The Buddha in the Tarot

by Paul Greer

  As the same time, the Buddha’s teachings offered his followers a new sense of freedom; a “rebirth” characterized by ethical integrity, bliss, simplicity, harmlessness, and fellowship with nature. The transformative power of the Dharma is recorded in both the Thera- and Therigatha - the poetry of the early monks and nuns. “My name is ‘Harmless,’ though I used to be harmful” declares one former bandit called Anguli­mala, describing his new-found status. Although evil in the past, with much “blood on my hands,” now “I don’t harm anyone.” This bandit, who was once “swept away in a great flood,” went “to Buddha as a refuge.” Now “free of debt,” he sits in the wilderness, “at the foot of a tree,” “out of Mara’s reach.”19 For another monk, the Buddha’s message brought with it a sense of spiritual union with the forces of nature. “The water is clear and the gorges are wide, monkeys and deer are all around; festooned with dewy moss, these rocky crags delight me!”20 From such communion springs a sense of kinship and compassion for all living things: “Just as a mother would be good to her beloved and only son; so, to creatures all and everywhere, let one be good.”21

  Another component of this rebirth is an acceptance of and coming to terms with inevitable grief and loss. The poetry of Vasitthi for example records the story of a young woman lost in grief after the death of her child. In her confused and forsaken state, she was “[n]aked, unheeding, streaming hair unkempt,” living in the “scourings of the streets, and where the dead lay still.” Then at the city of Mithila, she met the “Great Tamer of untamèd hearts”; the one who “[gave] back my heart to me.” Putting his teachings into practice, she received “great good fortune” with “all sorrows … hewn down,” and understood “the base on which my miseries were built.”22 A corollary to this is an acceptance of one’s own morality, and the freedom that this brings. In death “there is no fear” recounts one monk, recognizing that life in this world is “like grass and wood,” and there is nothing “to be [called] mine.”23 For the awakened, says another monk, there is no longer any craving “to dwell in this world or the next.” The awakened mind knows “the arising and passing of the world,” without “clinging to anything.”24

  For women, life within the Sangha brought freedom from the drudgery of social expectations; from life restricted to that of a dutiful wife. As Mutta, wife of a poor Brahmin family married off to a hunchback, but later released to the Sangha, explains: “O free, indeed! O gloriously free

  am I in freedom from three crooked things: from quern, from mortar, from my crookback'd lord!”25 This rebirth also freed women from sexualizing forces, whether from within or without. “How was I once puff'd up, incens'd with the bloom of my beauty,” recounts Vimala, daughter of a prostitute, “I at the door of the harlot stood, like a crafty hunter, weaving his snares, ever watchful.” But now, with “shaven head, wrapt in my robe,” she goes “forth on my daily round for food” and sits “'neath the spreading boughs of forest tree.” In her new life, Vimala has broken all those “evil bonds that fetter gods and men.”26 For some nuns, like Soma, the destruction of “Mara’s language” extended to that of gender differentiation itself – a point we will explore in our final card – The World.

  A Buddhist Reflection: Buddhism at the Apocalypse

  For those with sympathies towards an emerging Ecological paradigm, Buddhism is viewed as one solution to the perceived destructive inclinations of the old. Kurt Spellmeyer for example contrasts the “timeless” world-affirming philosophy of Zen Buddhism with the apocalyptic “mental architecture” of Western spirituality, which remains contemptu mundi at heart.27 Unlike the Abrahamic religious traditions, which consistently view the future in terms of a linear shift from this world to the “world to come,” Buddhism is neither particularly eschatological nor apocalyptic in outlook. Many Buddhists share the Hindu view that the present is simply one moment in a grander cyclic process of continuous destruction and renewal. Others argue that death and rebirth are constants, and that enlightenment means to awaken to this fact, and begin to live life fully in the present. However, Buddhism does have its apocalyptic moments, and it is to two of these that we now turn.

  One of the earliest examples of Buddhist apocalyptic is the Sermon of the Seven Suns, found in the Anguttara Nikaya. Here, the Buddha describes a time of cataclysmic destruction, in which seven different suns appear in the sky, each causing growing devastation until the earth itself is consumed in a vast conflagration. The main aim of the text however seems not to be that of prophetic speculation, but to impress upon the reader the all-pervasive nature of impermanence, and humanity’s inability to deal with this fact – a weariness that culminates in an intense longing for worldwide annihilation.

  Yet, the apocalyptic vision that has generated the most curiosity and interest from around the world in recent times is that of the Kalachakra or “Wheel of Time” Tantra. The Kalachakra Tantra revolves around a theory of the cycles of time, from the cosmic to the personal. These Tantric teachings, which utilize deity yoga and mandala construction, enable the practitioner to move from a state of Samsaric ignorance to awakening, thence to compassionate activity in the world. The teachings have gained much publicity since the Dalai Lama’s decision to conduct Kalachakra initiations all over the world. Since 1954, the Dalai Lama has presided over more than thirty such initiations or “empowerments,” motivated by what he sees as the Kalachakra’s links to future world peace.

  The text of the abridged Kalachakra Tanta is divided into five sections. The first, which we will discuss here, concerns the “external” cycle of time – the cyclic process of disintegration and renewal within the cosmos, the world, and society. One controversial28 section in particular concerns the story of the first Kalki king of Shambhala – King Manjushri-yashas. The name Kalki indicates the probable Hindu origins of this story in the myth of Kalki the final avatar of Vishnu, who will destroy evil in an apocalyptic battle at the end of the Kali-Yuga. In the Kalachakra account, Manjushri-yashas becomes aware of an impending invasion by barbaric forces (mlecchas), and so, prepares his people for battle. In contrast with the Hindu Kalki, who prepares for war by restoring the purity of the Hindu dharma and the caste varnas, our Buddhist king decides to unite all varnas into a single family of vajra brothers and sisters. He does so by gathering all within his Kalachakra mandala palace in Shambhala, where he explains to those gathered that each religion at heart teaches the same moral principles. The population can become “vajra” brothers and sisters while still being faithful to the “pure teachings” of their own religions. United, the people will withstand the invasion. This ecumenical perspective is still adopted in present-day Kalachakra empowerments, where observers are asked to “unite in brotherhood and sisterhood” by the act of remaining faithful to the ethical ideals of their respective religious traditions.29

  For Berzin, the story indicates that the Buddhist solution to contemporary struggles against terrorism, warfare and violence is for humanity to “face them with ethical solidarity.” Moreover, the graphic scenes of warfare and violence that pervade the text may actually point towards a psychological battle against “barbaric” emotions led by ignorance and confusion. For Berzin, the Kalachakra apocalypse is at heart an apocalypse of the mind.30 This is a view shared by John Newman, who argues that this Tantric path is really concerned with overcoming the “inner barbarism” that creates evil in the world. The apocalyptic triumph of the vajra community is really a “victory of gnosis over spiritual nescience.”31

  In the Kalachakra ceremony, this psycho-apocalyptic drama along with the attendant belief in the impermanence of all things is expressed through the creation and destruction of the Kalachakra sand mandala. Giuseppe Tucci observes that most sand mandalas – like the one constructed at the Kalachakra ceremony - depict an inner palace (symbolic of the enlightened mind) with four T-shaped gates, guarded by four terrifying deities. These gates, as Tucci observes, open out onto all that lies outside conscious control, including destructive desires and emoti
ons. These “impediments” (vighna) appear in mandala art as a confused and indistinct mass of demons. Whirling about in the darkness like Mara’s army, they approach the open gates of the palace and threaten to enter. They represent those barbaric forces within our own minds which at times “burst forth” and possess us. The deities who guard the gates have both defensive and offensive roles; preventing dangerous and disintegrating forces from entering the palace, but also transforming the impediments, leading them towards “the realms of light.”32

  The Kalachakra narrative ends with the defeat of the barbaric forces, and the appearance of a new Golden Age. Yet the cycles of time as Berzin notes will eventually move beyond this age too, culminating in another Kali-Yuga, and beyond this into yet another cosmic cycle of creation and dissolution.33 At the climax of the Kalachakra ceremony itself, the sands of the dismantled mandala are gathered together and scattered into a stream or river – in the hope that the peace of the enlightened mind may eventually encompass the world.

  Against the prophets of doom, the Kalachakra points to the emergence of an (albeit temporary) “Golden Age” of peace within the world and within the ever-turning cycles of time. Yet, as the world itself is “led by mind and fashioned by mind,” this emerging culture necessitates an “inner apocalypse” – the will to do battle with our mental barbarians, and bring to birth a new vision of the self and its relations.

  The World

  General Overview

  In the RWS deck, The World depicts a naked woman partially covered with a sash, holding a wand in each hand, and positioned within a mandorla wreath. She appears to be dancing, with her left leg in front of the right – the reverse of that shown in both The Hanged Man and The Emperor (Marseilles deck). In each corner we find one of the four creatures first shown in The Wheel of Fortune – an eagle, bull, lion and man/angel. The card contains echoes of medieval depictions of The Coronation of Mary, depicting Mary as Queen of Heaven, crowned by the Trinity, and surrounded by the four evangelists. In most traditional interpretations this card signifies a sense of victory, completion and fulfillment. Some interpretations go further, equating it with a more definite sense of finality or perfection – the attainment of the Summum Bonum. It represents, says Waite, “the perfection and end of the Cosmos,” and “the state of the soul in the consciousness of Divine Vision.”1 In Jungian interpretations the meaning of this card is often internalized, reflecting a diminished view of individuation. Thus Banzhaf writes that it signifies that our “hero has become whole,” uniting all oppositions within himself: “masculine and feminine … conscious and unconscious.”2

  It is however possible to forward a more naturalistic, humanistic and expansive interpretation of The World. The most glaringly-obvious but passed-over aspect of this card is its clear environmental message. A spirituality of “the world” is one that fully embraces the world, and our deep and indissoluble connections to it. For Jung, humanity’s malaise derives in part from our disengagement from nature,3 and thus meaningful Jungian individuation, as Jeremy Yunt has argued, must relate to the extent to which we rekindle a sense of connection and participation with the “vitality, richness and depth of the natural world.”4

  A spirituality in and of the world would identify with two ideas in particular. The first, as Don Cupitt suggests, is that we now recognize ourselves fully as “naturalized citizens,” giving up the ghost of “dual citizenship.” To embrace this world we must learn to celebrate our transience and our mortality within it, giving up our denial and fear of death (the “trial” of the Death card), and the belief that our life here is no more than a test in preparation for some more enduring realm of “unchanging perfection.” The spirituality to be embraced will be “ecohumanist” in outlook, finding “eternal life” and “glory” in our finitude and within the constant flux of life.5 The World Dancer of this card, like Shiva within his own wreath of flame, calls us to celebrate and dance to the natural rhythms of life and death, creation and dissolution. Life, as Starhawk says, is not an “untempered absolute,” but something entwined in “a dance with death.” It is only this dance with dissolution which maintains “the possibility of new life.”6 Ironically, an acceptance of finitude and death frees us to act more ethically because it makes everything we do intensely significant and transparent. Here, ethical action proceeds from a center of genuine virtue and kindness without expectation – karmic, post-mortem or otherwise.

  Second, a spirituality of “the world” would also require an expansion of the self into wider fields of identification. On this point Pollack directs our attention to the sashes at both top and bottom of the mandorla wreath which are tied as open-ended infinity loops, signifying a new sense of openness within the self towards the world and the universe.7 Yet this expanded self is not the “soluble self”; the pure and passive relationality of the patriarchal feminine.8 In her nimble dance with wands, we encounter in the World Dancer a relational-self working in harmony with directed will; a dance which supplants the tired immobility of the enthroned Emperor and his tightly held ankh. Nevertheless, there remains a sense of completion and accomplishment within this card. The four elements of inner alchemy – which we previously encountered in various forms in The Magician, The Wheel of Fortune, and Temperance – are now fully manifested, indicating a new sense of ethical balance and creative refinement.

  In some versions of this card the World Dancer appears in androgynous form, suggesting, not simply the integration of masculine and feminine qualities, but a new fluidity of being and consciousness that moves beyond this binary dualism. It is interesting to note in this respect a growing gender-fluidity within many of today’s young “millennials,” who recognize gender as a “social construct,” and perceive traditional gender binary norms as both “limiting, and unnecessary.”9 Yet, in terms of our changing perceptions of the self, the world and divine, Pamela Coleman Smith’s depiction of a female dancer is equally appropriate. Jung would agree, recognizing the Assumption of Mary in 1950 as an event which confirmed both the sovereignty of archetypal imagery over tradition, and our contemporary psychological and social demands for gender parity, “metaphysically anchored in the figure of a 'divine' woman.”10 Yet, Smith’s World Dancer points to more than sexual equality or a return to “feminine” values. It is women, not because of some intrinsic “feminine” nature, but because of their deliberate exclusion from public life, that have as Mary Grey argues been left at home to cultivate and maintain the despised, rejected and projected values of patriarchal culture. It is by way of their projection onto women that the “relational strengths” needed for our survival and flourishing have been preserved and maintained. Women says Grey have quietly kept alive the “relational process” that lies at the heart of humanity and the world itself. It is therefore women - the enforced bearers of the anima mundi – who hold the key to a new “redemptive spirituality.”11

  In the story of the Buddha – The Death of the Buddha

  As we said, a spirituality of the world, a spirituality that truly embraces the world, is at the same time one that recognizes and even celebrates our finite and impermanent place within it. This is perhaps conveyed in the Shiva-like dance of the World dancer, but also, it may be contended, in the creatures found at each of the four corners. Together, these represent not only the four elements and virtues, but as Gottfried de Purucker has argued, the four turning seasons of the world, and the four passing stages of human life.12 With this in mind, we turn now to the final episode in the Buddha’s journey – his death.

  The story of the Buddha’s final months are recorded in the Mahaparinibbana (Great Extinction) Sutta. Approaching 80, and while on retreat, the Buddha suddenly became extremely ill. His attendant, Ananda, became alarmed, and expressed concern that the Buddha had not left clear instructions as to how the Sangha should proceed in the event of his death. The Buddha replied that after his death the monks and nuns should take themselves as their own lamp, as their own refuge. The Buddha recovered somew
hat, and continued on his journey. Ananda however, was still in a state of grief; and so the Buddha reminded him of a central aspect of his teachings – the all-pervasive nature of impermanence:

  “But now, Ananda, have I not formerly declared to you that it is in the very nature of all things, near and dear unto us, that we must divide ourselves from them, leave them, sever ourselves from them? How then, Ananda, can this be possible - whereas anything whatever born, brought into being, and organized, contains within itself the inherent necessity of dissolution - how then can this be possible that such a being should not be dissolved?”13

  The Buddha we are told then went to Pava, and a Mango Grove belonging to Cunda the Blacksmith. Cunda invited the Buddha and his followers to a specially prepared meal, which according to the tradition, contained spoiled food. After eating this deadly meal, the Buddha travelled onwards to the Salla Grove of the Mallas, where he informed Ananda that he was weary, and asked his attendant to spread a robe on the ground for him. Ananda, wrapped up in his own grief concerning the Buddha, and in regret concerning his own lack of spiritual development, disappeared from sight. The Buddha asked a monk to fetch him back, and he explained to Ananda once more the impermanent nature of the world; but also, that if he persisted in his practice, he too would gain liberation.