Comenius, John. _The Labyrinth of the World and the Paradise of the 

Heart._ Translated and introduced by Howard Louthan and Andrea Sterk.  

Preface by Jan Milic Lochman. (New York and Mahwah: Paulist Press, 

1997).  (Classics of Western Spirituality, #90). 250 pp.
    Reviewed by Alice Browne, alicebrowne@mindspring.com.

    The Czech writer John Amos Comenius (1592-1670) is best known as an 

educational theorist.  He believed that a pupil's failure to learn was 

usually the teacher's fault, and that learning should be a pleasurable 

experience.  In keeping with this emphasis on enjoyment, he was a 

pioneer in the use of pictures to help children learn and form 

concepts.  His textbook, _Orbis pictus_ (1658), was the first of a 

genre of educational picture books which went on for centuries.  

Comenius was a member of a small Hussite group, the Unitas fratrum, and 

represents a strand in seventeenth-century Christianity which grieved 

over confessional differences and yearned for peace and reconciliation 

between churches and nations.  _The Labyrinth of the World and the 

Paradise of the Heart_ was written early in the Thirty Years' War, 

before Comenius himself was finally exiled from Czech lands for 

religious reasons.
    The _Labyrinth_ tells the story of a pilgrim who wanders through 

the world, investigating all professions and walks of life, and finding 

them corrupt and unsatisfying.  In despair, he is called inward to his 

own heart, where he encounters Christ, who purifies it and teaches him 

about the true, divine source of joy.  The book's greatest strength is 

its highly visual style of allegory; the title _Orbis pictus_ (The 

world in pictures) would suit this book as well as Comenius' textbook.  

Comenius' allegory is imagined in ways which give it clarity and a 

surreal vigor; it rarely sinks into the kind of plodding allegorical 

representation which adds nothing to the ideas it portrays.  For 

example, his description of the auditorium representing the legal 

profession has real imaginative energy: "All along the sides there were 

painted walls, blockhouses, fences, ramparts, bars, rails, and 

partitions.  Through these there were gaps and holes, doors and gates, 

bolts and locks, and together with them, various larger and smaller 

keys and hooks. Pointing all this out to one another, the people 

measured where and how one could or could not pass through." (p. 119)  

At first the pilgrim is impressed, but then he becomes disillusioned 

because law only concerns property, is based on the whim of a few, and 

generates disagreements in interpretation. "... one either built or 

tore down the walls or gaps as the thought occurred to each ... For the 

more a person could break through a barrier or make an opening and 

close it up again, the more pleased he was with himself and the more 

others envied him.  Some, however, (also wishing to demonstrate their 

intelligence) stepped forward in opposition, claiming that one should 

set up a barrier or make an opening in some other manner." (p. 120)
    Disagreement appears more tragically when the pilgrim describes 

different Christian groups fighting over what is validated by the 

touchstone of Scripture: "... some were killed when the quarreling and 

fracas increased.  The stone, however, remained; for it was round and 

very smooth.  Whoever grasped it could not hold onto it.  It 

immediately slipped out of his hands and continued to turn behind the 

railing." (p. 131) The pilgrim's encounter with the churches also 

provides one of the book's rare moments of narrative suspense.  One of 

his worldly guides prevents the pilgrim from following a group of true 

Christians, despised by the world.  "When I saw them going in and out 

behind a certain curtain in the choir, I wanted to go in and see what 

they had there.  But the interpreter pulled me back. " (p. 133)
The invisibility of true Christians' pursuits to worldly eyes is in 

keeping with Comenius' otherworldly ideals, and with his literary 

strategies in the short second part of the book, _The Paradise of the 

Heart,_ where allegory illuminates the inner world and the cosmos, 

rather than the social world of human life.  "I entered into my heart 

and found that it was dark.  But when with blinking eyes I looked about 

a little, I could see a faint light coming through the cracks, and I 

distinguished up above, in the vault of this little chamber, a large, 

round, glass window.  But it was so dirty and smeared with grime that 

hardly any light could penetrate.  Looking about here and there by this 

dark, meager light, I perceived some pictures on the walls which seemed 

once to have been beautiful ... In the middle of the chamber, I saw 

some broken and damaged ladders strewn about; likewise, broken pulleys 

and large wings with broken feathers.  Finally, clock wheels with 

broken or bent cylinders, teeth and rods were all scattered randomly 

here and there." (p. 187)  After the pilgrim's heart and its contents 

have been repaired and purified, he sees the world in the light of 

God's glory: "Before me, I saw the world as a great clocklike machine, 

composed of visible and invisible parts.  Transparent and fragile, it 

was fashioned completely from glass." (p. 200)
    The work is not mystical in the sense of explicitly articulating 

personal experience or vision; however, the high value Comenius places 

on interior, other-worldly religion with a weak institutional structure 

is part of the context which makes the seventeenth century so rich in 

spiritual autobiography and accounts of religious experience.  The 

conventions of allegory can often be seen in vision narratives of the 

time.  Comenius himself was interested in contemporary visionaries and 

prophets, and gave an eyewitness account of the visions and trances of 

a young Polish woman, Christina Poniatovia (_Lux e tenebris,_ 1665).  

The visions of these prophets often read like allegories that are far 

more stilted and conventional than Comenius' own.  If the book is not a 

document of seventeenth-century mysticism in the most direct, 

experiential sense, it can still illuminate it as a document of the 

period's sense of symbolic representation and of interiority in 

religion.  The translation is a valuable addition to an excellent 

series.

Paulist Press