The Buddha in the Tarot

by Paul Greer

  Under his tutelage, the prince gains much insight into “the nature of things.” He learns of the roles of desire, ignorance and karma in “the causes of mundane existence,” and of the pointlessness of either “sprinkling water upon sacrifices” or reciting “Vedic hymns.” He also learns about the existence of the jhanas (meditative states) of form and formlessness, which, according to Arada, result in the ultimate realization of “that supreme Brahman … which the wise who know reality declare to be liberation.”7

  Siddhattha learns and practices Arada’s teachings, but at the end of the process is still not satisfied. He comes to the conclusion that this realization cannot be “ultimate,” “because it does not teach us how to abandon this soul itself in the various bodies,” and the individual is thus “still subject to the condition of birth and has the condition of a seed.”8 He therefore abandons Arada and looks for another teacher.

  The prince eventually finds the “hermitage of Udraka” (Udaka Ramaputta), and from this second sage learns of other jhanic states, but still “gained no clear understanding from his treatment of the soul.” Siddhattha realizes that in the teachings of Udraka, we still have the problem of some form of “self.”9 Udraka, said the Buddha much later in his career, provided a practice which did not lead to either wisdom or Nirvana, but only to the subtle Samsaric state of “neither perception nor yet non-perception.”10

  A Buddhist Reflection: The Wheel of Becoming

  The Wheel of Fortune invites some obvious but interesting comparisons with the Buddhist Wheel of Becoming (Bhavachakra). The Buddhist wheel is a pictorial teaching aid to cyclic existence. “Picture” however is not strictly accurate. It is often conceived of as a mirror which Yama, God of impermanence and death, holds aloft to each individual; and, like the sphinx atop The Wheel of Fortune, asks: “Do you know who you are?”

  The outer rim of the wheel contains the twelve links of “dependent origination” which condition the constant cycle of rebirth experienced by those living in Samsara. At its center we find the three defilements (greed, hatred and delusion) which perpetuate the wheel’s energy and motion. The main area of the wheel shows the Six Realms of Existence, within which all Samsaric beings live in relation to their karmic formations.

  The most unfortunate realms are the three “lower” ones – the Animal, Hungry Ghost, and Hell realms. Rebirth here is linked respectively to the mental states of ignorance, greed, and anger. The most “fortunate” realms in terms of environment and potential are the “upper” worlds of Humans, Demi-Gods (Asuras) and Gods (Devas), conditioned by the corresponding mental states of desire, envy and pride. The Asura realm is sometimes conflated with the Deva, or even viewed as a lower realm, given its negative associations with envy and other unskillful mental qualities. The Human realm is linked with desire and is characterized by the vicissitudes of everyday human existence; but also with the potential for much growth and development. The Deva realm is linked with pride, and is reserved for those who have generated enough positive karmic qualities to create a temporary life of divine pleasure and ease. The Deva realm actually consists of six levels of increasing refinement, from the Devas of the Four Great Kings to the Devas wielding Power over the Creations of Others - the abode of Mara, the personification of delusion and desire. The six realms up to Mara’s abode constitute the sphere of kamaloka – the Desire Realm.

  Yet, these eleven realms in total do not encapsulate the totality of Samsaric states. The Deva realm can be extended further into the sixteen realms of “form” (rupaloka) and the further four realms of “formlessness” (arupaloka). These subtle states of existence are reserved for those who have attained extremely advanced levels of meditative awareness, known collectively as the jhanas. Yet, even these subtle regions are all still part of conditioned Samsaric states, and together with the lower realms comprise what Buddhists term the Thirty-One Paths of Rebirth.

  As in The Wheel of Fortune, Samsaric beings can move through any of these states in any direction. (Except certain higher states of formlessness after death.) This is symbolized by two illustrations, one on either side of the central hub. The illustration on the right of the hub recalls Smith’s depiction of Typhon, and shows humans being dragged down by demons towards the lower realms. The illustration of the left shows beings emerging from Hell on a ladder, and like Hermanubis, ascending upwards. The ascent here is provided by the power of the Buddha, who stands preaching the Dharma; and, like Hermanubis the psychopomp, leads beings towards more favorable conditions of existence. The possibility of alchemical transformation is in fact available in all six desire realms, indicated by a Buddha, who appears in each world to teach its residents the relevant qualities needed to generate spiritual development. The Buddha attached to the Animal realm for example holds a book, indicating the necessity for developing reason and reflection to escape the world of base instincts and ignorance. Yet, of all the realms, it is the Human one which is regarded as the most fortunate to be reborn into; its residents are neither overwhelmed by the tortures and agonies of the lower worlds, nor intoxicated into complacency by the pleasures of the Deva realm.

  Some Buddhists understand these realms to be literal places, while others adopt a more psychological interpretation.11 Many for example view the realms as modes of being, or conditioned patterns of thought and action. Thus, if someone’s mindscape is dominated by endless greed and craving, they could be said to be living the life of a Hungry Ghost. Similarly, the realm of the Asuras represents those whose thoughts and deeds are conditioned by habits of envy and competitive striving.

  In some depictions of the Bhavachakra, we find a Buddha outside the wheel, pointing to the moon, indicting that escape from Samsaric existence is possible; that enlightenment or Nirvana can be a reality for any that make the required effort. However, this does not mean that Nirvana lies “outside” Samsara. Nirvana, as discussed previously, means removing “wrong perceptions” - the veil of maya that prevents us from perceiving the world as it really is. Howard and Battersby concur, and point out that this is the reason why the Path of Perfections– which is revealed extending from Hell to the limits of the Deva realm - is “shown within the Wheel of Life and not outside it.”12

  Justice (11)

  General Overview

  The central image of the RWS Justice card is that of Titaness Themis, Greek goddess of Divine Law, social order and custom. Her name is often interpreted as meaning “that which is put in place,” derived from tithemi – “to put.” As with the sphinx in The Wheel of Fortune, Justice here is shown holding a sword aloft, suggesting a continuation and development of the wisdom, insight and understanding begun in the previous card. The sword, as in the sword of Manjusri found in Buddhist iconography, or even in the story of King Solomon’s judgement over the disputed infant (I Kings 3: 16-28), represents penetrative wisdom, cutting away fiction from fact, delusion from truth. Indeed, there are obvious connections between this card and the wisdom theme of The High Priestess, shown by the two pillars that Justice herself sits between, and by the fact that the numerical value of this card can be reduced to that of two (11 = 1+1 = 2).1

  Waite’s switching of Justice from its traditional placement (8) indicates an important insight that he is perhaps not given much credit for; and this is that the spiritual quiescence of the previous two cards demand what Pollack calls an “active response.”2 Within the full spectrum of possibility, the central danger of both The Wheel of Fortune and The Hermit is that of withdrawal and otherworldliness; a Gnostic renunciation of society and the world; one which finds perfect expression in the Christian classic The Imitation of Christ by Thomas à Kempis, who said: “Keep thyself as a stranger and a pilgrim upon the earth, to whom the things of the world appertain not … for here have we no continuing city.”3 The legacy of such dualistic thinking is still evident today, where “spirituality” is often viewed as overextending its remit when it dares to engage with the “real” world of politics, economics and consumerist ethics.
As the Brazilian Liberation Theologian Helder Camara was once reported to have remarked: “When I feed the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why they are poor, they call me a communist.”

  Unfortunately, much in the Tarot world remains anchored to this dualistic perspective, especially when the interpretation of Justice becomes internalized and psychologized. Many tarot books seem content to simply paraphrase or reiterate Cirlot’s contention that Justice is not really concerned with “external justice” but with “inner judgement.”4 Despite its penchant for all things “holistic,” the Tarot world appears reluctant to move much beyond the individualistic assumptions of New Age “transformation-lite.”

  There are of course exceptions. Pollack for example points out that Justice assumes the “as above, so below” posture of The Magician, indicating the application of wisdom as action in the material world.5 Likewise, Jayanti equates the card’s “uplifted sword” with the extension of divine justice into the everyday world of inequality and discrimination. This is confirmed says Jayanti with the appearance of the square (matter) on Justice’s crown (Kether), indicating the manifestation of the divine will within “our everyday world.”6

  It is precisely the summons and challenge of Justice to move beyond a quietist understanding of spirituality; to venture outside our Gnostic bubbles of inner illumination and outer complacency, and rise to the challenge of a much greater vision of transformation. Contrary to à Kempis, a true “imitation of Christ” requires at times engagement and perhaps confrontation with an unjust world; with its “principalities and powers” (Eph. 6: 12). As Jesus says: “Do not think I have come to bring peace on earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Matt. 10: 34). Jesus’ allusion to the sword of Justice is of course not a call to armed militancy, but a reiteration of the primary task of the prophet – that of “interference.”7 In relation to this, the Gospel of Luke reminds us that immediately following his own hermit-like withdrawal into the wilderness, Jesus returned to his own synagogue, opened the scroll of Isaiah, and declared:

  “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord” (Lk. 4: 18-19).

  In Luke’s Gospel, this call to interference appears at the commencement of Jesus’ mission, indicating its foundational role. Moreover, it indicates that “justice” is not simply an issue of “fairness,” but of liberation from oppression; a demand for freedom, dignity, and the availability of human flourishing. For Jesus, such flourishing, such self-realization, is not only something we should seek to confer on others through engagement and self-sacrifice, but something we ourselves only achieve in the process of doing so. True self-realization is found in the “emptying” (kenosis) of the self. In Jesus’ enigmatic words: “whoever seeks to gain his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will preserve it” (Lk. 17: 33).

  Authentic spirituality, authentic self-realization, requires

  a balance between contemplation and action, and a greater vision of “transformation.” This vision begins with reflection upon the underlying nature of things (The Wheel of Fortune), which leads to the realization that Justice is embedded within the fabric of the world itself. From a truly holistic perspective, injustice is not simply a matter of social inequality, but a rupture in the order of creation, and therefore as Mathew Fox says “a cosmic issue.”8 Authentic spiritually thus moves towards a position of responsibility – not just for one’s own personal development – but for tikkun olam – the “repairing” of the world, by means of an eventual “Great Return.”

  In the Buddha’s Story: The Rejection of Quietism

  Eventually the prince, unconvinced with Udraka’s teachings, decides to leave him and strike out on his own. The texts refrain from providing the precise reasons why Siddhattha left the two sages, other than that their teachings still contained a residual element of the self, and thus did not lead to “supreme wisdom” and “Nirvana.” As the prince declared to his teachers:

  “How much confusion of thought comes from our interest in self, and from our vanity when thinking 'I am so great,' or 'I have done this wonderful deed?' The thought of thine ego stands between thy rational nature and truth; banish it, and then wilt thou see things as they are. He who thinks correctly will rid himself of ignorance and acquire wisdom. The ideas 'I am' and 'I shall be' or 'I shall not be' do not occur to a clear thinker …

  “I observe the preservation and transmission of character; I perceive the truth of karma, but see no atman whom your doctrine makes the doer of your deeds. There is rebirth without the transmigration of a self. For this atman, this self, this ego in the 'I say' and in the 'I will' is an illusion.”9

  An interesting angle on this part of the journey is offered by Daisaku Ikeda, who argues that it was really a lack of social engagement within his mentors’ teachings which motivated the Buddha’s departure. The two teachers, like many other yogic masters of India both past and present, were too intensely caught up in their endeavors to attain liberation from Samsaric existence that they had ignored “the problems of society.” It seems quite natural, says Ikeda, that Siddhattha would initially have been attracted to their yogic techniques, but that eventually, the states they made available were below the concerns and aims “of the bodhisattva.” For the two sages, jhanic realization had become “an end in itself.” The real object of Siddhattha’s quest, continues Ikeda, was not personal liberation, but a form of awakening that would “set humanity free” from the sufferings of Samsara. Personal liberation from attachment attained through jhanic meditation was only one aspect of emancipation; and thus he parted ways with his teachers, and tried another approach – the way of the ascetic.10

  A Buddhist Reflection: Global Consumerism and Wisdom as Refusal

  In relation to Buddhism it may be tempting to link the theme of Justice to the concept of karma. Indeed, there are no shortages of Tarot books that appear to do just that.11 Karma is a useful concept. It allows us to reflect upon how our current mindscapes have been conditioned by past thoughts and actions, and how this invariably affects our engagement with the world. Karma also invites us to see how the social structures we create reflect internal perceptions of ourselves and others. Yet, to link the meaning of karma to merely “retributive comeuppance,” as many seem to do, is misleading in terms of how Buddhism relates to justice. First, because karma is a natural law that has nothing to do with our subjective notions of “fairness.” Second, because it may actually promote injustice – resignation and self-blame on the part of the “victim,” and complacency and self-righteousness on the part of the fortunate. A more profitable approach is to examine how Buddhist relates to justice at the level of “interference” – something we have already considered in Buddhism’s attitude to the caste-varna system.

  Perhaps the greatest contemporary challenge to justice, to the “repairing of the world,” is the ideology of global consumerism, with its attendant exploitation and devastation of both natural and human resources. The summons of Justice first invites us to analyze precisely why this ideology, which on the surface seems to promise so much in terms of freedom, flourishing and well-being, actually promotes enslavement and oppression. It then calls us to action that will liberate both ourselves and the world from its pernicious and pervasive grip.

  In her insightful paper “How Much is Enough?,” Stephanie Kaza highlights three points at which Buddhist wisdom can open our eyes to the spiritual dangers and injustices of consumerism, and how these can be addressed through practical action.12 In this movement from reflection to action, Kaza’s model of Buddhist engagement conforms to what Nelson Foster refers to as the “implicit politics of prajna” – the view that Buddhist wisdom, meditation and reflection will naturally lead to the establishment of ethical and wholesome behaviour in the “politics” of everyday life.13
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  Kaza’s first point is that consumerism makes possible the development of a false sense of self. This is an invaluable observation, given that Buddhist compassion is grounded in the elimination of the illusion of ego and an emerging sense of identification with others. The accumulation of material possessions tends to create and reinforce a sense of permanence and individuality. Our possessions are the means by which we create, maintain and delineate our “self” from other “selves” – my car, my house, my music collection. Of course, the realties of impermanence mean that one possession is never enough to satiate our eventual sense of unsatisfactoriness. Thus consumerism generates not only an erroneous sense of self, but one that needs to be constantly propped up with an endless procession of “self-reinforcing possessions.” As a corrective to this delusional cycle, Kaza advises the adoption of the Buddhist principle of santutthi – contentment and satisfaction with what one has. At a practical level, this may be achieved through practicing simplicity in our lifestyles and restraint in our consumption habits.14

  The second point is that consumerism “promotes harm to other living beings.” The bulk of the goods we acquire are linked with much destruction and loss, whether in the natural world, or through the incapacitating conditions and harmful behaviors experienced by the poor in the factories and sweatshops of the world. As a corrective, Kaza draws our attention to the five basic ethical precepts of Buddhism, and in particular, the prohibition against harming or taking life. At a practical level, this may involve greater mindfulness over the choices we make as consumers, whether it is in adopting a vegetarian or vegan lifestyle, or only acquiring green or fairly-traded goods. At a more committed level of interference, it may mean taking governments and companies to task over their harmful production operations.15