Brother Paul was impressed. "You have really worked out the symbolism," he commented. "But most scholars regard this card as symbolizing love rather than choice."
"Venus governs the affections and the social relations," she replied, undismayed. "It gives love of ease, comfort, luxury, and pleasure. It is not essentially evil, but in seeking the line of least resistance it may be led into vice. When it thus fails to resist the importunities of the wicked, it comes under the negative influence of Arcanum Two, Veiled Isis—"
"Wait, wait!" Brother Paul protested. "I don't want to get tangled up with the High Priestess or other cards at the moment; I just want to understand this one as a representative of your Tarot deck, so I can compare it to the equivalent cards of the other decks. Are you saying this is a card of love, or of choice? A simple yes or no will do—I mean, one description or the other."
She glanced at him reproachfully. "If you seek simplistic answers to the infinitely complex questions of eternity, you have no business questioning the Brotherhood of Light."
Brother Paul had not expected such a direct and elegant rebuff from a conjured figure. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just that I'm not really looking for the full symbolism, but for a guide who can bring me most rapidly and certainly to the truth. I know I shall never master the Tarot as thoroughly as you have done, but perhaps you could show me—"
She softened. "Perhaps so. I will try to provide your simplistic answers. This is a card of love and choice, for the most difficult decisions involve love. Note that the man stands motionless at the angle formed by the conjunction of the two roads, as it seems you stand now. Each woman shows him her road. Virtue carries the sacred serpent at her brow; Vice is crowned with the leaves and vine of the grape. Thus this represents temptation."
"Temptation," Brother Paul echoed. Her "simplistic" answer did not seem very simple to him, but he appreciated her attempt to relate to him on his own level. He saw that she herself most closely resembled, in dress and manner, the figure of Virtue, yet her demure apparel did not entirely conceal the presence of excellent breasts, legs, and other feminine attributes. She reminded him of—well, of the colonist Amaranth. And there was temptation again! But logic did not concur.
"I like your rationale," he said. "I am sorry I have not paid more attention to the Tarot of the Brotherhood of Light before. I suppose when I saw the demon Cupid in the sky, I jumped to the conclusion that—"
"That is neither demon nor Cupid," she said. "It is the genie of Justice, hovering in a flashing aureole of twelve rays of the zodiac, crowned with the flame of spirit, directing the arrow of punishment toward Vice. This ensemble typifies the struggle between conscience and the passions, between the divine soul and the animal soul; and the result of this struggle commences a new epoch in life."
Brother Paul nodded thoughtfully. There was much in this presentation that appealed to him. Certainly Venus related well to the love aspect, and the interpretation of the image as representing choice related extremely well to his present situation. And if this were the girl Amaranth, describing what must be the Tarot deck she used, he would be very glad to have her as his guide. Still, he should look at the remaining offerings before making his decision. Apologetically, he explained this to the lady.
She smiled. "I am sure you will do the right thing," she said, and faded out.
So she could wait her turn without fretting. She looked better and better.
The next presentation was by a male figure that reminded him strongly of his alien acquaintance, Antares, in his human host. But the scene itself was instantly recognizable: it was The Lovers, by Arthur Waite, perhaps the best known expert on Tarot. The scene was of a naked man and woman standing with spread hands, front face, while a huge, winged angel hovered above the clouds, extending his benediction. To the right was the Tree of Life, bearing twelve fruits; to the left, behind the woman, was the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, with the serpent twining around it. The Tarot of the Holy Order of Vision was derived from that of Paul Foster Case, which was refined in turn from that of Waite. Thus this picture was extremely comfortable in its familiarity.
Yet the points of the apologist for the Light deck were well-taken. "Sir," Brother Paul said diffidently to the Waite figure, "I have just viewed an Egyptian variant of this Key—"
"Preposterous!" the figure snapped. "There is not a particle of evidence for the Egyptian origin of Tarot cards!"
"But a number of other experts have said—"
The figure assumed what in a lesser man would resemble an arrogant mien. "I wish to say, within the reserves of courtesy belonging to the fellowship of research, that I care nothing utterly for any view that may find expression. There is a secret tradition concerning the Tarot, as well as a secret doctrine contained therein; I have followed—"
"But the aspect of choice, of temptation, two roads—"
The figure was unrelenting. "This is in all simplicity the card of human love, here exhibited as part of the way, the truth, and the life. It replaces the old card of marriage, and the later follies that depicted man between vice and virtue. In a very high sense, the card is a mystery of the covenant and Sabbath."
"But—"
"The old meanings fall to pieces of necessity with the old pictures. Some of them were of the order of commonplace, and others were false in symbolism."
Brother Paul had always had a great deal of respect for Waite, but this arrogance reminded him uncomfortably of the Animated Hierophant. The Lady of Light had been complex but reasonable; Waite seemed only complex. Still, he was a leading Tarot figure. Brother Paul tried again. "According to the Brotherhood of Light, the Hebrew letter assigned to this card is Vau, rather than—"
"That would be the handiwork of Eliphaz Levi. I do not think that there was ever an instance of a writer with greater gifts, after their particular kind, who put them to such indifferent uses. He insisted on placing the Fool toward the end of the Major Arcana, thereby misaligning the entire sequence of Hebrew letters. Indeed, the title of Fool befits him! There was never a mouth declaring such great things—"
"Uh, yes. But astrologically, Venus does seem to match the card of Love."
"Nonsense. The applicable letter is Zain, the Sword. A sword cleaves apart, as Eve was brought from the rib of Adam, flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone. Zain, following the Vau of the Hierophant: the nail that joins things together. Astrologically, Gemini naturally applies. The sign of the twins, of duality, male and female. There is no question."
Brother Paul sighed inwardly. He had agreed with Waite's analysis before he had encountered that of the Light Tarot; now both conflicting views seemed reasonable. He was in no position to debate symbolism with these experts, and that was not his present purpose anyway. Why was such a seemingly simple project becoming so complex? To choose a single expert from among six, some of whom had already been eliminated because of language or age. Too bad he couldn't evoke both Light and Waite together, and let them thrash it out themselves.
Why not? It might be worth a try.
No, they would merely argue interminably, and this was really his own decision to make.
"I do have one more card to consider," Brother Paul said, conscious of the numerical symbolism: six variants of Key Six.
Waite faded out with a grimace of resignation. He obviously felt that the mere consideration of alternative decks was frivolous. He was replaced by a portly, unhandsome man, bold and bald, whose aspect was nevertheless commanding. "I am the Master Therion, the Beast 666," he proclaimed. "I overheard your previous interview. Isn't old Arthwaite an ass? It's a wonder anyone can stomach him!"
Brother Paul was taken aback once again. These Animation figures were showing a good deal more individuality than he had expected. "Arthur Waite is a scholar. He—" He paused. "What did you call yourself?"
"The Beast 666. The living devil. The wickedest man on Earth. Is it not immediately apparent?"
"Uh, no. I—"
"Call me
Master Therion, then, as you will. Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law. Love is the law; love under will."
Brother Paul was impressed again. "Love is the law. What an excellent thought for this Key of Love!"
Therion smiled approvingly. "Indeed. Did you notice old Arthwaite's slip about Adam and Eve? He actually believes the hoary tale about Adam's rib. Rib, hell! Eve was formed from the foreskin excised from Adam's pristine penis when he was circumcised. Look it up in the Babylonian Talmud, from which so much of the Old Testament was pirated. And expurgated. A neat little bloody ring of skin, the original symbol of the female. God formed it into a living, breathing tube of flesh typified by circles, from the two globes perched ludicrously on her chest to the very manner in which her elliptical mind works. She was fashioned for one purpose only, and that was to embrace again that member from which she was so blithely cut, making it whole once more. Any man who permits her to distract his attention for any other purpose is a fool."
Brother Paul appraised Therion. It had been a long time since he had heard so concentrated and unprovoked a denunciation of woman. "You really are a beast!"
"Correct!" Therion agreed, pleased.
"I think I'd better have a look at your card."
"Do what thou wilt!" Therion gestured, and the scene formed.
It was—different. It was filled with figures, yet not crowded. A man and a woman stood centrally, each in royal robes. They stood facing a huge, headless figure whose great, dark arms stretched forward in benediction, massive sleeves accordion-pleated like those of an old-fashioned robot or space suit. Where the head should be, the winged Cupid flew instead, an arrow notched to his bow. A naked man and woman stood in the upper corners, two children stood in the foreground, and there were also a lion, a bird, and snake. Eleven living entities in all—yet they were integrated so harmoniously that it all seemed normal. The whole effect was absolutely beautiful.
Still, it was not art he sought, but good advice. "Two prior versions of this card differ in certain details," Brother Paul began cautiously.
"Arthwaite is ludicrous, but in the matter of the Hebrew equivalence he is more or less correct," Therion said. "Even a stopped clock is right on occasion! This card is The Lovers, matching with Zain the Sword, and Gemini astrologically."
"More or less correct?" Brother Paul repeated questioningly.
"He transposed the cards for Adjustment and Lust. That cannot be justified rationally."
Brother Paul was perplexed. "Adjustment? Lust? These are not symbols of the Tarot."
"Formerly known as Temperance and Strength," Therion explained. "Arthwaite simply switched them on his own initiative, exactly as he garbled their symbolism. He denied the Egyptian origin of the Tarot."
"You say it is Egyptian?"
"Absolutely. I call it the Book of Thoth. Of course others have arrived at more speculative derivations. The phrase Ohev Tzarot is Hebrew for a 'lover of trouble.' That seems to relate in several ways, but I regard it as coincidence. After all, if we start spelling the word with a 'Z', we could derive it from Tzar, or use 'Cz' for Czar, deriving it from the Roman emperor Caesar. Thus 'Czarot' could be taken to mean a device of supreme power, dominating an occult empire. That convolution of logic is almost worthy of Arthwaite! But the actual origin of the Tarot is quite irrelevant, even if it were certain. It must stand or fall as a system on its own merits. It is beyond doubt a deliberate attempt to represent, in pictorial form, the doctrines of the Qabalah."
"The Kabala?"
"Qabalah."
"Let's return to Key Six."
"Very well. Atu Six is, together with its twin Atu Fourteen, Art, the most obscure and difficult of the—"
"Please," Brother Paul interrupted. "I need a fairly simple analysis." He wondered whether he would receive another rebuke.
But the Master Therion smiled tolerantly. "Of course. I will start at the beginning. There is an Assyrian legend of Eve and the Serpent: Cain was the child of Eve and the Serpent of Wisdom, not of Adam. It was necessary that he shed his brother's blood, so that God would hear the children of Eve."
"This cannot be!" Brother Paul cried in horror. "The son of the Serpent!"
Therion glanced at him, frowning. "I took you for a seeker after truth."
"I—" Brother Paul was stung, but did not care to be the target of obscenity or blasphemy.
"Surely you realize it was not general knowledge that Adam and Eve were denied, but carnal knowledge. The Serpent is the original phallic symbol."
"I do want to be objective," Brother Paul said. "But can you give me a more specific summary of the meaning of the card? For example, do you feel it represents Choice?"
"It represents the creation of the world. Analysis. Synthesis. The small figures behind the shrouded Hermit are Eve and Adam's first wife, Lilith."
Brother Paul realized that he was getting nowhere. However fascinating the symbolism might be, it was not helping him to make his decision. Probably the Light card was best, and therefore the pretty woman should be his guide. "I'm afraid I—"
"Do what thou wilt," Therion said. To do what he really willed, Brother Paul realized, now required the presence of the woman. He believed he could justify choosing her on the basis of what he had seen in these sample cards, and by the attitudes of their presenters. Waite had been too arrogant and inflexible, while Therion was—well, a bit of a beast...
Then he noticed something else about the central figures of the scene. The female was very like the girl of the wheatfield, and the man was black. Not demon-black, but Negro-black. This was an interracial union!
Brother Paul himself was only about one-eighth black, but that eighth loomed with disproportionate importance in his home world. Suddenly he identified.
He stepped into Therion's picture, his choice made.
It was a mistake.
7
Precession
Those who read the standard editions of the Bible may wonder why there is a gap of two or three hundred years in the record between the Old and New Testaments. Did the old scholars, historians, philosophers, and prophets simply stop creating for a time? As it turns out, this was not the case. Material was recorded, and was known to the scholars of Jesus's time, and perhaps to Jesus himself, but it was not incorporated into the Bible. In the succeeding millennia, much of it was buried in old libraries and largely ignored. Then, in 1947, the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls transformed the picture, for these documents, dating from the time of Jesus, contained much of this same material, authenticating it. Now the story of the lost years could be unraveled:
After Alexander the Great conquered the world, many Jews were scattered from Israel to all the countries of the Mediterranean. This was the Diaspora—not the first or the last Jewish dispersion, for a number of conquerors used this method to deal with these intractable people—significant because it happened to make a cutoff date of about 300 B.C. for the assorted books of the Bible. Many displaced Jews now spoke Greek rather than Hebrew, and there were actually more Jews in Alexandria than in Jerusalem. But only narrowly defined Hebrew-language texts were accepted for the Bible as it now stands. Thus much material was excluded by both Jews and Christians, although it was generally recognized to be parallel to the included books. The complete assembly consists of the thirty-nine books of the Old Testament, fourteen books of the Apocrypha (meaning "hidden"), about eighteen books of the Pseudepigrapha ("false writings"), and twenty-seven books of the New Testament. That makes the record continuous.
The chariot raced across the plain. Brother Paul grabbed for support, but found his hands encumbered by the monstrous cup he was carrying. There were no reins.
He braced his legs against the metallic supports of the chariot's canopy, and discovered that he was in armor. His helmet visor was open and his gauntlets were flexible; it was a good outfit For combat The chariot was solid and well made; there was no danger of its falling apart, despite the pounding of its velocity. The horses—
"What am I doing here?" Brother Paul cried out in confusion.
The man-head turned to him, and framed by its Egyptian headdress was the face of Therion. "You are the Charioteer!" the monster cried. "I am guiding you through the Tarot, as you requested."
"But I didn't mean—" Brother Paul broke off. What had he meant? He had asked for guidance, and the Chariot was the next card, Key Seven. The symbol of victory, or of the Wheels of Ezekiel, drawn by two sphinxes representing the senses: part lion, part woman. The occult forces that had to be controlled so that they would power man's chariot. Without such control, he could not find his way out of the morass these Animations had led him into, let alone separate God from chaos.
So why were there four steeds instead of two? Because this was not the card Brother Paul knew, but the one Therion knew. No wonder this was hard to manage! "Give me the other variant!" Brother Paul cried.
The composite creatures shifted and merged into two white horses. The chariot became medieval. "No, not that one!" More shifting, and two sphinxes appeared, one black, one white. "Yes, that one!" he cried, and the variant became fixed.
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