 |
LABYRINTH: MYTH, MEANING & SYMBOL |
Clement Jewitt |
Each manÕs life is a labyrinth at the centre of which
lies his own death, and even after death it may be that he passes through a
final maze before it is all ended for him. Within the great maze of a manÕs life
are many smaller ones, each seemingly complete in itself, and in passing
through each one he dies in part, for in each he leaves behind him a part of
his life and it lies dead behind him. It is a paradox of the labyrinth that the
centre appears to be the way to freedom.[1]
To enter the labyrinth that is life, is to enter a
world of meander, twists, and turns, of coming back to oneself, and of a
circuitous route to a goal. This provides life with a torque, a tension, so
that we come not to fall asleep to the deeper levels, not to slip into inertia,
obsessed with surface trivia, but to be constantly alive to dancing our Dream
awake – to becoming what we can be, and who we are – awakening to
self.
É When we fall asleep to the very labyrinth we are
constructing, as the making of our own lives, then we are deep in inertia and
will be gobbled up or frightened to death by the bull-roaring Minotaur that
lurks at the heart of the labyrinth. To dance your Dream awake is to grab this
bull-man by the horns. É there are as many ways to dance the Dream awake as
there are people on the Earth, each with a personal Minotaur living within the
fabric of life as it is constructed, and unfolded.[2]
Fig.1. The classical labyrinth as it commonly appears on ancient Cretan coins
The Hopi peoples of the southern United States built
rectangular labyrinths underground, called the Kiwa, which they related to male energy, the Sun Father.
Through the dark tunnels young men were sent in search of the centre, winding
nearer, then further from the goal, a deliberately disorienting experience, the
final approach ending unexpectedly in the central space. Unexpectedly because
of the labyrinthine geometry, spiralling forward and then back. There in the
centre, a ladder led out through a hole in the roof, symbolising a rebirth from
the darkness of the labyrinth-womb into the bright sunlight, horizons expanded
from the inwardness induced by oppressively close passages (now it is time to
be in the world again), brother braves waiting to welcome the initiate into his
ÔnewÕ life, his old, younger self symbolically stripped off in the centre, the
place of initiation, after the trials of the dark winding way, and so left
behind, as the snake sheds its skin.
Contemplating the entrance, which leads the eye into
the enfiladed, half hidden, mysterious paths, we may be seized with a sense of
adventure, and the fearfulness that attends that, acknowledged or not:
precisely, a sense of misgiving, viscerally felt, of wondering what will be
expected from us, which must be courageously surmounted as we step out into the
unknown, take command of our own destinies in living our lives, as symbolized,
paralleled, in the winding gyres of the labyrinth.
We will encounter several worlds on our journey
through this, a many stranded text of necessary complexity, as commentary and
explication of the labyrinth we now contemplate from outside, as also of the
living of our lives. Dizzying spirals of association, cascades of linkage, will
draw into our orbit all manner of intertwined things, viewpoints, attitudes,
contrarieties, corollaries. We shall find resonances and remembrances in the
labyrinthine past, in the uses and proprieties of ritual, hoary lore and
ancient story, and that which seems basic, intrinsic to the human condition,
music and dance.
Fig.2. The
labrys, associated with Cretan mysteries. Left, Death, the waning moon; Right,
Life, the waxing moon. After Bleakley
Labyrinth is a word derived from an ancient root
meaning ÔstoneÕ, la, whence Greek laos and Latin lapis, the solidity, the firm-on-the-ground materiality of
the noun. The labrys, the Cretan
double headed axe, is sometimes thought to be the origin of labyrinth. (Fig.2) The etymology is the same, but, symbolising the waxing and waning moons, the two
halves of life, it can also be seen as the labia which enclose us as we are
born, and the labia of the Devouring Mother at our death, and between them in
the axe, the four-pointed cross of manifestation. For these reasons it appears
(often held by a goddess) guarding the labyrinth entrance, as gateway to the
unknown world, or the inner underworld.
The alternate word maze derives from Old English dmasian, meaning Ôto confuseÕ, the alert activity of the
verb, the trickery of airy wind against which we need to re-member our
grounding, pull ourselves together to maintain feeling contact with Earth, or
we shall lose our way.
The labyrinth, from time immemorial associated with
dualities of entrapment and release, outer and inner, death and birth, appears
in similar form throughout the world, whether in myth, as a built structure
which can be entered, or as a small depiction used talismanically, tracing the
winding paths with eye or finger contemplatively as an aid to witchery, or the
shamanÕs journey.
In the British Isles the latter are known as Troy
Stones, linked with the ancient Wisewoman tradition.[3] In parallel, since midwifery was a part of that, is a
labyrinth form of meditational Yantra
called Chakra-Vyuha, used in
Indian womenÕs magic to focus the motherÕs attention during childbirth. A
similar talisman known as Kota
(the fortress) is found in South India as a domestic threshold protection.
In Scandinavia many, and in the British Isles some
labyrinths are named Trojaborg, Troytown, or the equivalent. These are the
commonest names, others apparently named after Nineveh, Babylon, Jericho or
Jerusalem. We shall come back to this. There are also names which mean ÔturnÕ,
ÔwindingÕ, or similar, or speak of protection—Windelbahn (winding road),
GŒngborg (walk-fort)—though the place names suggest ancient links with
Mediterranean lands. This seems perhaps less mysterious—or maybe
more—when we realize something of the wealth of ancient geographical
linkages, for example, that the detail of several mythic stories of Ancient
Greece are shared with the equally ancient equivalents from Indonesia (identity
of labyrinth themes occur in both traditions), or in the realm of iconography,
that prehistoric ample thighed ÔVenusÕ figurines are found from Mesopotamia to
Mexico.[4]
Entry: the Spiral
The time has come to take the first step, and the
outer world recedes as we advance into the tunnel, with only that which is
truly meaningful kept with us, all the trivia of mundane life left behind, each
pace a naked step in the dark into a future as yet unseen. And we perceive
little else but the curve of the enclosing walls.
Labyrinth geometry is clearly spiral, and this is a
symbol of great antiquity: appearing among the 10-30,000 years old pal¾olithic
cave paintings in Southern France and Spain; notably in the passage of the
important, and spectacular, New Grange so called passage grave in the Boyne
Valley north of Dublin; inscribed on Celtic monuments, where it is held to
signify water (symbolically the Water of Life, or of Death, the unconscious);
and elsewhere throughout the world. Spirals spontaneously arise at certain
stages of meditation, and also to some succumbing to an¾sthetic. From the
natural world we might also mention spiral galaxies, the vortex of a hurricane,
the cochlea in the inner ear, and the spiral form of the DNA molecule, at the
defining centre of life.
The shape is primordial, seen by the ancient hunter in
the coils of gut spilt out after he has plunged his flint knife into the belly
of his prey, a parallel with the resting snake, and maybe leading him to wonder
where in these coils the females of his family/tribe harbour new life. Here is
the spiral as symbol of cycles of growth (coils of gut seen as the microcosm to
the macrocosm of the underworld), becoming the perfection of the circle when
there is no more growth possible, unity with the One achieved, this also
symbolized as the serpent Uroburos with tail in mouth who encloses the
universe. Hence too the ancient association of the snake with the Goddess who
presides over Life and Death, the snake seen as immortal from the suggestive
imagery of shed skin, and from the absence of legs as chthonic, hugging the
Earth in grounded, feeling intimacy with the Mother who spawned us all.[5] Here is a suggestive origin of the labyrinth and its
use for ceremonies and rituals of initiation, rebirth, rites of passage.
Connection with the cycles of death and rebirth is
strong. In a myth from the stone age culture of Malecula in Vanuatu (the New
Hebrides) the dead person approaching the entrance to the underworld, a cave,
finds that it is guarded by Le-hev-hev, the Spider Goddess, who erases one half
of the labyrinth she has drawn on the path. The dead must complete it to be
allowed to enter, or be eaten. Having succeeded—and success is expected
from long practice of the labyrinth dance in life—and descent made to the
underworld, there is then discovered a great lake, the Water of Life É
The terror so many feel in the presence of the spider
may be in part related to arachnidÕs spiral web, a reminder, we may now
perceive, of that at which all must in due time arrive.
Similarly the devout hero ®neus, mythic founder of
Rome in some accounts, in his wanderings after the sack of Troy finds a
labyrinth drawn on the gates to the cave of the Cumean Sibyl, by the
contemplation of which we may suppose he composes himself into a suitable state
for entry. The Indian Kota,
mentioned above, evidences a similar belief in the labyrinth as protective
pattern, found in connection with all kinds of boundaries, thresholds to other
realms. For labyrinth, spiral and circle all share the fundamental symbolism of
the Border of the Cosmos, and so of representations of the cosmos in little, of
sacred spaces built or natural, and also of the domestic. Model houses dating
to the archaic period of Greece, ancient times of magical consciousness, show
large meander decorations around the walls, which may be read as shorthand for
the protective labyrinth itself.
Labyrinths and spirals are also physically associated
with gallows hills, some of which exist with spiral paths to their peaks: the
condemned felon is prompted to review the turns or reversals of his or her own
life on the way to its ending. And by a reasoning into opposites labyrinths are
likewise seen as patterns of healing, renewals into fresh life.[6] So, treading our winding way, we may also reflect on
the pitfalls and ensnarements we have encountered in our own lives, and may
hope for our own redemptions.
First Turn: History
We are led away from the goal, the Centre. This
apparent retrospective step suggests a review of our own past, and linked with
that, labyrinth history, or prehistory.
Boulder labyrinths constructed spectacularly often
along the Baltic shores of Scandinavia may predate the Minoan culture on Crete,
source of the Minotaur story, by the abiding meaningfulness of which labyrinth
lore survives in the modern west. We might here note the very ancient
association of stone with aspects of the divine, implied partly in the
etymology (laos, lapis), partly in
the likely ritualistic associations of certain carved stone objects
chronologically congruent with neolithic stone circles, and partly from a
mystical interpretation of meteorites. Clearly they have fallen from the sky,
the abode of the gods, and therefore have accompanied that other divine bolt
from the blue, the Thunderbolt, hurled by wrathful sky gods everywhere: a
forgivable error of association on the part of those not culturally nurtured
with the scientific attitude, more likely concerned with the mysticism of
universal interconnectedness expressed by symbol, than with demonstrable
fact.
The labyrinth, then, dates back in all likelihood to
the Stone Age. Could it be older? As initiatory structure, a route to the
divine, the labyrinth Centre is related symbolically to the Cave as
transformational space, the spiritual centre, by intrinsic nature hidden, and
symbolized by a downward pointing equilateral triangle. This in turn is related
to the Mountain as spiritual centre, represented by an upward pointing
triangle. The latter is visible to all in sight of it, so relates to an earlier
period of culture, before spirituality was conceived as a quest pertaining to
an elite, thus requiring initiatory processes, which must be hidden from the
ineligible, access denied.
Labyrinths therefore associate with a later stage in
human cultural evolution than the very earliest, but possibly placing their
beginnings in times of magical consciousness, preceding that of the mythical.
Indeed, notions of entrapment, of binding and wind magic, accompany them to
quite modern times: in living memory Baltic fishermen would resort to labyrinth
walking if the wind was in the wrong quarter for setting out, hoping thereby to
induce an auspicious change of direction.
Fig.3. The Seal of Solomon, the Shield of David or the Mark of Vishnu, & the Cave within the Mountain
Caves naturally occur within mountains, and this is
symbolised by taking the six pointed star composed of those two triangles
superimposed, and shrinking the cave triangle to fit within the other, as the
cave within the mountain, or indeed the chamber within the pyramid. (Fig 3)
This symbol has four equal divisions, displaying the Three of creation, the
active, dynamic shape of the triangle, and the Four of manifestation, the
solidity, weight, of foursquaredness. But we digress, and must beware of
inattention to the task in hand. What, we may ask ourselves as we continue
round the circuit, may we expect to find in the shape and layout of this
journey?
Types
There are two fundamental kinds of labyrinth, the
Unicursal, in which there are no diversions and dead ends, and the Multicursal,
which may contain many. The latter is the common form of hedge or turf maze
found in the British Isles, seen touristically as not much more than
entertainment. These have their antecedents, descendants and indeed associated
lore, which will not find space here. Nigel PennickÕs Mazes and Labyrinths may be consulted for comprehensive coverage.
The Hopi Kiwa is precisely equivalent in the geometry of its unicursal path to the
commonest form of labyrinth, which appears all over the world, circular or
squared. That basic overall dichotomy itself leads to the symbolism of the
Square and the Circle, of imperfect manifestation and divine perfection. We
must leave this, however, in favour of focus in this essay on the unicursal
classical seven circuit labyrinth, in whichever framework, appearing all over
the ancient and new worlds: associated with initiatic sites; as defenses
(symbolically if not actually) around towns, such as Nineveh, Troy, Jericho or
Jerusalem, held at different times to be the Centre of the World, and so to be
the Holy City, requiring the most sacred protection; in talismanic form
inscribed on many kinds of stone; and in myth—®neus encountering it on
the gates of Hades, the Malecula story, or in Hawaiian lore where also the
labyrinth forms a trial to be negotiated before entering the underworld. The
classical seven circuit labyrinth is also known as the Cretan, from its
depiction on surviving Cretan coins. (Fig 1) We will prefer the appellation
ÔclassicalÕ because of the probably more ancient labyrinths in Scandinavia,
mentioned above, and the world-wide distribution.
The Christian labyrinth, divided into four quarters,
the path flowing between them, is derived from Roman elaborations of the
classical form, based on topological extension into quadrants of the meander,
that interweaving abstract symbol widespread in classical decorative art, which
can be further extended into the classical labyrinth. (Fig 4) The Chartres
labyrinth is the best known of this type. Pilgrimage is the symbolism: the four
quarters relate to the four parts of the Mass; and the total number of turns in
the path (in to the centre and out again), approximates the Biblical Ôthree
score years and tenÕ of human life. It is considered that the point at which
the pilgrim turns away from the inner ring signifies physical death, the rest
of the path symbolising eternal life, or its beginnings at any rate. (Fig 5)
The centre of the Chartres labyrinth depicts the Rose, which has its own rich
symbolism, not least within Christianity (rose windows, the Rosicrucians).
Fig.4. The meander topologically extended on a curve. After Pennick
Other types of labyrinth are variants of the basic
forms, such as the Rad, which has two entrances. European folklore relating to
that involves a ceremonial ÔgameÕ with a maiden in the centre, to whom young
heros race each other from the two entrances to claim her (release her from
maidenhood, symbolized by the entrapping labyrinth), a connection with Goddess
worship, marking the transition to the second of the Triple Goddess
appearances, from Maiden to Mother, as the yearÕs green growth burgeons.
There is also a variant which from the centre provides
a path directly out (as the Kiwa
does with its ladder). This allows a ritual requiring plentiful space to be
preceded by traversing the labyrinth to achieve the required inner orientation,
and if desired followed by direct re-entry to the labyrinth centre, then out
again via the winding path, as a symbol of return to profane but new life. A
wedding or handfasting can be performed beautifully in that way, with suitable
music É
And we reach the end of the first returning gyre: our
musings undergo a change. We feel a need to count the turns, an urge to mark
our progress, to find a measure for our life.
Second turn: Number Symbolism
We turn forward again, are brought to the outermost
circuit. We cannot now be further from the goal. The spirit droops. How far must we travel? When will our
number be up? Old rhymes spontaneously appear to consciousness: ÔÉ Wednesdays
child has far to go ÉÕ, ÔÉ ItÕs a long long way to ÉÕ, but ÔCount your
blessingsÕ too, and the road will pass behind, each step a milestone, a checkmark
in lifeÕs tally book.
So we contemplate the labyrinth from within, imagining
ourselves into the Archimedean position from which we may perceive from
without, and as well as geometry we find number symbolism.
Seven and Nine pertain to the classical seven circuit
labyrinth. Seven, known anciently as the Virgin, is the number which mediates
between those which precede and those which follow within the decad,[7] containing within it the three of creation and the
four of manifestation, as we saw above in connection with the cave and the
mountain. Sevens appear everywhere, and most often we choose it when asked to
Ôthink of a numberÕ: seventh heaven, the seven planets known to the ancients,
celestial spheres, days of the week, types of crystal, colours in the rainbow,
musical notes. We shall meet more of them later, and a deeper encounter with
the musical connections.
And the equally richly endowed Nine, the threshold
beyond which lie the higher mathematical orders of magnitude, representing
superordinate realms for which our soul yearns: depicted as Norse Odin of the
Nine Worlds, hanging one legged (Primal Unity, and the Wounded Healer) and one
eyed (the mystic focus of the Third Eye) nine days upside down on the World
Tree in order to bring back the Runes of expanding awareness; nine years of the
siege of Troy; the nine months Persephone spends above ground overseeing the
years growths and its decline towards the three months of death and desolation
when she is banished to the underworld; the nine Muses who amuse us, which originally meant being under their sway,
and still implies that, for are we not carried away, taken out of ourselves,
when amused, as when dancing (Terpsichore) or writing poetry (Erato or
Calliope)? And among much else there are the nine character types of the
Enneagram, and the original nine Templars, who in all likelihood encountered
the Enneagram with the Sufis in Jerusalem, part of a profound culture shock,
and who did not increase their number until nine years had passed.[8]
Sevenfold and ninefold forms of fully developed living
systems or minerals are rare. Rather the numbers seem to imply process,
creation, as in the progression of proportions in the seven types of crystal.
Forms of nine associate with conception, growth and birthing: nine twisted
threads of the spermÕs tail; the circle of nine tiny tubules which form the
centriole of the cell, the first thing to duplicate in the process of mitosis,
cell division. And the nine months of pregnancy during the course of which the
nine orifices of the human body have formed. Anciently ÔnineÕ was cognate with
ÔnewÕ, from Sanskrit nava, from
which Latin nova, and this
survives in modern French as neuf,
the noun of ÔnineÕ and the adjective of ÔnewÕ. To Ôgo the full nine yardsÕ is
to reach a limit from which only a new beginning can ensue, as only the next
order of magnitude can follow the number nine.
And just so is the birth of the classical labyrinth,
for a St AndrewÕs cross of nine dots with an upright cross through the centre
is the structure from which this labyrinth can be built, or drawn, as can also
the Celtic Rose and Knot, without the upright cross. (Fig 6)
Fig.6.
Nine dots as the St Andrews cross, as basis for the Celtic Rose & Knot, and
with the upright cross in the middle, for the classical seven circuit
labyrinth. After Pennick
So we tread or dance our labyrinthine way, striving to
go the full nine yards before accepting each of seven reversals or changes of
fortune. To refuse to recognize the turn, the new direction, to cheat by
stepping over the pathÕs boundaries, is to lose face, fall prey to confusion,
fall into the mire, which may then force us to face up to having gone too far,
and admit we are lost. Re-cognizing is to once more grasp with the
understanding, to be awake to the signs, the turns in the spiral, the
vicissitudes of life, and so persevering to the seventh turn, from which we
reach the Centre, the octave, in the middle of the nineness of the labyrinthine
structure as of our life. And there É
The rich implications of the centre will be explored
later. Meanwhile, these cogitations have served to carry us round the longest,
the outer circuit, and now we must take a leap three gyres in.
Third Turn: Double Spirals, and Trickery
A leap of faith, and of expectation, to the last track
of the first half. Hope rises, for we are momentarily but a boundary of the
track away from the centre. But only momentarily, for this is but a ghostly
foreshadowing of the first glimpse of our goal, as the Grail Castle, a glimpse
which may possibly be vouchsafed to our questing inner Lancelot. Now, though,
we may begin to grasp the sly deviousness of the labyrinthine way, the
unexpectedness of life as we live it: a rhythm of waves—forming spirally
as they do—which sweep forward, then ebb back, carrying us as flotsam on
the tides of life.
There is a symbolic connection between labyrinth and
Sun worship, supported perhaps in the physical realm by the findings of the
artist Charles Ross, who between the autumn equinoxes of 1971-2 tracked the
sunÕs motion in the sky with the aid of a fixed lens focussing onto planks of
wood, changed daily. Collating the burn tracks so created he found that the
apparent path of the sun forms a double spiral, not unlike the double spiral of
the Lorenz Ôstrange attractorÕ perceived in atmospheric circulation data, an
important finding in Chaos mathematics, this in turn being similar to the
attractor found by Valerie Hunt in human energy field data (the aura).[9] (Figs 7&8)
The outline of the Ross sun track is, too, and
appropriately, the infinity sign, reminding us of the endless cycles of life
and death, and of the Wheel of Fortune turning within the labyrinth of our
lives. Double spiral shapes also appear on Celtic monuments, in simplified
form, and more abstractly within the familiar Yin-Yang circle, the Taigetu.
(Fig 9) We are dealing with something deeply primordial, not to be adequately
represented in words—when we walk or dance the labyrinth with due
attention, we knowÉ
Fig.7. The Ross sun track spirals. After Knight & Lomas
Fig.8. The Lorenz Ôstrange attractorÕ double spirals. After Ball
Fig.7. The Ross sun track double spirals. After Knight
& Lomas
In the labyrinth we see the spiral reversals conflated
into one of the containing round or square shapes, and here is another
correlation. There is a traditional association of the classical seven circuit
labyrinth with the planet Mercury. Why? The apparent motion in the sky of
MercuryÕs cyclic seven year journey through the Zodiac forms a yearly pattern
of three or four direct motions and four or three retrograde.[10] The left handed classical labyrinth, the usual form,
runs clockwise four times and counter clockwise three (right handedness would
reverse that), thus providing, naturally, seven reversals or turns of direction
or of fortune in the approach to the centre.
Mercury is the Roman name for the Greek Hermes,
paralleled among others as a messenger by Egyptian Thoth, or as a language
master by Norse Odin (Wotan in High German). Hermes is one of the oldest of
ancient gods, patron of travellers, rogues and thieves, god of boundaries and
cross-roads, originating as herm¾,
cairns, no doubt created over time by travellers marking with a handy stone an
uncertainty on the way, a corner, boundary, crossroad, and those following
later adding another, and another stone to the heap. Eventually mythic
consciousness imbued these with invisible personhood, and Hermes was born.
Fig.9. Taigetu
Deciding to change or not the direction of travel is
to become momentarily uncertain, a small introspection which carries the
possibility of inner attention to soul, of motion in the vertical dimension, to
the underworld, or upperworld. So Hermes acquired other aspects, as Messenger
of the Gods, able to travel freely from this world to Hades as well as Olympia,
and thus the conductor of souls in transformation, like Brigit to the Celts.
Eventually he appears at crossroads as a single
upright stone carved with a head, and an erect phallus. For he stands also for the Trickster,
cousin to the Celtic Pooka, or to Gwydion of the Welsh, who might embarrass or
confuse us (disorient us in the dark labyrinthine passages), or rob us of our
baggage (and so he should, for we no longer need it) while, as the psychopompos who spans the worlds, the shaman, he conducts us to
the place of death, the underworld, as the shady side of life, JungÕs shadow
function,[11] the place of unconsciousness (which we visit every
night in deep sleep) where may be found that which is needful for the next
stage of our journey, and where we may leave behind that which is no longer
required, the shed skin of the old. He knows routes there which allow return,
the return out of the labyrinth, bringing back the revealed riches—the
way to en-Lightenment is through taking a step into the Dark. He is present at
all our transitions, transformations, changes of direction or of fortune,
embuing them with sanctity, if we care to notice.
Our awareness of HermesÕ presence opens us to the
sacredness of such moments [unexpected silences], of those in-between times
that are strangely frightening and that we so often try to hurry past. We never
really know what may lie on the other side of any threshold. I think
particularly of the moments of silence that may fall in the midst of a
conversation with a beloved friend, when eye is locked into eye, and one
suddenly realizes how all the words have been evasions of this moment when soul
gazes directly into soul.[12]
Fourth Turn: Earth energies
As that path ends, we turn again, and Hermes leads us
on the shortest circuit, which passes close round the centre, but not yet into
it. Is this the glimpse of the Grail castle? Here we must be most fully
embodied, fully grounded and earthed in the wisdom of feeling, or we may be
subject to disorienting elation at being so close, though still so far.
Dowsing and more technological Biogeological[13] explorations have identified not only relationships
with earth energy lines, but crucially underground watercourses beneath many
ancient sacred sites. The energy of the site on the surface is measurably
affected by both, causing trees to twist in their growth, a striving towards
the spiral, and charging up we who are there by entrainments with our bodily
electro-magnetic resonances, changing our state of consciousness.[14]
The knowledge of how to build in such ways, mysterious
to modern man, dates at least as far back as the time that the megaliths were
erected at Stonehenge, co-temporal with the Scandinavian boulder labyrinths,
4,000 years ago and more. Many of the latter have been examined, revealing
specific relationships with underground water, in particular having been built
over so-called domes, where a concentration of water trapped by an impervious
layer lets out streams, known as ÔveinsÕ, in various directions. Often the labyrinth
entrance is situated over such a stream, and the curvature of the paths follows
the edges of the dome.
All this could be done now aided by dowsing: what we
moderns have lost is the way of placing stone structures (it appears that stone
is the crucial material) on or in the ground so that the energy lines (which
are often in directional relationship with underground streams, or they with
them) are controlled, diverted, opened out to make space, so that it may be
free of energies deleterious to the human organism, such as those which give us
restless nights or worse if our bed is wrongly placed. Such abilities are not
evidenced after the 14thC, with the beginnings of the Renaissance,
the ÔEnlightenmentÕ, the start of the modern period of forgetting, banishing
from the mainstream non-rational wisdoms and ancient lore, for the reason that
popularly evident versions had by then mostly degenerated into superstition. Of
course those old traditions went underground (appropriately), where not all was
lost.
Fifth Turn: Ritual space
The wave ebbs, taking us once more away from the
centre. Excitement ebbs into sobriety, inducing inward reflection as to how
best we may mark the passage of thresholds and staging posts in our lives, how
best we may make use of the labyrinth as symbol and mirror of our life-journey,
anticipating perhaps the lessons to be expected, hoped for, when we reach the
centre.
Linked as it must be with ritual, the labyrinth can be
seen as in two parts: the spiralling path; and that to which the path leads,
the central space. We touched above on the associations of labyrinths with the
entrance to the underworld, as defensive enclosures of cities as
centres-of-the-world, and as domestic threshold protection. These are really
the same: all have the meaning of exclusion of the ineligible and protection of
the interior. Only the dead should enter the underworld, citizens and allies
the city, friends and family the house. And
only Love should enter the Heart, that divine centre within the labyrinth of
life. All can be seen to be sacred to their purposes, by analogy with
superordinate, universal considerations.
Traversing the disorienting labyrinthine way is then
the Trial which tests eligibility for the Initiation into the ways of the dead,
the ways of the (sacred) community, the ways of the family, and the ways of the
heart. Can we stay the course? Will the defeats in our lives cumulatively weigh
us down in the end? Will we then lose our grasp of the bull-manÕs horns, and
succumb to the living death of unawareness? We, as seekers/candidates must find
resolve, to be conditioned for what is to follow by the necessities of the
winding traverse. We will need our awareness centred and grounded, need to be
fully embodied, focussed in feeling, or the way will be lost, the longed for
rites forbidden.
Just these
are the requirements and challenges of life in the manifest worldly realm.
So the central space of the labyrinth is the place
where ritual is conducted. As such it is the Centre of the World, and so is
indeed sacred space. It is the centre as the universe of present focus, where
we are now in our journey: when we
have become aware of all that is needful in this present now, and are ready to move on, we then find ourselves at
the entrance to the next labyrinth of our life, and must set forth on the
initiation to that centre,
gathering our courage once more, or be swallowed up by our personal Minotaur.[15]
The four directions point to the centre (the cross at
the heart of the labyrinth), also the four elements in their opposing pairs:
Fire and Water; Air and Earth. And in the middle, at the centre, is Ether, the
fifth, the quintessence, the quint essentia, that which cannot be directly apprehended, the
divine principle, represented by the Rose, and in the east by the Lotus.[16] The rose is at once the living expression of
divinity, and also the Cup, the Grail, a vessel for containment of that
divinity which may in the fullest sense heal us all, through the rose at the centre of our heart as the
receptacle for that of the divine essence. The rose is therefore linked with
the cave as the divine centre, needfully hidden from profane view.
That caves have been seen/felt as appropriate to that
of ÔothernessÕ since remote human times is attested by the earliest known ritual
burial site, a Neanderthal cave-bear sanctuary of c.40,000 BCE found at
Drachenloch, Switzerland, where bear skulls were found, long bones inserted in
the eye sockets, surrounded by a small stone circle, suggestive of the sun
disc. Bear cults survive in circumpolar cultures, where the bear is seen to
disappear into the earth in the winter as the sun appears to do, both
reappearing with the new year, the return of light and of warmth and of life.
This is why the circumpolar constellation, Ursa Major, is The Great Bear.[17]
Subsequently, caves and other Ôdoorways to the
earth-motherÕ, into which the setting sun was seen to descend, figure
prominently in the elaborating spiritual rites of mankind. In Classical Greece
oracles were sited at caves, fissures, caverns, from where echoing sounds,
often of underground streams, could be heard as the voices of the Oracle, the
God or Goddess to whom the site was dedicated. The sense of something ÔotherÕ
remains: who does not exper ience a change of mood when entering a cleft in the
earth, or indeed artifactual tunnels or
other unlit or dimly lit unfamiliar enclosed spaces, a sense of binding, of
pressure which impels us within, to introspect, to see what may await us in our
internal otherworld, to engage with soul. These are other such occasions Òthat
we so often try to hurry pastÓ
by being unconscious to it, or by denial.
So we can see that the centre of the labyrinth, as the
centre of spirituality—what is unmanifested—is simultaneously, in
the ambiguous way of symbols, the centre of the world—that which is
manifest form—macrocosmically or in the microcosm of our individual
hearts. As such it necessarily incorporates images of the Axis Mundi, the World
Tree: for, remembering Hermes as psychopompos, we must expect ÔverticalÕ connections too from this
crossroads on our journey, as befits a place of transformation.
The world tree, on which Odin hung, with its roots
below and its crown above, the trunk representing the intermediate, mundane
world,[18] is the axis on which the world as we experience it
spins. As the axis mundi it is an orienting system, necessarily pointing
towards the Pole star.
Now we see the labyrinth of our lives linked to the
Heavens, as an expanding awareness of the awesome glory of interconnectivity
with all else in this universe (how securely we are held, we see, after all
blind fear is banished, and trust established), the heavens abiding beyond the
symbolic exit from the initiatic cave, which lies precisely at the Keystone to
which Ôthe plumb line of the Great ArchitectÕ falls, suspended from the Pole
star, thus defining the axle of the world.
And in the Heavens we may, if we wish or must,
transfer our need for orientation, for guidance at our times of change, to a
different system, the Zodiac, the twelve-spoked Wheel of Life and of Law and of
Fortune, symbol of the World, and depicted as the spoked wheel, also of the
Sun, and much else besides.
This leads us to consider the Solstitial Gates, the
Ôpoles of the yearÕ as two exits from the cave as place of manifestation—the
world, or life as it is lived. They are the Gate of Man in the South (the
candidate descends, conceptually, with the sunÕs movement towards the winter
solstice—the sun is at itÕs lowest point in the sky, therefore the south)
and the Gate of the Gods in the North (the Initiate rises with the sunÕs
movement towards the summer solstice—the sun at its zenith, furthest
north).[19] This translates into the compass of a day, ascending
from midnight to midday (summer, north), descending from midday to midnight
(winter, south).
The cave as place of manifestation is compatible with
the initiatic function of the cave in the sense that, having manifested
physically in this world, we will leave by the appropriate gate according to
the degree of spirituality attained during this life. When, as is commonly the
case, we have at the end further spiritual growth awaiting us, we will leave by
the Gate of Man, which thus is also an entrance, for our return: only when we
have attained the ultimate Union with the One will we leave by the Gate of the
Gods, which is therefore only an entrance for the voluntary descent into the
manifest world of the perfected being, as Avatar.
The Rad labyrinth form, with two entrances, may have
evolved in relation to such symbolic considerations.
We may recall in these contexts the astronomical
abilities of neolithic peoples apparent from the precise alignments of stone
circles to the sunrise or other celestial event, and so we are returned full
circle to the double spirals of the heavenly paths of the Sun and Mercury
concentrated in their essence in the seven circuit labyrinth.
And so we approach the penultimate turn, which again
takes us further from the centre, but now we have discerned the pattern, of a
double wave advancing and receding, and can trust with joy in our hearts that
the succeeding forward flow will carry us to our goal.
Sixth Turn: Music and dance
The connection of music and dance with ritual hardly
needs stating. We may note that the term ÔorchestraÕ derives in part from orcheomai, to dance, or a dancing place. The orchestra in the
ancient Greek theatre was the circular place of dance, possibly the most
ancient part of the drama—circle dances, indeed. We may note too that
very young children involuntarily move their bodies when singing—for a
few years they simply cannot do otherwise. On the other hand dance without
music has always been unthinkable, except in some subvertive varieties of
modern dance.
The parallel in the Classical seven circuit labyrinth
with the commonest division of the octave, into seven notes, is easily and
often noticed, and is suggestive. Each path can be associated with a note of
the scale. (Fig 10) The (musical) objective is then the octave, as the aimed
for transformed state, the resumption of the cycles of sound and of a ÔsoundÕ
life at the next higher level. The journey there may be based on descending or
ascending scales. With the former there is analogy with the descent to death or
the fertile unconscious, then followed by the ascent from the centre out of the
labyrinth into re-birth or renewed life. Chanting seems implied, changing the
pitch with the turn into the next passage, a way of keeping track in the
internally felt, imagined or actual darkness.
Entering the labyrinth on an ascending scale of C to C1
major gives this order:
On the descending scale, entering, the
order of notes will be
The ascending exit scale will be the mirror
image of that: [20]
Leaping fourths characterize these sequences, though
utilizing the major mode results in the awkward augmented fourth F to B, the diabolus
in musica, in the ascending entering
scale. Two of the traditional European modes will successfully eliminate the
ÔdevilÕs intervalÕ, while changing the felt and heard character of the chant.[21] The MixoLydian (G – G on the ÔwhiteÕ notes),
which expressed as C – C has Bb, would give the ascending
entering sequence :
and descending on entering :
The HypoDorian (A – A), also banishes the
augmented fourth. Or maybe we are not unhappy to include that interval, feeling
that it may express particular meaning at that passage turn. This is the fourth
turn on the ascending entrance sequence, taking us to the shortest gyre,
adjacent to the centre: an important milestone on the path. Perhaps it is
marked by the slight uncertainty of a change from chest to head register.
Entering, on the ascending scale, one third from
the keynote or ÔfinalÕ of the mode (after suggestions
by Rudolf Steiner) may be seen to stand for, as the minor third (Hypodorian
mode) an experience of inner balance, but leaning back to the second. As the
major third we may experience a strong statement of inner balance. From both
the labyrinth takes us back to the second, as a disturbance from the keynote,
which we then approach. And here we find the absolute inner rest from which we
can find the energy to make the leap of a perfect fourth which follows, as our
first major step towards the ÔunknownÕ goal, a relationship with otherness.
Similarly, having reached the seventh gyre we are taken away again
Fig.10. The classical labyrinth with musical note letters assigned
for two circuits, and only then, unexpectedly, led
home. Leaving the labyrinth is the mirror of these remarks, as is the
descending entrance in its own context.
Such considerations suggest strongly that the sonic
power of such working will be brought out by chanting to a drone on the
keynote.
We can play with these scalic ideas a little, perhaps
by using a ÔsteppedÕ scale: assigning (say)
C E D G F Bb A C1 to the
successive gyres, which would be experienced as (upwards entering):
—featuring leaping fifths.
The downwards equivalent form would be:
In this version we enter the labyrinth on the interval
of a second, imparting against the drone a powerful discord, contrasting with
the comfortable sense of inner balance experienced on entering at the third,
and perhaps foretelling the changes of mood to come. This discord returns only
when the Bb is reached, which would then signal that the goal was
near.
Such sequences can be used entirely according to our
felt needs within the present circumstances of our lives, for received
traditions pertinent to contemporary attitudes are not apparent. As mirror of
our entire lives a rising sequence to the centre may be felt to be appropriate
(grabbing the bull-man by the horns), reaching the midpoint of lifeÕs
achievements in the centre, followed by unwinding with descending tones as we
reflect in the mirror of the ascent on the meaningfulness of what we have
wrought, a traverse suited to those who have reached an age for such
reflection, or to those who wish to re-enter more deeply into a particular life
experience. Or we may prefer to descend, as has been suggested throughout this
text, to the underworld as place of divine darkness which then leads upwards,
outwards, to the light of renewal.
Another type of music, quiet, slow, peaceful, can be
used to accompany the labyrinth journey as walking meditation, which may be how
most approach it.[22] Or again, something altogether more spritely could
accompany an energetic approach, if we feel an inner urge to run the labyrinth,
as Baltic fishermen used to do before setting sail in order to leave behind
mischievous sprites who would otherwise subvert the catch. Being stupid
sprites, it was said, they easily got lost in the winding paths—the
labyrinth as entrapment. [23]
The crane, a creature greatly concerned with
curvature, laying out itÕs catch in an arc or circle before taking it home to
itÕs young, is linked with the labyrinth via its mating dance, spiralling forward
and back, forward and back. Cranes, imbued by this patterning with sun
symbolism and that which follows of life, death and rebirth, as we have
discussed above, are therefore also seen as dead souls in flight, leaving in
the dying of the year, returning to central Europe with the spring as the
(re)born, a symbol of renewal, of new life.[24]
Tsakonikos
is the circle dance specifically associated with the labyrinth in Greece, and
also with the crane dance, Geranos,
which meets the creative sexual aspect of the craneÕs dance by having the line
of dancers connected with erect thumb in the curled fingers of the adjacent
person. The dance proceeds sideways with slanting forward steps and some back,
to a fivefold rhythm in one version:[25]
Another version suggests nine steps and a leap (as the
crane does), which would be suitably danced as three threes, symbolising the
Triple Goddess as presiding deity, followed by the leap on the fourth
triplet. The dance is best done in
the labyrinth in small groups, or contact is easily lost, particularly at
reversals in the path. What a powerful impression this would make, done while
chanting to the pitch patterns explored above!
But now, we reach the É
Seventh Turn: Myth
Arrival at the centre! Our goal, the initiatory sacred
space, the great turning point of the entire traverse, is achieved. Meanings
unfold, concatenate, illumine. The worldÕs old stories rise up to
consciousness, showing us that we are far from alone. Many others have been
here before us, leaving indelible marks on the collective psyche, writings in
the sands on the shores of the great waters of life.
In myth thus seen as record, or foreshadowing, of the
human predicament, the great themes relating to the labyrinth are centred on
impenetrability, which the hero or initiate will defeat, and entrapment,
whereby Malevolencies are imprisoned, as we know from Minoan Crete. This Beast
in the labyrinth is complemented (in the way of mythic pairs of opposites) by a
tradition of the Virgin or Goddess within, who must be found and released in
order to exert her powers, as modern man (particularly) needs to find his
contrasexual inner treasure in pursuit of wholeness.
Among other accounts, the successive encircling
defensive walls surrounding ancient Troy, found by Schliemann and later
excavators, strongly suggesting the labyrinth as threshold protection, links
the famous abduction of Helen with this Goddess tradition. And in parallel,
from an apparently unrelated tradition, there is a legend concerning the origin
of the boulder labyrinth on the island of Gottland in the Baltic, that it was
constructed each day stone by stone by a kingÕs daughter imprisoned under the
Galgenberg (gallows hill), completing it upon her release.
This would mean symbolically that the completion
gained her the release, as in the Maleculan myth recounted above, in which the
Spider Goddess requires the dead person to complete the labyrinth before
admission to the underworld. So here the Goddess, in the person of the kingÕs
daughter, constructs the labyrinthine entrance to the place of death (she
builds it round the gallows hill), the connection with re-birth being here an
allusion to her release—a ÔnewÕ life unfettered by what was binding her,
or Ôholding her backÕ, previously.
The Afghan tale of ShamailiÕs house provides another
variant of this theme, the hero subverting the labyrinth trial. Only the
Princess Shamaili knew how to enter her ÔhouseÕ with a hidden entrance. She was
the daughter of King Khunkar the Bloodthirsty, who had promised her hand in
marriage to he who could find the way in, on pain of death by hanging upon
failure.[26] In an honourable tradition of folk tales the youngest
of seven brothers must wait until all his six elders had failed and suffered
the penalty—asleep to their lives, they failed the trial, so were banned
from initiation as unsanctified. Our alert hero, Jallad Khan, resolved to
succeed by trickery—shades of Hermes here. Aided by the royal sculptor he
hid in a metal statue, which was presented at court. Shamaili was so fascinated
by this dancing metal man that she had it brought to her (labyrinth) house,
where of course Jallad revealed himself and claimed her as bride (his
contrasexual inner treasure).
Here we are reminded of the Trojan Horse, and of
D¾dalus the inventor, the metal worker, who is said to have built the labyrinth
to hold captive the Beast, the savage bull-man of King Minos of Crete,
embarrassing result of the union of Queen Pasipha‘ and the White Bull given to
Minos by Poseidon, Lord of the Sea. This beast, the very Minotaur, can be seen
as the content of the unconscious, feared by those who are unawakened, JungÕs
shadow function, which troubles us more, the more we ignore it, because we who
are gripped by that fear of the more primitive parts of ourselves, have in
consequence lost contact with our sense of body, the physicality of feelings.
Confront this shadow we must, sooner or later: and then what?
In the famous story, Theseus as hero represents the
bold Ego, plunging into the depths fearlessly, aided by the clue to return
given him by his Anima figure, Ariadne, (her name means very holy) whose clew
[27] of thread is the Umbilicus, the connection between
the worlds, part of the birthing of the new as it was in physical birth out of
the darkness of the motherÕs womb.[28]
Why did he need the thread? Navigation of the
unicursal labyrinth is easy, if we are fully centred, fully awake. There are no
blind passages: just keep a hand on the wall and follow it round! Something
else is therefore needed in explanation. His Ôheroic visionÕ, serving him well
in the light of the sun, left him ill-equipped for the necessary grounded feelingness of negotiating the dark confining tunnels. This,
Ariadne supplied in her own fashion, obliging the hero to an un-heroic stoop,
to feel his way out by following the thread lying on the ground.
Just so D¾dalus, banished to the labyrinth with his
son Icarus by an irate King Minos following the death of the Minotaur and the
escape of Theseus,
unable to find a way out of his own invention, hits
upon a panic solution by constructing wings for Icarus and himself, É. This is
an avoidance of the muscle-and-touch sensations D¾dalus needs to balance his
high-flying intellect, represented as his son Icarus, who flies too close to
the sun É and plummets into the sea (the much-needed feeling). D¾dalus then did
not follow the ground of the problem, but resorted to an intellectual solution,
É a spiritual, sky-seeking solution to what was a problem of soul and body. [29]
Similarly, in a very different tradition, Rahab of
Jericho (certainly no virgin) after showing JoshuaÕs spies the way through the
defensive labyrinthine walls—an image of the complexity of the placenta
as icon of birth, and of the coils of gut, as we have seen—was instructed
to hang up a red thread as a
signal that she should be spared from slaughter. The seven circuits with seven
trumpets the priests were to make round the walls on the seventh day are highly
suggestive of the paths of the classical labyrinth in the light of what we have
discussed above.[30]
And what did Theseus do? He killed the Minotaur, his
own shadow beast deep in the labyrinthine underworld of unconsciousness, the
scarce grown youth knowing not that he has ÔkilledÕ part of himself, and thus
presaging his future deeds, defined by this failure to wrestle aspects of
himself into life. Then, rebirthing himself as hero by following the thread
out, he set sail with Ariadne, her sister Ph¾dra, and the thirteen other
Athenian tribute youths and maidens, now given the opportunity to wake up to
life instead of being swallowed by the beast of unconsciousness.
Calling at the next island, Delos, the party danced
the Crane dance in celebration of the victory, which can be seen as Theseus
Ôdancing his animalÕ to the sacred space, with Ariadne as the Goddess ruling
the labyrinthine dance of life. Then, leaving Naxos, another stop on the way,
he, as the Dragon Slaying Hero in hubristic certainty of his own
self-sufficiency, apparently ÔforgotÕ Ariadne, and abandoned her: a denial of
his necessary femininity, the loss of his very holiness.[31]
Rahab was also abandoned, left with her family to fend
for themselves, her livelihood gone, in a ruined town, all others slaughtered.
And Theseus, true to the heroic youthful unawareness we have outlined, ÔforgotÕ
another matter: the white sail he was to have hoisted to signal his success on
approaching Athens. His father ®geus, seeing from afar the usual black sail,
drowned himself in sorrow in the sea that took his name, thinking his son dead,
thus living out the feelings of
the situation, the flowing wateryness opaque, alien to Theseus.
Here we have a clear image of the patriarchal hubris,
the suppression of the feminine, that for some thousands of years has
characterised our culture, which was forming at the time the Minotaur story
arose. Similarly the Wasteland of the Fisher King, as another parallel,
foretells the spiritual wasteland of our modern times.
Dancing the labyrinth of life
As with Theseus, so it is with us. If we fail to take
life by the horns, sink into unawareness, focussing instead on the ÔheroicÕ
vision of our desired egoic victories, losing our sense of embodiment, so
unable to respond groundedly, feelingly, to the unexpected reversals in the
dark labyrinth of life, someone else is obliged to suffer our unacknowledged
feeling states, and we leave a trail of abandonment behind us.
But we have the opportunity now to do better, and we
can live the labyrinth form as music and dance or walking meditation, fully
present in the embodied ground of our being, the better able to feel our way
through the turns, the vicissitudes of Life as it is lived, and be guided by
the red thread, with help from Hermes and from the presiding Goddess, to the
place of healing, of re-connection with that which has been ÔlostÕ, the
otherworld where our souls reside, umbilically joined to the Manifest World,
and oriented to the Gate of the Sun, towards a future reconnection which is not
regression to a supposed golden age of innocence, but strives towards, yearns
for, wholistic completion, union of opposites, in full awareness balancing
heart, head and soul in the Pantheon of magnificent humanly being at its best.
CJ; Sparkbrook; Dec.2003
WORKS CONSULTED
Bailey, Adrian 1997. The
Caves of the Sun: the origin of mythology. Jonathan Cape
Ball, Philip 1999. The
Self-Made Tapestry: pattern formation in nature. Oxford U.P.
Bleakley, Alan 1984. Fruits
of the Moon Tree: the medicine wheel and transpersonal mythology. Gateway Books
Campbell, Joseph 1964. The
Masks of God: occidental mythology. Penguin 1976
— 1969. The
Masks of God: primitive mythology, rev. ed., Penguin
Castledon, Rodney 1990. The
Knossos Labyrinth: a new view of the ÔPalace of MinosÕ at Knossos. Routledge
Coats, Callum 1996. Living
energies: an exposition of concepts related to the theories of Viktor
Schauberger.
Gateway Books
Downing, Christine 1993. Gods
in Our Midst: mythological images of the masculine: a womanÕs view. Crossroad Publishing
Frazer, Sir James 1922. The Golden Bough:
a study in myth and religion, abridged ed. Wordsworth Reference, 1993
GuŽnon, RenŽ 1962. Fundamental
Symbols: the universal language of sacred science. English ed., Quinta Essentia
1995 (tr from French)
Gullan-Whur, Margaret 1987. The Four Elements: the traditional idea of the humours
and why they are still relevant. Century
Hill, Gareth S. 1992. Masculine
and Feminine: the natural flow of opposites in the psyche. Shambhala
Jung, C.G. 1938-54. Alchemical
Studies.
(Collected works, v.13) Princeton UP / Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1967 (tr
from German)
Kingsley, Peter 1999. In the
Dark Places of Wisdom. Element Books
Knight, Christopher & Robert
Lomas 2000. UrielÕs Machine: the ancient origins of science. Arrow Books
Lonegren, Sig 1991. Labyrinths:
ancient myths and modern uses. Gothic Image
Merz, Blanche 1983. Points of
Cosmic Energy.
English ed., C.W.Daniel 1987 (tr from French)
Pennick, Nigel 1990. Mazes
and Labyrinths.
Robert Hale
The Power of Place: sacred
ground in natural & human environments. James A. Swan (ed.) 1991. Quest Books
Saga: best new writings on
mythology,
Vol.1. Jonathan Young (ed.) 1996. White Cloud Press
Sands, Helen Raphael 2000. Labyrinth,
Pathways to Meditation and Healing. Gaia Books
Schneider, Michael S. 1994. A
BeginnerÕs Guide to Constructing the Universe: the mathematical archetypes of
nature, art and science. HarperCollins
Varley, Desmond 1976. Seven:
the number of creation. G.Bell & Sons
REFERENCE WORKS
BrewerÕs Book of Myth and
Legend,
J.C.Cooper (ed.) 1992. Cassell
Myths, Gods and Fantasy: a
sourcebook. Pamela
Allardice 1990. Prism
The Oxford Classical
Dictionary, 2nd
ed. N.G.L.Hammond & H.H.Scullard 1970. Clarendon Press
Pacific Mythology: an
Encyclopedia of Myth and Legend. Jan Knappert 1992. Aquarian Press
WhoÕs Who in Non-Classical
Mythology.
Egerton Sykes 1952. Rev. Alan Kendall 1993. Oxford U.P.
Fig.5. The
Chartres Labyrinth, showing energy data on an amalgamated scale devised by
Blanche Merz, who instrumentally investigates sacred sites, where average human
energy is 6500: the Pilgrim must suffer a moment of intensely debilitating
energy before being very greatly elevated in the Centre. After Merz.