Stations of the Court, part 1: Walking the Path
In the old Gothic cathedral at Chartres, there is a labyrinth:
Image source (link)
By the time the cathedral was built in the early 1200s, the labyrinth was already a well-developed art form. The first and most famous one is the stuff of legend, designed by Daedalus to contain the Cretan Minotaur. There are many surviving examples from the classical era, such as this mosaic from Pompeii (ca. 200 BC):
The labyrinth at Chartres is widely-admired for its elegant design, and its large scale allows visitors to personally interact with it in a kind of walking meditation.
While labyrinths before Chartres typically referenced the Minotaur legend, the one at Chartres probably did not. A note from the department of Medieval Studies at Loyola University in Chicago notes that other design features hint at an explicitly Christian intention:
[Its] center is surrounded by a six lobed rosette, which was an ancient symbol from the east and was used to portray the nature of God in Sumerian, Babylonian, Jewish, and even Roman art. Craig Wright argues that this depiction is being used to point towards the “new God,” in this case Christ. If, as Wright argues, the labyrinth is connected to Christ’s Harrowing in Hell, its placement within the nave creates a stunning visualization which pulls together numerous beliefs and fuses them into one.
Unlike a maze there is only one path through a labyrinth, there are no wrong turns. The only true choice is whether to persevere, move forward, and meet what awaits. Those who walk the Chartres labyrinth, or one of many copies around the world, might meditate on this. Meanwhile, the 28 turns remind us that the way forward is rarely straight or smooth.
George Crane, a western writer who accompanied a monk on a trip to China, described the experience of walking meditation:
Over and over we chanted “Namo Amito fu” as we circled the 30- by 40-foot room. Tsung Tsai walked so slowly he almost wasn’t walking. The bitterness of walking meditation was this pace, which didn’t fit my heartbeat or my breath or the vibration of my brain cells. If I weren’t careful I would run the Buddha down.
But in its time the Chartres labyrinth was not just for walking and contemplation. Dancing rituals were conducted there, and games, too. According to the fine FAQ by Jeff Saward (linked below), in 1413 the lesser clergy asked that “according to custom” they be allowed to “play freely the game on the labyrinth during the [Easter] ceremony.”
Saward notes that the nature of the game “can be inferred from the detailed description of this practice as recorded at Auxerre”:
From at least 1396 until 1538, the [clergy] would gather around the labyrinth early in the afternoon every Easter Sunday and perform a ring-dance while chanting Victimae paschali laudes (Praises to the Easter Victim). While this was taking place, the Dean would stand (presumably at the centre of the labyrinth) and throw a large leather ball (the pilota) back and forth to the clergy as they danced around the labyrinth (circa Daedalum)…
The details of this extraordinary Easter ritual are, ironically, fully detailed in legal documents attempting to outlaw the practice as unsuitable for a Christian place of worship, lodged during the late 15th and early 16th centuries. Despite early success in upholding the tradition, it was eventually stopped in 1538.
In my research I have not been able to uncover the actual scheme of the ritual performed at Auxerre. They might have been been running five-out, or maybe pick-and-roll. A friend suggests it might have been - harkening back to the Minotaur -the well-known NBA pro set known as “Horns”.
We also do not know if they whistled “Sweet Georgia Brown” as they whipped the ball around, but it is difficult for me to imagine otherwise.