During Mediæval times, the legend of the wandering Jew gained popular recognition. I have previously (around 2003 on Aeclectic’s TarotForum) written some comments that indicates possible connections between the Fool and the Wandering Jew – what we shall be briefly looking at here are not only some of those references, but also weaving thoughts surrounding this legend with aspects of relatively recent political developments in light of Rudolf Steiner’s Christology… some of which will undoubtedly seem a little stretched or far-fetched to some. Still, here goes…

The Wandering Jew

The legend ultimately derives from a passage in Matthew that was expanded in typical mediæval fashion in order to begin to make sense of the words given therein. Mediæval Christian thought provides us with numerous wonderful stories, from infancy ‘gospels’ through to quite sophisticated theological treatises forming a substantive foundation for much that is still current in contemporary Christian understanding (for example, numerous contemporary works that are ultimately derived or in part based on the works of Augustine or of St Thomas Aquinas).

Let’s turn to the biblical source first and then make brief diversions elsewhere. The following is found in Matthew 16:27-28

For the Son of Man shall come in the glory of his Father, with his angels, and then he shall reward each according to their deeds. Truly I say to you, there be some standing here which shall not taste of death until they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.

From this arose a legend that finger-pointed not only to an ‘identifiable’ individual Jew, but also, through a sequence of thoughts, to the Jewish people as a whole. For example, in the fourth century Prudentius writes:

From place to place the homeless Jew wanders in ever-shifting exile, since the time when he was torn from the abode of his fathers and has been suffering the penalty for murder, and having stained his hands with the blood of Christ whom he denied, paying the price of sin.

Of course, in the above description it is in light of the destruction of the second Temple in the year 70 when Judea was under Roman annexation, effectively describing the increasing diaspora of Jewish life and the appalling view of Jews as ‘Christ-killers’ (seemingly at the same time forgetting that all early Christians, as well as Jesus himself, were of course Jewish). The Jewish folk were, in so many ways, ‘homeless’ or, rather, without a home in their own right in the promised land of their forebearers. The quote from Matthew also lead, in addition, to the specific query as to whom it was that Christ spoke. And here the legend points to a local dweller in Jerusalem at the time of Christ’s crucifixion. According to what is probably to most common tale, as Christ was passing by bearing the cross on his way to Golgotha, a local leather-smith ‘taunted’ Jesus urging him not to dawdle, for which Christ replied that whereas He was indeed stepping to his death, the taunter would now have to ‘wait and continue living until I return’.

There is an interesting twist in the story as it develops through time, as by the 17th century the taunter is named Ahasver – ironically the Persian fool-king mentioned in the Book of Esther and the basis of which forms the Jewish festival of Pushim.

In any case, we have by this stage both an individual as well as a people who are destined to walk the Earth without homeland until the second coming of Christ. Truly, one could say, a possible depiction of an itinerant wanderer that walks and is chased as an unwanted beggar-fool.

Christ’s return: Rudolf Steiner’s approach

Notwithstanding the various Christian views as to when this is to take place, Rudolf Steiner has a specific Christology that incorporates two particular characteristics: the first is that the return is as described in the Gospels, with directly piercing through the veil and seen by those who ‘have eyes to see’; the second is that a time is specified and has already taken place (and continues to so do). Let’s briefly look at these two points.

Again the reference is principally from Matthew, in this case 24:27-30 (though I skip 28-29 in what follows):

For as the lightning cometh out of the east, and shineth even unto the west; so shall also the coming of the Son of man be. […]

And then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven: and then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn, and they shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory.

This is very much an image similar to that usually represented by trump XXI in the earlier Marseille type: Christ in the ‘clouds’ (or bursting through a mandorla) also used for representations of the transfiguration and for ‘Christ in Majesty’ (as a side-note for those interested, the first section of the quote references Steiner’s ‘Foundation Stone Meditation’).

As Steiner describes the appearance or return of Christ (in, for example, The Reappearance of Christ in the Etheric), he gives a date that effectively sees the ‘piercing through the clouds’ begin in the 1930s and continues from that time on. In light of this, for Anthroposophists (and others who similarly consider that the ‘Second Coming’ occurs in such a realm and began prior to WWII), the legend of the wandering Jew, if taken seriously, would see relief in his liberation through a well deserved and long overdue death. For the ‘wandering Jew’ collectively (in other words, as a people), it probably seems obvious that the establishment of Israel in the 1940s would provide some kind of ‘confirmation’ that Christ’s ‘return’ has taken place: the place of their home has been re-established and now provides rest in the promised land (albeit still all too tumultuous!).

No doubt simply due to that I recently had to summarise and review the first 460 pages of Meditations on the Tarot in completing the monthly studies that have taken us through the first sixteen trumps, I found myself reflecting on not only some fundamental principles taken for granted in the book, but also that here again what emerges is tarot’s deep Christian roots. It is undoubtedly in very large part this that makes the author of the work write in the foreword:

These Letters are written in French because in France – since the eighteenth century until the present time, i.e. the second half of the twentieth century there exists a literature on the Tarot, a phenomenon which is found nowhere else. On the other hand, there existed in France — and it still persists — a continuous tradition of Hermeticism, in which is united a spirit of free research with one of respect for the tradition. The purpose of these Letters therefore will be to “incarnate” into this tradition, i.e. to become an organic part of it, and in this way to contribute support to it.

Now I have to admit that at first sight it may appear that this contradicts what I have just written above. Yet it is this very ‘continuous tradition of Hermeticism’ that is the one that has fundamental Christian roots. This does not, of course, negate that ‘non-Christian’ elements also form part and parcel of the tradition: rather, what tends to occur is that, in a manner very much reminiscent as to what occurred with both Plato and Aristotle, they became neo-platonic and Christian and neo-aristotelean and Christian.

With tarot, in fact, it even forms an even more obvious and literal Christian connection: there appears no authors prior to the 20th century who are not themselves either Christian or propounding Christian esoteric understanding. It seems ironic that in France, in a country that since 1788 explicitly in many ways rejects Christianity, the latter’s values continue to play a central part in not only esoteric literature and occult work, but also underpins the various strivings of tarot authors from De Gebellin, through to Etteilla, Levi, Christian, Papus and a host of others.

Perhaps it should also be remembered that the so-called Magical tradition was itself well versed and well embedded in Judeo-Christian thought: ie, Christian philosophical concepts couched in what was often a poor basis of biblical Hebrew.

Perhaps it is in large part all this to which the author of Meditations on the Tarot was referring.

After all, he lived in London at the time of writing (in the mid-1960s), and had undoubtedly seen and judged as having a relative lack of depth and tradition the writings emerging from the various authors that were influenced or derived from the Golden Dawn. Certainly Mathers, Waite and Crowley had all contributed much in the way of concatenating various systems one over the other, yet in each case what seems to have been at play is something akin to very mechanical thinking. In contrast, the ‘tradition’ to which the author of that book referred was more akin to taking the essential characteristics of Christian hermeticism, seeing how this was reflected in earlier writings, and allowing for the same to similarly be (again) reflected in the images of the trumps.

There is also, of course, the depth of the images of the trumps themselves. Here what is called to mind is very much that aspect of Christian art, which, as Robin Jensen reminds us in Understanding Early Christian Art that

images depend particularly on memory and use a kind of of sign language to remind us of what we already know. They are not meant to be taken literally, but rather only serve as openings to a far more complex set of layered meanings and significations.

And without contradiction, is able to also point out that

what images mean is more analogous to translating than to decoding.

I am suggesting that what the author saw in the ‘continuous tradition’ that until more recently existed ‘nowhere else’ was in large part reflective of this.

Of tarot itself, of course, there is no doubt that many of its images formed part and parcel of the imagery found in popular Christian culture, including various Lumière cathedral carvings. That many also had precursors in pre-Christian times is also clear: to use a non-tarot example, there can be seen a transformation from Isis and Horus to Mary and Child (though even here, I am tempted to raise that this is further reflected in tarot as Empress and shield).

In returning to the author of Meditations on the Tarot, what he manages to continuously do is precisely what Robin Jensen mentions: he allows the images to be translated, rather than decoded, and lets these ‘serve as openings to a far more complex set of layered meanings and significations’, yet at each instance reminding us of the tradition of which he speaks: that of Christian Hermeticism.

Well known author and modern mystic and teacher Abbot Thomas Keating says that ‘this book, in my view, is the greatest contribution to date toward the rediscovery and renewal of the Christian contemplative tradition of the Fathers of the Church and the High Middle Ages’. Yet I would go further in the sense that the book, irrespective as to whether it contributes to such a rediscovery and renewal, also refocusses tarot towards its Christian imagery… not that I always agree with him, by the way: there are many instances in which some more recent historical discoveries were simply not at his disposal, and he thus uses the writings of earlier authors and exegetes the image in light of such – some examples of this includes claiming that a ‘dog’ is on the Wheel of Fortune; or too closely (to my mind) connecting the Tower with its Babel counterpart (and totally omitting its reference to pseudo-infancy gospels).

Still, what the book brings to mind is that sense of the vital importance of what I shall simply here refer to as the Western esoteric Christian tradition – that tradition out of which the depth of value of personal autonomy as understood in the west is rooted, and without which the arts, culture and wealth of the west seems diminished.

Perhaps I’ll here simply leave the last word to Antoine Faivre: ‘The most beautiful and instructive book of the twentieth century concerning Western esotericism’.

by Jean-Michel David

There are a few cards in the sequence that were especially influential in sending me scurrying through historical connections and developments. This is one of those, the other two being XVI and XXI. Not that other cards lack such aspect, of course.

The Wheel has numerous details worthy of careful attention and reflection, not least of which are the beings depicted on its periphery, and yet it is these that had proved amongst the most elusive. Certainly numerous authors exegete the animals in various ways, what I found ‘strange’, however, is that even amongst the earliest of depictions there was consistency, yet no apparent explanation.

This article is in large part extracted from a chapter from my online course (and book), and the main points which arise further down have also been posted on forum.tarothistory.com, and the more general ones on Aeclectic’s tarotforum.net.

Let’s first go through some historical antecedents for sourcing the card’s imagery

Boethius

We need go no further than Boethius’s immensely influential early 6th century Consolation of Philosophy (or, more aptly, ‘Consolation of Philosophia’, as Philosophy is therein allegorised.) to find the basis for the Mediaeval (and later) European pervasiveness of the image and allegory.

The whole text is image rich, and it is no wonder that it formed one of the most popular works in Mediaeval times and that it was translated in various vernacular languages (including English by both Chaucer and Elizabeth I, as well as in Old French and German). In Italy, it was highly influential in Dante’s Divine Comedy. Llull, Boccaccio, Malory, as well as the works of Chaucer and of Shakespeare, and indeed the very imagery used on major Lumière (‘Gothic’) Cathedrals, all show direct evidence of his incredible importance and influence. Furthermore, the manner in which Aristotle came to be understood by the scholastics of subsequent years was in large part via Boethius – though in this case his other and earlier philosophical works rather than his final prison-written work.

The opening section of Book II of the Consolation of Philosophia is of principal import when it comes to Fortune herself:

‘If I have diagnosed the cause and nature of your condition, you are wasting away in pining and longing for your former good fortune. [...] I know the many disguises of that monster, Fortune [...].

If you are trying to stop her wheel from turning, you are of all men the most obtuse. For if it once begins to stop, it will no longer be the wheel of chance.

With domineering hand she moves the turning wheel,
Like currents in a treacherous bay swept to and fro:
Her ruthless will has just deposed once fearful kings
While trustless still, from low she lifts a conquered head;
No cries of misery she hears, no tears she heeds,
But steely hearted laughs at groans her deeds have wrung.
Such is the game she plays, and so she tests her strength;
Of mighty power she makes parade when one short hour
Sees happiness from utter desolation grow.

Here Boethius listens to Philosophia (c. 1460):

Such is his influence in the world of philosophy and of ideas that I personally rank him as one of the most influential European thinkers of all time. And the work for which he is best known remains readily accessible to readers from a wide variety of background (unlike, I would suggest as an example, many of the works of Aristotle).

To be sure, the concept of Fortuna antedates Boethius – the works of especially the neo-platonist Proclus and Plotinus are influential. What Boethius does, however, is raise Fortuna to a specific mental picture such that what becomes of great noteworthiness is not the figure of Fortuna herself, but of something he really brings afresh and anew: the wheel upon which we inevitably travel throughout our lives. In contrast, Fortuna was Tyche (‘luck’) in Ancient Greece, a concept at times overlaid with the workings of the three fates.

Looking at the image (above) of the Wheel of Fortune adjacent which Boethius speaks (or listens) to Philosophia shows well some of the various other aspects I also discuss in other parts of my course: it draws us in to participate in the event, especially if we read his text at the same time. Also, the very words used, viz, “if it once begins to stop, it will no longer be the wheel of chance” (or, in the words of another and earlier translation: “if Fortune begin to stay still, she is no longer Fortune”) brings our imagination to active participation. For it is Fortuna that is represented, and for that the wheel must move.

Yet, she is capricious and inconstant, unlike the ‘eternal’ movement of the stars which can be forecast by their constancy. Whereas the celestial realm moves and is constant, here below Fortune may play and move with erratic fickleness. This, for the Ancients, was very much one of the key factors in not being able to predict the future unless ordained by one of the gods. Either it was ordained and hence able to be communicated by the sibyls (or equivalent), or it was left to the vicissitudes of Fortuna.

Noblet

Compared to the other TdM’s, Noblet shows some clarity of spokes that appears to have slowly eroded over time. Let’s see what I mean: The card images below are from, respectively, a Visconti-type, the Noblet, a Dodal, and a Conver.

If in the Visconti we still have the very traditional depiction of Fortuna actually included in the image (in her slightly less usual form as hoodwinked) and turning the wheel directly with her hands on the spokes, by the Noblet, not only has she disappeared, but there is now the common wheel axle and handle and, instead of four figures around the wheel, only three remain.

These three figures also seem to lose detail over time. In the Noblet, they appear more like an ape or monkey-like figure descending, an ass-like figure ascending, and a human-like crowned figure atop. By the time of the Conver, the three are far more difficult to distinguish – yet still sufficiently clear if the symbolic meaning is known (to which we shall return shortly).

These animal-figurines are quite different to the more classical depictions showing, generally, all human beings in different parts of the wheel (though there are exceptions to which we shall also return).

The images I show above also have distinct differences of direction of rotation: the TdMs move counterclockwise (as judged by the orientation of the side figures, presuming, to be sure, that the head leads movement). In contrast, the Visconti and the other two previous images have the figures move clockwise – though, again, there is no universality of represented direction even in very early imagery, something that can be seen from the image below.

If we look at the centre of each wheel, what is striking in the TdMs is that the ‘hub’ is depicted as a representation of the world – or, to be more precise, the Earth, divided in the mediaeval three-fold division encountered both in mediaeval maps as well as in the Empress’ and Emperor’s sceptres. Admittedly, the both the Dodal and the Conver already show the loss of clarity of detail retained by the Noblet.

Platform as stability

If we look again carefully at the card, there is something different about the position atop the Wheel: it appears to have a platform upon which the individual is seated.

If there is indeed a platform, it may be that this also stands, though located atop, as untouched by the Wheel’s rim and its constant motion.

Such equipoise requires a sense of inner tranquillity, acceptance and equanimity, together with a certain control of thoughts and action, perseverance, as well as tolerance to what may be heading one’s way and impartiality to its provenance (Cf Steiner’s Knowledge of the Higher Worlds) These, of course, also form part and parcel of some of the virtues to be cultivated by each of us as we meet destiny’s onslaughts.

The Ass and the Monkey

As already mentioned, there remains clarity and consistency that the two figures on the sides of the TdM Wheels are of Ass (or donkey) and of Monkey, with the former seeking to ascend, and the latter in the descending (or ‘falling’) position.

For many years I considered that such must have been of symbolic significance, yet no tarot book (nor other materials I had read) satisfactorily addressed this aspect. It is only during a revision of the course a couple of years ago that the specific details emerged. I mention this as there are still numerous details to tarot that have yet to be unveiled which only careful attention to detail, familiarity with early decks, and an increased understanding of symbolic representations in use in late mediæval and renaissance imagery will bring to light.

For myself, it was not ‘just’ that these animals are consistent across various TdMs, but also that they are evident if one looks very closely at the 15th century Visconti decks: not the main image, but the gold-leaf bears lines that makes of the ascending figure an ass, and the descending one have a monkey’s tail.. To be sure, other similar details are also included on that card, such as ears also appearing on the crowned figure atop, and Fortuna being winged. (see the close-up below).

So what of these?

I suspect that this is one of those ‘transformations’ of human-to-symbolic animal that was ever-so ‘natural’ to those of the times, and that the ascent as Ass and fall as monkey were more commonly understood than we may even presume.

According to the mediæval Physiologus, the devil was ‘simia Dei’ (God’s monkey), and the monkey was associated with humanity’s fall and continued to represent human sin into the Middle Ages (Cf, for example, Corbey’s Metaphysics of Apes, p.66 – on a different note, that the monkey was considered a representation of the fall was perhaps another, albeit unconscious, reason for viewing evolutionary theory with some trepidation and suspition)

As for the Ass, it probably derives from a joke that confounds ‘Bisodia’ as the name at times used for Christ’s Ass but also infers fantasy (or more properly speaking phantasm). The Ass can also therefore be seen to represent false aspirations (the Ass upon which Christ sat is not to be confused with the Christ).

So we have, on the one side, the striving ascent beyond the natural position of the ass; and on the other the fall (as monkey) by his own disobedience to divine precept. Yet each, by the whim of Fortuna, may also find itself in a position inappropriate to its ‘natural’ position!

Further details

The above shows that many details from early standardisations display a wealth of meaning, some of which have yet to be re-discovered. With this card alone, as example, one of the details that remains to be clarified through reference to contemporary notes is precisely what is depicted atop.

Of all decks, in terms of the standardisation of tarot, the Noblet also remains unique: though some details are definitely of poor rendition, there is no other deck that maintains the precision is contains. Antecedent decks, such as the Visconti, remain of course highly important in the development of tarot yet, as is shown by this card, it also remains a ‘pre’ standardised pattern.

What would be incredible would be to find a full deck exemplified by the World card found in the Sforza Castle!

THE SUN – LE SOLEIL

The preceding Arcanum—"The Moon"—confronted us with the task of human intelligence to liberate itself from the magical enchantment which separates it from spontaneous wisdom, and to unite itself with the latter, i.e. to arrive at intuition. The nineteenth Arcanum—"The Sun"— is that of the accomplished union of intelligence and spontaneous wisdom: the Arcanum of intuition.

Intuition is what results from the intimate and profound alliance of intelligence and spontaneous wisdom. Now, the Card of the nineteenth Arcanum represents two children placed under the sun, where the one puts his right hand on the neck of the other as if he wanted to draw his head near to himself, whilst the other touches with his left hand the place on the body of the first where his heart is to be found. [...] One could hardly better represent the relationship of intelligence and spontaneous wisdom brought into play in intuition than as it is in the Card of the Arcanum "The Sun". For this relationship presupposes such purity of intention as is found only with a child, and it postulates such reciprocal confidence, without a shadow of doubt or suspicion, which belongs naturally to children. Lastly, this relationship excludes tendencies to domination and authority — to pose as a pontiff and to pride oneself on the eminence of the guru or master whose favours one enjoys[...].

"The children who are fraternising under the sun correspond all the better to Gemini because this zodiacal constellation brings in the longest days to us"—says Oswald Wirth (Le Tarot des imagiers du moyen age, Paris, 1927. p. 208), thus locating the nineteenth Arcanum in the zodiacal circle of twelve cosmic mysteries [...].

Now, the teaching-impulse called "Gemini" can be expressed by paraphrasing a little the first statement of the Emerald Table of Hermes:

May that which is below be as that which is above, and
may that which is above be as that which is below
to accomplish the miracles of one thing.

This is the principle of analogy put into practice, taking its point of departure from the principle of cooperation. It is the opposite of that of the struggle for existence advanced by Charles Darwin as the principle of evolution called "Sagittarius". Nature furnishes us at the same time with a great number of proofs of the principle of cooperation in the process of evolution —perhaps as many proofs as there are of the struggle for existence. The proofs are of a kind such that one could uphold the principle of cooperation to be worthy as the directing principle of natural evolution with the same justification as the principle of struggle may be upheld.[...]

Bees and flowering plants cooperate. Air, light and plants cooperate in photosynthesis, where the miracle of the transformation of inorganic matter into organic matter takes place—where "stones" are transformed into "bread". And, lastly, if mankind had not cooperated more than it had struggled, it would not only not have achieved the international civilisation of our time but it would probably have been annihilated.

There is therefore no doubt that the principle of cooperation has at least the same rights to be considered as the directing principle of evolution as that of the struggle for existence advanced by Darwinism. In other words, the diurnal principle of Gemini plays a role at least equal to the nocturnal principle of Sagittarius in natural evolution.

One of the highest aspects of the principle of Gemini, the principle of cooperation, is that which is present in intuition: that of the cooperation between spontaneous wisdom and intelligence. Here it is a matter of a state of consciousness where intelligence advances from formal knowledge to material knowledge, i.e. from knowledge of the relationships of things to knowledge of the things themselves. Now, the "knowledge of things themselves" entails two functions: on the one hand what Henri Bergson happily designates as "sympathy", and on the other hand a sustained and profound deepening in that with which the sympathetic relationship is established. [...] Here is a concrete example:

You venerate (i.e. you love and respect) a non-incarnated being —a departed person, a saint, or a hierarchical being—in a disinterested manner. Your veneration —which includes love, respect, gratitude, the desire to conform, etc.—cannot fail to create an invisible link of sympathy with its object.[...]

The meeting is thus the realisation of the relationship when it is borne to the limit of the intensity of clarity. According to the case, it can take either the character of a "conversation through forces" or that of a "conversation through words". In the former case it is not precise and articulated thoughts or images which are communicated to you, but rather "forces" or impulses —spiritual and psychic seeds impregnated germinally with moral ideas and judgements. In the case of the "conversation through words" a revelation of articulated thoughts and representations takes place. [...]

Now, the meeting whose character is "conversation through forces" always resembles the experience of the "star" of the mages from the East, and that whose character is "conversation through words" always resembles the experience of the shepherds of Bethlehem. The "star" does not speak, it moves; and it leaves to the subject of its revelation the work of research in the domain of intelligence and facts. The meeting whose character is "conversation through words", in contrast, moves and teaches — it bears also on the domain of intelligence and facts. It guides. [...]

With respect to the nineteenth Arcanum of the Tarot, we find it again in the work of Jung in the guise of the active cooperation of intelligence and transcendental revelatory being, which cooperation is not only the mature fruit of the work of his long life, but also it is the principal thesis of his method of work in the domain of depth psychology, which he openly advanced and maintained. The intuition postulated by Henri Bergson as necessary in order to be able to understand life and the world was practised by Jung in order to understand and to heal the life of the human soul. He did not commit the error of the mages of the Orient. He did not consult Herod and his people. [...]

In writing of the force of soul resulting from faithfulness to the "star"— the force which manifests itself in the power to resist the weakness of revolt (for revolt is a weakness where one lets oneself be carried away by the current of emotional impatience — the fundamental weakness of all rebels, including religious reformers as well as political revolutionaries and the most celebrated social reformers) and in the power to procure peace between two aspirations which are, or are believed to be, opposed to one another —it is difficult for me not to pay homage to two Hermeticists of our century, notably Francis Warrain and Dr. Paul Carton, both avowed Hermeticists.[...]

Intuition is therefore the cooperation of human intelligence with superhuman wisdom. It is what creates the link—or the "intermediary gnosis" and "intermediary magic"— between the absolute and the relative, between the supernatural and the natural, between faith and reason. Now, intuition can be developed only by people who have faith and who have reason. It is reserved for believing thinkers. Whosoever believes and does not think will never attain it. Whosoever thinks and does not believe will never have the certainty of transcendental things that intuition alone can give.

Intuition combines two certainties: essential certainty (that of essence), and consistent certainty (that of consistency). The former is of a moral order; its force of conviction resides in the good and the beautiful. The latter is of a cognitive order; its force of conviction resides in consistency in the vision of the relationships of things. Intuitive certainty is therefore "faith at first hand" combined with "intelligence at first hand".[...]

Now, it is postulative faith become faith at first hand (mysticism) which arrives at the perfect certainty of intuition as a consequence of the help of intelligence. John the Baptist still had need of this latter in order to have complete certainty. For this reason he —who had seen the Spirit descend upon Jesus —sent two disciples to Jesus to ask him, "Are you he who is to come, or shall we look for another?" (Matthew xi, 3). And Jesus had to reply in the framework of intelligence alone: "Go and tell John what you hear and see" [...]

This is the briefest and most complete characteristic of intelligence and its role. Its role is immense, if one considers that intelligence is called to constitute an integral part of intuition [...].

This role was understood in the Middle Ages in the ecclesiastical milieu of the West. [...W]hat is at the root of scholasticism is the desire for the fullness of intuition, i.e. that of "baptising" intelligence and winning its cooperation with faith. [...]

Dear Unknown Friend, do not scorn mediaeval scholasticism. It is, in truth, as beautiful, as venerable and as inspiring as the great cathedrals that we have inherited from the Middle Ages. To it we owe a number of masterpieces of thought—thought in the light of faith. And, like all true masterpieces, those of mediaeval scholasticism are beneficial. They heal the disorientated, feverous and confused soul. [... I]t is this elevation above psychological complexes which is the salutary effect —even the healing action —of occupation with scholasticism, when one reads in the style of scholastic meditation.

[...] Why not mathematics? Doesn’t mathematics have the same effect of detachment and elevation above personal psychological limitations?

Without doubt mathematics also has a salutary effect. But it does not so engage the whole human being as does the totality of scholastic problems, and consequently its salutary effect does not have the same significance. What is at stake with scholasticism is God, the soul, freedom, immortality, salvation, good and evil. The triumph over psychological factors here is something quite different than triumph over the same psychological factors through occupying oneself with quantities and their functions alone.[...]

No more is it true that the mystical impulse from the end of the thirteenth and into the seventeenth century was purely and simply a reaction against the "dry intellectualism" of scholasticism. No, the flowering of mysticism during this epoch was the fruit and the result of scholasticism, prefigured in the spiritual biography of St. Thomas Aquinas himself. Notably, St. Thomas towards the end of his life arrived at mystical contemplation of God and the spiritual world and said, on returning from this ecstasy, that his written works now appeared ro him "like straw". Indeed, he wrote nothing after this.

The believing thinker thus became a seeing mystic. And this transformation did not take place in spite of his work of scholastic thought, but rather thanks to it —as its fruit and its crowning glory.

[...] Now, it is the nineteenth Arcanum of the Tarot which invites us to occupy ourselves quite especially with the "star" of Hermeticism in the heaven of intuition. What is this "star"? The Zohar says:

And God made the two great lights. . .originally, when the moon and sun were in intimate union, they shone with equal luminosity. The names JEHOVAH and ELOHIM were then associated as equals.. .and the two lights were dignified with the same name: MAZPAZ MAZPAZ. . .The two lights rose simultaneously and were of the same dignity. But. . . the moon humbled herself by diminishing her light, and renounced her place of higher rank. From that time she has had no light of her own, but derives her light from the sun. [...I]t was only after diminishing herself that she took the name ELOHIM. But her power is manifest in all directions. . .EL being "the dominion of the day", IM being "the dominion of the night" and HE in the middle being the remainder of the forces ("the stars"), participating in both dominions. (Zohar Bereshith 20a)

It is left to us only to cite another passage from an ancient source —from the eleventh book of Apuleius’ Metamorphosis —in order to have all the elements necessary to grapple, sufficiently equipped, with the problem of the "star" of Hermeticism and "The Sun" of the nineteenth Arcanum of the Tarot. Apuleius summarised his great vigil at the temple of Isis — the "arcana of the sacred night" (noctis sacratae arcana) —in the following way:

I approached the very gates of death and set one foot on Proserpine’s threshold, yet was permitted to return, rapt through all the elements. At midnight I saw the sun shining in its brilliant radiance; I entered the presence of the gods of the under-world and the gods of the upper-world, stood near and worshipped them. (Apuleius, Transformations: The Golden Ass)

Let us now seek for the reality, having in view the above-cited passage from the Zohar and the statement made by Apuleius. The Zohar tells us that the moon "renounced her place of higher rank"—that of equality with the sun —and that "from that time she has had no light of her own, but derives her light from the sun; nevertheless, her real light is greater than that which she radiates here below". Here below, therefore, the moon reflects the light of the sun, whilst above — where her name is ELOHIM —"her power is manifest in all directions… EL being ‘the dominion of the day’, IM being ‘the dominion of the night’ and HE in the middle being the remainder of the forces (‘the stars’), participating in both dominions."

Now, the moon, in so far as she is the nocturnal luminary here below, reflects the sun, but in so far as she is the nocturnal luminary above, she shines with her own light, and it is the sun which reflects her. In other words, the moon is "solar" above and "lunar" here below, whilst the sun is "solar" here below and "lunar" above. It is in this sense that EL, the radiant part of the moon’s name above, has "the dominion of the day",i.e. it is the visible sun — reflecting the invisible moon during the day. Similarly, the visible moon reflects the sun (become invisible) during the night. The spiritual moon is therefore the sun which shines at midnight. And it is the spiritual moon — or Isis-Sophia — that Apuleius "saw shining at midnight in its brilliant radiance". For the long vigil in the Isis temple resulted in a vision of the cosmic principle of Isis, i.e. the spiritual moon or the "sun at midnight".

All these things, although presented to us in mythological clothing, relate to the profound reality of the relationship of intelligence and wisdom, and their union —intuition. For intelligence corresponds to the moon, wisdom to the sun, and intuition to the restoration of the "intimate union" of the two luminaries. [...] "The Sun" of the nineteenth Arcanum is the "sun at midnight", i.e. the "sun" that Apuleius "saw shining at midnight in its brilliant radiance", and it is this "sun" which is the "star" of Hermeticism across the ages. It is the principle of intuition, or the intimate union of transcendental intelligence and wisdom.

The Arcanum of intuition is therefore that of knowing how to raise to creative intelligence the intelligence which reflects, and how to effect its union with wisdom, i.e. that of the work of re-establishing, firstly, the union of intelligence of diminished light here below with the intelligence of complete light above, and then the union of intelligence-thus-reunited with divine wisdom (see figure).[...]

Just as the impulse of scholasticism, on the historical ladder of western civilisation, did not lead to a perfect system of scholastic philosophy, but rather to mysticism, so does individual intelligence, on the ladder of individual development, lead to intuition and not to a state where it knows all and explains all. Intelligence is not the absolute aim; in developing, it is transformed into intuition. It is called to effect the passage from argumentative reasoning to comprehensive intuition. [...]

The Zohar and Apuleius speak of the moon and the sun joined —the sign which is the sign of Isis. We find this sign again in the apocalyptic vision of the woman enveloped by the sun and with the moon under her feet. But the apocalyptic vision adds here a third element: the twelve stars.

In other words, intelligence united to wisdom in intuition still does not signify the achievement of the work of the reintegration of consciousness, if it is not crowned by a third element, which corresponds to the "stars" just as intelligence corresponds to the "moon" and wisdom to the "sun". What, therefore, is this third element?

In order to understand its role and nature it is still necessary for us to look at — and this time more closely — the experience of spirits who turned from intellectualism to intuitionism. [...It is] the German philosopher [...] Schopenhauer [...] author of the celebrated book The World as Will and Representation, who made the decisive step from Kant’s thesis (that phenomena hide the essence of things, and that the essence remains inaccessible to intelligence as such) to the intuitive introspection of the essence of one thing —the Self—a thing that represents and contains the other things of the world.

This intuitive introspection allowed him to arrive at the conclusion that it is the will which is the essence of things, and that things are only representations of the will. Therefore the world is, according to Schopenhauer, a unique will which represents or "imagines" the multiplicity of things. And as Schopenhauer found that the same experience gave rise to almost the same conclusion in Indian mystical philosophy—above all in the Vedanta, based on the Upanishads of the Vedas — he said: "The Upanishads were my consolation in life, and they will also be so in death".

Thus, the mystical philosophy of India is the original and prototype of intuitionist philosophies of the West —such as that of Schopenhauer, Deussen and Eduard von Hartmann [...]. Let us therefore examine the fundamental experience and principal conclusion to be drawn from the mystical philosophy of India, as represented by the Vedanta of the Advaita ("non-dualist") school.

This philosophy is founded on intuitive-introspection -as method. This is based on the one hand on experience of the will as the element underlying all intellectual, psychological, biological and mechanical movement, and on the other hand on the experience of the "inner eye" or detached transcendental Self, which observes the movements produced by the will. The will creates the multiplicity of mental, psychic, biological and mechanical phenomena, in contrast to the unity of "the Seer in seeing" (the transcendental Self). The transcendental Self does not move, therefore it does not change, therefore it is immortal, therefore it is not an entity separated from the real essence of the world, and thus it is one with it. The true Self of man and the essence of the real world— or God— are identical. Aham Brahma asmi ("I am Brahma") —this is the formula which gives a summary of the experience and conclusions drawn by the Vedanta.

Now, it suffices on the one hand not to identify with the will and its movements and on the other hand to identify with the transcendental Self—"the Seer in seeing"— in order to attain to the real being and essence of the world in the intuitive experience of Vedanta adherents and German intuitionist philosophers. But one could ask: Is the intuitive experience of the transcendental Self truly final and complete, so that nothing follows it or surpasses it? Is the experience of the transcendental Self truly the nec plus ultra ("the ultimate") of knowledge?

Indeed, it lacks something important: the whole spiritual world, i.e. the Holy Trinity and the nine spiritual hierarchies. The "great portent" of which the Apocalypse speaks indicates beyond the sun and moon a crown of twelve stars on the head of the woman.

The intuitive experience of the transcendental Self—sublime and stimulating as it may be —does not suffice, alone, to let us perceive, and to render us conscious of, the spiritual world. The union of the "moon" and the "sun" alone, in the human spiritual microcosm, still does not signify the experience of the spiritual macrocosm. It is not sufficient to elevate oneself to the transcendental Self; it is necessary, still further, that this transcendental Self perceives and becomes conscious of other "transcendental Selves"—many of which are higher than it. The transcendental Self of man, as eternal and immutable as it is, is not the ultimate summit in world evolution.

[..] Judaeo-Christian Hermeticism, which ranges itself on the side of Sankya with respect to the negation of the identification of the "transcendental Self with God, is intensely occupied with the third "luminary"—the "stars"—in the three aspects of astrology, angelology and trinitarian theology, which aspects correspond to the body, soul and spirit of the third "luminary". Judaeo-Christian Hermeticism is thus the sustained effort across the centuries to know and understand the three luminaries in their unity, i.e. to know and understand the "great portent which appeared in heaven — a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars" (Revelation xii, 1). It is the woman in this apocalyptic vision who unites the three "luminaries"— the moon, the sun and the stars, i.e. the luminaries of night, day and eternity.

It is she —the "Virgin of light" of the Pistis Sophia, the Wisdom sung of by Solomon, the Shekinah of the Cabbala, the Mother, the Virgin, the pure celestial Mary—who is the soul of the light of the three luminaries, and who is both the source and aim of Hermeticism. For Hermeticism is, as a whole, the aspiration to participation in knowledge of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, and the Mother, Daughter and Holy Soul. It is not a matter of seeing the Holy Trinity with human eyes, but rather of seeing with the eyes —and in the light —of Mary-Sophia.[...]

The Athenians, also, had an analogous feminine triad, which played the principal role in the mysteries of Eleusis: Demeter—the Mother, Persephone —the Daughter, and "Athena the bringer of salvation" (cf. Olympiodorus, In Platonis Phaedonem commentaria = "Commentary on the Phaedo of Plato"; ed. W. Norvin, Leipzig, 1913, p. Ill)—where Athena was at the same time the "community of Athens" or the "soul of Athens" as it were, analogous to the "Virgin of Israel".

Historical analogies and metaphysical parallels alone, however, do not suffice to attain the complete certainty of intuition: it is for the heart to say the last decisive word. Thus the following "argument of the heart" proved to be decisive, twenty-five years ago, to the one who writes these lines.

There is nothing which is more necessary and more precious in the experience of human childhood than parental love; nothing more necessary, because the human child, alone, is not viable if it is not taken from the first moments of its life into the circle of care of parental love or, lacking parental love, its substitute-charity; nothing more precious, because the parental love experienced in childhood is moral capital for the whole of life. In childhood we receive two dowries for life, two assets from which we can draw during the whole of life: the vital biological asset which is the treasure of our health and vital energy, and the moral asset which is the treasure of health of soul and its vital energy—its capacity to love, to hope and to believe. The moral asset is the experience of parental love that we have had in childhood. It is so precious, this experience, that it renders us capable of elevating ourselves to more sublime things —even to divine things.[...] For it is the experience of parental love —and it is above all this —which renders us capable of loving the "Architect" or "First Cause" of the world as our Father who is in heaven. Parental love bears in itself true senses of the soul for the Divine —which are, by analogy, eyes and ears of the soul.

Now, the experience of parental love consists of two elements: the experience of maternal love and that of paternal love. The one and the other are equally necessary and equally precious. The one and the other render us capable of raising ourselves to the Divine. The one and the other signify to us the means of entering into a living relationship with God, which means to love God, who is the prototype of all paternity and all maternity. [...]

Similarly, it is so with the rosary prayer, where appeal to the two aspects of divine paternal love in the prayer addressed to the Father and the Mother is made during meditation on the mysteries of the Joy, Suffering and Glory of the Blessed Virgin. The rosary prayer is — in any case for the Hermeticist — again a masterpiece of simplicity, containing and revealing things of inexhaustible profundity. . a masterpiece of the Holy Spirit!

Dear Unknown Friend, the Arcanum "The Sun" with which we are occupied is an Arcanum of children bathing in the light of the sun. Here it is not a matter of finding occult things, but rather of seeing ordinary and simple things in the light of day of the sun —and with the look of a child.

The nineteenth Arcanum of the Tarot, the Arcanum of intuition, is that of revelatory naivety in the act of knowledge, which renders the spirit capable of an intensity of look not troubled by doubt and by the scruples engendered by doubt, i.e. it is the vision of things such as they are under the eternally new day of the sun. It teaches the art of undergoing the pure and simple impression which reveals through itself—without intellectual hypotheses and superstructures —what things are. To render impressions noumenous— this is what it is a matter of in the Arcanum "The Sun", the Arcanum of intuition.

You will understand therefore, dear Unknown Friend, that in speaking of parental love and of its two aspects, in speaking of the practice of the novena and the rosary prayer, etc., we are in no way estranging ourselves from the theme of the nineteenth Arcanum of the Tarot; rather, on the contrary, we are penetrating to its very heart. For we are endeavouring to advance from an understanding of what intuition is to its exercise, i.e. from meditation on the Arcanum of intuition to the use of this Arcanum.

When the French author, priest and Freemason Antoine Court de Gebelin (1719-84) in 1781 advanced the allegation, that the tarot deck constituted the Egyptian god Thoth’s ‘Secret Book’, he cast a seed to something, which during the next couple of centuries should grow to immense heights. Tarot was an ordinary card game in many parts of France, but not in Paris, where Gebelin lived. One day, when he noticed a group of tarot players, he intuitively grasped the idea, that he had here discovered something far more than an utterly simple deck of playing cards.

Gebelin put forward his discovery in volume eight of his nine volume work ‘Le Monde Primitif analisé et comparé avec le Monde moderne’. The deck of cards used by the players that Gebelin watched, was presumably the Marseilles standard pattern. Playing card terminology defines a ‘standard pattern’ as a set of images, with none or only minor differences, produced by many different card makers in various localities’. The Marseilles pattern fits very well into this definition. It was produced by many card makers, not only in France but also in Italy. By and by a number of local varieties developed, like the Tarot Bolognese, the Sicilian Tarot, the Tarot Piemonte and Tarot Milanese. Distinct variations saw the light of day in France, Belgium, Switzerland. All with their own characteristics but all with the Marseille pattern as a distinct background.

Gebelin’s seed was slow in germinating, development took its time. The first, who took up the concept, was the Parisian fortune-teller Etteilla. Inspired by Gebelin, he saw the tarot cards as a sort of expanded fortune-telling cards, which he, however, did not find completely satisfying. So he started ‘improving’ them by adding interpretative texts, visual symbols and small vignettes, as we know them from ordinary fortune-telling cards. He also published books with practical instructions on how his ‘tarot decks’ could be used. Etteilla’s ‘tarots’ have in general been considered reprehensible but, maybe, time is now ready for a further study of their symbolism.

With Etteilla’s intervention, the seed from the big tree in the wood, the Marseille pattern, had finally began to sprout and from now on it grew quickly. We now come to the French esoterist, Alphonse Louis Constant, writing from about 1850 under the name of Eliphás Levi. Levi rejected Etteilla’s ‘improvements and ‘corrections’ and returned to the Marseilles tarot in its pure form. Levi’s books, which described quite a number of esoteric systems, like kabbala, alchemy, astrology and tarot, started a wave in the world of esotericism. At this time a tarot deck, which rightly can be called the very first created for a solely esoteric purpose, saw the light of the day. Swiss Oswald Wirth (1860-1943), a competent artist, student and secretary of another of the occult characters of the time, Marquis Stanislas de Guaita, was by him encouraged to create a tarot deck, cleaned of Etteilla’s ‘improvements’. Wirth’s tarot, with relatively simple stencil coloured images, was for the first time produced in 1889. The cards, still with the Marseilles pattern as a basis, had the Hebrew letters, essentially for the tarot correspondences with the Kabbala and the Tree of Life. Here I feel it necessary to add the remark, that the deck currently marketed as ‘the original and only authorised Oswald Wirth Tarot deck’, has nothing what so ever to do with Wirth’s tarot. The images are not Wirth’s original (but drawn by a Michel Simeon) and Wirth’s deck did not comprise a minor arcana, which was not a part of his scheme of things. The ways of tarot publishers are past understanding.

Gebelin’s seed had found its ground. Tarot moved from France to England in the second half of the 19th. Century and dumped right into the Victorian era, where occult- and esoteric lodges flourished. In particular Tarot found a home in ‘The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn’, established in 1888. The basis for Golden Dawn’s order work was, in particular, the writings of the French esoterics as they were expressed in Levi’s books. The order papers, which were granted to the adepts as they raised in the order grades included, at the time the adept was admitted to The Second Order, instructions which would make it possible for him or her to create their own tarot deck. At a time a prototype, drawn by Moina Mathers (married to Samuel Liddell Mathers, one of the GD’s founders), was available for copying. Tarot as a card game was not known in Great Britain and even to get a Marseilles deck was near to impossible.

In this environment, a big and vigorous tree grew out of Gebelin’s seeds: the Waite-Smith Tarot, created by the man of letters, Arthur Edward Waite and the artist Pamela Colman Smith, both members of the Golden Dawn. Right now in December 2009 we can celebrate the Waite-Smith Tarot’s 100 years anniversary. How many other tarot decks will ever come to celebrate a 100 years anniversary? None, in my opinion. The time was the early 20th Century, during which tarot, unpredictably, should come to grow to immense heights.

For the members of the secret societies and lodges, for the magicians, who strived for controlling the forces of the universe and for the kabbalists, who wanted to explore the scheme of things to understand the creation and man’s place in the universe through the Tree of Life’ spheres and paths, tarot was the tool par excellence. For many decades the Marseille pattern tarot had been that tool. The tarot deck’s ‘divinatory’ aspects, those of ‘seeking the advice of the Devine through a mantic method like casting of lots, dice, runes, tarot..’ were considered inferior, that was not what tarot essentially was for. Now a new and different tarot was available, a tarot which also changed the concept of tarot over the next century, more or less away from that of being a tool of recognition to that of being a tool for an upcoming craze of ‘card-reading’. While the number cards in the Marseille patterned decks depicted only the relevant number of the suit symbols: wands, cups, swords and coins (fine enough for the Kabbalists and numerologists), the Waite-Smith tarot depicted four series of action pictures, with people engaged in various activities. There were other differences from the Marseilles tarot, but not so obvious at a first glance. Waite’s had, however, changed the sequence of the majors, compared to the Marseilles deck sequence. Waite was not only a man of letters, he was also a man of secrecy and this was his secret which he did not want to reveal. Essentially it was all about making a more relevant correspondence with the astrological signs which each major arcana card related to. These correspondences were considered being secrets available only to Golden Dawn adepts (secret societies need to have some secrets to guard), and Waite was afraid that he, if he published any details in the book accompanying the deck: ‘The Key of the Tarot, being Fragments of a Secret Tradition under the Veil of divination’, he would have broken his oath to the Golden Dawn. For the same reason of secrecy, he did not include Hebrew letters in the card design, as Wirth had done it.

The Tarot Forest’s underwood continued to grow steadily but slowly over many decades. Pamela Colman Smith’s drawings were unrestrained copied and redrawn. Waite’s book was soon copied and sold under the name of an American ‘author’. The Tarot Forest had, by and by, got a low undergrowth of tarot decks, more or less based upon the Waite-Smith Tarot. The next seedling to become a powerful trunk in the Forest of Tarot was Crowley/Harris’ ‘Thoth Tarot,’ which came alive in 1944 after five years cooperation between the esoterist, magician, provocateur, eroticist and drug-addict Aleister Crowley and the artist and upper-class housewife, Lady Frieda Harris. Tarot was still for the few.

With the Waite-Smith tarot the world had got a comic book in loose leaf format and an endless combination of comic strips could be created and read as a story by mixing the 78 card and placing them in one of many patterns. The flower power era, named by the American poet Allen Ginsburg, that erupted in the American counterculture during the late 1960s and early 1970s stimulated this new way of looking at the tarot and several packs showed up, published by alternative publishers. In the early 1970’s it, however, went wrong. Greedy capital interests took over the Tarot Forest, like they took over the South American rainforests. Tarot was turned into an industry, a massmedia that could be compared with the continual flow of comic books. Every week its comic book, every week its tarot deck and each ‘tarot-reader’ felt that she too had to create her own tarot deck. We had come far away from the tarot of the Golden Dawn adepts. All sorts of tarot decks appeared, all subjects, which had no whatsoever with tarot to do: Norse mythology, Red Indian lore, the Vikings, the Celts, the Saints, the Mayans, the Angles, the Gay, the Witches – the list is long – , were forced into a tarot structure of 78 cards. Most of them with voluminous books that tried to explain why exactly this subject reflects the tarot. Many privately published and personal decks appeared too, which was fine for the persons, who created them and their own circles, but essentially of no common importance. In my own collection I have about 1400 tarot deck up to the year 2000 (divinatory and fortune telling packs not included), a huge industry of tarot. Only occasional seedlings gained foothold in the tarot underwood, particularly those drawn by artists with a capital ‘A’ like Pamela Colman Smith and Frieda Harris. The major part of the underwood flourished only for a short time to perish soon, which also is the main purpose of capital interests: to create a continuous turnover.

Rider Waite Tarot, Rider Waite-Smith Tarot and latest Smith-Waite Tarot (!), we have many names for the things we love, but that doesn’t necessarily make a name appropriate. These three names are all constructions attributed to the deck by USGames Systems Inc, who took over the publication in the early 1970’s. The original publisher, William Rider did never connect his own name to the tarot, and why should he. It was simply named ‘Tarot Cards’ in advertising; no other tarot decks were available in England at that time. Rightly it should be named the Waite-Smith Tarot, as a tribute to its two creators. Publishers are publishers, they are in it for the money and need not be given a credit for that. A good and easy way to honour the two creators right now, where the deck’s 100 years existence can be celebrated would be from now persistently to call the deck Waite-Smith Tarot. For reasons I am not aware of, several of the best known American tarotists continue to include ‘Rider’ in its name. It is certainly not to honour William Rider, the publisher, but rather the person, who named it ‘Rider-Waite’ years later.

Lately, voices have advocated for, that Pamela Colman Smith is the ‘real’ creator of the Waite-Smith tarot. My own book ‘The Story of the Waite-Smith Tarot’ has also been used as an argument for that. Sorry, but no (and this is not to minimize PCS’s work, on the contrary), but without Waite, there would not have been a tarot deck illustrated by Pamela Colman Smith, while there very well could have been a Waite tarot illustrated by another artist. Quite a different deck, of course, but still based upon Waite’s concept.

This is the anniversary year, which we certainly shall celebrate. A lot has lately been written about the Waite-Smith Tarot and tarot conventions reserved time for WST-related talks. USGames Systems Inc. did it their own way by publishing a package called ‘The Pamela Colman Smith Commemorative Set’. Not much honour for Waite here, since the package only included a twisted version of A.E.Waite’s ‘The Pictorial Key to the Tarot’, twisted in the way that the pictures’ were simply cut away. The pack includes also a tarot deck (this is where the name ‘Smith-Waite Tarot’ comes in) which is a likely twisted ‘reproduction’ of the first published Waite-Smith Tarot, the one with the roses and lilies backpattern. In this case the reproduction work is muddy and the original back pattern is substituted by a stylised monogram. The only gem in the package is a small book depicting colour reproductions of other works by Pamela Colman Smith.

For my own part, I have initiated a mail art project by mailing 22 small books, illustrating in b&w all 78 WST-cards, to tarot artists and mail artist around in the world, asking them to transform the book in whatever way they want.

In a few years, the copyright to Pamela Colman Smith’s artwork for the Waite-Smith Tarot comes to an absolute end, regardless of what attempts are made to hide that fact. Maybe then a tarot publisher will at last present the tarot world for the true facsimile of the original pack, which has long been wanted.

Back in 1995 when I ‘discovered’ that two early Waite-Smith tarot decks, I happened to have in my collection, actually were quite different when looked on at close hand, no one had cared for details like that before, even though questions like “How were the original colours” had been asked. My book “The Story of the Waite-Smith Tarot” was published in 2006. When I should find a name for it, I considered calling it “The True Story of the Waite-Smith Tarot” but gave up the idea again. There were too many gaps that still could not be filled in. Meanwhile the interest for the deck has grown and the few copies of the early decks that come up for sale fetch extraordinary high prices. The research goes on and the most remarkable late discovery is that of Piero Alligo, one of the two owners of Lo Scarabeo who, supported by careful analyses of the printing technique used, has found a likely printing sequence in contrast to the publication sequence I present in my book. By accepting the existence of both sequences several questions are answered, questions like “why was the deck redrawn several times”, “why are early editions accompanied by a later dated “Key” and “what does that strange line on the Sun-card mean”. The biggest question of them all has, however, never been answered: ’What happened to Pamela Colman Smith’s original artwork?”

We are now at the end of the Waite-Smith anniversary year. Are we also getting nearer to the end of the tarot era? Have we reached a boundary, where enough is enough and where the tarot market is becoming satisfied? Where we have to realize that the many, who became familiar with tarot during the last four decades of the 20th Century have grown older, and that young people of today have other interests to occupy themselves with. Additionally, we are in a current economical crisis and it looks like there signs of that the tarot factories have slowed down the production.

Three big tree trunks reach still high and solid and robust up over the Tarot Forest’s crumbled and withered underwood: the progenitor, the Marseille-tarot, followed by the Waite-Smith Tarot and the Crowley-Harris Thoth Tarot. They are here to stay and what more does a serious tarot student actually need?

One can ponder about what tarot would be today, had not Court de Gebelin back in 1781 caught the confused idea, that an ordinary playing-card deck was an Egyptian god’s secret book. Tarot would, undoubtedly, still be a cardgame but would it be more than that? I doubt. Maybe the time is now to place flowers on the gravestone of the so far rather discredited Antoine Court de Gebelin.

K. Frank Jensen, November 2009

See also my web-site: www.manteia-online.dk for new details on the Waite-Smith Tarot. Here you can also find my review of ‘Twenty Years of Tarot: The Lo Scarabeo Story’ including my comments to Piero Alligo’s article on the printing sequence of the early Waite-Smith Tarot decks.

Documentation of ‘Asta Erte’s Waite-Smith Tarot Mail Art Project’ can be found at the same web-site from late December 2009.

It is blasphemy! Imagine someone having the gall to suggest that the Tarot, which was referred to as the ‘Devil’s Book’ in the Middle Ages, is presenting the same gospel as Jesus’ New Testament. For this to happen there would have to be two significant paradigm shifts. One shift would require a new understanding of Jesus’ New Testament, and the other, a new understanding of the Tarot. And this is the seat of the problem. Christianity, the religion that emerged in the century following Jesus’ death, monopolised his teachings and declared that its interpretation of Jesus’ teachings, was in fact, the only valid interpretation. A similar fate unfolded with the Tarot. A set of images that were created during the 14th century as a sacred map, where trivialised a hundred years later into a card game and system of divination.

What if the original gospel taught by Jesus had been radically distorted by a religion that declared itself to represent his doctrine? What if the Tarot was not a divining tool but a sacred map? What if the Major Arcana of the Tarot was the primitive, pre-Christian teachings of Jesus recorded in picture form to preserve the integrity of his teachings, during a time when his gospel of love had been distorted by power and greed? If these questions were plausible, then one could assume that the symbolism of the Major Arcana would reveal a dimension to Jesus’ teachings that have been forgotten or ignored for hundreds of years.

If this is in anyway conceivable, then its ramifications will be enormous. This would challenge the validity of Christianity, especially if the doctrine revealed by the Tarot is significantly different to the teachings currently represented by Christianity. This would put into question the position that Christianity represents Jesus’ authentic teachings. Would this make Christianity obsolete? It’s hard to imagine a world without Christianity. But there would have been many people anciently who thought that religions like Mithraism (second century B.C. to fourth century A.D.), and the Eleusinian rites of Demeter (13th century B.C. to fourth century A.D.), would never disappear. No wonder the Catholic Church of the Middle Ages declared the Tarot heretical and went to great lengths to exterminate the ‘heretics’ responsible for their creation.

This radical proposal rests solely on the idea that the Major Arcana of the Tarot reveals a more primitive and original understanding to Jesus’ New Testament than what is contemporarily accepted by Christianity as the New Testament. The Major Arcana (the word arcana meaning ‘secret or mystery’) is made up of 22 picture cards, which originally appear to have been a stand-alone set of images. The earliest references to these images arose in Northern Italy, in the region of Milan, around the middle of the 14th century. This was during the time when Milan was under the control of the Visconti family. Taking control of Milan at the end of the 13th century, Otto Visconti was appointed as the archbishop, however, he became a self-declared heretic, which saw Milan, along with several other Northern Italian cities, being ‘excommunicated’ by the church. The void of religious instruction that came as a consequence of the Catholic Church’s actions was filled by the Cathari and Patarini heretics, who the church attempted to exterminate thorough the Albigensian Crusade and the Inquisition. It appears that Milan became a refuge for the fleeing heretics and their form of spirituality appealed to the Italian nobles, just as it had to the nobles of Southern France from where they were fleeing.

It is thought that the inspiration for these sacred images, which later became known as the Major Arcana of the Tarot, may have come from these religious heretics. A set of images arose that later became known as the Marseille Tarot. It is widely accepted that the style of these images predate all other sets of Tarot cards, which are currently known to exist. These days, Tarot cards come in all forms and in most cases hold no resemblance to the primitive images of the Marseille Tarot. This rejection of the Marseille symbology was indicative of the shift which occurred in the 15th century, which saw the images that were originally designed to be a sacred map, become a tool for divination. It is worth noting that the declaration by the Church that the cards were the “Devil’s Books” appears to predate their use for divination. This would suggest that the Church’s banning of the images was a consequence of some other form of heresy.

All of these images lend support to the idea that the Major Arcana of the Marseille Tarot were created during the 14th century. It also would suggest that the creation of these images took place in the region of Northern Italy. However, what of its doctrinal relationship?

The Cathars believed that this world was an illusion, in fact, they believed that a lesser deity was the God of this world. Their goal was to awaken from this world in order to enter the kingdom of Heaven, and believed that the Sermon on the Mount, in particular the Beatitudes, explained how that was possible. The images of the Major Arcana were designed to explain the whole process of transformation, but the part of the process which related to Jesus’ Beatitudes was depicted in cards 12 to 20. In his teaching of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus explained to his audience (which was primarily Jewish) that what he was teaching them was not intended to do away with the old testament (the law or the prophets which included the temple rituals), but that he was there to make them more meaningful. He was challenging his audience to adopt rituals for a temple ‘not made with hands’. His new testament was a form of spiritual psychology, which he goes onto explain in detail in his sermon. This was such a new concept to his Jewish audience that the last verse in the scriptures relating to the Sermon on the Mount explains that the people were ‘astonished at his doctrine’.

The core structure of his psychology was explained in the eight Beatitudes. These statements summarised the transformative process required to overcome the world of illusion in order to find the kingdom of Heaven. Cleverly, the Cathars created images that explained that process.

The Christian church was unable to align itself with this version of Jesus’ gospel because it required detachment from power (control) and wealth, the important things of this world. It necessitated righteousness, forgiveness, charity and peace as the only priorities. This version of Jesus’ gospel taught that in Christ consciousness there was “neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female”. This form of Jesus’ gospel has not been practiced in two thousand years, with the exception of the few who truly understood his primitive teachings. The Cathars were one group who honoured his primitive teachings. In an attempt to salvage these teachings, Jesus’ New Testament was transposed into a set of 22 images that would later be referred to as the Tarot. It is very possible that the Tarot was in fact Jesus’ New Testament.

Russell Sturgess is the author of the book Metanoia: Renovating the House of Your Spirit from which this article is derived. Russell is also the director of education for beAttitude, which presents a system of education based on the primitive teachings of Jesus, in particular the eight Beatitudes.

Unless living in continental Europe and knowing what to look for and where, it is only since the nineteen-eighties that images from older decks became easily accessible with Kaplan’s first volume of his now four volume (and I hear soon-ish to be five) Encyclopedia of Tarot. Even with the first two volumes available by 1990, historically oriented decks were themselves scarce. It’s only with the advent of the internet that the last ten years has made a reasonably large number of early images readily available for those of us in search – yet without the proper research means – of early models and what these may possibly have meant or intended. This does not of course mean that many books were not also earlier available: to be sure, they were, and provided much to whet the mind’s imaginative faculty.

Grimaud (c. 1930)		Conver (c. 1760)

‘simplified’ though typical tympanum showing Christ and four evangelists

It’s in this context that what has always been apparent (at least to me) is twofold: on the one hand the obviousness of the Christian basis and Christian content of the imagery of the trumps; and on the other that decks to which I had access to simply seemed to be ‘missing’ the one image that it seems ‘ought’ to be there in this context, namely that of Christ. It seemed of course obvious that the Grimaud Marseille, and the 1760 Conver on which it is based, bore direct iconographic similarities to the ubiquitous cathedral tympanum carvings showing Christ amongst the four evangelists. The obvious and ‘problematic’ connection being, of course, Christ’s and the World card’s contrasting depicted gender: whereas Christ is obviously masculine, the World, in those cards, is unquestionably depicted with feminine attributes.

This does not negate in any manner the way in which tarot has also, especially since the development of the neo-Pagan revivalism of the 1980s, been appropriated and modified to reflect numerous world-views: from those that suggest more jungian concepts to others that incorporate Buddhist, Australian Dreamtime, Native American, Aztec, Wiccan, or indeed harken to ancient and modern myths and sagas from those of Ancient Egypt or Greece to the Kalevala and modern literary giants such as Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. All these, of course, irrespective as to what I personally consider the merit or otherwise of any specific examplar, and omitting another huge range of decks that are essentially artistic templates or ‘frames’ (from Dali to the hundreds of perhaps lesser known, but in some cases incredibly talented artists).

Having before us a deck such as the Grimaud that reflected in so many ways the central trunk of tarot’s diversity, and finding that this deck was essentially unmodified since the 1760s, the type of deck was very fast, for myself at any rate, the core upon which an understanding of tarot as a whole needed to be mapped to or, perhaps by better analogy, anchored. Even more so when it is realised that most twentieth century tarot themselves derive in large part via the works of either Wirth, Waite, Crowley, Falconnier, or Etteilla, and that each and all of those are based, at least for their trumps, on first and foremost the Marseille-style.

It is also apparent, however, that as we look back into history, the earliest of known decks differ from the Marseille-type. Of most obvious differing form are the Visconti-type decks, individually hand-painted and gilded in the 15th century. Also, differences arise in what appears to be a number of possible orderings (not only were the earliest decks un-titled and un-numbered, but when numbering did start to make an appearance, variations occurs, with, for example, the Hermit numbered XI). In terms of imagery, the Visconti-Sforza, Cary-Yale, anonymous Parisian (due to the publishing house’s name having been carved out of the woodblock prior to the imprint that has survived), and Vieville, each pre-1700 decks yet the second pair dating two centuries later than the first, display significant enough differences:

Visconti-Sforza (c. 1450)		Cary-Yale Visconti (c. 1450)
anomynous Parisian (c. 1650)		Vieville (c. 1650)

Each of those decks include elements that have important symbolic references, many of which slowly being re-discovered by the tarot community. In the decks above, for example, the Visconti-Sforza may display, as suggested by both Moakley and more recently by Berti and Gonard, the Heavenly Jerusalem; in contrast the Cary-Yale and the Parisian seem to suggest Fate or Fortune over the fate of lands and the Earth. In the Vieville, we find the closest overall iconographic image to the Marseille-type earlier shown. Yet this quite late depiction is not the sole of the period or earlier as both the card found in one of the Sforza castlelets and the Noblet bear important resemblances:

Sforza Castle well card (c. 1500)		Noblet (c. 1650)

The Heavenly Jerusalem of the Visconti-Sforza is, to be sure, conceptually very closely related to the Vieville in that this city is deemed as the heavenly abode of the eternal Christ as presented in especially mediæval and renaissance Christianity. That he appears more ambiguously feminine in the Noblet does not diminish the intent as Christ. Apart from any other considerations, numerous mystical works exist that speak of Christ in feminine terms and, specifically, with reference to his bosom suckling his children – ie, us.

Amongst a couple of other examples I also include in my Reading the Marseille Tarot is a quote from Lia Moran and Jacob Gilad’s ‘From Folklore to Scientific Evidence’ [International Journal of Biomedical Science Dec. 2007], who remind us that:

Contrary to modern days, Jesus Christ has been often portrayed as having feminine qualities in medieval times. This includes both having physical feminine attributes such as lactating breasts as well as religious ones, such as Christ lactating his believers, reversing the role of Mary and Christ-child to Mother Jesus and the child-like soul. Others have connected the wound in Jesus’ side and breasts full of soul-sustaining milk or used breast milk symbolism to illustrate ideas of the motherhood of Christ versus the fatherhood of God.

That there is a ‘natural’ transformation of a figure that earlier clearly represented Christ surrounded by the four evangelists to that same figure as (initially) ambiguously feminine and over time ever less so makes sense in this context – as long as the concept of Christ with feminine attributes remains something that is alive to the mystical life of the community. Once this aspect is lost, so too does the figure’s original reference become somewhat forgotten and eventually transformed to something else that can be meaningfully re-considered. In our case, a figure that increasingly becomes simultaneously removed and present as tentative steps are taken to gain anew what a ‘Spiritu Mundi’ may mean.

In a sequence of cards that clearly bears a Renaissance Christian worldview – albeit one infused with neo-platonic and neo-aristotelean elements – it ‘makes sense’ to have its highest figure alive in the realm of the spirit yet at once both reachable and ineffable. The perfected Man, the second Adam, into which not only as breath been breathed (the ‘A’–air into the blood formed out of earth–DaM), but also, for the Christian, the Fires of Life (Shin) descended within humanity, and at once also showing a metamorphosis of Yahweh to Jeheshuah.

Allow me a little to explain the above.

Let’s first take a couple of steps back.

If the Hebrew alphabet has had any organising influence of the ordering of the trumps (and also have a small impact on minor details), then it is unlikely to have been in the order that was imposed on the cards by late 19th century views – though these in turn have of course had an impact on how decks that adopt views from the derivative orders of the three main ‘traditions’ will include details to match the preference.

In my personal view, I still consider it highly likely that some simple influence assisted in getting the trump sequence and its iconography stabilised between its creation around the first half of the 15th century and the time it became ‘canonised’ by what we now call the Marseille-type in the mid-17th century. Something like an ordered alphabetic sequence, due to its simplicity, certainly has appeal. This in itself does not make it correct, of course. What is interesting is that the letters’ ordinal values reflect well the Marseille-type’s numbered trumps, with the un-numbered Fool placed where only he can be: last, yet wherever he pleases.

If this sequence has any meaning, then each and every card, without much effort, would need to in some extent or other reflect an alphabetic consideration. Some more ‘obvious’ visual ones are Alef and the Bateleur, Lamed and the Pendu, Ayin and the Tower, Tzaddhi and the Moon, Kof and the Sun; some become ‘as obvious’ with a little reflection on the similarity of meanings of the letter-as-word or its import, such as Beit and the Papess, Samek and the Devil, and Resh and Judgement.

With Shin (or Sin – excuse the pun that only works in English and could not resist in the title of this piece), what we have is the twenty-first letter, so some aspect to its relation to Christ needs to be found if the methodology is to yield feasible or plausible results. Fortunately, this is one of the easiest upon which to reflect as long as some of the common practices of the times is known.

Yahweh, or the unpronounced name of God in the Torah, is written with four letters: YHVH, and these are themselves found commonly enough in especially high places enclosed within a triangle in numerous Cathedrals – though at times it is obvious that the carver knew no Hebrew but was instead merely copying script he or she was not able to ‘read’:

YHVH rendered in typically poor Hebrewl

One of the views that gained some prominence (and a means used in attempts to convert Jews – when more brutal means were not at play), was to claim that God the Father becomes God the Son in the ‘insertion’ of the Holy Spirit (who has tongues of flame, as does Shin) within the tetragrammaton (tetra means four in Greek, hence ’4-lettered name’). In other words, YHVH→YHShVH Yahweh is Yeheshuah (Jesus).

YHShVH (as read from right to left)

In the context of the card image, this can be brought to reflection as the central figure is seen to be embedded within the four living creatures said to be at the Throne of God.

Within the religious context and mysticism of the times, the image, its placement, and even its possible Hebrew letter become understandable, and a redemption of the World in its eternal call towards Holy Jerusalem something that, for the person wishing to reflect on the imagery as religious art, a feasible reflection.

Of course, these reflections do not mean that the trumps necessarily developed in quite the way here mentioned…

Similarly, that the central image has come to be first and foremost feminised beyond its likely earlier pointing to Christ reflects the mores of the times that change with the spiritual strivings within cultural shifts. Nonetheless and in my personal view, the grounding of the image needs to also be recognised.

Years ago, when I first started exploring tarot history, I came to the conclusion that Petrarch’s Triumphs were probably a key element in the creation of tarot. Petrarch was a major influence on his time, and tarot was born not too long afterward. To see this connection wasn’t a new or original idea, I think most historians certainly see a relationship between tarot and some sort of triumphs, in fact, it’s been a standard foundation of research for at least several decades. The original name 22 cards that distinquish tarot from a regular deck were called "trumps", a shortend version of the word "triumphs", and the general idea of the game of tarot was that the higher numbered trump would triumph over the lower numbered trump; so for instance the Pope would triumph over the Emperor or the Sun would triumph over the Moon. The question really is whether Petrarch’s triumphs match cards from the tarot, and specifically Petrach’s most famous series (see this excellent site for more information, http://petrarch.petersadlon.com/trionfi.html). The traditional series of triumphs is Love, Chastity, Death, Fame, Time, and Eternity, here are early prints illustrating each triumph:

The Triumph of Love

The Triumph of Chastity

The Triumph of Death

The Triumph of Fame

The Triumph of Time

The Triumph of Eternity

I think three are easy to match, (here with the “Charles VI Tarot” from the 15th century).

The Triumph of Love with “Love” (or sometimes called “The Lovers”).

The Triumph of Death with “Death” from the Tarot.

The Triumph of Time with “Time” (or sometimes called “The Hermit”) from the Tarot.

By the way, I’m not necessarily trying to match these two sets of images graphically (although by nature there would be some similarity) as much as generally associating the iconography and concept.

Let’s consider matching The Triumph of Eternity with “Judgement”:

Generally, I think this is a pretty good match. It’s easy enough for me to see how “Eternity” would be expressed with the image of the dead rising from the graves on Judgement Day. If we go with this, then I would suggest that The Triumph of Fame would probably be a good match for “The World”:

In this case, the iconography does strike me as somewhat similar, certainly there is something about the posture of the main characters that feels related.

Overall, matching Eternity with Judgement and Fame with The World feels pretty good to me, and I generally feel comfortable suggesting this. Recently, when I was looking at the image of The Triumph of Eternity shown here (there are many, many other versions, just google “Triumph of Eternity”), I realised that this image actually reminded me a little of The World as seen on the Marselle Tarot. This time, I’ll set the image next to the Jean Noblet Tarot from 1650:

The most striking similarity is the inclusion of "the four evangelists" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_Evangelists): the Eagle representing St. John, the Bull representing St. Luke, the Lion representing St. Mark, and the Angel representing St. Matthew. There is also some conjecture if the figure on the Marselle Tarot World card, in some early decks (like the Jean Noblet, Jean Dodal and Jean Payen), might be a representation of Jesus Christ. In the Jacques Vieville tarot from Paris, 1650, the figure is even more masculine and most notably has a halo, as far as I know an attribute unique to this deck:

So, maybe the Triumph of Eternity is better matched with The World? I think many people would agree. The Triumph of Eternity is the last in the series Triumphs, just as The World is the last in the series of Tarot trumps.

What can we make of Fame then? The most obvious card to assign to The Triumph of Fame would most likely be “The Chariot”, which was also sometimes called “The Triumphal Chariot” in early references to the card. Let’s look at this pair:

This image of The Chariot from “Charles VI Tarot” shows what appears to be a war hero dresssed in armor, carrying a battle with sword at side. It’s not much of a match visually to the triumph of Fame, I think substantially less so than the match between Fame and The World card. Yet, conceptually it is a pretty good match with the war hero returning home triumphant and we can assume, famous.

My dissatisfaction with this arrangement is that I want to “use” The Chariot elsewhere… I want to match it to the Triumph of Chastity. For this, I’m going to use The Chariot from the “Cary-Yale Visconti” Tarot dated to the mid-1400s.

Several other early decks feature a woman in the Chariot, but the person is quite changable, through time portrayed as Venus, Mars, Mercury and others. One reason to like this arrangement is that The Chariot almost always follows Love, just as Chastity triumphs Love. To be honest though, when comparing this image with the Triumph of Fame, I’m back to thinking that they might make a better match after all:

No matter how I arrange the cards, I never get a completely satisfactory match. If I were going to suggest a combination, for me the most successful one would be:

The Triumph of Love with The Lovers

The Triumph of Chastity with The Chariot

The Triumph of Death with Death

The Triumph of Fame with The World

The Triumph of Time with Time

The Triumph of Eternity with Judgement

… but that’s just a guess based on what feels right, to me, right now. Probably, the simple answer is that there is not a direct relationship between the tarot and Petrarch’s Triumphs. Like so many other facets of the inconography of tarot, the Triumphs of Petrarch was probably just one of many influences. Still, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that the relationship was somewhat more intimate, so I’ll continue to explore, rearrange the matches, then rearrange them again. I’m always open to a new theory, so if you see an arrangement that make more sense, please drop by the Tarot History Forum and share it with us.

Robert Mealing hosts the Tarot History Forum at forum.tarothistory.com.

by Jean-Michel David

I must admit that whenever I look again at the essays on tarot in De Gébelin’s 18th century Monde Primitif analysé et comparé avec le Monde Moderne (“Primitive World analysed and compared with the Modern World”), I am struck not as much by De Gebelin’s own essay, but rather by the fact that he included de Mellet’s essay, and what this latter actually says. The nine volumes of the work, by the way, were re-published in French last year (2006) by Elibron Classics.

De Gébelin’s volumes (and incomplete) massive undertaking reminds me in so many ways of Sir James Frazer’s Golden Bough – in both scope and oversights. In scope, as they range over a massive range of Egyptian, Greek, and Roman text; in oversight, as they each reflect the inevitable limitations of their respective times (and of course Frazer’s work is much closer to our own times, being a work of the early 20th century), but also, importantly, that as one works on such a project, there will be psychological dispositions to begin to organise and see or understand one world view in terms or similarities with other worldviews, possibly doing full justice to neither in the process.

Still, this very process also provides a wonderful insight into the human condition of knowledge-building that, in terms of modern tarot especially, can be seen to be a continuation of the work originating in De Gébelin and the essay by M. Le C. de M.*** (as de Mellet is cryptically referred to as author in the work).

Between the two essays, we have the seeds of the whole esoteric development of tarot: its Egyptian connections, its Kabbalistic tangents, its pagan touches, its mathematical excursions, and its divinatory uses. This does not mean that before these essays and the publication of De Gébelin’s eighth volume of Le Monde Primitif (in which both essays are found) tarot had no such connections. Rather, the work provides a massive impetus for tarot’s rediscovery and incorporation in the minds of those involved in the numerous revivals of occult interest in the ensuing century and beyond.

If I can provide a small excursion in this direction, I ask myself, for example, whether it would have been likely that Eliphas Levi (Alphonse Louis Constant) would have made such a fuss about tarot in the 1850s (a little over sixty years after the publication) had it not been for not only De Gébelin’s volume, but even, possibly, their common Masonic interests? To move on from that specific point, would it similarly have been likely that the Kabbalistic Order of the Rose Cross, with its strong connections to Eliphas Levi, and the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, with its direct connection to Levi via McKenzie (who had visited Levi in Paris, and who we now know had been shown by Levi correlations between Hebrew letters and the trumps of the tarot)? And without the inclusion of tarot and its assumed connections in both those orders – and indeed the works of Paul Christian who also was very much influenced by Levi, would the early 20th century three dominant ‘Occult’ tarot views have occured?

These questions are perhaps not the right ones, of course, for every current situation has its aetiology. In the case of the development of tarot, what the above points to is that not only are there quite important considerations to look at with tarot origins and how it is embedded in the rich late mediaeval or proto-renaissance culture of Europe, but that its possible losses of symbolic understanding between its own naissance and its prolific game usage itself gave rise to a re-discovery of questions as to its symbolic meanings by the time of the late 1700s. Certainly, what we also see is a strict bifurcation that proceeds at this time between the game of tarot and its development towards virtually exclusive usage of double-headed trumps and French suited (spades, hearts, diamonds and clubs) decks, and diversions into more exclusively symbolically rich – even if deviant – decks intended for divinatory and other more esoteric uses, starting with De Gébelin’s contemporary Alliette (creator of the once ubiquitous Etteilla deck, of which a number of variations exist).

So let us return to De Gébelin for a second, and then to that other essay in the book.

The Volume is a veritable mish-mash of fascinating tid-bits of information, ranging from a long essay on so-called Oriental History, Assyrian voyages, origins of languages and family names, money, games, and a number of other reflections. I can well imagine how many amongst us would have looked forward to each instalment of this developing work in a world quite distinct and different to our 21st century. It provides for voyages of the mind into fascinating and often uncharted territories. It should perhaps also be remembered that this was around the same time that various clubs and Lodges provided for similar excursions into fascinating educational presentations, and that the rigorous academic style we expect these days was found perhaps only in the monastic educational enclaves: scientists of the times were experimenting in flights of fancy as much as in excursions of possibilities – one need look no further than Newton to see this at play.

In this cultural context, De Gébelin opens with the now famous sub-heading: “Surprise that would be caused by the discovery of an Egyptian Book” – that has, of course given this opening, been supposedly discovered, and right amongst his contemporaries and used by many in ignorance of its true significance! If one reads De Gébelin’s prior essays, it would come as no surprise that in the figures he sees reflections of egyptian influence… indeed, a degeneration from a pristine original now long gone – leading to future authors to of course make a claim as to where this original was to have been made or even perhaps is to be found (I am here thinking of Paul Christian in the 19th century, and Paul F. Case in the 20th).

It is in these essays that we find such names that later become used such as the High Priestess. It is also here that we find a first suggested etymology of ‘tarot’ – of course, for De Gébelin, or Egyptian origin. It should perhaps be remembered that the Rosetta stone which lead to the decyphering of hieroglyphs was only discovered in 1799 (some eighteen years after the publication of volume VIII of Le Monde Primitif) and that it took another twenty years (in 1822) for Champollion to provide the means to begin to understand Ancient Egypt’s writings.

This did not, of course, prevent numerous individuals from being fascinated and in various ways investigating the influences and remnants of Ancient Egypt – from Roman to Mediaeval to Renaissance to Revolutionary to post-Modern times! And it is during this Revolutionary times that De Gébelin publishes – a time also rich in the view of the world as changing in a most profound manner social structures.

As with any major social changes and upheaval, one is called upon to call to mind the past, and also explanations of the past. Explanations from Ancient Egypt certainly could only be surmised, but what was available were the rich works of the Greek, Roman, and post-Constantinian Christian times. And these were fished for all their worth.

In Le Comte de Mellet’s essay, for example, we find not only the same Egyptian references, but also allusion to Hesiod – as perhaps mediated through Ovid. In fact, it seems to me that De Mellet understands the trumps only by wearing Ovidian glasses and looking through those at egyptian pantheon by adding Plutarchian sunshades. Let me explain a little.

Plutarch and Ovid were not only both writing around the same time (basically, just before the Common Era or the birth of Jesus), but importantly both were popular sources during the renaissance, to the extant that they also both became part of any semi-educated person’s background knowledge by the 18th century, and certainly read by those who had interests in literary or artistic aspirations. Shakespeare, for example, studied without reference to these authors is a little like forgetting that the Bible exists.

Plutarch’s De Iside et Osiride (“On Isis and Osiris”) provides a foundational model for understanding a view of Egypt’s myth sagas as conceived by European authors and artists. Similarly, Ovid’s incredible Metamorphoses becomes a fundamental text for looking back to Greek thought (as is indeed shown by considering, as example, the 17th century Cesare Ripa’s Iconologia). Here are texts that appear to my eyes at least to provide the lenses from which De Mellet frames his essay and his understanding of tarot: from Ovid, his division of the deck into various ‘Ages’ into which he places groups of trumps; and from Plutarch a view of each trump as fundamentally reflecting egyptian thought.

In a future Newsletter, De Mellet’s first part of his essay (on the trumps) will be presented in translation (a first draft of which is at this stage complete) – but let me here simply whet our appetite – the later section on divination is also important, of course, for an historical appreciation of the development of this usage in tarot, but I frankly otherwise find its text rather dull.

De Mellet opens his essay with boldly calling it the “Book of Thot” (ie, Thoth). He then gives a potted history as to how it came into our hands: via Arab hands to Spanish ones and hence to Charles V and German hands.

He then claims that the structure of the deck is of three times seven. It should perhaps also be noted that he notes the importance of this number to both Kabbalists and Pythagoreans – how important such footnotes can be as planted seeds for further growth!

His main body then sees in those divisions three from Ovid’s four ‘Ages of Man’: of Gold, Silver and Iron. Having by this method only 21 cards, he claims for the Fool the ‘zero of magical calculation’, which has no value of itself, but can significantly alter the value of another number preceding it (for example, ‘9’ and ‘90’).

Interestingly too, he proceeds down the series from card XXI in the Age of Gold in a descent through the trump series and towards the Age of Iron.

For the cards he discusses in the Age of Gold, some comments have certainly since become commonplace, though not totally. For example, for the Sun he considers how the two individuals are man and woman, and though two in carne una (by carnal union one); with the Moon he talks of dog and wolf, of domesticated and wild; of the Star mentions Aquarius; of the Devil mentions how the letters ‘N’ and ‘M’ are formed from iconographic detail. These all have important ramifications for here we already see that attention is paid to detail that perhaps was not only omitted from the cards, but that if these trumps include details such as these, what else may be hidden and as yet to be discovered in other trumps that were missed by De Mellet!?!

Finally, and again in what were only footnotes (but what footnoted seeds for further development!), right at the end of the first section of his essay, and at the beginning of the second section, he notes that the Fool corresponds to the Hebrew letter Tav (last letter, and remember he moved from XXI down!), that there are 22 letters in the ‘sacred alphabet’ (Hebrew), and that these have numerical values.

Later in the essay, mention of the rod of Moses, the Cup of Joseph, and a list of possible meanings for various drawing of cards all add to a rich field that de Mellet never completes, and thus instead opens for others in which to play!

There is much of this story that remains for others to uncover and present – and forms such an important foundation for the story of the development of tarot!

Over 350 years ago, in the fashionable Faubourg Saint-Germain section of Paris, France, a cardmaker named Jean Noblet produced what was probably considered a fairly ordinary deck of tarot cards. Tarot historian Michael Dummett suggests that “A million is probably a highly conservative estimate for the number of Tarot packs produced in France during the seventeenth century; of those, no more than four have survived to us.” One of these is the Tarot of Jean Noblet, the oldest surviving TdM (Tarot of Marseilles).

We don’t know how many decks of this type he created, or whether he also made other styles of decks (such as common playing cards), but historical records indicate that he was producing decks sometime around 1650-1660. To help put this on context, consider that the “minuet” was all the rage at the French court;  a 12 year old Louis XIV,  who would later call himself “the Sun God”, was on the throne, but not yet coronated; and “L’École des Filles” (“The Girl’s School”, an obscene novel) was being secretly enjoyed by the female “bourgeois”. The name Napoleon would not be widely known for nearly another 150 years. 

Today, this one remaining TdM deck from the 17th century is preserved at the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, France, which seems an appropriate home for it indeed. It is kept company by other famous early Tarot decks including the so-called “Charles VI Tarot”, the “Jean Dodal Tarot”, and a remarkable tarot from the same period, but of a different design, by Noblet’s fellow Parisian, Jacques Vieville. Out of the original 78 cards in Noblet’s deck, 73 remain; the 6-10 of Swords are missing. The cards are in good condition, but some of the details are hard to discern where the pigments have darkened over time, (especially in some of the dark blue and dark green areas). Nevertheless, the lines are usually clearly defined, and there are plenty of details that have been retained for us to explore. 

The Jean Noblet Tarot has not been published in a photo-reproduction like some of the other tarots which have been available over the past few decades, this is probably because the deck is incomplete. We’ve been fortunate enough to have copies of rare decks like the “Tarot of Paris”, the Jean Dodal, the Jacques Vieville, and several versions of the famous Nicholas Conver Tarot of 1760. In fact, with the exception of the few decks mentioned above, almost all Marseille Tarots published over the past two centuries have been either versions of the Nicholas Conver, or decks based closely upon it. Even the name “Tarot of Marseilles” is a misnomer, applied to the style that most of us have come to think of as typified by the Conver tarot, but actually referring to a pattern that goes back farther in time than that, and probably far beyond the seaport of Marseilles, France.

It can be a bit startling to compare the iconography of the Conver-style decks to earlier decks like the Jean Noblet and Jean Dodal. Details that we’ve taken for granted as part of the “TdM Tradition”, such as the profile-faced Moon on the Conver, are here different: the Moon stares directly at us; the figure on the World card is not a dancer holding a scarf, but a figure wearing a cape and holding a scepter; Cupid is blindfolded on the Lovers; even the Hanged Man seems odd… sticking out his tongue at us while (what appears to be) his hands dangle behind his back. There are many such differences, and there are even differences in the Noblet deck that don’t appear in any other at all.

Tarot historian Thierry Depaulis noted these differences in 1986, and coined the terms “TdM Type I” for decks with iconography like the Jean Noblet and Jean Dodal, and notes that the style died out after 1750. “TdM Type II” is typified by the Nicolas Conver tarot. Depaulis says, “Briefly, the TdM Type II appears to me to be a ‘modernisation’ of the TdM Type I”. This really shouldn’t be a surprise when we consider the time period between these decks. The Jean Noblet dates from the mid-1600s, the Jean Dodal from the early 1700s, and the Nicolas Conver from the mid-1700s. As further proof of the antiquity of the TdM Type I style, a review of the “Cary Sheet”, an uncut sheet of cards of an unusual pattern that is dated to around 1500, shows a clear relationship to the iconography of TdM Type I. Tarot historians are still uncertain what the relationship is between the Cary Sheet and the TdM, but that there is a relationship, and that it is to the TdM Type I pattern is fairly established.

Interest in the Jean Noblet and Jean Dodal tarots has gained momentum in the past few years. Partially, this is a reflection of what appears to be a growing interest in historical decks, and particularly TdM decks. Several reprints of Nicolas Conver based decks, as well as “restorations” of the TdM by several modern cardmakers, have allowed more choices for readers and collectors to find alternatives to tarots based on the more common Waite-Smith or Crowley-Harris designs.

Regarding the Jean Noblet deck, one craftsman in France, Jean-Claude Flornoy, has provided many tarot enthusiasts with an opportunity to explore the deck again for the first time in hundreds of years. Several years ago Flornoy began producing custom made decks of the 22 Trump cards from the Jean Noblet and the Jean Dodal tarots.

Flornoy obtained high resolution scans of the decks from the Bibliothèque Nationale and retraced the lines, maintaining their integrity as closely as possible. These were then transfered onto high-grade paper, then fine gouache pigments were applied through stencils with boar-bristle brushes. For the Noblet, two sheets were hand-stenciled with six separate color applications each… just to create one deck! The cards were then varnished, cut, combined with a numbered booklet, and placed into boxes for delivery. Some of these decks are still commercially available, but production of them by this method is rumored to have ended, and when the remaining editions are gone they will almost certainly become collectors items.

In 2005, Flornoy began work on a complete 78 card version of the Jean Noblet. Like his earlier decks, the goal was to faithfully reproduce the look of the deck as closely as possible to what it would have looked like new in 1650. Knowing the realities of producing a deck of that size, it must have seemed only sensible that the deck should be brought to market through traditional printing. Of course, the hand-made quality of the earlier decks would be impossible to reproduce, but the deck would be much more accessible to a larger audience by using traditional techniques. 
One of the first challenges must have been how to recreate the five missing cards. Thankfully, the similarities between the Jean Noblet and the Jean Dodal gives a fairly clear suggestion of what the missing 6-10 of swords on the Noblet would have looked like. Also lucky, it was only Pip cards missing, no courts or trumps had to be recreated.

There are many curiosities in the Jean Noblet tarot. One of the most striking is on the Fool card. Jean Noblet is the only TdM to show the genitals on the fool. This feature makes the animal (is that a dog? a cat? something else?) about to pounce on the fool all the more threatening. It’s hard to know if this is something original to the Jean Noblet tarot. There are old, Italian hand-painted cards that show a Fool with exposed genitalia, so perhaps this is a remainder from a lost tradition?

On the Bateleur (the older equivalent of the Magician) one of his hands seems to be broken off, probably an accident on the woodblock from which the deck was originally printed. Compared to “traditional” TdM iconography, there is a lot to consider. The Popess hides one of her hands beneath her book. The Emperor faces in the opposite direction than what is typically found in TdM decks. The Chariot has a scalloped curtain rather than drapes. The Hanged Man sticks out his tongue, and appears to have “fingers” or “wings” hanging from behind his back. Death has a straggly crop of hair, and also faces the “wrong” direction.  The Devil has an additional face on his belly. The Tower has flames which come out of the tower and reach towards the sky. 

Two very interesting cards are the Sun and the World. On the Sun, the two figures at the bottom seem to be an adult man and woman, rather than what is usually considered twin boys. The World, as mentioned above, has a caped figure, similar to that found on the Jacques Vieville and Jean Dodal tarot, but here clearly with breasts. All four of the “evangelists” (the Angel, Eagle, Ox and Lion) have a halo, and like the Jacques Vieville, the entire bodies can be distinguished. Both of these cards bare a striking similarity to some cards found in the Sforza Castle in Milan. The Sforza Castle cards are from different decks of unknown dates (guesses range anywhere from the early 1500s to the mid 1700s), but seem to indicate that some features of the iconography in TdM Type I decks appeared in Italy, and possibly before titles were added!

Perhaps equally important to the iconographic differences (and surely for some, much more important!) is what might be described as a deck’s “character”. In this the Jean Noblet tarot really shines. The characters have so much expression! This is especially impressive when we consider that the originals were woodcuts, of what was at the time probably fairly “run-of-the-mill” playing cards. Where this really becomes apparent is on the Court cards. The images are full of life and are sometimes even a bit bawdy! The Queen of Batons, even though the lines seem to indicate she is wearing a blouse, has her nipples prominently colored red. As one member on Aeclectic Tarot Forum suggested, the King of Batons seems to be looking over at her as if to say “For goodness sakes put on a shirt we have guests.” 

The faces, not only of the people, but even their horses are incredibly expressive. Each has an identifiable character… whether it’s the happy, friendly, gaze on knight and horse on the Knight of Batons; the seriousness of the Knight of Coins; or the rather odd mixture of determined knight and confused horse that seems to be shown on the Knight of Swords.. it is a deck of many wonders. The King of Coins is a very respectable old gent with a lovely double-pointed beard.. but his lady seems questionably frumpy! What does the Valet of Cups hide under the veil? What is that behind the Knight of Cups?

The Queen of swords looks pregnant, but that’s not uncommon in the TdM… and the King seems to be having a conversation with her that might be better left to a private room! If one lines the cards up next to each other, one wonders just what he is staring at?  One odd characteristic of the Jean Noblet deck is that all of the Valets seem to be standing in rather “plain” ground, composed basically of two horizontal areas… the Valet of Swords having a different color combination, and slightly more interesting line shape… but still, oddly barren landscapes.

We’re left to wonder, 350 years later, what did Mr. Noblet intend to convey with his deck? Was he working as many of us do now.. day to day to make ends meet, and simply providing a supply to the demand? Did he see deeper, esoteric, spiritual meaning in the iconography of his work? With the Jean Noblet Tarot,  we have a glimpse into the understanding of Tarot from a 17th Century Parisian perspective. We also have the benefit of the knowledge and care that Jean-Claude Flornoy has brought to this old tradition. 

There are so many wonderful reasons to obtain and treasure this deck… the history.. the art.. the tradition. Perhaps the most meaningful is to consider the responses the imagery brings up in us individually, it seems to speak a very old language indeed. Whether we are looking at this deck for reading, for history, or both.. we can only be thankful that out of the millions of decks from the 1600s, at least this one TdM survives. Now.. about that Fool card…