The
classic maze is an intricate puzzle of twisted corridors, chambers, or
passageways. It is an ingenious
wandering way filled with devious detours and byways, constructed to perplex
and confuse. The labyrinth is a special type of maze. And now for some ancient history.
In
Egypt, Amenemhet III of the XII Dynasty built himself a funeral temple in the
form of a great labyrinth. In Europe’s first civilization, crowned with the
1,500-room palace at Knossos, a more famous example in Crete was built by
Daedelus for King Minos to house the Minotaur and trap his sacrificial
captives. Theseus, son of the Athenean
King, was able to solve the riddle of the maze using a ball of string, killing
the Minataur to end the cycle of blood sacrifice that started with Minos and his
defiance of the gods. This labyrinth is
also associated with Rhea, mother of Zeus, goddess of caves whose symbol was
the double axe, “labrys,” from which the term comes.
The
labyrinth is one of the earliest man-made environments, an artwork of stone or
hedges (the maze) designed not to shelter people or store goods but to confound
the mind and spirit. It was the first
puzzle in three dimensions to be solved in real time. Its windings have been
the nexus of fascination in myth and legend—starting with the trials of the
gods, moving on to the devout pilgrim’s journey and taking the contemporary form
of the maze-making of experimental psychology. An experiment at the University
of Rochester in a basement maze was used to demonstrate the difference between
male and female toolbars in direction-seeking.
It is a metaphor of frustration and anxiety, of tangled politics, of
inconsistent systems and clues, as well as the spiritual quest for meaning. There is a critical distinction between the
maze and the labyrinth here: The maze is
designed mainly to confuse; the labyrinth, a more specialized format, to
resolve the maze confusion by both leading to a central core and then back out
again for the resolution of a complete journey.
Its
serpentine shape bespeaks intrigues, captives, teases, and outrages. Used as a substitute or symbolic journey for
the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, it is a capsule version of the Christian progress
through tests of faith as the center and return that can be won through faith
and patience. The mazes at Hampton Court Palace in Greater London, at Villa
d’Este in Tivoli, at the Emperor’s Summer Palace in China, and in the film “The
Shining” and “Sleuth”-- all play their parts in constructing the meaning of
this special journey in its time. The
maze at Versailles (now defunct) contained at its 39 intersections fountains in
the shapes of animals from Aesop’s Fables.
The maze concept was incorporated into the formal garden as topiary and
ornamental plantings forming circuitous routes called alleys.
In
this way the labyrinth is a living illustration of the merging of symbol with
nature, in which the map is itself the puzzle to be divined. Since ancient times, it has been far more
than a shape in which to move around and find one’s way (and oneself); it has
been the archetype for a wicked sort of complexity. The word itself is the index for intricacy,
intrigue, and ingenuity in both the problem-poser and the solution-finder. The labyrinth constructs a special kind of
journey, not only, as the “Twilight Zone” TV series put it, of sight and sound,
but of mind. The web of sinuous windings
is the problem itself. Its heavy
symbolism is an invitation to more abstraction, for example, in the puzzle-map
model as viewed from above. In the glass
case model in the Overlook Hotel in “The Shining,” a close-up inspection shows
little live figures tracking its pathways. We can’t be sure whether they live
in Jack Torrance’s tortured imagination or in director Stanley Kubrick’s --or
in ours.
The
labyrinth is also the ultimate experiential puzzle. Its baffling corridors remind us of the fuzzy
logic problem to which the answer is never straightforward. In fact, following the maze in search of the
elusive exit more nearly resembles the search for the problem itself. Once defined and tracked down by switchback
routing, the question, once properly posed, answers itself. The parallels to
spiritual journey and problem solving, along with the medieval metaphor of the difficulty
of attaining heaven, are rich. This
richness invites exploration in the mind and heart in tandem with the journey on
foot in physical space. Maze is equally
the word for testing skill in problem solving, linking mental dexterity to the
“amazement” of spiritual inquiry.
To
be in the hedge-and-alley maze at Hampton Court Palace (built in 1690, it is
the oldest surviving maze in England), or following the labyrinth carved into
stone in the entryway at Chartres Cathedral in France, is a living exercise in
mind-reading: trying to follow the mind-map of the designer. Did he make all right turns in his mind? On the other hand, how did the
labyrinth-maker predict the wayfinding of the puzzle-walkers who would take up
the challenge of his creation? It is a
mind journey of discovery, frustration, and existential search. Along the way are the key experiences (or
mindshifts, as they are called at the School for Innovators) that can be
charted on an expedition: thinking differently to get different results that
get you to the top of the peak—and back down. Being lost in a space designed as
a brain and body teaser forces discovery of the box as the key to finding the
way out of the box. It inspired the
breakout of the Minotaur’s prison in Crete, because the mind contained by the
walls knew that “the air and sky are free.”
Played
out in space, the convolutions of the labyrinth resemble the folds and furrows
of the brain, with its billion connections. These folds, turned in on each
other to pack maximum torque into the smallest space, thrive on play and
intrigue, leading us to invent these circuitous puzzles as we solve them.
The
convoluted trails, with their false leads and dead ends, quickly prove that
there is no straightforward route to the goal.
Stress and discouragement soon follow this proof. Uncertainty, fear, and
doubt soon prevail. Even in the safest
of mazes, the commercial theme-park type, there is always the lookout for a
reassuring sign, any indication that there is an end in sight or around the
corner. Where are when the end is to be
found is never clear because this is no distance race: this is distance coiled
up in a cluster of detours and dead ends.
There is no reassurance, no benchmark to signal that success is at hand. Very quickly after entering the maze, faith
is involved: in staying the course, trusting that it leads somewhere and
somehow, to serve one’s purpose. Much
like life.
As
the journey progresses, one has the sensation of moving backwards through the
landscape as old landmarks and vistas loom ahead in an apparent regression
through the pattern. Dismay sets in as
the journey, proceeding to a point as yet unknown, seems to propel the
maze-walker back in space and time, the working definition of “lost.”
Accordingly, there comes the persistent temptation to retrace steps in a
regressive re-run to escape to the beginning before bewilderment sets in. Lost in Injun Joe’s cave, Tom Sawyer, with a
ball of twine and a depleted candle, finally collided with the outside world
only because he connected to an opening from which he could see the “free air”
as a blue clue of daylight. Had the sky color
been the dark of night, the caves would have kept him prisoner.
Anything
circuitous and peripatetic appears to lead nowhere but back into the morass of
misleading indirection. But, with
perseverance and faith, the path rewards by at last guiding the seeker to the
goal. This is the magic and mystique of the labyrinth, and the reason that
century after century we are drawn to its wicked lair design. To find by looking, to discover by following,
in real space and time, a systematic train of thought that carries the traveler
through chaos to create a unique pattern of order: that is the labyrinth’s
promise and purpose.
We
move, not always forward, but sideways and backward. Our goal is seldom in sight but must be held
as a precious property in the mind, an abstraction that draws our steps
forward. Once inside this devious
perplex, where there is no escape but to solve for the exit or center; in
circle mazes, the center is only the midpoint of the journey; the next
challenge is to find the way back out again to the startpoint. Creativity, hope, and persistence are the
required equipment. Forced into
conscious awareness is a whole cycle of thought; risk, ambition, reticence, and
uncertainty about how and when the problem will finally be solved. Resistance against entering the unfamiliar
arena of complexity takes hold and exerts pressure. Tortuous meandering locks into place and
can’t be broken.
Originally
a defense device to baffle the enemy, the labyrinth is a problem created to be
solved, and to put the solver to a kind of whole-body test. Humans are problem solvers. To add to our myriad real-life fuzzy-mess
problems, we invent them as an artform.
Here play as learning and problem solving is put through its paces in
time and space. Getting through the maze of life is survival, but it is also,
as an extension of the collective brain, the ultimate in gamesmanship—whether
at the Governor’s Palace at Williamsburg, at Hampton Court, or at Versailles.
