The Buddha in the Tarot

by Paul Greer

  At the absolute level of truth however, “death” begins to lose much of its apparent substance and brute finality. To begin with, if, as Buddhists insist, the ego or self is a delusional construct, a habit of mind rooted in ignorance and craving, then it cannot be said that any “person” actually experiences death. Second, if it is true that there is nothing outside change and impermanence, then death in fact reveals itself to an inherent aspect of that process, rather than something that stands apart in its own right, like some scary bogeyman on a horse. It is therefore more accurate to talk of change and transformation - of phenomena “rolling on” - rather than making a sharp distinction between life and death. In this sense, death reveals itself to be but one instance of change in a constant stream of change. As Thich Nhat Hahn explains in relation to the “death” of a cloud: a cloud will change into rain, and then into grass, and then into cow’s milk, and then into an ice-cream. In truth, there is no “birth date” and no “death date” for a cloud; or indeed, anything at all.9 Our “lives” do not end with the physical destruction of the body. We move on through our children, most obviously. But at a more subtle level, our simple acts of compassion, or even words of kindness, reverberate down through time as our enduring legacy.

  Conversely, we could say that “death” is a constant process that occurs every minute, every day. We are in a sense constantly “dying.” If we look upon a photograph, or bring forth memories of ourselves from ten or twenty years ago, we can, if we are honest, understand that that person has in many ways “died.” But from a Buddhist perspective, the person from a few seconds ago has also “died” in much the same way. We have “rolled on,” whether in the many thousands of cells that have decayed and been replaced, or through other subtle changes in mind and body. Such reflections do of course make sense at an intellectual level – but why is it that we do not feel that we have “died,” or that we are constantly changing?

  This is a question given some consideration by the monk Nagasena in The Questions of King Milinda. First of all, Nagasena asks the king if he is the same person as he was when he was a “tender, weakly infant” lying on his back. “No,” replies the king. But, continues Nagasena, does that mean that we have new mothers every once in a while, or that a student is not the same as the one who finishes his or her studies, or that someone who commits a crime is not the same as the one being punished? Again the king replies in the negative, and asks Nagasena for a solution to this dilemma. The monk’s answer is that we are neither the same from moment to moment, yet neither are we entirely different. Instead there are elements of continuity and coherence within change which generate the impression of permanence. Nagasena uses the example of a candle burning through the night to explain this important insight to the confused king. The candle that burns in the middle of the night is not the same as it was when first lit, but neither is it different. Without the first light, there would be no light in the middle of the night. In the same way, counsels Nagasena,

  the elements of being join one another in serial succession: one element perishes, another arise, succeeding each other as it were instantaneously. Therefore neither as the same nor as a different person do you arrive at your latest aggregation of consciousness.10

  Why then do we not feel this? Our errors about change arise when we grasp at and cling to elements of continuity – same name, parents, memories – and use them to construct some notion of a permanent fixed identity that seems to stand outside the constant change that pervades it. This, invariably, leads to wrong perceptions concerning the relationship between life and death, and thereon to fear, clinging, unsatisfactoriness, and suffering.

  Temperance (14)

  General Overview

  Temperance is one of the cardinal virtues found in most modern Tarot decks, the other two being Strength (Courage) and Justice. Early Tarot decks contained all four (such as The Tarocchi of Mantegna), along with the three revealed virtues of Faith, Hope and Charity. The missing virtue is Prudence, although it has been argued that this virtue remains or is implied in other cards, such as The Hermit.

  In the RWS deck Temperance is depicted as a winged angelic figure, pouring liquid from one vessel to another, while standing with one foot on the ground and the other over a pool of water. This image is derived in part from classical depictions of the virtue, which show a woman mixing wine with water. Although his/her specific identity is unconfirmed by Waite, some Tarotists have linked the angelic figure with Michael, an angel associated with change and transmutation. According to Katz and Goodwin, Smith may have departed somewhat from Waite’s original instructions for this image, and substituted his intended androgynous angel with the Greek goddess Iris – a view bolstered with the appearance of yellow iredes on the figure’s left. Katz and Goodwin consider this a legitimate interpretation of Waite’s instructions, given that Iris is traditionally pictured as a winged goddess, watering the clouds with jugs.1 In her role as messenger of the gods, Iris is associated with the rainbow – the bridge between the world of the gods and the world of mortals. Of interest in this respect is that some Renaissance alchemists described the transmutation of the self in terms of a “rising” and “purification” of human nature from “dust and ashes” to a “spiritual body of rainbow colors.”2

  Temperance is associated with the notions of blending, balancing or “tempering” – one meaning of the Latin temperantia from which the word temperance is derived. This tempering theme is so central to the card that some versions of it are called The Alchemist, and often employ Renaissance symbols relating to the tempering stages of alchemical processes. The tempering motif is indicated at a simpler and more foundational level within the RWS stylization, suggested by the blending of all four of the great elements within the angelic figure herself - earth (left foot), air (wings), fire (triangular symbol on breastplate) and water (right foot).

  Although most commentators are aware of the obvious ethical implications of Temperance, there is little in Tarot literature that moves beyond that of advocating a “balanced” approach to the temptations and “enticing indulgences” that life may throw at us.3 There is also a tendency within Jungian interpretations to internalize the dynamics of this card. Thus Nichols insists that the “ceremony” over which the angel presides is located in a “realm beyond mortal reach.” The tempering takes place in “the hero’s unconscious.”4

  A more socially-engaged interpretation however may be to approach the symbolism of this card in relation to the practice of Areatic or Virtue Ethics – a commitment to the cultivation of “virtue.” Virtue Ethics derives from the Aristotelian view that humans can transform and “perfect” themselves through the cultivation of certain moral and intellectual qualities. In this respect, Temperance is the ethical virtue of balance, restraint, moderation or “tempering” with regards to our actions, thoughts and feelings. For Karen Armstrong such “ethical alchemy” constitutes the true heart and aim of religion; its real “perennial wisdom”: “If you behave in a certain way, you will be transformed.”5

  Virtue Ethics is grounded in the view that true moral and spiritual development is “agent-centered” – it lies in the personal development of particular but universal human potentials and qualities (the virtues), and in the elimination of others (the vices). The key to the transformation lies in Aristotle’s doctrine of The Golden Mean where, by the application of practical wisdom, one finds the middle ground between two opposing vices. As Temperance itself relates to the cultivation of balance, it could be said that this virtue occupies the most pivotal position among the cardinal virtues, since the other three depend upon our ability to find the correct mid-point between their respective vices. “Virtue,” as an ethical middle ground between extremes, thus appears as the moral-mirror of the alchemists’ fabled coniunctio - the reconciliation of opposites; the “alchymical wedding.”

  Aristotle believed that the cultivation of the virtues led to the state of eudaimonia – human flourishing – the highest goal of all
virtuous reflection and action. There are of course obvious parallels here between Aristotle’s views and Jung’s concept of individuation, and indeed, Jung’s framework has been described as part of the Western tradition of Eudaimonism.6 Aristotle’s Virtue Ethics mirrors similar developments in ancient thought, including the Confucian doctrine of “The Unswerving Pivot” (Zhongyong), and the Buddhist ideal of the “Middle Way” or Path (Majjhima pada) between all ethical and metaphysical extremes.

  Although seemingly innocuous, it is precisely the inclusion of Virtue Ethics within Tarot which makes the entire system heretical, subversive, part of the “Secret Tradition.” In opposition to traditional Christian thought in which humanity is conceived as a massa damnata – intrinsically fallen, corrupt, and incapable of any form of personal or social transformation – the Tarot insists that we are indeed capable of such change, without reliance upon external grace, nor a patient loitering-around until an apocalyptic End of Days. Indeed it was on this very issue of transformative potential without reference to the salvific power of Christ that led the Reformation leader Luther to condemn Aristotle as a “damned, conceited, rascally heathen” whom God had sent “as a plague upon us for ours sins.”7 For Christians ironically, it might be refreshing to reflect upon the fact that in the Beatitudes Jesus declared that it was only those who had developed particular virtuous potentials – humility, peacefulness, tolerance, forbearance, and a thirst for righteousness and justice – who would “see God” (Matt. 5: 8).

  Despite its ancient origins, there has been a significant renewal of interest in Virtue Ethics within Christian thought8 and moral philosophy, rooted in part in what many perceive as the moral bankruptcy left in the wake of the gluttonous excesses of consumer culture.9 Such renewed interest reflects the observation made by Gardner’s channeled Temperance that we have “lost much” since the giving-up of alchemy.10

  Behind the angel we can see a path leading to those mountains first indicated in the Death card, which appear below a shining sun-infused crown. This is the revelation that it is through the cultivation of “the middle” – both ethical and metaphysical – that one may find the transmutation of the four great elements long sought after by The Magician, and further indicated in The Wheel of Fortune.

  In the Story of the Buddha: The Realization of the Middle Way

  After many years of self-mortification, the Future Buddha realized that his ascetic strategy was simply not working. It was “not the way to passionlessness, nor to perfect knowledge, nor to liberation.”11 In one version of the story, he suddenly remembers his experience as a child, sitting under the rose-apple tree, when he attained insight into the suffering of the world from a position of relaxed detachment and equipoise.

  In Edwin Arnold’s version, found in his epic poem The Light of Asia, a number of singing and dancing temple girls, accompanied by musicians, happen to pass the Future Buddha while he sat under a tree. As one sitar player “thumped and twanged,” a girl beside him began to sing:

  “Fair goes the dancing when the sitar’s tuned;

  Tune us the sitar neither low nor high,

  And we will dance away the hearts of men.

  “The string o’erstretched breaks, and the music flies,

  The string o’erslack is dumb and music dies.

  Tune us the sitar neither low nor high.”12

  From this simple incident, the Future Buddha came to the realization that the only way forward in the spiritual quest is through a position of balance, both physical and psychological. He therefore made the decision to bring to an end his ascetic practices, and he bathed himself in the nearby river. He crawled out, sat under a tree, and a passing cow-girl named Sujata offered him her milk rice, believing him to be a powerful tree-spirit. Witnessing this, the five ascetic companions left in disgust, declaring that Siddhattha had abandoned the quest. They then began their journey towards a deer park at Sarnarth, near Benares.

  The Future Buddha thus strengthened set his mind on the attainment of enlightenment, and walked to the root of an Asvattha (Fig) tree in order to meditate. This tree is of much significance in Hindu texts, and is against this background that we should consider the Future Buddha’s actions. In the Bhagavad-Gita, Krishna describes the Asvattha as the “Tree of Transmigration” - its branches nourished by “the energy of material Nature” and its buds, the “sense pleasures.” It roots stretch down into the “the human world” where mortals through selfish actions are held in “karmic bondage” to it. Most people do not see “the real form of this tree.” However, the wise do, and holding “the mighty axe of Self-knowledge and detachment,” cut this tree’s “firm roots,” and enter a path that leads to “that Supreme Abode” where “one does not come back to the mortal world again.”13 The Future Buddha’s intention however is not to sever this tree of Samsara, but, with an attitude of composed reconciliation towards the world, to sit under it.

  Before he gets to tree, the Jataka account transforms this scene into one of cosmic grandeur. The Future Buddha stands on the southern side of the tree and faces north, and immediately, “the southern half of the world sank, until it seemed to touch the Avici hell, while the northern half rose to the highest of heavens.” This tilting process continues, until at last, the Future Buddha comes to the eastern side, and faces West. This, says the text, is the side that “neither tremble nor quakes”; it is the “immovable spot.”14 Thus at last, as Campbell puts it, the Future Buddha arrived at “the supporting point” of the universe, described mythologically, for its real location “is psychological.”15 With his back turned to the tree and facing East, the Future Buddha sits down and makes a mighty vow: “Let my skin, and sinews, and bones become dry … but never from this seat will I stir, until I have attained the supreme and absolute wisdom!”16

  It is here, at the verge of penetrating into the true nature of the world and the self, that Mara – the enemy of all spiritual striving – arrives.

  A Buddhist Reflection: The Middle Way between all Extremes

  At its most practical level, Buddhism could be described as a form of Virtue Ethics following the eightfold path as a golden mean between the ethical extremes of sensory indulgence on the one hand, and asceticism on the other. This at least is how the Buddha presented his insights to the five ascetics in his first ever sermon:

  "There are two extremes that he must avoid who would lead a life governed by his intelligence. Some devote themselves to pleasure; their lives are a constant round of dissipations; they seek only to gratify their senses ... Others devote themselves to self-mortification; they deprive themselves of everything; their conduct is gloomy and futile … From these two extremes, O monks, the Perfect One stands aloof. He has discovered the middle path, the path that opens the eyes and opens the mind, the path that leads to rest, to knowledge, to Nirvana.”17

  This middle ground between indulgence and asceticism is not one of static quiescence, but the energetic center from which the virtuous attitudes and actions of the eightfold path are born – harmlessness, renunciation, right speech, action, and livelihood. “Virtue,” says the monk Silava in the Theragatha, is “the starting point and foundation;

  the mother at the head of all good qualities.” It is “the ultimate weapon.” It is the place where “all the Buddhas cross over”; a vehicle that “takes you in all directions.”18 In the Mahaparinibbana Sutta, the Buddha makes the following very clear connection between the cultivation of virtuous ethical conduct and the attainment of Nirvana:

  To him who gives shall virtue be increased;

  In him who curbs himself, no anger can arise;

  The righteous man casts off all sinfulness,

  And by the rooting out of lust, and bitterness,

  And all delusion, doth to Nirvana reach!'19

  However, Buddhism is not just an ethical middle way, but a philosophical one too, as the Buddha denied all extremes, including metaphysical ones. Thus, the Buddha also described his teaching as a middle path between the tw
o extremes of his day regarding the nature of the self and its destiny – the undying atman of the eternalists, and the annihilation-at-death proposed by the materialists. “These extremes,” as he explains in the Kaccayanagotta Sutta, “have been avoided by the Tathagata, and it is a middle doctrine he teaches.”20 In this sutta, the Buddha goes on to outline the twelve causal factors in the cycle of dependent origination. As with Nagasena’s candle analogy discussed in relation to the Death card, this cycle presents life as a causal process that produces a constant stream of rebirth over countless lifetimes, in which the “self” is neither the same nor different from moment to moment. This “middle” position of anatta thus avoids both the eternal atman of the Upanishads, and the purely materialist views of shramanas like Ajita Kesakambali, discussed in the Bhramajala Sutta.