the crowd would drink and dance until they achieved a level of mob frenzy, at which point they would attack a sacrificial victim and tear the victim (human or animal) apart with the bare hands, a ritual killing known as "sparagmos." The dance is an essential part of the sacrificial ritual. It builds the energy of the crowd so that at the moment of the sacrifice there is a cathartic climax. A labyrinth might have been an effective tool to intensify the mob energy. By dancing along the serpentine path of the labyrinth, each person in the crowd would come into contact with every other person in the crowd, giving and receiving from each one the excitement of the ritual. Because the people in the crowd are influenced by each other, the mixing effect of the labyrinth dance would tend to make the frenzy more uniformly felt. It is a bit disturbing that the labyrinth was a tool for human sacrifice in ancient times, of course; but why should that bother us today? Even if we grant that our sense of the sacredness of the labyrinth may be a trace of the ancient sacrificial system, still we don’t use it to kill anyone today. Perhaps we can benefit from the sacredness we find with the labyrinth. But there are other aspects of the labyrinth besides its role in sacrifice. As a symbolic pilgrimage, can lead us to reflect on our life-journey. What’s wrong with pilgrimage? Pilgrimage The Reformation pretty much did away with pilgrimages, mostly because they functioned as indulgences. But setting aside that theological issue, there is also the anthropological observation that pilgrimages are centered on death. Most of the medieval pilgrimages were to shrines where the bones of dead saints were laid. As Europe emerged out of its pagan Celtic past, it gave up on using human sacrifice as the means to generate religious awe and sacredness. However, there emerged a watered-down substitute for the old pagan "'real thing": dead famous people. Their bones were preserved, guarded, entombed and venerated. Pilgrims traveled to draw near to these sacred relics, to listen for the fading echo of the violent, sacred pagan past. This is the origin of pilgrimage, and thus is also the source of the sacred labyrinth. The labyrinth has clear associations with pagan violence and death-obsession. If it is true that the residue of the ancient sacred is what fascinates us about the labyrinth, then it is murder and death with which we are fascinated. Such a fascination is not something to embrace. But the labyrinth is more that either pagan altar or medieval pilgrimage. It serves as a metaphor of the journey of our lives, toward the goal of peace with God. As a metaphor to guide meditation, it can enrich our prayer life. It is an elegant form and a symbol. What’s wrong with that? Originary Sign Of course, the modern use of the labyrinth has lost touch with its sacrificial aspects. Modern labyrinth-walkers use it as a meditation that draws on metaphors such as the heroic quest for the sacred. The lesson of the labyrinth is that the sacred goal of life is not easily attained and to walk the labyrinth serves as a reminder that if one persists in the quest, one will attain the goal. This motif of the desired object that is difficult to obtain is deeply primal. It is reminiscent of what Eric Gans calls the "originary scene." Gans' scenario for the origin of language begins with the crowd fascinated by a desired object, (perhaps the carcass of a freshly-killed antelope) all wanting it but all afraid to approach it because they know that the crowd will attack the first person to touch it. So everyone reaches for the sacred object, but backs away at the same time. Gans calls this the "aborted gesture of appropriation." He suggests it might look something like a person kneeling, genuflecting in prayer. This deep ambivalence is what gives rise to signs and symbols in human culture. Because we dare not approach the thing which we most desire, we find a way to possess it without actually possessing it: we create tokens which represent it - first is the grunt of frustration, perhaps, eventually evolving into words, and later, works of art. The labyrinth, depicting as it does a goal that is difficult to approach, is a powerful symbol of the primal experience. It is a visual display of what it means to desire something that is in some ways denied. The labyrinth depicts the experience of the sacred - something deeply desirable which cannot be directly approached. Although this is fascinating and touches all of us deeply in certain ways, it is contrary to Christian faith. Christian faith offers salvation immediately to anyone who has faith to receive it. Christian faith offers an assurance of an abundance and immediacy of grace (free but not cheap). The labyrinth displays an assumption of scarcity - the goal is hard to attain, the sacred must not be approached. The labyrinth is pagan from beginning to end. What it communicates stands in precise opposition to the assurances of incarnation, Eucharist, and justification by grace offered by Christian faith. The Labyrinth and the Narcissism of "Spirituality" When I was a young man in the late 70's, I would become envious when I read books like The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley, The Teachings of Don Juan by Carlos Castaneda, and Be Here Now by "Baba Ram Dass." I had a friend who used to take hallucinogenic drugs and boast to me about his profound spiritual experiences and visions. Now that I look back on my youthful yearnings, I realize that probably the actual point of all those reports about "spiritual experiences" was precisely to make people like me envious. It was a kind of consumerism of spirituality. Some people had gone to India and gotten the Rolls Royce version, while I could only look on, dissatisfied with my broken down Datsun. All these spiritual quests - taking drugs, hanging out with Native American shamans, going to India -- or walking labyrinths -- these are designed to make others envious, giving new relevancy to Jesus’ admonition to pray in our closets. Again and again our spirituality is put in service to our sin -- "spiritual narcissism." This kind of narcissism creates victims. It’s a rivalry disguised as peacefulness and harmony, a subtle violence based on the race for approval. Those who walk labyrinths will of course object that although it’s likely that some -- even many -- people use the labyrinth for narcissistic ends, still there are many who have profound spiritual experiences through the use of the labyrinth. But of course we can't know that for sure. The only thing we know for sure is that people report profound spiritual experiences in the labyrinth; yet the report of a profound spiritual experience is precisely what puts it in the service of narcissism. I wonder how many labyrinth-walkers find themselves overwhelmed by grief at the depth of their sinfulness; I would venture to guess that there are very few, because that would tend to be a non-narcissistic spiritual experience (although not necessarily so). Throughout this essay I have been applying the anthropological insights of Rene Girard. With Girard, I’m convinced that the traditional core of the Gospel is the most effective force for redeeming the world out of its violence. The biblical revelation is, I believe, the primary force that has given rise to the modern concern for victims. The romanticizing of the pagan past and revival of pagan practices puts us in more danger, not less, of our cultural violence. Finally, I can report a profound spiritual experience of my own: a walk in the woods brings just as much peace as a walk in a labyrinth, if not more; and receiving the Eucharist brings us much closer to holiness. | 
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