The Buddha in the Tarot

by Paul Greer

  At the same time, any movement towards maturity brings into sharper focus a growing sense of self, especially in its incompleteness and isolation. How is such duality to be overcome? One answer according to Nichols is to immerse oneself in a world of sexual passion, by which our yearnings for completeness are allayed, at least temporarily.4 This passionate option is clearly suggested in Adam’s wistful gaze upon Eve’s naked form, and by the flames which ignite the tree behind him.

  Yet the card suggests that there is an alternative choice, and we recognize this in Eve’s eyes, which are drawn, not to Adam, but to the world of wisdom, symbolized by the angel. Although Waite was quite unspecific about the issue, in many interpretations this heavenly figure is seen to represent Raphael, the archangel of healing. This interpretation has its roots, not in ancient scripture, but in Milton’s Paradise Lost, where Raphael is sent by God to warn Adam about the dangers of eating from the Tree of Knowledge. Yet, an equally deserving candidate is the figure of Gabriel. In Jewish lore the Tree of Life was also known as the Tree of Souls, where latent souls developed before being placed in the Treasury, to await the hand of Gabriel who implanted these seeds of pure potentiality within an embryo. According to I Enoch 20: 7, Gabriel is also the angel who stands guard over Eden, thus preventing Adam and Eve’s return to their original state of childish bliss. While prohibiting any return, Gabriel is simultaneously responsible for leading humans onwards in terms of wisdom and insight, a role confirmed by his identification with the Kabbalistic sephirah of Yesod (Foundation) - the bridge between the worlds of the Divine and Malkuth (Material Creation) – and his manifestation in the Judgement card, appearing before humanity with the promise of resurrection into new life. His important role confirms the central theme of the Irenaean theology – that the transition from “image” to “likeness,” from child to adult, is made via engagement with the world of “soul-making.” It demands conscious choice and commitment; not a return to pre-experiential womb-like ecstasy. This may of course involve sexual passion in which we lose our ego-centered perspective for a time; but the journey will also involve confrontation and struggle - with others, and with ourselves. It may also, as Eve’s eyes suggest, involve a temporary removal from the ways of the world and the delights of sensory entanglements (the fruits shown on the Tree of Knowledge in the card5), and the quest for greater wisdom and understanding.

  In the Story of the Buddha: A Life of Sensual Delight

  Given has father’s insistence upon a course of sensual indulgence for Siddhattha, it comes as little surprise that the young prince found himself immersed in a world of sexual activity, surrounded, we are told by “hosts of houris.”6 “Within the Royal apartments,” writes Asvaghosa, “the women delighted him with their soft voices … their playful intoxication.” So intense was the pleasure, says Asvaghosa, that the young prince even fell from the roof of a pavilion, “[b]orne in the arms of these women well-skilled in the ways of love.”7 “Gotama’s life,” says John Stevens, consisted mainly in removing women’s clothing, caressing their breasts, and “devouring them with love.”8 To “seal the deal” as it were, the king arranged for his son to marry his beautiful cousin, Yashodhara, “a bride possessed of beauty, modesty, and gentle bearing, of wide-spread glory.”9 In addition to Yashodhara, the young prince had several other official wives, and, according to Stevens, “an army” of the most beautiful, skillful, and appreciative women in the kingdom.10

  In a sense though, it was only through this initial immersion within a world of sensuality and passion that the prince was able to explore its limited value in depth, and reflect upon other possibilities. As Yeshe Gyaltsen’s version of the narrative puts it, the songs and music of the many houris began to “emit verses” that reminded the young prince of the true nature and purpose of his life.11

  In time, Yashodhara bore Siddhattha a son, Rahula, cementing, or so his father hoped, the young prince to a life of caste duty and family responsibility. Yet, the very name Rahula - which literally means “fetter” - gives us an indication that perhaps Siddhattha was starting to reflect more deeply on the course of his life so far; upon the restrictions placed over him by his father, and by the teachings and expectations of his society at large. Like Eve’s eyes in The Lovers card, the prince’s eyes were slowly being drawn to a different order of knowledge, experience and possibility.

  A Buddhist Reflection: Sex and Relationships

  The connection between Buddhism and the world of romantic love and sexual intimacy is a complex one. The five lay precepts advise only that lay Buddhists should not engage in “sexual misconduct,” which would include rape, incest and adultery. The joys that a partner and family life may instill are recognized in the Sigala Sutta where they are hailed as two of the six directions of worship.12

  It is a very different story for committed monks and nuns however. In the monastic code of conduct, sexual intercourse is named as one of the four Great Offences or Defeaters which results in expulsion from the Sangha. A monk is also forbidden from touching or caressing a female in a provocative manner. A monk or nun should never be alone with a lay person of the opposite sex, or be in a compromising situation that would cause rumors or gossip of a sexual nature to spread. During the alms round, monks and nuns to this day carry a small cloth to prevent any accidental contact between themselves and lay practitioners. Monks and nuns are also not permitted to act as “go-betweens” or romantic “match-makers” for others, and this explains why they do not preside over marriage ceremonies, other than to offer blessings.

  Such prohibitions may appear to verge on the puritanical, the “ascetic.” Yet they are grounded in two reasonably-sound Buddhist insights. First, that the world of love, passion, relationships and ultimately, children, involves a level of devotion and dedication that would make complete commitment to spiritual development well-nigh impossible. At a deeper level, Buddhism recognizes that romantic love and sexuality create deep attachments and desires for sensory phenomena. The Buddhist view is that while such sensual experiences may be pleasant, passionate, or even blissful at first, they will fade, due to their intrinsic impermanence, leaving one with the bitter taste of dukkha, and cravings for new and more intense delights and encounters.

  The Buddha is no shrinking violet when he comes to elucidate on the “danger of form.” In the Mahadukkhakhandha Sutta he asks us to contemplate a young woman at the height of her attractiveness. He then asks us to contemplate that same woman in her old-age, wrinkled and almost bald. Then, we should consider her as a corpse, distended and “oozing matter”; and finally as a mass of bones, scattered to the winds. This, he concludes, is the “danger” of form.13

  An amusing incident that highlights Buddhist detachment from form occurs in the Therigatha (Poems of the Elder Nuns) where a beautiful young nun called Subha is accosted by some amorous Reynardine, hoping to woo her into bed, with the additional promise that “I would live but to serve thee.” He proceeds to describe her loveliness in great detail, and how he is particularly captivated by her gorgeous eyes, “which feedeth the depth of my passion.” At this point the young nun plucks out one of her eyes and hands it to him, commenting that he “chasest a sham, deluded by puppet shows.” “Straightaway,” the text notes, “the lust in him ceased.”14 From the viewpoint of the uninstructed worldling, such detachment from form and passion, sexual intimacy and family life, seems unreasonable and extreme. From a Theravadin Buddhist perspective, it forms the foundations for liberation and bliss; and this was particularly true for women, who, by joining the Sangha, were given the opportunity to remove themselves from lives centered around the sexual passions and desires of men.

  An alternative approach to sex and passion is proposed in the Tantric practices of Vajrayana Buddhism. The basic premise of Tantrism is that the energies generated by the passions and desires which bind us to Samsara should not be dissolved, but instead, utilized. Such energies it is argued can be transmuted and channeled by practices that generate great s
piritual insight and transformation. As the Hevajra Tantra puts it, the world is both “bound” and “released” through passion.15 Such transmuted passion forms the basis of Karmamudra Yoga, which involves literal or symbolic sexual union between a yogi and yogini or “seal.” This practice it said to generate bliss, but also insight into the emptiness of all phenomena.16

  Such practices may seem very appealing to many in the West, especially for those who have been influenced by more puritanical notions of what the “spiritual life” might entail. Yet within Buddhism, they are reserved for very experienced practitioners; those are free from sexual desire based upon sensory attachment. Those who may be tempted to mimic such practices without the proper training are, as Powers warns, plainly deluded, and may bring upon themselves “great harm.”17 Such warnings are especially apposite for those involved in the burgeoning market that is Neotantrism - the repackaged New Age version of the practice. The term Tantra is one that continues to have many exotic and erotic connotations, and has thus been appropriated by those seeking financial gain through sexual desire; from its promotion in sex education courses, or even by sex-workers to increase sales. Such repackaging has not led to much insight, and indeed, its main appeal, as Georg Feuerstein reports, has been the promise of “sexual excitement” clothed in an “aura of spirituality.”18 Such practices are fraught with psychological dangers, including, as one practitioner relates, re-traumatization in victims of sexual-abuse.19

  There is, thankfully, far more to “love” in The Lovers card than simply sexual attraction and passion. Of equal importance are our general attitudes towards those we form relationships with as we make our journey through life. In this respect, the simple Buddhist practice of Metta Bhavana (Training in Loving-kindness) may do more to transform our relationships with others than the more exotic practices of Tantra. Metta Bhavana is principally a Theravadin training, although variations on it can be found in both Mahayana and Vajrayana texts.

  Paramananda divides this meditative practice into five stages.20 In the first stage we bring to mind ourselves, and radiate feelings of loving-kindness towards our own center. This is an important element of the practice, based on the view that if we cannot love ourselves, then we will find it very difficult to love others. In the next stage we bring to mind someone we feel especially friendly towards or attracted to. From our center again, we radiate thoughts of loving-kindness towards that person. This process is then repeated for people we neither like nor dislike, and then perhaps most importantly, for someone we dislike intensely. Finally, we bring to mind all four, radiating thoughts of loving-kindness to all. While in this stage, we start to expand our thoughts to embrace all sentient beings in the world, and finally, all sentient beings in existence.

  The purpose of the practice is twofold. First, it helps us realize how much of the love we offer towards others is based upon self-interest. As Thubten Chodron reflects, often the love we extend to others is based upon how they treat us. The second aim therefore is to move ourselves beyond such a self-centered view, where love is only conferred upon those whom we think have earned it in terms of their compliance to our expectations. True love, as Chodron says, is “totally unconditional.”21

  The Chariot (7)

  General Overview

  The Chariot is traditionally associated with success, conquest and victory, originating in the fact that the Triumphal Car was often employed in colorful processions by the victors of war. In our analysis, The Chariot is also the final card of the Way of the World sequence, and brings to fruition all that has been acquired in The Fool’s journey through the previous cards – will, wisdom, nurture, society’s rules and conventions, education, new relationships, and emerging sexuality. For Waite, the idea of “revelation” is also relevant to this card, arguing that the charioteer’s epaulettes represent Urim and Thummin – the Hebrew tools of divine communication.1

  In Jungian terms, the Fool has left behind the paradise world of childhood – a world represented by the city in the card’s background - and entered one of emerging independence and personal ego. The card indicates a sense of growing self-discipline and self-control; of mastery over conflicting tendencies, suggested by the charioteer’s ability to steer the two mismatched sphinxes. Our Hero, in short, has reached the point in his maturation where he can, as Nichols says, “ride out” into life to investigate his boundaries and ascertain new possibilities.2

  Although the card is usually seen in a positive way, indicating success, mastery and will, feminists may beg to differ, arguing instead that it represents only the world of the heroic male ego; a world that is off-limits to many women, and simultaneously one which posits a lopsided view of the self and its social relations. Yet, conversely, the card may generate a sense of motivation and inspiration for women, indicating attitudes and values which for many, at least in the West, are now up for grabs. As an “Irreverent Feminist” says on her blog-post, the world of The Chariot is the world of “Boudicca,” and the world “I want.”3 Such readings indicate that the development of a strong, willful ego is as pertinent to women as it is to men. Nonetheless, within the full spectrum of possibility the card does have negative connotations, suggesting an over-bearing ego-driven mentality. Such a position find its extreme form in what Nichols perceives as the sin of hubris - an over-reaching pride in which the self imagines it has transcended the very limitations of embodied life.4 The precarious, ludicrous, and ultimately self-defeating nature of such imaginings find expression in the myth of Phaethon (Shining One), Apollo’s son, who was unable to control his father’s sun-chariot. To prevent disaster the inflated youth was smoothly dispatched with a thunderbolt from Zeus.

  At the opposite pole of the spectrum the card may indicate a complete lack of mastery or an inability to move forwards. Here, one is drawn to the image of the two sphinxes which, despite the Charioteer’s impressive wand, are clearly not moving, or perhaps moving in different directions, and do not appear to be reined or yoked. We are also reminded that The Chariot card itself may owe it origins to Renaissance carousels, in which various allegorical figures, including the Triumphal Car, were led round and round, going nowhere.

  In the Story of the Buddha: The Four Sights

  “Now on a certain day,” so the texts recount, the Future Buddha wished to leave the confines of his palace and visit the park, and so, he “told his charioteer to make ready the chariot.” The chariot itself was “sumptuous and elegant,” and harnessed with the finest horses. And so the Future Buddha mounted his chariot, “which was like to a palace of the gods,” and headed towards the park. The gods, realizing their opportune moment had arrived, decide that they must provide the prince with a revelation; they must “show him a sign.”5

  First, one the gods transforms himself into a decrepit old man. The Future Buddha spies him, and inquires of Channa his charioteer about the old man’s appearance. When the prince learns of the inevitability and universality of old age, he reflects thus: “Old age thus strikes down all alike, our memory, comeliness and valor; and yet the world is not disturbed, even when it sees such a fate visibly impending.” On his second outing, the prince witnesses “the calamity of diseases,” and yet reflects that the world “can yet feel tranquility.” On the third outing he learns of the reality of death, and is filled with horror: “Is this end appointed to all creatures, and yet the world throws off all fear and is infatuated!”6 Up to this point, the young prince reflects what Thurman describes as the countless “kings” and “queens” of today’s developed world; waited-on by the other half, oblivious to or in denial concerning life’s grimmer realities. We simply do not want to hear that there is no real self, nor that all things are impermanent. However, this as Thurman says, is something those in the West need to hear - “and hear it well.”7 The young prince does “hear it,” and is therefore sent one more revelation from the gods. He spies a monk, and inquires of Channa whom this person is, “so carefully and decently clad.” His charioteer replies that this
is one “who has retired from the world.”8

  The prince returns to the palace and broods over all that he has witnessed. Immediately, he is beset by numerous dancing girls, who attempt to rouse him from his melancholy, but to no avail. The Future Buddha falls asleep on his couch, and when he awakens, he looks at the sleeping girls surrounding him: “Some with their bodies wet with trickling phlegm and spittle; some grinding their teeth, and muttering and talking in their sleep.” At that moment, the palace seemed to him “like a cemetery filled with dead bodies impaled and left to rot.” His mind, says the text, “turned ardently to retiring from the world.”9

  A Buddhist Reflection: Dukkha

  The Chariot may indicate self-mastery to the point of hubris, but it also as Pollack suggests points towards a growing awareness of life’s limitations; of the conflicts we experience with the external world and within ourselves. The development of individuality has as its corollary a growing awareness of old age, sickness, and death.10 This awareness of life’s limitations is voiced in Gardner’s channeled Charioteer, who demands to be freed from incessantly circling this “arena of death.”11 We are reminded at this point of the sphinxes on The Chariot card, and of the riddle posed by one of these creatures to Oedipus concerning the nature of humanity: “What is the creature that walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three in the evening?" This riddle indicates, as Pollack argues, that if we cannot comprehend and come to terms with the limitations of our embodied and finite existence, then it will destroy us.12