In ancient cultures, the symbol of the labyrinth spread throughout the Mediterranean from a single cultural center1. It is the etymon of the term, though clouded by the mixture of myth and reality, legend and history, that provides some possible clues to its origins. From the Greek labýrinthos (λαβύρινθος2) it can be traced back to Labrys, a characteristic double-bladed axe of antiquity. It was indeed a very distinctive weapon with mythical and symbolic power, identifying the rule of King Minos of Crete. And so, by extension, the majestic palace of Knossos, the sacred and administrative center of an entire civilization, also began to be called a labyrinth. Its architecture was famous in antiquity for its countless rooms, reached by a long and intricate path. The earliest depictions of the symbol can thus be found as early as the Mycenaean age.
The labyrinth was therefore a place of bewilderment, but this did not depend at all on the possibility of making mistakes or wrong choices, but rather on the inherent difficulty of the path. Representations of the symbol in ancient times were always unicursal, with an obligatory path, without forks or dead ends. The path led to a figurative and especially metaphorical center, a final goal that once reached allowed only to retrace one’s steps. So the philosopher Plato evoked the image of the labyrinth as an analogy of an inconclusive discourse that always leads to the same point3. Only in the Roman imperial age, with Pliny, did the Palace of Knossos and the labyrinth become a metaphor for an uncertain and complicated path “which encloses circuitous passages, windings, and inextricable galleries”4.
The myth of the Minotaur
Myth, which in its depths of meaning always contains elements of truth, relates the symbol to King Minos of Crete. Legend says that on the Mediterranean island, within an inextricable labyrinth, a frightening monster called the Minotaur was locked up5. King Minos imprisoned the beast, so he could do no harm to the inhabitants of Crete. But also, and more importantly, for another reason: it was the impure result of his wife’s betrayal.
How had such a misfortune befallen the king of Crete? Poseidon had given him a mighty white bull to enable him to demonstrate his royal power to his subjects. The sea god wanted the sacrifice of the animal in his honor. However Minos, estimating it to be of great value, had another one killed. Poseidon’s revenge was immediate and terrible. The queen of Crete, Pasiphae, fell in love with the beast. From their union was born the Minotaur, a monster half man and half bull.
Theseus and the labyrinth of Daedalus
When the Minotaur became adult, Minos locked him in a labyrinth built by Daedalus, so he could not harm anyone. In fact, the monster was dominated by the bestiality of being an animal and was always hungry. Minos defeated Athens in battle. Hence, he ordered the Attica city to send seven boys and seven girls every nine years to feed the Minotaur.
Prince Theseus thus decided to go to Crete to kill that abomination and free his people. By coincidence, Minos’ daughter, Ariadne, fell in love with him. The maiden revealed to the Athenian prince an ingenious stratagem to go into the labyrinth and find his way out. Ariadne handed Theseus a ball of thread. The thread, unravelled along the way, would allow the hero to retrace his steps. Having defeated the Minotaur with the help of a poisoned sword, the prince could finally return to Athens victorious.
The spread of the labyrinth over the centuries
Since antiquity the symbol has fascinated humanity and expressed metaphorical meanings. The spread of the labyrinth throughout the then known world is due to its archetypal nature, common to and underlying different cultures. The unicursal pattern was discovered, for instance, in many rocks in Galicia (2nd – 1st millennium B.C.)6, in a domus de janas in pre-Nuragic Sardinia7, in Naquane among the petroglyphs of Val Camonica (8th – 6th century B.C.)8, on an Etruscan oinochoe from Tragliatella near Cerveteri (7th century B.C.)9.
The Romans used it mainly in the decoration of floor mosaics, which is why it was hypothesised that the symbol arrived in Rome as an ornamental motif on carpets in the Hellenistic age11. Already in the House of the Labyrinth in Pompeii, dating back to the 2nd century B.C., an extraordinary mosaic depicting a labyrinth covered the floor of the cubiculum. The labyrinth is divided into four portions. In the centre it hosts the scenic representation of the struggle between Theseus and the Minotaur.
The Christian labyrinth
The renewal of symbolic meaning that characterised the first centuries of Christianity also involved the labyrinth. It became a metaphor for human beings’ inner path to conversion. In continuity with the Roman tradition, the labyrinth could thus be used as a floor ornament in early Christian churches. An example is the 4th century Algerian basilica of Saint Reparata in Orleansville.
During the Middle Ages, the symbol spread along pilgrimage and prayer routes. In Italy, we have several examples at the main stops along the Via Francigena and the Via Micaelica. The circular artefacts in the Cathedral of San Martino in Lucca, San Michele Maggiore in Pavia, Pontremoli and Alatri are worth mentioning. Another specimen, now lost, was in the basilica of San Savino in Piacenza.
The labyrinth, a metaphor of the way to Jerusalem
The Medieval depiction of the labyrinth reveals a double meaning in relation to the Medieval peregrinatio. For pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem, it was firstly the symbol of the long itinerary to be completed. The Medieval labyrinth, like the labyrinth of ancient times, was unicursal: the traveller could not change route, the reaching of the sacred goal was obligatory. The geometric centre was therefore a metaphor for the holy places where the earthly story of Christ took place.
But Jerusalem was occupied by the Saracens. Hence, it is not uncommon to find in such labyrinths a reference to the myth of Theseus slaying the Minotaur, a figurative transposition of the enemy. This is the case of the mosaic floor in the presbytery of San Michele Maggiore in Pavia, where once, in the centre of a circular labyrinth, there was a representation of the struggle between the hero and the monster. In Lucca, on one of the pillars of the portico in front of the Cathedral of San Martino, next to a labyrinth carved in stone, the words appear:
“Hic quem creticus edit dedalis est laberint hus deduonulluss vader e quivit qui fuit intus ni theseus gratis adriane stamine iutus”
“This is the labyrinth built by Daedalus of Crete, from which no one who had entered it could get out, except Theseus thanks to Ariadne’s thread”.
The spiritual labyrinth
Besides material, the symbol was also an expression of the pilgrim’s spiritual journey towards the heavenly Jerusalem. This was because the missio in the Holy Land was above all a path of conversion, which was realised through precariousness and the renunciation of material passions. The unicursal labyrinth was thus meant to indicate the only way to achieve salvation, to follow Christ who had said:
“I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me”.
Gospel of John 14, 6
It is fascinating that in Medieval representations the symbol is associated both with the figure of a monster generated by the sin of infidelity, the Minotaur, or with the Messiah, as in the great Christ in the labyrinth of Alatri. This antithetical duality of subjects well expresses the mentality of the Medieval religious man. The Christian was called upon to choose between being dominated by sin and the bestiality of the animal being, like the monster of Knossos, or following the example of Christ.
Samuele Corrente Naso
Notes
- H. Kern, Through the Labyrinth. Designs and Meanings over 5000 Years, Prestel, London, 2000. ↩︎
- The term is found in some Mycenaean Crete tablets from the Palace of Knossos, including KN Gg 702. ↩︎
- Plato, Euthydemus, 291b-c: “involved in a labyrinth (λαβύρινθος): when we supposed we had arrived at the end, we twisted about again, and found ourselves practically at the beginning of our search, and just as sorely in want as when we first started on it”. Translation by W.R.M. Lamb. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press; London, William Heinemann Ltd. 1967. ↩︎
- Pliny the Elder, Naturalis historia, XXXVI. Translation by John Bostock, M.D., F.R.S. H.T. Riley, Esq., B.A. London. Taylor and Francis, Red Lion Court, Fleet Street. 1855. ↩︎
- Publius Ovidius Naso, Metamorphoses, book VIII. ↩︎
- G. Sarullo, Iconografia del labirinto. Origine e diffusione di un simbolo tra passato e futuro, Tra Passato e Futuro, 2017. ↩︎
- Ibidem. ↩︎
- In rock 1 of the Parco Nazionale delle incisioni rupestri di Naquane in Capo di Ponte. ↩︎
- M. Menichetti, L’oinochoe di Tragliatella. Mito e rito tra Grecia ed Etruria, Ostraka 1,1,1992. ↩︎
- By Luca Giarelli – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, image. ↩︎
- G. L. Grassigli, Il labirinto nei mosaici romani di età repubblicana e primoimperiale in Italia. Alcune riconsiderazioni, LANX 29, Studi di amici e colleghi per Maria Teresa Grassi, 2021. ↩︎
