by Paul Greer
At one extreme within the spectrum of possibility, The Hierophant may indicate a slavish adherence to proscribed rules and religious dogma. Thus, in Waite’s interpretation the card also connotes “captivity” and “servitude,”4 represented perhaps by the two doting novices. Fenton-Smith agrees, and equates the card with “narrow-mindedness” and an unwillingness to move beyond the “pillars” of traditional beliefs into personal insight and responsibility.5
In a feminist reading of this extreme, The Hierophant is the institutional and theological extension of The Emperor’s rational, ruling ego; enforcing the ethical and doctrinal parameters within which admittance to Heaven is granted, and promoting a distinctly sterile vision of humanity’s spiritual destiny. It is an ethical and doctrinal standard which allows no room for diversity. It is the “one-for-all” standard of Blake’s Urizen:
One command, one joy, one desire,
One curse, one weight, one measure,
One King, one God, one Law.6
It is a standard set towards an all-consuming apocalypse revealed in scripture, where those who diverge from the One Law are demonized and damned: “the fornicators, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their lot shall be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur” (Rev. 21: 8). It is a vision of a purified, crystalline, spiritual destiny within - most appropriately - a cube described as The New Jerusalem, where all traces of the feminine - organicism, darkness, and even the sea itself, the source of all life - are removed: “the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more” (Rev. 21: 1). Apparently, the descending cube, “clear as glass,” has “no need of sun or moon to shine upon it” (Rev. 21: 18, 23). For feminists, this imposing, sterile, crystalline Ka’bah marks the terminal point of patriarchal imagination and spirituality, which with some justification has been termed “necrophilous.”7
At the other extreme within the card’s spectrum of meaning we find the call to non-conformity, to rebellion. This may range from issues self-trust and heresy to the much darker limits of licentiousness and moral nihilism, where “do as thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.” This is perhaps a neglected dimension of the card, but one that is certainly recognized by Richard Gardner’s channeled Hierophant, who admits that he has only offered “masculine knowledge,” and demands of his “poor sheep” why they never think to look for themselves.8 Similarly, Pollack argues that The Hierophant may represent a new but “heretical” form of religious understanding, based upon personal insight and a growing sense of connectedness.9 Within New Age thought, this emerging cosmic religion is sometimes viewed as reflecting Joachim of Fiore’s Age of Spirit, or in astrological lore, the Age of Aquarius.
In the Story of the Buddha: Siddhattha’s Education
The traditions report that after his mother’s death, Siddhattha was looked after by Pajapati Gotami, Queen Maya’s younger sister, who became the infant’s stepmother. He began his formal education at an early age, under the tutelage of a teacher by the name of Sarva Mitra. Although the texts are quite general concerning the specifics of his education, it is presumed that he received one befitting a child of his status – a broad curriculum that perhaps included reading, writing, mathematics and history, and princely pursuits such as archery and wrestling. According to the texts, he excelled at his studies, and “learned in a few days the various sciences suitable to his race, which generally took many years to master.” Yet, we also learn that his father was keen to shield him from speculative and philosophical musings, or any sight “which could disturb his mind.”10 This strategy however did prevent his son from gaining spiritual insights from the world around him. Nature, the neglected world of The Empress, became his teacher; his gateway to comprehension and wisdom.
One incident in particular that stands out is his first experience of meditation under a rose-apple tree. This incident seems particularly significant as it was the one which the Future Buddha, many years later, recalled to mind as he engaged in deep reflections under the Asvattha tree just prior to his enlightenment. The incident took place during an annual ploughing festival which celebrated the first furrowing of the fields, and was attended by all and sundry. The young prince was sitting under the tree, observing a ploughman as he furrowed the ground. He noted the struggle of the ox as it moved with the plough, and the sweat on the man’s back as the sun beat down mercilessly. He also observed the tiny insects that emerged from the earth as the plough cut through their homes, and the lacerated worms that wriggled and struggled to get away from the birds that tried to consume them. At this point, according to the text, he instinctively put himself into a cross-legged position, and began to focus his mind. He found himself entering a trance-like state or jhana, which produced a sense of deep calm and bliss; and, at the same time generated insight concerning the realities of life within the world.
The young prince learned three things from nature that day. First, that meditation produces a sense of calm detachment that can lead to insight. Second, that all living beings are caught up in a web of interdependent conditions that generate suffering. Third, that as one modern version of the story puts it - reciting the ancient Vedic texts will not help the worms very much.11
A Buddhist Reflection: Taking yourself as an Island
The Buddha had many positive words for teachers, and it is certainly instructive that immediately following his enlightenment his first thoughts were for his two former meditation instructors, and where he might find them. In the Sigala Sutta the Buddha marks out both teachers and priests as two of six “directions of worship.” We should honor our teachers by being conscientious and attending to their teachings, and priests through kindness in thought, speech and deed. By way of reciprocation, we shall receive a detailed foundation in “all skills” and thus find the way to “heaven.”12 In both Zen and Vajrayana Buddhism, the roshi, guru, or lama commands the complete and unquestioned obedience of his or her students, to the point where they are regarded as a “fourth” refuge after the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha. Within Zen, the pupil is expected to demonstrate absolute trust towards their teacher, and respect them as much as their own father.13 In the Vajrayana practice of Guru Yoga, the teacher as Powers notes is viewed as providing a model of that enlightened state one is striving to attain. The teacher not only transmits the Dharma, but provides an example of enlightened living in practice. Thus, the pupil’s relationship with the teacher is more intimate than his or her relationship with any Buddha.14
This close relationship between teacher and student is founded on the view that enlightenment cannot be discovered through mere ritual or intellectual study. It is, as the ancient Zen master Bodhidharma puts it, “outside tradition, outside scripture.” It is a “direct pointing to the heart,” achieved only through the guidance of one who is already awakened. As the teacher opens awareness to one’s own nature, in the same way, the pupil may one day do the same for others. Thus enlightenment becomes not just an individual experience, but an ongoing process of awakening that spans centuries; an unbroken “transmission of awakened consciousness” from teacher to student, that goes back to the Buddha himself. Accordingly, the pupil, particularly within Vajrayana, is encouraged to see his or her own efforts as being part of a “lineage” of transmission that contains the very essence of the awakenings of all previous teachers. In Tantric “empowerments,” the pupil visualizes his or her meditational deity surrounded by the many teachers of that particular lineage, up to and including the present one. The pupil then asks them to bestow their inspiration and blessing. In response, as Lama Yeshe explains, they merge together as one within the pupil’s own heart, where all dualisms end in the “clear space of emptiness.”15
At the same time, Buddhism recognizes the inadequacy of certain teachers and teachings, particularly those based on dogmatic tradition, hearsay or popularity. A good example of this is discussed in the well-known Kalama Sutta. The Kalamas, much like many spiritual seekers today, had been beset by a number of compelling and competing teachers, gurus, d
octrines, and speculations, and had turned to the Buddha for advice. He advised them that they should reject the ten traditional sources of authority and belief – including the reputation of teachers, scriptures, hearsay, and attractive speculation – and instead adopt practices that made for common sense, and were conducive to the universal good.
The Buddha recognized that the path to enlightenment, ultimately, must be walked alone, with oneself as the only true master of transformation: “A man is his own helper; who else is there to help?”16 Shortly before his death he encouraged his followers not to mourn his passing, nor to panic about who would be their new teacher. Instead they should adopt a stance of self-reliance:
“Therefore, O Ananda, be ye lamps unto yourselves. Rely on yourselves, and do not rely on external help. Hold fast to the truth as a lamp. Seek salvation alone in the truth. Look not for assistance to any one besides yourselves.”17
It is clear from the suttas that the Buddha, like many other wandering shramanas, had little respect for the teachings of the established religion of his age – Vedic Brahmanism. The time of the Buddha was, as Ling points out, one of “spiritual malaise,” where the teachings and rituals of the old order were being challenged and rejected.18 This sense of discontinuity and dissolution is expressed in the distressed cry of one seeker from the Maitri Upanishad:
Oceans dry up. Mountains sink down. The positions of Dhruva (the Polar Star) and of trees change. Earth is drowned. The Suras (angels) run away, leaving their (respective) places. … Thou art able to extricate me (out of this Samsara). I am drowned like a frog in a dry well.19
The Buddha had some harsh words for the Brahmanic priesthood. Their rituals and teachings were elitist, and full of esoteric pretensions. Three things are conducted in secret he said: affairs with women, wrong views, and “the mantras” of the priesthood.20 The Buddha was also critical of their ritual practices, which appeared not only incomprehensible, but wasteful and cruel. In the Kutadanta Sutta, we hear of a Brahman about to offer a “great sacrifice” to the gods, involving the slaughter of many hundreds of animals. The Buddha insists that there is a better type of sacrifice: “abstinence from destroying life; abstinence from taking what has not been given; abstinence from evil conduct in respect of lusts; abstinence from lying words.”21 The Buddha was especially critical of the Brahminical doctrine of caste. The caste-varna structure was, and remains, an enforced system of social stratification and control, which legitimates itself through appeal to Vedic texts, natural order, and social cohesion. One of its Vedic manifestations - which we have already alluded to - was the myth of the Mahapurusha, the Cosmic Man who sacrifices himself to create the cosmos; but also, more negatively, social division:
When they divided Purusa how many portions did they make? What do they call his mouth, his arms? What do they call his thighs and feet? The Brahman was his mouth, of both his arms was the Rājanya (Warrior) made. His thighs became the Vaisya [Merchant], from his feet the Sudra [Servant] was produced.22
Another contributory to caste stratification is the doctrine of the three gunas or “strands” that are understood to be the basic building blocks of reality, or the three “modes” of existence. These strands - which recall the three tiers on the Hierophant’s crown and notches on his rod - are sattva (goodness and light), ragas (energy and fire) and tamas (dullness and darkness). Goodness, it is said, reflects the nature of the Brahmins; energy, that of the aristocratic warriors; the merchant class and the commoners are a blend of both energy and dullness; while the servants and slaves embody dullness and darkness, and are thus, according to the Bhagavad-Gita, only fit for “service.”23
A corollary to the doctrine of caste is that of “duty” (dharma). As discussed in relation to The Emperor, it is incumbent upon every member of each varna to remain faithful to the duties and responsibilities of his or her social group. This obligation is given much consideration in the Bhagavad-Gita. In chapter two, the young prince Arjuna inquires of Krishna why he must slaughter his cousins in battle. Surely, he reasons, such a terrible deed cannot be justified? Krishna offers these words in response:
“Having regard to your own duty also, you ought not to falter, for there is nothing better for a Kshatriya [Warrior] than a righteous battle … But if you will not fight this righteous battle, then you will have abandoned your own duty and your fame, and you will incur sin.”24
The Buddha rejects these traditional notions of caste and duty; but he does not abandon them entirely. Instead, he does something more creative – he re-envisions them in terms of wisdom and ethical conduct, as opposed to natural birth-right. All humans, from whatever walk of life, are equally capable of developing spiritual insight and compassion. It is not the prerogative of some self-congratulatory karmic elite. As the Dhammapada states: “A man does not become a Brahmana by his platted hair, by his family, or by birth; in whom there is truth and righteousness, he is blessed, he is a Brahmana.”25
The Buddha’s ethical re-envisioning of caste has not fallen on deaf ears. The contemporary Dalit (oppressed and untouchable) Buddhist movement in India, which centers itself around the teachings of B. R. Ambedkar, has been responsible for the conversion of many thousands of lower-caste Hindus. Ambedkar formulated twenty-two vows for new converts to Buddhism. Like the twenty-two Tarot keys, these vows form the foundation for a new way of being and living in an age that has moved beyond blind adherence to institutionalized doctrines that divide and oppress. Many of these vows – which aim to “establish equality” and generate “compassion and loving-kindness for all living beings”26 - may help us re-connect us with The Hierophant in a more positive and appropriate way.
The Lovers (6)
General Overview
The Lovers card lends itself to many interpretations. As one which belongs to the “worldly” sequence of the path, it is sometimes interpreted as representing love, romance, emerging sexuality, passion, and new relationships. Yet it can also refer to “choice,” a fact noted in the name given to earlier versions of this card - The Crossroads. In the Marseilles version, we are shown a man about to make a choice between an older dark-haired woman and a younger blonde woman. In Jungian interpretations this has been linked to a young male’s developing ego, attempting to extricate itself from the regressive pull of the unconscious, his “mother”; seeking fulfillment instead in women who conform to the image of his own “inner feminine” – his “other half,” the anima.1 For Nichols, The Lovers is also concerned with “growth” beyond the limitations and challenges of the previous cards, which together represent the forces of nature, society, parents, and education. The Lovers says Nichols indicates the challenge of integrating these forces with our emotional side, through which we gain further insight and knowledge about ourselves and the world around.2
The imagery on the RWS version of the card clearly relates to the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. They stand between the Tree of Knowledge and the Tree of Life, while above, an angel presides over a choice that must be made. In mainstream Christian theology, derived particularly from Augustine, this scene is linked with the doctrines of “The Fall” and “Original Sin.” In Augustine’s interpretation of the Genesis story, the couple are commanded by God that they must not eat from the Tree of Knowledge lest they bring sin, disorder and death into the created world. Adam and Eve disobey, falling from perfection and corrupting the entire human race, which now stands as a massa damnata; incapable of change, and reliant upon the atoning sacrifice of Christ for the remission of sins.
However, a more upbeat and evolutionary interpretation of this same scene was given by the earlier theologian Irenaeus. Irenaeus focused on one verse from Genesis in particular: “Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness’” (Gen. 1: 26). From this Irenaeus theorized that human nature is not a finished business; it is an ongoing journey. First, humans are made in God’s image, possessing a soul, a moral nature, and freewill. The second part - where we acquire God’s likeness
- is in fact an ongoing process of evolutionary development. Adam and Eve’s decision to eat from the tree was, admittedly, a mark of immaturity; yet their expulsion from the garden was something that permitted growth in human character. It is only through a life lived in a world of good and evil, says Irenaeus, where humans are forced to make choices and face the demands and limitations of embodied existence, that true “maturity” can be won. This indicates the radical difference between the Irenaean and mainstream Christian concepts of human “perfection.” In mainstream Christianity, it is a long-lost state of pre-experiential innocence married to obedience to God’s laws. For Irenaeus, it is a future product of growth through personal decision-making. There is no “fall” into depravity in Irenaeus’ view; there is only the naivety of children who still need to develop, to grow up. Irenaeus’ End of Days is a vision of theosis or “divinization.” “Our Lord Jesus Christ” says Irenaeus “became what we are, that He might bring us to be even what He is Himself.”3
