The Arts in Psychotherapy, Vol. 21, No. 1, pp.
25-35, 1994
Pergamon
THE THEATRE STAGE AND THE SACRED SPACE: A COMPARISON
SUSANA
The resemblance between the sacred space and the
theatre stage has been noted by scholars in the fields
of performance and theatre (Cole, 1975; Schechner,
1973, 1985). Drama therapy theory has mainly fo-
cused on concepts such as distance (Landy, 1983;
Scheff, 1979), roles (Johnson, 1982; Landy, 1991,
1992), performance (Cohen, 1985; Emunah & people of all times and across the world. Although its
Johnson, 1983) and other aspects that are common to
theatre/drama and therapy (Jennings, 1988, 1992;
Mitchell, 1992; Powley, 1988). In recent writings,
Johnson (1992) introduced the concept of playspace
to designate the “place where dramatherapy takes
place” (p. 113) and Warren (1993) referred to the
relevance of space in drama therapy. However, the
role of the stage as an element that affects the drama
therapy process rarely has been taken into account.
This article examines the bond between the sacred
space and the theatre stage in terms of its therapeutic
value. For this purpose, it first defines the sacred
space and traces parallels between its qualities and
those of theatrical space. This resemblance is then
analyzed in the light of environmental psychology
postulates and the Jungian concepts of self and indi-
viduation. Finally, some implications of this for
drama therapy are stated.
As a unique aspect of the performing arts, an un-
derstanding of the stage’s therapeutic value is essen-
tial to drama therapists. By pointing to the link be-
tween sacred and theatre spaces, this paper attempts
to put forth ideas, raise questions, bring into focus the
quality of the space in which we work and ultimately
shed some light upon this otherwise forgotten spot.
*Susana Pendzik is a drama therapist who teaches at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and at the drama therapy program in Tel-Hai, Israel.
Copyright 0 1994 Elsevier Science Ltd
Printed in the USA. All rights reserved
0197.4556194 $6.00 + .O@
PENDZIK, MA, RDT”
The Sacred Space: Defining the Archetype
The concept of the sacred space goes back to the
beginning of civilization and can be found in most
cultures. This fact points to its significance as an ar-
chetype-a universal construct that has concerned
manifestations take different forms in each culture,
certain common denominators unify the experience of
the sacred space.
Making a place sacred means marking it as quali-
tatively different from the rest. It means introducing a
meaningful place within the vast, homogeneous ex-
panse. According to Eliade (1959),
this special nonhomogeneity finds expression in
the experience of an opposition between space
that is sacred [. . .] and all other space, the
formless expanse surrounding it. (p. 20)
Thus, a sacred space is a special place whose consti-
tution is effected by breaking the infinite expanse into
significant and nonsignificant territories. But to be-
come significant, this spot cannot be established ar-
bitrarily at any point in space; it must be located
where the sacred has manifested itself.
Every sacred space implies a hierophany, an
irruption of the sacred that results in detaching
a territory from its surrounding milieu and
making it qualitatively different. (Eliade, 1959,
P. 26)
25
26 SUSANA PENDZIK
Therefore, the distinction between sacred and profane
territories constitutes not only a breach in spatial con-
tinuity, but also a rupture in ontological terms. The
revelation of a reality of a different order in a given
place produces a break in planes so that the separation
is also an elevation.
The signs that reveal the sacredness of a place vary
in intensity and sophistication, but they all contain the
idea of linking it with other planes of existence. These
signs are not always as elaborated as a hierophany. As
Krupp suggested, “people seek to occupy the special
ground-the sacred space-where cosmic order is re-
vealed” (1983, p. 217), and this could simply be
where astronomical alignments make the celestial or-
der apparent. If the sign does not appear, it is pro-
voked or asked for. Thus, animals are used to ratify
places chosen for human dwellings (Eliade, 1963) or,
as in the case of Chinese temples and tombs, geoman-
tic systems based on ancient knowledge help to select
the proper site (Brandon, 1975). In this way, the con-
secrated place becomes a virtual Center of the World
because it is open from above.
The idea of the Center of the World or omphalos is
closely associated with the sacred space. In Chinese
mythology, the Miraculous Tree marks the site where
the perfect capital is to be found; in North European
cultures, the Axis Mundi or Central Pillar was be-
lieved to support the world; in shamanistic rituals, the
Cosmic Tree is the means through which shamans
climb up or descend to the underworld (Eliade, 1972);
in Aztec cosmogony, the World Navel stands at the
“site of duality,” where Ometeotl, an androgynous
deity of duality, sits supporting the world (Leon-
Portilla, 1979). These examples suffice to assert that,
whether it be the Holy Mountain, the Sacred Pillar or
the Cosmic Tree, the concept is alike in that it refers
to a place that connects different worlds and is there-
fore assumed to be located at the Center of the uni-
verse. Thus, the motif of the Center is one of the
forms in which the archetype manifests itself.
The establishment of an axis mundi around which
the universe revolves acts as a point of reference,
orientation and support. Moreover, space and time
unite here and “all pairs of opposites come together”
(Wosien, 1974, p. 22). The Center is a place of
“break-through into abundance,” and as such it is
also thought of as an empowering spot, one which
may lead people to the way of knowledge. As Camp-
bell’s (1973) narration of the legend of the Buddha
illustrates, Gautama was able to defeat his enemies
and achieve enlightenment by sitting beneath the Tree
of Enlightenment, on the Immovable Spot. Similarly,
Castaneda’s account of the teachings of Don Juan, a
Yaqui Indian sorcerer, refers to a special spot or sitio,
which is the key to self-knowledge and understand-
ing. He wrote,
(Don Juan) explained to me that not every place
was good to sit or to be on, and that within the
confines of the porch there was one spot that
was unique, a spot where I could be at my best.
It was my task to distinguish it from all the other
places. (1973, p. 19)
After many hours of frustrating attempts to locate his
sitio, the hero falls asleep on the porch: He was sleep-
ing in his spot. The next morning, the teacher ex-
plained to him the difference between this site and
another place called the enemy.
(Don Juan) said these two places were the key
to a man’s well being, especially for a man who
was pursuing knowledge. The sheer act of sit-
ting in one’s spot created superior strength; on
the other hand, the enemy weakened a man and
could even cause his death. He said I had re-
plenished my energy, which I had spent lav-
ishly the night before, by taking a nap on my
spot. [. . .] He said that many places in the world
could be comparable to those two . (p. 25)
This explains one of the characteristics of the Cen-
ter-its multiplicity. The archetype does not portend
a geographical center, nor does it attempt to locate it
at an objective point in space. The world navel is
ubiquitous; it can exist in multiple places at the same
time. The sacred space stands for an absolute reality
not in the sense of being one and the same for every-
body, but in that it is open to transcendental worlds.
Two features of the archetype remain to be men-
tioned here. The first is that the sacred space is a
microcosm. The creation of a sacred space is a sym-
bolic repetition of the Cosmogony; it parallels the
establishment of Cosmos (order) in the midst of
Chaos (the infinity of space). Hence, the enclosed
space constitutes an image mundi-a world replica in
a microcosmic scale (Eliade, 1959). Because it both
represents and contains the world, what is performed
within the sacred space has the meaning and transcen-
dence of being performed in the entire world, a fact
that may explain the rationale operating behind many
ritual performances.
 THE THEATRE STAGE AND THE SACRED SPACE
A second and rather contradictory trait of the ar-
chetype is its taboo quality. The essence of taboo is
always ambivalent. What is sacred is also subject to
being corrupted and defiled if not treated properly.
The dialectic relationship to the sacred requires that it
be at once venerated and feared. A sacred space can
be both a place of magic healing and a source of
danger. On the one hand it appears to be the safest
spot on earth; on the other, there is a fear of being
lifted to a level of existence that is higher and beyond
the human natural ontological state. In order not to be
destroyed by the powerful energy inherent in the sa-
cred space certain rules have to be maintained; hence
the taboo emerges (Eliade, 1963).
Finally, it should be stated that the sacred space is
not only a religious experience. We all have special
places, like the house where we were born, a table at
a cafe, a bench in the park; we have meaningful
places that put us in touch with significant events or
people in our lives (Bachelard, 1965). These spots
may be regarded as personal sacred spaces in that
they are imbued with a significance that distinguishes
them from their surroundings. Our experience of
space is not uniform; it contains some privileged
spots that have a unique quality and meaning while
the rest of the expanse remains in the anonymity of
the homogeneous.
The Stage and the Sacred Space
The origins of all dramatic forms are connected to
religion. From ancient Egyptian drama to shamanistic
rituals, the source of theatre was always tied to the
sacred in some way. In relation to the stage this is
illustrated by the fact that the first Greek theatres were
constructed close to temples (Hartnoll, 1968). Thus,
even when separating from religion, Greek theatre
maintained a link with the sacred, not only in the
content of its plays, but also in the spatial contiguity
to temples and shrines.
The first architectural elements of the Greek stage
were an altar for Dionysus and a large circle for the
orchestra around it (Whiting, 1969). This layout
closely resembles that of the most ancient sacred
spaces, which consisted of a tree surrounded by a circle
of stones (Eliade, 1963). As Greek theatre evolved
and became secularized, changes were introduced in
this basic structure. However, reminiscences of the
sacred space are found in later theatre design as well.
Cole’s (1975) analysis of theatre architecture re-
vealed traces of the sacred space in the design of the
Classic Greek Theatre, the Japanese No Stage, the
Elizabethan Playhouse and the Post-Renaissance Pro-
scenium Theatre. According to him, the Elizabethan
Playhouse is not only a representation of the cosmos
(as it is often assumed), but it also reflects the sha-
manistic conception of it, comprising the three cosmic
regions-upper, lower and middle worlds. Cole iden-
tified the two columns located upstage with the axis
mundi, and the roof they supported (usually referred
to as the hut or Heavens) with the opening through
which the shaman reaches the upper world. Its coun-
terpart, the under-stage vault, was the architectural
equivalent to the lower world.
This hell and this heaven open upon our world.
At any moment a god may descend from the
hut, a demon start up through the trap. At any
moment the noumena may be there. (p. 105)
Cole viewed the bridge of the No Stage as an im-
age of the passage between reality and the world of
the illud tempus (the world beyond), and the painted
pine tree, a permanent piece of setting in No theatre
scenery, as a symbol of the axis mundi. Regarding the
Post-Renaissance theatre, he stated that both the cur-
tain and the proscenium arch that characterize it rep-
resent the threshold-the boundary that separates two
different modes of being. In Cole’s words, “thresh-
olds and portals are universally regarded as symbols
of, or actual sites of, hierophany” (p. 106).
This century’s rejection of the formal stage and its
replacement by less rigid theatrical spaces is not to be
interpreted as a movement away from the stage’s
bond to the sacred space. Quite the contrary, as it
becomes apparent in Artaud’s writings,
We abolish the stage and the auditorium and
replace them by a single site, without partition
or barrier of any kind, which will become the
theatre of the action. A direct communication
will be reestablished between the spectator and
the spectacle, between the actor and the spec-
tator, from the fact that the spectator, placed in
the middle of the action, is engulfed and phys-
ically affected by it. This envelopment results,
in part, from the very configuration of the room
itself. (1958, p. 96)
Artaud’s vision of theatrical space does not imply a
rupture with the sacred, but rather a return to the most
ancient forms of theatre, in which the sacred space
28 SUSANA PENDZIK
contained both performers and spectators. Artaud ad-
vocated for a stage that allows manifestations to occur
without excluding the audience from participating in
the hierophany. His freedom was envisioned as an
approach to the sources. Perhaps this is also why he
maintained that “special proportions of height and
depth” should prevail in the room, that action should
take place in the “four cardinal points” and that a
“central place” should be set up, as an informal
stage, for the concentration of the action (Artaud,
1958). These elements can be traced back to the times
when the stage was inseparable from the sacred space,
where dimensions were decided upon by rules of sa-
cred geometry, the four directions established as a
means of orienting the performance and the central
place reserved for the altar or the pillar of the sha-
man’s tent.
The sequels of Artaud’s writings can be observed
in today’s environmental theatre, which seeks to en-
velop audiences with the performance’s magic, rather
than keeping them away from it (Kirby 1969). The
rebellion against rectangular, hard-edged structures
that dominate most of the Western culture draws from
the well of ritual and shamanism (Schechner, 1973).
As in shamanistic performances, in which the sacred
space is shared by the community, environmental the-
atre makes the stage accessible to the public. The
event itself creates the boundary.
The absence or presence of a formal stage does not
affect its analogy to the sacred space. If anything, it
reflects a change in the approach to the sacred. A
symbolical examination of the stage reveals that the-
atrical space contains in its essence most of the char-
acteristics of the archetype.
Like the sacred space, the stage is also a special
place, which stands out for being qualitatively differ-
ent from its surroundings. Suzanne Langer (1953) de-
scribed our perception of space in everyday life as
“shapeless,” and contrasted it to the space created by
a work of art, or “virtual space”-an “entirely in-
dependent and not a local area in actual space, a self
contained, total system” (p. 75). As stated above,
amorphous-vs-total is a polarity that distinguishes
profane from sacred spaces. The profane expanse is
experienced as homogeneous and unstructured,
whereas the sacred space is defined as absolute, struc-
tured and having internal coherence. The same dis-
tinctions in quality are found between the stage and
the rest of the expanse.
Because theatrical space is different, anything that
appears on it is extremely significant. This is illus-
trated by the use of stage props. Props find a place on
stage insofar as they facilitate manifestation; they
must belong to the performance’s reality “for they are
taken as ostentive definitions of the properties of the
[dramatic] world” (Elam, 1980, p. 112). Hence, un-
less a prop can be integrated into that world, its ap-
pearance on stage would be comparable to a profana-
tion. Like ritual objects, props serve not only func-
tional purposes, but they are also meaningful. This
may account for the “uneasiness which a prop can
still inspire after the performance” (Cole, 1975, p. 93).
A break in planes is effected on stage by virtue of
its manifestation of a different reality, the reality of
performance. Though this is not the same as a hi-
erophany, it certainly constitutes an irruption of an-
other world within the world of everyday life. Barba
(1986) asserted that the distinction between perfor-
mance and quotidian reality lies in the former’s man-
ifestation of an “extra-ordinary” reality. In this way,
the stage is marked as a place where a rupture in
ontological levels is produced.
Theatrical space is also akin to the sacred space
concerning its microcosmic nature. According to Cole
(1975),
Change of place is accomplished in the theatre
without the benefit of any locomotion (. .) An
image in manifesting itself, brings its world
along with it, just the way a traveller, stepping
into a restaurant out of a blizzard, carries the
storm into the dinner’s midst. A change of place
occurs in the theatre when image A vanishes,
taking its space with it, and image B manifests
itself, bringing its space along. (p. 89)
This magical flexibility would be unthinkable were
it not for the stage’s microcosmic quality, which per-
mits the manifestation of various environments in a
single spot. In regular space this would not be plau-
sible; on stage it seems perfectly normal. Although a
change of scenery may help, it is not necessary. We
came to believe the stage has no limitations. As con-
tainer of the cosmos, it encloses all spots on earth,
heaven or hell and can manifest them at any moment
without breaking its credibility.
The resemblance between the stage and the sacred
space also encompasses the latter’s configuration as a
taboo. As stated concerning props, everything on
stage should embody the otherness that the perfor-
mance wants to convey. In Western theatre, this oth-
erness was maintained, at times, by means of physical
 THE THEATRE STAGE AND THE SACRED SPACE
distance. Bullough (1912) pointed out that separating
public from performers helps to distinguish real from
theatrical milieus. In his view, this was necessary
because drama is the most susceptible art to become
underdistanced, because of the presence of living hu-
man beings and the quasi-real hue that characterizes
dramatic performance. In a different manner, Brecht
also believed that alienation methods should be used
in order to keep the dramatic sense of otherness, so
that “everyday things are (. . .) raised above the ob-
vious and the automatic” (198 1, p. 92).
Bullough’s concept of physical distance, Brecht’s
notion of alienation and Barba’s idea of extra-
ordinary share a perception of the otherness embodied
by theatrical reality. Their views confirm that the
frontiers between theatrical and actual space imply an
existential difference. Once the distinction between
territories is established, the borders are more than
spatial barriers. By manifesting a reality of a different
kind, the stage becomes a profanable place. Any at-
tempt to trespass the boundary would be like breaking
a taboo. This is observed in the strong reactions often
provoked by confrontational theatre, where enactment
is performed in the auditorium or characters play as if
the audience belonged to their world. Like religious
taboos, the stage elicits contradictory feelings. It is
both a very powerful and an extremely frightening
spot.
Therapeutic Space and Sacred Space
The influence of the physical environment upon
people has always been understood intuitively. How-
ever, during the last few decades, this traditional body
of knowledge was submitted to the scrutiny of the
scientific paradigm, from which environmental psy-
chology emerged. This discipline “is concerned with
establishing empirical relationships between behavior
and experience and the physical environment” (Pro-
shansky, Ittelson & Rivlin, 1976, p. 4). As a mul-
tidisciplinary field, it involves the study of various
levels in the relation person-environment-ranging
from investigating people’s experience of milieus to
the planning and design of physical settings. Abun-
dant evidence exists demonstrating that the interaction
between environments and humans is a two-way re-
lationship where both partners mutually influence
each other. Thus, the aesthetics of the surroundings
were found to have an effect upon a person’s display
of emotions (Maslow & Mintz, 1956), furniture ar-
rangements to affect social behavior (Barker, 1976;
Hall, 1976; Orzek, 1987) and house design to convey
messages about its inhabitants’ personality (Cooper,
1976).
Environmental psychology comes to fill in a gap so
often overlooked in the field of psychology, where the
study of the therapeutic process has been traditionally
carried out as if it would occur in a vacuum. The
investigations on the impact of space upon the thera-
peutic process unanimously confirm that the physical
environment affects the counselor-client transactions
(Hall, 1976; Lecomte, Bernstein & Dumont, 1981).
This means that the environment can indeed set the
tone for the interaction (Cox, 1978) and that spatial
relationships may be manipulated to facilitate and
support clinical goals (Cotton & Geraty, 1984;
Lothstein, 1978).
It follows that there are therapeutic and nonthera-
peutic spaces. That is, some settings tend to foster the
communication of affects, openness and so forth and
others seem to interfere with these processes. Thus, if
the space’s influence is invariably at work in the
counseling situation, then questions can be raised
concerning the therapeutic capacity of the sacred space.
These questions would astonish people from tradi-
tional cultures or ancient civilizations, for whom sa-
cred and healing are bound together. The notion that
sacred spaces are inherently therapeutic is at the roots
of most healing rituals, where a careful consecration
of the space is believed to have an impact upon the
effectiveness of the cure (Turner, 1986; Yousof,
198 1). Shamanistic practices may be a useful example
to drama therapists because they are a living ancestor
of the field, combining various forms of drama,
dance, imagery, music and ritual for the purpose of
healing (Pendzik, 1988). Most shamanistic perfor-
mances occur within a consecrated space. In some
cases, the enclosed area is circular and it often con-
tains a symbol of the Cosmic Tree or an analogous
representation of the Center (Eliade, 1972). The main
function of sacred spaces in shamanistic and other
healing cures is to protect the enclosed site from the
intrusion of evil forces. By marking out a zone from
which undesirable sources are excluded, the sacred
space becomes a healing place par excellence: It acts
as a consciously devised protective tool that tempo-
rarily eliminates anxieties and fears by preventing the
shadow archetype from entering into the enclosed
area.
Fontana (1977) suggested that the concept of space
in a group, whether therapeutic or tribal, is configured
as a dichotomy that opposes “inside” to “outside.”
30 SUSANA PENDZIK
The group attributes different characteristics and
meaning to these spaces; danger belongs to external
space whereas security belongs to the internal area. In
his view, the creation of an inner space that acts as a
protective mechanism against the outside is one of the
main reasons for which groups are formed. The
boundary that a group marks around itself establishes
the limits between “our territory” and the unknown
or uncosmicized space. In this way, every therapy
group builds a symbolical sacred space, the internal,
secure zone, and this enclosure accentuates the con-
nection among its members and creates a greater
sense of intimacy.
Consciously or not, space has been used therapeu-
tically in a variety of ways, most of which follow the
patterns established by sacred spaces. For instance, a
common spatial arrangement in group psychotherapy
is the circle. Its use serves many functional goals, like
facilitating visual interaction among members and
eliminating hierarchies. However, the circle is also a
symbol of “unity, closeness, intimacy, nurturance,
continuity, and warmth” (Lothstein, 1978, p. 61). It
has been identified with wholeness and is considered
to represent the Self archetype (Von Franz, 1964).
Ecclesiastical and alchemical writings regard God as
an infinite circle (Jung, 1980) and in the Zen tradition
it stands for enlightenment and human perfection
(Jaffe, 1964). As stated above, circular arrangements
have been the favorite form used to enclose sacred
spaces. It is also apparent that they were used for
healing purposes worldwide (Krupp, 1983).
One way of using circles as healing tools is ob-
served in the mandala. The Sanskrit term means circle
or magic circle and also carries the connotations of
center or what surrounds. It consists of a series of
circles (not always concentric) inscribed within a
square. This symbol has been used in initiation rituals
(Eliade, 1963) and as an antidote for chaotic states of
mind (Jung, 1980). Navaho Indians use sand-painted
mandalas in order to cure sick people or to restore
their balance. In the East it is believed that their con-
templation brings about inner peace, life, meaning
and order (Von Franz, 1964).
Geometric forms are not neutral; they are “in-
vested with psychological and symbolical meaning”
(Pennick, 1980, p. 13). Their incorporation within a
given context brings along the ideas attached to them.
The use of the circle in group psychotherapy cannot
be considered only in functional terms. As Cooma-
raswamy (1983) pointed out concerning architectural
symbolism,
The origin of any structural form can be con-
sidered either from an archaeological and tech-
nical or from a logical and aesthetic, or rather
cognitive point of view; in other words, either
as fulfilling a function or as expressing a mean-
ing. We hasten to say that these are logical, not
real distinctions; function and significance co-
incide in the form of the work. (p. 7)
The parallels between sacred and therapeutic
spaces are too many to be undermined or attributed to
coincidence. Like the function of the circle, other
aspects of the sacred space need to be investigated so
that the archetype’s hidden wisdom is re-discovered
and its therapeutic potential effectively used.
The Stage: Sacred, Therapeutic or Both?
The notion that mandala-like forms have healing
properties permeated Moreno’s first architectural ex-
periments. He called “therapeutic space” to the place
where psychodrama was enacted, which he consid-
ered to be as indispensable as a director or an audi-
ence (Cox, 1978). Moreno emphasized that certain
principles should prevail in the stage’s design, one of
them being its circular shape, which he regarded as
therapeutic (Moreno, 1978). The ground plan of the
Beacon Hill therapeutic theatre resembles a mandala.
It has three concentric circles inscribed within a rect-
angle. In addition, it has a vertical dimension com-
posed of a three-leveled stage plus a gallery that rep-
resents the supramundane plane. In the Beacon Hill
model the gallery is supported by two posts. This was
reproduced in other therapeutic theatres, like the one
at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in Washington, DC, where
the posts remained as part of the design although there
was not enough room to build the gallery (Moreno,
1978).
This design serves both theatrical and psycholog-
ical functions. The levels may aid in the organization
of scenes or help clients/performers to start the action
where they feel more comfortable; the gallery may be
used to locate idealized or seemingly bigger-than-life
figures. Nevertheless, as stated above, the functional
aspects of Moreno’s stage are not to be viewed as
independent from their meaning. From this study’s
perspective, Moreno’s stage contains many elements
that are found in the design of sacred spaces. The
model reproduces features of the shamanistic space.
The stage levels correspond to the three cosmic planes
 THE THEATRE STAGE AND THE SACRED SPACE
and the columns are analogous to the Sacred Pillar-
the Center-that connects between different ontolog-
ical worlds. (This may explain why the columns re-
mained even when there was no gallery to support.)
Furthermore, according to Jaffe ( 1964),
every building, sacred or secular, that has a
mandala ground plan is the projection of an
archetypal image from within the human uncon-
scious onto the outer world. (. . .) [These
buildings] become symbols of psychic whole-
ness, and in this way exercise a specific influ-
ence on the human being who enters or lives in
the place. (p. 273)
Moreno’s stage constitutes a sacred space in every
sense. Its design locates the action at the virtual Cen-
ter of the World. The mandala ground plan makes
protagonists perform within the confines of a symbol
that is known for its healing properties. Although any
space where client and therapist meet may be called
sacred in some way, the fact that Moreno chose forms
traditionally acknowledged for their healing qualities
ratifies that these forms have undoubtedly a profound
influence on our psyche.
The close link between the stage and the sacred
space leads us to assume that, as an extension of the
latter, the stage too is a therapeutic place. However,
as a spot of total exposure, with so little room for
intimacy, how could this be possible?
Clearly, stepping onto the stage involves a risk. It
means being in a spot that is the focus of attention,
where one can be ridiculed, criticized or judged.
However, in a drama therapy context, the risk may be
turned into a therapeutic challenge. Stepping onto the
stage can also be a metaphor for enhancing the per-
son’s capacity for constructive risk-taking. In other
words, the stage has the power to elicit strong feelings
and these may be used as emotional material to be
dealt with.
Much like the sacred space, the stage also has a
tendency to become a symbol. For instance, referring
to the post-performance depression of a group of psy-
chiatric patients, Emunah and Johnson (1983) men-
tioned that the act of clearing away the performance
area and of witnessing its emptiness became associ-
ated by group members with the collapse of their new
self. In this case, the stage turned into a symbol of the
positive self-image acquired during the creative and
performance processes and its disintegration was
feared to foretell the dissolution of this new role.
In other instances the stage becomes symbolic of
standing apart from others, whether a therapy group
or an anonymous audience. It is a step away from the
undifferentiated place of the collective. A complex set
of emotions may be drawn out by this special spot. As
powerful as it can be, the stage is also a lonely place,
one which intensifies the person’s feeling of being
different.
This last point needs further comments. The sense
of standing apart from others may come from various
sources, and though it is true that by evoking these
latent feelings theatrical space may open up avenues
for therapeutic work, this would not be different from
what any projective technique can do-call upon
emotions. But there is a deeper layer in the stage’s
power to educe emotions and amplify unconscious
material that has to do with its link to an archetypal
image. Here, the Jungian concept of individuation
may be useful. According to Jung (1971),
individuation means becoming an “in-divid-
ual,” and, in so far as “individuality” em-
braces our innermost, last, and incomparable
uniqueness, it also implies becoming one’s own
self. (p. 121)
Although stepping onto the stage requires a sepa-
ration from the collective, this would not suffice to
suggest that the stage could be directly implicated in
the individuation process, whose gradual course re-
sembles a spiritual journey. But the Jungian approach
believes there is a connection between this process
and the symbolism of the Center, as the self is the
center, the nuclear atom that regulates our psychic
life. Hence, the motif of the Center, as it appears in
dreams and other unconscious manifestations, is as-
sumed to be an expression of the self. Jung found an
analogy between the idea of the Center in alchemy
and his interpretation of the self archetype. A similar
link was encountered in connection with the mandala,
whose basic motif
is the premonition of a centre of personality, a
kind of central point within the psyche, to
which everything is related, by which every-
thing is arranged, and which is itself a source of
energy. The energy of the central point is man-
ifested in the almost irresistible compulsion and
urge to become what one is. (Jung, 1980, p.
357; italics are in the original)
32 SUSANA PENDZIK
Moreover, Jung (1983) considered mandalas not only
as expressions of the self, but also as active generators
of psychic energy that produce an effect upon people.
Age-old magical effects lie hidden in this sym-
bol, for it is derived from the “protective cir-
cle” or “charmed circle,” whose magic has
been preserved in countless folk customs. It has
the obvious purpose of drawing a (. .) magical
furrow around the centre, the temple or temenos
(sacred precinct), of the innermost personality,
in order to prevent an “out flowing” or to guard
(. .) against distracting influences from the
outside. Magical practices are nothing but pro-
jections of psychic events, which then exert a
counter-influence and put a kind of spell upon
the personality. (p. 24)
Thus, making, contemplating or dancing, a mandala
or another symbol of the Center has the concomitant
effect of facilitating the person’s contact with his or
her own inner center or self.
The correspondence between the center of the per-
sonality and the external manifestation of a Center in
art and architecture suggests that establishing a sacred
space is a projection of an internal, psychological
need. This may explain the archetype’s appearance as
a site of communication with other spheres of exis-
tence, as well as clarify the healing properties com-
monly attributed to it; for as a place that enhances
people’s contact with their inner center, it also facil-
itates the unfolding of the individuation process. The
sacred space, thus, reproduces an unconscious part of
the human psyche whose manifestation constitutes, in
Jungian terms, the most important process in the de-
velopment of human personality and its ultimate goal.
A similar hypothesis can be applied to the stage.
Deriving from the sacred space, the stage may also
have the potential for activating people’s inner center;
it too may turn into a spot where the irresistible urge
to become what one is is put into play. Much like
individuation is often feared and resisted by the con-
scious ego, who feels hampered or obstructed in its
desires (Von Franz, 1964), the stage elicits reticence.
The attraction-fear evoked by the stage-a residue of
the taboo of sacred spaces in general-is also ob-
served in the beginning phases of individuation. In
relation to the stage, the contradiction may be expe-
rienced by some individuals as an intuition that some-
thing very powerful is likely to occur if they step onto
this place. This paradox may be explained by the fact
that, for many people, the revelation of their own
power, or an encounter with it, is a terrifying expe-
rience. Perhaps it is precisely the stage’s capacity to
generate a psychic reaction from the self that accounts
for the mixed feelings some persons experience when
challenged to come up on stage. Such is also the
reaction produced by the onset of the individuation
process, a mixture of fear and hope.
The stage’s link to individuation gets confirmation
from other sources as well. One of the symbols asso-
ciated with the self is the tree, “whose slow, power-
ful, involuntary growth fulfills a definite pattern”
(Von Franz, 1964, p. 161). It was stated that the tree
is both a fundamental principle in shamanism and a
component of the most ancient sacred spaces. It was
also observed that equivalent symbols (posts or col-
umns) remained in the design of some theatres, in-
cluding Moreno’s stage. The appearance of similar
representations in connection with the Center, the
stage and individuation highlights their underlying
bond.
Implications for Drama Therapy
In view of the link between the stage, the sacred
space and the individuation process, drama therapists
should bear in mind that our locus operandi is a place
where archetypal forces dwell. This may affect our
work inasmuch as archetypes are “carriers of en-
ergy” (Kaufmann, 1984, p. 111). If we assume that
the sacred space is the outer representation of an in-
ternal psychic structure, it follows that an assiduous
contact with the stage could result in the activation of
this unconscious content.
When seen in this light, some drama therapy key
issues may take on a deeper meaning. Stage-fright,
for example, can be understood as a rather complex
phenomenon that is not only due to shyness or fear of
being judged or exposed. As a container of archetypal
energy, the stage might be frightening because of its
capacity to generate a response from the person’s in-
ner center. Fear may be caused not only by the fact
that others are watching us, but also by the intuition
that we are watching our Self.
The stage’s incarnation of an archetypal image
may account for its ability to amplify emotions,
sharpen conflicts, accelerate time and make any ac-
tion that occurs on it look meaningful. It is known that
a minute on stage bears no resemblance to a minute in
real life. The same intensity applies to actions per-
formed on stage, where even the most trivial thing,
 THE THEATRE STAGE AND THE SACRED SPACE
like brushing one’s teeth, becomes significant. Thus,
the capacity of theatrical space to make things larger,
fuller, of increasing the strength of the actions and
give them another dimension constitutes an important
aspect of drama therapy practice. The stage is our
microscope.
One clinical implication of the former is that drama
therapists can use this knowledge as a basis for de-
ciding when, who or what needs to be amplified in
order to further therapeutic goals. Clearly, certain as-
pects of the therapeutic process may benefit from am-
plification, whereas others could be better dealt with
in regular space. In this regard, as Sue Jennings (per-
sonal communication) suggests, it would be interest-
ing to question whether the one-hour-a-session model
that we have inherited from verbal psychotherapy is,
in fact, appropriate for our approach. This point is
particularly relevant for drama therapists who spend
most of the session “on stage.”
When referring to the concept of playspace,
Johnson (1992) asserted that it is the drama therapist’s
main task “to introduce and sustain the playspace for
the clients” (p. 113). Although his idea of playspace
is more akin to Winnicott’s (197 1) notion of potential
space than to an archetypal approach, in the context of
this paper his comment can be read as a call for drama
therapists to hold, be aware of, maintain and support
the presence of the archetype. Our awareness of the
stage as an archetypal image is likely to affect not
only our own perception of it, but also that of the
people with whom we work. Just as any other aspect
of which the therapist is aware is communicated to the
client in some way, the therapist’s awareness of the
significance of theatrical space may help to bring the
archetype to the fore. By the same token, knowledge
of the archetypal content embodied by the stage can
provide the drama therapist with a frame of refer-
ence for evaluating each person’s relationship to their
center.
Given that the stage is not neutral, it is imperative
that clients feel comfortable with the place where the
session or performance occurs. Just as participants
need to get a sense of each other, so they need to get
acquainted with the space. Like the sacred space, the
therapeutic space has to be cosmicized. This may be
achieved by doing simple space exercises that may
also serve as warmups. (The reader is referred to
Schechner’s (1973) book for ideas on space exercises.)
Creating rituals around space can be one way of
introducing people to environment. Using the notion
of the magic circle, the therapist may instruct the
group or client to create a safe zone by expelling all
negative figures and feelings from a portion of the
space. In this way, shadow material is exposed and, at
the same time, individuals are provided with a pro-
tective tool. Moreover, as this exercise is equivalent
to consecrating the space, it is likely that it would also
have the effect of touching upon the person’s inner
center. Another way of utilizing the space’s therapeu-
tic potential is by asking people to find what Cas-
taneda (1973) called their &i-the place where they
feel at their best. Once identified, this spot may be
used as a fixed stage, as a place where clients work on
their own, as a shelter, where they go to get some
strength, and so forth. Also, different characters from
the client’s repertoire may be assigned to different
areas of the space.
Drama therapists can also benefit from some of
these suggestions. Probably, those who have a regular
working space have already found their spot. How-
ever, awareness of it may help the therapist to use it
more efficiently. Taking possession of the space, es-
pecially when working in a new environment or
spending some time in one’s spot, may help therapists
themselves to feel more grounded and to center.
Conclusion
The repercussions of these ideas for drama therapy
are varied and cannot be exhausted in a single paper.
Rather than studying the field as if it would take place
in a vacuum, it is possible to assert that drama therapy
occurs in a place that has been identified with a vital
archetype.
An empirical assessment on the specific effect of
the stage upon people is necessary. This study brings
forth the idea based on equivalent expressions of the
archetype, such as the mandala. From these we learn
that the archetype’s manifestations “exert a retroac-
tive influence on the unconscious” (Jung, 1980, p.
361), for which the recurrent motifs associated with
it-the stage being one of them-were always en-
dowed with magical powers.
As modern people, it is hard to believe in magic,
but some of us do believe in the unconscious. It is
therefore important to point out that, however this
retroactive influence may affect a person’s uncon-
scious, 1 do not imply here that the stage has magical
power in the sense of creating immediate, miraculous
results. This would be the same as imagining that a
Jungian therapist may get results from working with
just one dream.
34 SUSANA PENDZIK
It may be argued that some of the concepts pre-
sented here also apply to other therapeutic modalities.
Clearly, the stage is not the only version of the sacred
space, but the archetype’s presence in the drama ther-
apy setting is transparent due to the common origin
and parallel development of the sacred space and the
theatre stage. However, a question emerges as to the
difference between contemplating a mandala and
physically inhabiting and performing within the con-
fines of a symbol of the Center. In this regard, Jung
believed that incorporating the body through dance,
ritual and so on tends to produce better results than
using active imagination techniques (Von Franz,
1988). Similarly, traditional societies assume that
dancing around a center establishes a relationship be-
tween the dancer’s body and the power of the Center
(Woosien, 1974). In the drama therapy session, the
space itself invites the body to partake of this power.
The difficulty we face when studying ourselves
through archetypal images is that, as mental con-
structs whose manifestation is mostly unconscious,
archetypes can only be grasped intuitively or by
means of philosophical speculation. In dealing with
them we are bound to believe that what resonates to us
is true. This is, in fact, one of the main limitations of
this study and to this effect I can only note that it is
precisely the unconscious nature of archetypes that
made them appear as magic. Like ancient civilizations
or traditional people today who believe in the magic
circle, Moreno believed in its therapeutic value. In a
sense, it seems as if we are only changing the name of
things, while the effect they have upon us remains
unchanged.
References
Artaud, A. (1958). The theatre and its double. New York: Grove.
Bachelard, G. (1965). La poetica de1 espacio. Mexico: Fondo de
Cultura Economica.
Barba, E. (1986). Beyond the folating islands. New York: PAJ
Publications.
Barker, R. (1976). On the nature of the environment. In H. Pro-
shansky, W. Ittelson, & L. Rivlin (Eds.), Environmental psy-
chology. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston.
Brandon, S. (1975). Man and God in art and ritual. New York:
Scribner’s.
Brecht, B. (1981). Alienation effects in Chinese acting. In J. Wil-
lett (Ed.), Brecht on theatre: The development of an aesthetic.
New York: Hill & Wang.
Bullough, E. (1912). Physical distance as a factor in art and an
aesthetic principle. British Journal of Psychology, 5, 88-l 18.
Campbell, J. (1973). The hero with a thousand faces. Princeton,
NJ: Princeton University Press.
Castaneda, C. (1973). The teachings of Don Juan. New York:
Ballantine Books.
Cohen, H. (1985). Conflicting values in creating theatre with the
developmentally disabled: A study of Theatre Unlimited. The
Arts in Psychotherapy. 12, 3-15.
Cole, D. (1975). The theatrical event. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan
University Press.
Coomaraswamy, A. (1983). Symbolism of Indian architecture.
Jaipur: The Historical Research Documentation Programme.
Cooper, C. (1976). The house as a symbol of the self. In H.
Proshansky, W. Ittelson, & L. Rivlin (Eds.), Environmental
psychology. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston.
Cotton, N., & Geraty, R. (1984). Therapeutic space design: Plan-
ning an inpatient children’s unit. American Journal of Or-
thopsychiatry, 54, 624-636.
Cox, M. (1978). Structuring the therapeutic process: Compromise
with chaos. Oxford, UK: Pergamon Press.
Elam, K. (1980). The semiotics of theatre and drama. London,
UK.: Methuen.
Eliade, M. (1959). The sacred and the profane. New York: Har-
court Brace Jovanovich.
Eliade, M. (1963). Patterns in comparative religion. New York:
The New American Library.
Eliade, M. (1972). Shamanism: Archaic techniques of ecstasy.
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Emunah, R., & Johnson, D. (1983). The impact of theatrical per-
formance on self-images of psychiatric patients. The Arts in
Psychotherapy. 19, 233-239.
Fontana, A. (1977). El tiempo y /OS Grupos. Buenos Aires, Arg:
Vancu.
Hall, E. (1976). The anthropology of space: An organizing model.
In H. Proshansky, W. Ittelson, & L. Rivlin (Eds.), Environ-
mental psychology. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston.
Ha&roll, P. (1968). A concise history of the theatre. London, UK:
Thames & Hudson.
Jaffe, A. (1964). Symbolism in the visual arts. In C. Jung (Ed.),
Man and his symbols. New York: Dell.
Jennings, S. (1988). Dramatherapy and groups. In S. Jennings
(Ed.), Dramatherapy: Theory and practice for teachers and
clinicians. London, UK: Routledge.
Jennings, S. (1992). Reason in madness: Therapeutic journeys
through King Lear. In S. Jennings (Ed.), Dramatherapy: The-
ory and practice II. London, UK: Routledge.
Johnson, D. R. (1982). Principles and techniques of drama ther-
apy. The Arts in Psychotherapy, 9, 83-90.
Johnson, D. R. (1992). The dramatherapist ‘in-role’. In S. Jen-
nings (Ed.), Dramatherapy: Theory and practice II. London,
UK: Routledge.
Jung, C. G. (1971). The portable Jung. (J. Campbell, Ed.). New
York: Viking Press.
Jung, C. G. (1980). The archetypes and the collective uncon-
scious. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Jung, C. G. (1983). Alchemical studies. Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press.
Kaufmann, Y. (1984). Analytical psychotherapy. In J. Corsini
(Ed.), Current psychotherapies. Itasca, IL: Peacock.
Kirby, M. (1969). Environmental theatre. In E. Kirby (Ed.), Total
theatre: A critical anthology. New York: Dutton.
Krupp, E. (1983). Echoes of the ancient skies. New York: Harper
&Row.
Landy, R. J. (1983). The use of distancing in drama therapy. The
Arts in Psychotherapy, IO, 175-185.
 THE THEATRE STAGE AND THE SACRED SPACE

Landy, R. J. (1991). Role as the primary bridge between theatre (Ed.), Dramatherapy: Theory and practice for teachers and
and drama therapy. Dramatherapy, Spring, 4-l 1. clinicians. London, UK: Routledge.
Landy, R. J. (1992). The drama therapy role method. Dramather- Proshansky, H., Ittelson, W., & Rivlin, L. (1976). Environmental
spy, 14(l), 7-15. psychology. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston.
Langer, S. (1953). Feeling andform: A theory of art. New York: Schechner, R. (1973). Environmental theater. New York: Haw-
Scribner’ s thorn Books.
Lecomte, C., Bernstein, B., & Dumont, F. (1981). Counseling Schechner, R. (1985). Between theater and anthropology. Phila-
interactions as a function of spatial-environmental conditions. delphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press.
Journal of Counseling Psychology, 28, 536-539. Scheff, T. (1979). Catharsis in healing, ritual and performance.
Leon-Portilla, M. (1979). La filosofiu nahuatl. Mexico: Univer- Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.
sidad Autonoma de Mexico. Turner, V. (1986). The anthropology of performance. New York:
Lothstein, L. (1978). Human territoriality in group psychotherapy. PAJ Publications.
International Journal of Group Psychotherapy, 28, 55-71. Von Franz, M. L. (1964). The process of individuation. In C. Cl.
Maslow, A., & Mintz, L. (1956). Effects of esthetic surroundings. Jung (Ed.), Man and his symbols. New York: Dell.
The Journal of Psychology, 41, 247-254.
Von Franz, M. L. (1988). On active imagination. In M. Frings
Keyes (Ed.), Inward journey: Art as therapy. La Salle: Open
Mitchell, S. (1992). Therapeutic theatre: A para-theatrical model of
court.
dramatherapy. In S. Jennings (Ed.), Dramatherapy: Theory
Warren, B. (1993). Where the invisible becomes visible: Theatrical
and practice II. London, UK: Routledge.
space in a therapeutic context. Dramatherapy, 14, 7-9.
Moreno, J. L. (1978). Psicodrama. Buenos Aires, Arg: Paidos.
Winnicott, D. W. (1971). Playing and reality. London, UK:
Orzek, A. (1987). Innovations in ecological psychology: Conver- Tavistock.
sations with Roger and Louise Barker. Journal of Counseling Whiting, F. (1969). An Introduction to the theatre. New York:
and Development, 65. 233-237. Harper & Row.
Pendzik, S. (1988). Drama therapy as a form of modem shaman- Wosien, M. (1974). Sacred dance: Encounter with the gods. Lon-
ism. Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 20(l), 81-92. don, UK: Thames & Hudson.
Pennick, N. (1980). Sacred geometry. San Francisco, CA: Harper Yousof, Cl. (1981). The Kelantan “Mak Yang” Dance Theatre: A
& Row. study of performance structure. London, UK: University Mi-
Powley, D. (1988). Drama therapy and drama. In S. Jennings crofilm International.