A new book by Robert M. Place

Jean-Michel asked me to include an excerpt from my new book, The Fool’s Journey: The History, Art, & Symbolism of the Tarot, in this, the September issue of the ATS Newsletter, but first I would like to explain the focus of my book. The book started as an exhibition that I curated from the Craft and Folk Art Museum, in Los Angeles. The opening was on January 24, 2010. It had record attendance and received much praise, including from two articles in the Los Angeles Times. This exhibition was designed to focus on the Fool and the twenty-one trumps in the modern occult and divinatory Tarot as it is popularly known in Western culture. To fully understand and appreciate the Tarot’s symbolic and artistic heritage, however, we must look into its history and ask ourselves what the artists who first created these decks, containing these enigmatic images, were expressing.

The Tarot was first created in 15th century Northern Italy to play a trick taking game that is the ancestor of Bridge and, although evidence suggests that cards of all kinds have also been used for divination, the Tarot was primarily designed for game playing and continues to be used for gaming in many parts of Europe today. Like other popular art forms in the Renaissance, the Tarot was influenced by alchemy and Hermeticism and captured the Neoplatonic, mystical philosophy of the period. The Tarot can be seen as a window into the Western mystical tradition: a pictorial conversation between mystics and artists that has lasted over five centuries. It has continued to inspire mystics, occultists, and artists to create new decks and works of art based on its symbolism.

The Tarot’s mystical allegory is expressed in the enigmatic parade of images called the trumps. The term trump is derived from the Italian trionfi, which means “triumph” and refers to a type of procession or parade. This parade originated in ancient Rome and was revived in the late Middle Ages. By the Renaissance, it had taken on a mystical symbolic character and artists commonly made reference to it as an organizing principle and a means of illustrating an ascension to greater and greater spiritual truth.

The Fool and the 21 trump cards are unique to the Tarot and are designed to express the universal human progression to spiritual fulfillment. Through the trumps, the Fool encounters signs of inspiration, suffering, and death on his way to the final trump the World. A mystical vision of the purified soul, the World, is represented by a beautiful nude surrounded by symbols representing the throne of God. When the soul dances on the throne of God, time and death are conquered, and the Anima Mundi (the Soul of the World) is revealed. Now that the Fool, who is our representative on this journey, has achieved the highest spiritual goal, we may share in his tranquil wisdom.

The Fool’s Journey was designed to bring appreciation of the Tarot and its mystical tradition to a wide audience and to replace false notions about the Tarot with real history and insight. Once the exhibition ended, on May 9, 2010, I decided to that to further its goals and reach a larger audience I would create a book based on the exhibition. Also, in a book I could provide more information on the history and symbolism of the Tarot and illustrate it with more examples than were possible in the limited space of the museum.

The full color book begins with introductory chapters on the history and symbolism of the Tarot, a listing and discussion of the decks represented, followed by a chapter on the Fool and each of the twenty-one trumps. These chapters open with an illustration form my Annotated Tarot of the Sevenfold Mystery (a set of images that I completed just for the exhibition) and then present examples from Tarot decks that represent key points in the Tarot’s 500 to 600 year history, side-by-side with related illustrations from the Renaissance. Alchemical texts, occult sources, and ancient Egyptian works of art. The decks included are the hand-painted 15th century Visconti-Sforza Tarot, my facsimile of the circa 1465-500 woodcut Tarot of Ferrara, facsimiles of the earliest Tarot of Marseille Tarots, created by Jean-Claud Flornoy, the first occult reference to the Tarot, the first occult Tarot, a first edition of Pamela Colman Smith’s modern popular Tarot, the first New Age Tarot by David Palladini, and my Alchemical Tarot, followed by examples from several modern designers, including: works by Paulina Cassidy (the Paulina Tarot), Chatriya Hemharnvibul (the Fenestra Tarot), Evan Lee (the Twilight Tarot), Ciro Marchetti (the Legacy Tarot), Thalia Took (the Alphabet Tarot), and Patrick Valenza (the Deviant Moon Tarot).

With this article, I am including sample pages from the opening of the chapter on symbolism and the full chapter on the Wheel of Fortune. As you will see, the discussion on the ladder of the planets in the Symbolism chapter complements the Wheel of Fortune theme. I chose this trump instead of the more obvious Fool or World because I feel that it represents the essence of the journey and the problem that challenges the Fool.

Robert M. Place

II. The Symbolism of the Tarot

> pdf version (355 KB)

[Figure 2. From Earth to Heaven, the Seven Ancient Planets as the Cosmic Soul Centers]

The Tarot is a creation of the Italian Renaissance and evolved into its modern form throughout the 15th century. All of the images that appear on the trumps are related to the art of that century and to the century before. Like all art from this period, that of the Tarot was meant to have both body and soul–physical beauty and symbolic meaning. The Tarot, like other artworks of the Renaissance, is a product of the rebirth of ancient Classical culture that gave this period its name and, like other aspects of this reborn culture, it derives from a synthesis of art, philosophy, religion, and mysticism. Tarot images and themes are therefore best understood in relation to two mystical philosophical concepts that originated in the Classical world and influenced Medieval and Renaissance thinking: the ancient view of the cosmos and Plato’s concept of the soul. Both of these concepts present a model for the mystical purification and ascent of the soul and that ascent is the message of the Tarot’s allegory.

The Ancient View of the Cosmos

Of first importance to the understanding of Tarot images is the ancient view of the cosmos and its mystical significance for the individual. From the ancient world to the Renaissance, the earth was believed to be a sphere located at the unmoving center of the universe and the fixed stars, formed into constellat ions, were thought to revolve around the earth from east to west. Between the fixed stars and the earth, ancient astronomers placed a series of seven crystal spheres fonning seven layers, each one encasing the ones be low as they ascended toward the stars. On each sphere there was a planet that orbited independently from the fixed stars. When viewed with the naked eye, these are the only objects in the sky that seemed to do this. The planets were each named after a god and, by the Hellenistic period, their order was determined by the speed of each planet. From the bottom up, they were: Luna, Mercury, Venus, Sol, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. The planets were also believed to form a ladder between heaven and earth that the soul would descend at birth and, as it did so, at each planet it was given certain qualities by the god of the planet. Once the soul made it to the Earth plane, it was clothed in a body made of the four elements: Earth, Water, Air, and Fire; and subject to mortality and fate or fortune. This cosmic theme was described by Plato (429-347 BCE) in his “Myth of Er” in the last chapter of the Republic, commented on further by Cicero ( 106-43 BC) in his De Republica, included in On the Daimon of Socrates, by Plutarch (50-120), and was incorporated into the mystical worldviews of the Neoplatonists, Hermeticists, alchemists, Sufis, Kabalists, and mystical Christians.

The seven planets of the ancients were also thought of as the soul centers of the cosmos and corresponding soul centers could be found ascending the spine, from the sacrum to the crown of the head, in the microcosm of the human body. The Neoplatonist philosopher, Iamblichus (250-325), tells us in his biography of Pythagoras (580 or 572-500 or 490 BCE) that this older mystical philosopher developed the diatonic music scale with seven notes, marked by the seven vowels of the Greek alphabet, to capture the sound that each planet made as it orbited the Earth. This harmony was called the music of the spheres. Further, Iamblichus tells us that Pythagoras used this scale in a musical treatment to bring the human soul centers into harmony with the planets. Effectively, these notes functioned like virtues meant to cure the imbalances, or vices, located in each soul center.

Ancient mystics looked at the ladder of the planets as a two-way path. They believed that by entering a deep state of contemplation they could climb this sevenfold ladder while they were alive, let go of the seven endowments of the planets, and in this purified state enter the heaven beyond and receive a vision of their true immortal nature. This process is described in the first book of The Corpus Hermeticum, “The Poimanders of Hermes Trismegistus.” As we can see, astrological beliefs were intimately connected with the philosophical Hermetic goal – the achievement of enlightenment – and the process involved letting go of or healing the seven vices attributed to the gods of the seven planets: Luna’s force of increase and decrease, Mercury’s evil cunning, Venus’ lust, Sol’s arrogance, Mars’ audacity, Jupiter’s greed, and Saturn’s falsehood.

In alchemical texts, which also looked to Hermes Trismegistus as their initial source, the seven planets were equated to a hierarchy of seven metals: lead to Saturn, iron to Mars, tin to Jupiter, copper to Venus, quicksilver to Mercury, silver to Luna, and gold to Sol. The alchemists believed that all of these metals were made of one substance but impurities caused their diverse qualities. Lead, the most impure, fell to the bottom of the list but through alchemical processes it could be purified and transformed into the ascending purer forms of metal until it became gold, the most pure. Therefore, the alchemical quest to transmute lead to gold can be seen as a manifestation of this same mystical purification and ascent of the soul.

The Wheel of Fortune

> pdf version (1.3 MB)

[Figure 130. Fortuna, The Annotated Tarot of the Sevenfold Mystery, 2009] Because of its name, the Wheel of Fortune may seem to symbolize fortune or good luck but, as we saw in the frontispiece for the Triumpho di Fortuna (Figure 86), the Wheel of Fortune is symbolic of the wheel of the zodiac and represents time and the physical world. The traditional symbolism of the image has more to do with the problem of fate and mortality than luck. This is the temporal world that the virtues are intended to challenge. The Wheel of Fortune is one of the two trumps present in the oldest existing Tarot, the Brambilla Tarot created between 1420 and 1444. The Visconti-Sforza Tarot contains a symbolically similar image. Winged Fortuna stands blindfolded, symbolizing ignorance or indifference, in the center of her wheel. Four men, symbolizing the four stages of life: youth, maturity, old age, and death, are positioned around the rim. The man on the left ascends the wheel and is sprouting ass’ ears, which are incised in the gold leaf background. Also incised in the gold, a ribbon issues from his mouth with a written statement that when translated reads, “I will reign.” On top of the wheel, a man sits holding a mace and an orb. He is crowned with full-grown ass’ ears and declares, “I do reign.” Descending the wheel headfirst, a man with an ass’ tail but no ears bemoans, “I have reigned.” Finally, at the bottom, a bearded old man crawls and says, “I am without reign.” These four figures illustrate the foolishness of chasing worldly fortunes and fame. This image is a standard Christian icon that was often found outside of the Tarot. An example can be seen in the illustration from Liber de Sapiente (Book of Wisdom), a Parisian book on philosophy published in 1510. On our left, blindfolded Fortuna sits insecurely on a sphere balanced on a plank over an open grave. She is holding a wheel that is similar to the Visconti-Sforza Wheel. On our right, Wisdom or Pmdence s its securely enthroned on a stone cube. She holds the mirror of wisdom, a symbol of self knowledge. On the rim of her mirror are five stars, a sun, and a moon, representing the seven ancient planets, that similarly precede the World tmmp in the Tarot. Also as in the Tarot, the virtue Pmdence or Wisdom is dep icted tmmping Fortuna. The same four figures, representing the four stages of life, but without Fortuna, are depicted around the wheel on the Tarot of Ferrara trump. Here, the ascendant has an ass’ head, the figure on top is a complete ass, and the descendant has an ass’ tail. Below, there is a prostrate old man with a beard. They each have a ribbon bearing the Visconti-Sforza quotes in abbreviated form. In the Tarot of Marseilles, the Wheel of Fortune depicts an allegorical wheel suspended from a stand by a rod with a crank handle. Except for the top figure in the Jean Noblet Tarot, the men on the rim have been reduced to foolish monkeys. The ascending one with ass’ ears and a tail, the surmounting one with a crown, a cloak, and a sword/scepter, and the descending one with an ass’ tail. The figures symbolize the three states ruled by Fortuna’s three daughters: Clotho (who rules the past) Lachesis (who rules the present) and Atropos (who rules the future). De Gebelin recognized this figure as the Wheel of Fortune. He, however, interprets the three figures as humanlike animals: (from left to right) a monkey, a dog, and a rabbit. De Gebelin correctly describes the image as a satire on those who chase after fortune. The Etteilla a Jeu de la Princesse, influenced by de Gebelin’s words, depicts a wheel with a rabbit ascending, a monkey on top, and a man descending. The Wheel of Fortune in the Waite-Smith Tarot is again strongly influenced by the occult teachings of Eliphas Levi. The monkeys have been transformed into Hellenized Egyptian deities. The human figure with the head of a jackal is Hermanubis, a syntheses of the Greek god Hermes with the Egyptian Anubis. He is the guide of the soul and represents the good. The snake is Typhon, the Greek name for Set, who is the evil brother of Osiris. The Sphinx on top represents wisdom and equilibrium. The letters on the rim of the Wheel may read ROTA (Latin for wheel) when read from the bottom, TARO, when read from the top, and TORA, when read from the top counter-clockwise. Between the Latin letters are the four Hebrew letters that spell the name of God, the Tetragrammaton. Levi calls it the wheel of Ezekiel, which explains the inclusion, in the corners, of the Four Living Creatures, which are included in the Old Testament prophet’s description of the Chariot of God as well as representing the evangelists. The alchemical symbols on the cross bars of the inner circle are, from the top: mercury, sulphur, solution, and salt. The dragons on the Wheel of Fortune in The Alchemical Tarot are inspired by an engraving in Abraham Eleazar’s Donum Dei (God’s Gift), 1735. It is a detailed representation of the double ouroboros seen earlier in the Hierophant’s book (Figures 75 and 76). The scaly, red, masculine serpent on the bottom represents the Fixed State, and the white, winged and crowned, feminine serpent on top represents the Volatile State. Each serpent is transforming into the other as they swallow each other’s tail. This process had to be accomplished over and over changing the contents of the retort from gas to solid, and back, as the work spiraled to completion. The four elements in the corners refer to the elementary wheel of the sages in which the alchemists transformed one element into another until each element was realized. In alchemy, the Wheel itself was the means of conquering fate. On the Wheel of Fortune in the Deviant Moon Tarot a morose thick-bodied Fortuna turns a carnival-like wheel of fortune to determine the fate of a suitably panicked imp sitting on a stool. Above, a devil raises two wands. On the wheel, there are images of heartbreak and death interspersed with a lucky star and a magic hand. This image accurately captures the Renaissance fear of Fortune’s unreliable gifts and unexpected downturns. This message is emphasized by the fact that the floor in the scene is a tombstone. Evan Lee’s trump also depicts a nightmarish scene, with his male figure immersed in a sea of industrial cogwheels and, although David Palladini’s trump is influenced by the Waite-Smith example, he has managed to set a sinister tone with a stern Egyptian head topping the Wheel and serpents rising on either side. On this trump in the Tarot of the Sevenfold Mystery, a blindfolded Fortuna stands in the center of the wheel of the zodiac. As in the Renaissance, Fortuna’s wheel is the wheel of the year. Between her and her wheel, are seven stars, representing the seven planets of the ancients. In the four corners, are listed the four humors, which represent the manifestation of the four elements in the human body. This image represents the mythical world of matter that was presented by Plato in the last chapter of The Republic, in which the soul descends from heaven through a gate in the zodiac and down the ladder of the planets to be incased in a body made of the four elements. Fortuna is the same figure that appears on the final trump, the World, but there she is uncovered and radiating her true essence. images on the left: Figure 131. Fortuna and Sapientia, Charles de Bouelles’s Liber de Sapiente, Paris, 1510 Figure 132. La Ruota della Fortuna, Visconti-Sforza Tarot, c. 1450 Figure 133. Cunning and Time turn the Wheel of Fortune, Albrecht Dürer, c. 1525 Figure 134. La Ruota della Fortuna, facsimile Tarot of Ferrara, 1465-1500 Figure 135. La Roue de Fortune, facsimile Jean Noblet Tarot, c. 1650 Figure 136. La Roue de Fortune, facsimile Jean Dodal Tarot, 1701 Figure 137. The Wheel of Fortune, Monde Primitif. 1781 Figure 138. The Wheel of Fortune, The Etteilla Jeu de la Princesse, c. 1870 Figure 139. The Wheel of Fortune, The Waite-Smith Tarot, 1910 Figure 140. The Wheel of Fortune, The Alchemical Tarot, 1995 Figure 14 1. The Fixed and the Volatile, Abraham Eleazar’s Donum Dei, 1735 Figure 142. The Cherub of Ezekiel, The Ritual of High Magic, Eliphas Levi, 1855 Figure 143. Blind Fortuna, Gregor Reisch’s Margarita Philosophica cum Addiliollibus Nouis, 1517 Figure 144. The Wheel of Fortune, Aquarian Tarot, David Palladini, 1970 Figure 145. The Wheel of Fortune, Twilight Tarot, 2006 Figure 146. The Wheel of Fortune, Deviant Moon Tarot, 2008

Given my personal and professional interests, I am at various times asked whether Rudolf Steiner talked about tarot in either his books or his lectures – or was at least aware of tarot. It should be brought to mind that amongst the thousands of recorded lectures he gave between 1900 and 1925, many have yet to be published, and even more to be translated into English. So it is possible that a number of references are not yet in the public domain.

A case in point is one of the references I include below, having discovered when I last visited Dornach in Switzerland and, already familiar with the specific dates during which he would likely have talked about tarot, discovered a small entry in his private notebooks… but we’ll come to that a little later.

Much of what follows is extracted from a page on my fourhares.com site specifically addressing tarot and Anthroposophy. Of note also is that an increasing number of books on tarot make either direct or indirect reference to Steiner. Some of these, however, and despite even frequent quotes by Steiner, either misrepresent Steiner’s view or attempt to support their own peculiar viewpoints by quotes taken out of context.

The only major Anthroposophical work dealing with tarot of which I am aware is Meditations on the Tarot, written anonymously by a Russian Roman Catholic Anthroposophist during the mid 1960s, and published posthumously. The English translation is by Robert Powell, an astrologer, Eurythmist and Anthroposophist who also developed an integrated ‘dance of the Cosmos’ to the service of Sophia, combining some of Steiner’s suggestions for the Eurythmic planetary and zodiacal forms, but worked in a circular form to music. It is clear from some of Powell’s works that part of his inspiration derives from the works of the author of Meditations on the Tarot.

Rudolf Steiner’s reference to Tarot

There are very few times that Steiner appears to have directly referred to Tarot. In fact, only three sources have thus far come my way. Those who are familiar with especially some of Steiner’s untranslated work may come across other sources, and I would be very grateful to be informed of these.

As will be obvious from what follows, I strongly suspect that further material from the 1906 period is yet to emerge.

The only currently published source within Steiner’s works (ie, apart from my own website and this Newsletter) is from a Christmas lecture given  in 1906.

GA 96 Christmas Lecture 17th December 1906

For ease of bibliographic reference, Steiner’s works have been numbered as part of his overall ‘collected works’ – which in German abbreviates to ‘GA’. GA 96 therefore forms part of Volume 96 of his collected works. In 1906, there were still many lectures that were not short-hand recorded, especially some of the lectures intended for members of the Society rather than open to the public.

In a lecture on the festival of Christmas given in 1906, various symbols were displayed on a pine Christmas tree:

Steiner explained the symbols, from the bottom up, in the following manner:

The square is the symbol of the fourfold nature of man: physical body, ether body, astral body and ego.

The triangle is the symbol of the higher man: Spirit Self, Life Spirit and Spirit Man.

Above the triangle is the symbol of the Tarot. Initiates of the Egyptian Mysteries knew how to read this sign. They also knew how to read the Book of Thoth, which consisted of seventy-eight cards on which were recorded all world events from beginning to end, from Alpha to Omega, and which could be read if they were joined and assembled in the right way. The Book of Thoth, or Hermes, contained in pictures the life that fades in death and again sprouts forth anew into life. Whoever could combine the right numbers with the right pictures was able to read it. This wisdom of numbers and pictures has been taught since primeval ages. In the Middle Ages it still played an important role, but today there is little left of it.

[Note that a mildly different version of the above is recorded further on, from what appears to be a different source]

Above the Alpha and Omega is the sign of Tao. It reminds us of the worship of God by our primeval ancestors because this worship took its origin from the work Tao. Before Europe, Asia and Africa were lands of human culture, our ancestors lived on Atlantis, which was submerged by a flood. In the Germanic sagas of Niflheim, the land of the mists, the memory of Atlantis still lives. For Atlantis was not surrounded by pure air. Its atmosphere was filled with enormous masses of mist similar to the clouds and mists in high mountains. The sun and moon were not seen clearly in the sky, but were surrounded by a rainbow, and sacred Iris. At that time man still understood the language of nature. What speaks to him today in the lapping and surging of the waves, in the whistling and rushing of the wind, in the rustling of the leaves, in the rumbling of thunder, is no longer understood by him, but at that time he could understand it. He felt something that spoke to him from everything about him. From the clouds and waters and leaves and winds the sound rang forth: Tao (the I am). Atlanteans heard it and understood it, and knew that Tao streamed through the whole world.

Finally, all that permeates the cosmos is present in man and is symbolized in the pentagram at the top of the tree. The deepest meaning of the pentagram may not now be mentioned, but it is the star of mankind, of mankind developing itself. It is the star that all wise men follow as did the priest-sages in ancient ages.

It symbolizes the earth that is born on the Night of Consecration, because the most sublime light radiates from the deepest darkness. Man lives on toward a state when the light shall be born in him, when one significant saying shall be replaced by another, when it will no longer be said, “The Darkness does not comprehend the Light” but when the truth will resound into cosmic space with the words, “Darkness gives way to the Light that radiates toward us in the Star of Mankind, Darkness yields and comprehends the Light”.

This shall resound from the Christmas celebration, and the spiritual light shall radiate from it. Let us celebrate Christmas as the festival of the most lofty ideal of the Idea of Mankind, so that in our souls may rise the joyful confidence: Indeed, I, too, shall experience the birth of the higher man within myself. The birth of the Saviour, the Christos, will take place in me also.

Rudolf Steiner Signs and Symbols of the Christmas Festival [lecture III] GA 96, 17th Dec. 1906

It is obvious from the above quote, as will again be apparent below, that Steiner in large part took his source from Eliphas Levi (the symbol clearly has that derivative) as well as, very likely, Book II (Chapter III) of Paul Christian’s History and Practice of Magic from 1870 (therein the reference to tarot linked to Egypt falsely attributed to Iamblichus). Even that, however, is likely derived from a comment made by Yarker in his Arcane Schools, which talks briefly of tarot thus:

The learned French writer [Paul] Christian considers that the 22 symbolic designs of the Tarot cards embody the synthesis of the Egyptian Mysteries, and that they formed the decoration of a double row of 11 pillars through which the candidate for Initiation was led, and that these designs further correspond with the 22 characters of all primitive alphabets.

Within a page of that quote, Yarker also notes and discusses Freemasonic ‘Marks’ that include the Square, Ankh, Triangle, Pentagramme, and but few other marks (and has them illustrated therein).

Given that Steiner had a copy of Yarker’s book and that, further, his warrant for the Co-Masonic Memphis-Misraïm Rite derived from Yarker via Reuss, and that, further, 1906 roughly coincides with the ‘pinnacle’ of Steiner’s involvement with Freemasonry (it was earlier that same year that Reuss and Steiner signed an accord), it seems highly likely that the tarot reference stems from the same sources.

More notes on the theme – 12th December 1906

One of the few people that completed his PhD on the works of Steiner lives not far away from me. Whilst he was still working on his dissertation, I asked if he would keep an eye out for any references he may come across that either mentioned or appeared to mention tarot. His knowledge of German, together with the access he had to unpublished documents, would, I had accurately hoped, unravel more reference than the single mentioned above in GA96.

It certainly seems that no Anthroposophist of the early 20th century paid much attention to tarot, for there appears little evidence of secondary material developing there and then (apart from the later Meditations on the Tarot). Perhaps it was picked up with greater zeal by members of the co-freemasonic order under his jurisdiction. Freemasonry, however, is similarly an area that appears to have had relatively little coverage outside of the series published as Temple Legend, Occult Brotherhoods, and Freemasonry and Ritual Work (Cf also my page ‘Steiner and Freemasonry’ on my Fourhares.com site).

Certainly a few days earlier than the GA96 quote mentioned, and during a lecture at an esoteric session, Steiner mentioned tarot. During those lectures, notes were not made. Afterwards, however, notes were made by various participants. These were made perhaps simply to jolt memory for what may have been considered significant, or simply for the sake of later recollection.

The entire session, given on the twelfth of December 1906, is summarised by one participant (and that record is the only one I am aware of) in just forty words, given below – and I must here again thank Adrian Anderson for both alerting me to the notes, and providing me with both a copy of the German as well as its translation:

The Book of Thoth of the Ægyptians consisted of 78 cards that contained the secrets of the cosmos. One knew this very well in the Egyptian Initiation. The cards used as playing cards derive from this origin. The designations King, Knight, Tower-guards, Commander are Occult names.

What is of significance is that if this summary is of the whole lecture or session, then, presumably, Steiner devoted at least a whole session to working with Tarot, and that to a highly select group. That the brief note seems somewhat garbled is more likely a reflection of the person recording the session. After all, if the whole session was on tarot, and the person making those notes was unfamiliar with the deck, it would be rather unusual for clear card designation to emerge. It may be, for example, that ‘King’ refers to the Emperor; ‘Knight’ to the Chariot; and ‘Commander’ to the Pope – who is ‘Master of the Arcana’ according to P. Christian.

Given this reference, it seems likely that Steiner was at that period working a little more intensively with tarot – and certainly more intensively than has been recorded: if he gave a whole esoteric session on the subject, even if in the context of the ritual Freemasonic Memphis-Misraïm work.

Freemasonry and Ritual Work

The last book mentioned in the previous section, Freemasonry and Ritual Work, contains again the two references already mentioned. As it is there quoted in mildly different form, for the sake of completion, I will present the entire brief section (p 375 – 376):

The Book of Thoth (Tarot)

(footnote: The way the cards were used is not recorded)

From an instruction lesson, Munich, Dec. 12 1906

The Egyptian Book of Thoth consisted of 78 card, which contained the world secrets, This was well known in the initiation rituals of Egypt. The names of the playing cards come from that – King, Knight, Keeper of the Tower, Commander-in-Chief are esoteric denotations

From a lecture, Berlin, Dec. 17, 1906

Those who were initiated in the Egyptian Mysteries were able to read

(the symbol for Tarot). They could also read the Book of Thoth, which comprised 78 cards, in which all world events were depicted from the beginning to end, from Alpha to Omega, which one could decipher if they were arranged in their proper order. The book contained pictures of life, leading to death and arising again to new life. Whoever could combine the correct numbers with the correct pictures could read what was written. And this number-knowledge, this picture-knowledge had been taught from earliest times. It also still had a great influence in the Middle Ages, as for instance on Raymond Lully, but nowadays not much of it remains.

It is at times the small differences in the notes that bring to light something or other that is omitted from another record to helps to shed light on sources and what may have been at play. Here, the mention of Raymond Llull is, to say the least, interesting, and adds another dimension to not only what Steiner was working with, but also the manner in which tarot may have been viewed. I’ll leave it at that for now, only to mention that Llull’s works on the ‘Ars Combinatoria’, implied in this reference, is instructive.

Steiner’s NoteBooks – December 1906 – ref. 222

Given the dates at which Steiner delivered the above two references, I took the opportunity when I was last in Dornach, Switzerland (the week after Easter, 2008), to check out Steiner’s personal NoteBooks from the period – and was both pleased to find a reference and at the same time disappointed that not more notes, however peripheral, were made. In fact, the whole entry is the following:

Perhaps we can note two small important details from this: the first is that Steiner spells ‘tarot’ in the French manner rather than in the German as was made by the stenographer of GA-96 above; the second is that the position of the Alpha (a) and Omega (w) is inversed in relation to their placement when it came time to positioning these on the Christmas Tree (shown earlier). That these, incidentally, were in his notebook in lower-case rather than capitals I personally consider without significance.

These details again point to Eliphas Levi as an influence, though it should be noted that Levi appears to only have used the capitals (though, again, I do not think this is of significance), and that Levi positions the Rho ‘P’ so that the ‘head’ is above the horizontal of the ‘T’, unlike Steiner. Perhaps the influence is therefore, again, indirect, via manuscript works derived from Reuss, Yarker, or even various people associated with the likes of E. Schure (whom he met in Paris), or Papus, whose Tarot of the Bohemians, which includes multicircular ‘keys’, is reminiscent of Llull’s work.

One avenue that may be worth pursuing are references — or rather imagery — that may have been used for tarot by Reuss or Yarker. That, of course, is work that has yet to be undertaken.

Let me start by asking what everyone in the tarot world is wondering: do you remember your first kiss?

Oh yes!

How did that first kiss compare to the moment in which you ‘got’ the tarot? I mean that moment in which the whole tarot suddenly made sense to you.

These are moments of exceptional intensity, rare in a lifetime and much alike. Suddenly the sky rips open and you are sent into a state of fusion with the surrounding world: it suddenly becomes meaningful and is understood. You hallucinate, give thanks for the beauty of the world and fall head over heels in love with the tarot, or Britney Spears.

Now, you probably didn’t marry the first girl you kissed, but you became a master card- maker. How did that come about?

First of all, on December 6, 1986, the day I experienced this moment of fusion, I started to write an autobiography. In my vision, all my life had recapitulated before my eyes to the rhythm of the tarot, in precise, quasi-surgical slices of life. So I wrote my experiences, while “remembering myself”, according to the arcana. The basic link between experience and image, essential for the tarot, was accomplished. The rest was easy. “Remembering oneself” means to relive the past as an observing/observer, with the savor of the moment’s energies. It is a “Madeleine of Proust”. This book is finished, but I have given up on finalising it.

At about the same time, I started doing readings using the deck I had stowed away when I was twenty. Each arcane is a graphic programming of a “place of consciousness”, or as Castaneda might have said, a precise “assemblage point”. So, when my visitor drew the Lover, I could break into the tears of a 16 year old. If Force was turned up, I felt again the ambition of my 30 years. I was in sympathy (in the Greek etymological sense: suffer with) my visitor and it was therefore very easy for me to evoke and transmit the energetic quality needed for finding a way out of her existential crisis.

Then, in 1995 a Parisian theatre commissioned me to make scenery using the 22 majors of the Marteau tarot. Each measured 2.50m x 1.20. The theatre had financed the materials and I had got as far as Temperance when the production was cancelled. I was left with my work and a surfeit of the Grimaud tarot. It was then that I began a serious historical study, painted my canvases white and started over with the Conver. I enjoyed the work very much, and the year and one-half immersion changed me. Among other things, I was able to observe the incredible operativity these images exercise in such formats. Then I took on the first 8 majors of the Noblet. Since the ektachromes for the others wouldn’t be available from the Bibliothèque Nationale for a year, I did the Dodal majors and then went back to finishing the Noblet. In the course of these projects, four completely “unusual” Viévilles (XVI, XVII, XVIII, XIX) were also produced in large formats.

You have given us restored versions of the Noblet and the Dodal, first in limited, hand-stencilled editions and now in full, mass-printed versions. I know how important it is for you to preserve the correctness of the original decks, but how much of you do you think there is in these decks?

The minimum!

I see none in the Noblet. And few in the Dodal: the reversible back, still a debated question, and two errors in color placement: one accidental (on the Moon), the other deliberate (Soleil).

Of course, an industrial edition requires that the card dimensions be standardised. The original inner-frame dimensions vary by 2mm in height and by 1mm in width. I chose the maximum height as reference. Around this is a 1mm black frame and then an outer band of 3mm. This last space is imposed by the printer for technical reasons, and is not determined by whether the corners are to be square or rounded.

In your reconstruction of the Dodal you had access to the two only existing originals: the one at the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, and the other at the British Museum. Did you work with both of these decks?

Yes

What differences did you find between the two?

First of all, the colors on the English copy are in better condition, but soiled and dull. The English print is more charged with ink, as well.

Then, three cards come from another, probably earlier block: the Ace of Batons, Ace of Swords, and the Valet of Batons. For our edition of the Dodal, the choice was made according to which card was more carefully engraved. The English copy was selected for the Ace of Swords, while the French deck was retained for the two others.

How is it technically possible that three cards came from a different block?

The stocks! At that time, people didn’t hesitate to re-compose complete decks from disparate sources, even using decks from diverse workshops. Worse, they were often re-cut. We will probably never know if the tarot moulds controlled by the of the Généralité de Lyon marked «français pour l’étrange» (“French for export”) were included or not in the royal destruction edict of 1701. We only know that Dodal began a new production in that year. In those days, little was wasted: everything was used and re-used. So, leftovers from an earlier edition could have been used in another.

As for the inscription “F.P. LE.ETRANGE”, T. Depaulis suggests it could mean either “Franc pour L’Etranger” or “Fait pour l’Etranger”, both appellations exonerating, from French taxes, decks destined for export.

Could Dodal have added an i to his name in order to promote the sale of his decks in Italy?

How long did it take you to finish this re-construction?

More than two years.

How long do you think it could have taken for the original engraver to create these plates?

I would imagine a maximum of two to three months, but I’m not sure.

I often wonder how much care was really put in the manufacturing of these decks. What is your feeling about that?

The engraver as free and independent person always worked as cleanly and conscientiously as possible.* In the workshops, printing the black line was mostly carried out by highly qualified professionals. Colors, however, were often put on negligently, sometimes by children in deplorable conditions. I have read in the Sainte-Suzanne archives that in 1792 the local carterie started stencil work at midnight, employing children who applied the colors by candlelight.

When printing your version of this deck, you had to settle for a color palette. Would you say that the final result is closer to the French or to the British deck?

Closer to the French.

I find a strong graphic resemblance between any of the Dodal images and the images in the Noblet. I am talking about the posture of the characters. This is especially clear in the court cards: Pages, Queens, Kings and Knights. The Dodal knights seem like loose versions of the Noblet’s horsemen. Do you think that it is possible that the Dodal was made by copying from the Noblet?

No, the graphic style and significant details are too dissimilar. They draw the same thing, the same theme, but each has his own personal style. On the other hand, one can use the word copy for the later tarots made in Marseille from about 1720/30. As elsewhere, there is no more re-actualisation.

When I showed the restored Dodal to a couple of people their reaction was “So… it is the same deck you already have, only bigger, right?” In a way I understand what they are seeing, but at the same time I think they are missing the point. In your view, why was that restoring the Dodal made sense? What are people going to get from it that they won’t get from the Noblet?

The Dodal generates a flash, or energetic short-circuit of the unconscious, different from that of the Noblet. A tarot image opens a door, and the landscape behind it is different depending on the door. As I mentioned before, the image is a programming of a “place of consciousness”, the precise assemblage point of a particular inner regard. Depending on the arcane and the engraver, they resemble each other a bit, much, or not at all. It’s like a chocolate Charlotte made by two chefs: one will be sweeter, the other juicier.

Tell me a little bit about the term ‘companion’. Is that a term you use to define all medieval guilds, or do you mean something else by it?

The “companions” entered into a “Compagnonnage” fraternity like one joins a religion or the Communist Party. Work was organised in the modern way, almost as a trade-union would, with sectors devoted to mutual aid, recruitment or intense in-house techno-spiritual training. As a craftsman you must have manual skill and a highly-developed feeling for materials, but also practice, all at the same time, the 6 other basic traditional qualities: courage, patience, generosity, humility, obedience and sense of responsibility. With time and application, these 6 qualities progress together with one’s skill.

But what was it that these fraternities were asked to build? Athanors, alchemical crucibles: collective trance machines intended to transform a whole population and carry it to God! We are in the realm of technological shamanism! So the “companions” within “Compagnonnage” on their building sites, whatever their trade (mason, stone mason, carpenter, sculptor, glass-maker…) are part, whether they know it or not, of a permanent school of wizard/technicians worthy of Harry Potter. The companion becomes Master when it knows he is one. We are a far cry from the later guilds which only served to structure the privileges of professional castes.

I was talking to a woman who has restored a few Thangka paintings from the 12th Century. We were talking about how there is an underlying visual knowledge in a Thangka painting that we can also find in the stained-glass windows of a European cathedral, or the illustrations in a Medieval manuscript. I am talking about an understanding of shape that it is also an understanding about how to use shape to move the human spirit. At a technical level, a Tibetan artist and an European draughtsman knew the same things, they just lent them to different belief systems.

Exactly!

In your text you wrote “the wisdom underling the tarot is a pragmatic professional philosophy”. Are you talking about that same knowledge?

Yes, but not only that. There is also the idea of progressive improvement in which work and the spiritual world are inseparable. For a craftsman/artist, the more you make beauty (the beautiful is operative, direct like a punch, creates an astonished destabilisation and opens the doors to paradise), the more your soul is beautiful!

How would you describe the “operative science” you see in the tarot?

Operativity is what the apprentice is learning to acquire. For the image-maker in a sacred period, it is a question of using an image to program the unconscious to a precise meditation. The state it focuses on, the arcane under consideration, is defined by the graphics and above all by the colors. Thangkas and the tarot function on the same operative level.

Whether we like it or not, colors manipulate us. The art is to consciously distribute them in a meaningful way.

Now, mandalas invite our mind to take a spiritual/psychological voyage. Would you say the tarot does the same thing?

Yes

In this case, do you think the tarot intends to take us all to a specific place?

Yes, it it has been doing that discreetly for centuries. It would seem that today there are still amateurs for this variety of shamanism, and a very modern one it is. The source tarots behave like a GPS. They all lead us to the same place, but for some it will be springtime in a crowd while others will experience loneliness and winter. The tarot is above all experimental, so I have often chosen to use the word psychonaut (or tarotnaut!) to indicate this “spiritual-psychological voyager”. Aren’t we all sailors on the ocean of the soul?

There is an idea, behind contemporary art, about taking our mind for an illicit spin.

“Art” and “illicit”: these words remind me of the interminable and highly Parisian discussions I participated in when I studied philosophy in university. “Illicit” seems to stand for the courage, which would like to see itself as exceptional, to accept crossing the barriers of conventional regard, and to let oneself be carried on towards an unknown. Illicit, in my opinion, simply means “random”. The GPS precision is lost, and one is tossed about wherever the emotional winds choose to carry us. I fear that with contemporary art we are certainly operative, but like a crazy compass!

Materials and symbols have an experiential meaning,

Meaning isn’t exactly the right word; power would be more appropriate.

but although each artwork would set some collective coordinates to start our trip, the arriving point is both individual and unexpected. How do you see that happening with the tarot?

With the tarot we approach precise states of consciousness, valid for all and validated by many generations. This is not the case with highly egocentric and anarchistic contemporary art. As long as we are discovering a territory, the landscape varies according to the seasons, to our position, our mood and the taste of our first kiss. It is a permanent innovation in perpetual motion. The goal of the tarot is to indicate an itinerary of the soul, undertaken one foot in front of the other, and not to toss us about on the tides of emotion.

In your writings I detect a notion that interest me a lot, but I would say it has been more developed in the Eastern world than in the Western world: any craft can be a spiritual path.

Yes, but let us not forget that culturally we are descended from a quadripartite system of social organization :

Producers : artisans/peasants: batons
Merchants: shopkeepers/financiers: coins
Warriors: aristocrats/soldiers: swords
Savants: doctors/priests: cups

The tarot is its reflection. What fundamental difference can we perceive between the castes of the Hindu orient and the “colleges” of the occident? None on a theoretical level, more with respect to action. What characterizes a fraternity of the Middle Ages is the recognition by one’s peers, through ritual and ceremonies, of a progress towards excellence, as much technical as (we would now say ) shamanistic or spiritually operative. Modern western Sufism comes closest to this genre today.

When you say, for example, that The Star card shows an eye in the belly of the woman as an allusion to the stone cutters’ “eye of the master”, their ability to feel the stone and know how to place it, are you talking about a craftsman’s ability to intuitively understand the nature and limitations of the material he is working with?

Still more, to feel them physically! In the course of an apprenticeship comes a moment when you are taught how to place your attention, both in the here and now (seeing the instant as it occurs; letting it happen while observing it) and in a particular corporal sensation, a sort of attraction/repulsion, related to the sense of the stone. This trick is useful to a craftsman, but the essential thing is learning to attain a state of observing/observer. One can also call this state “second attention”, and its automatic practice is what makes you a master.

I would think of Jackson Pollock, and how he understood painting to such a extent that he could take it beyond the limits of representation.

He seems to go beyond symbol or meaning and speak directly to the unconscious. All depends on what he has to tell it!

Pollock is an interesting example in that some physicists have now established that all of his paintings follow a fractal structure. He seemed to have painted in tune with the rhythm of nature, and as such one could see his action painting as the by-product of some sort of spiritual momentum.

The golden section had this function. To me, certain modern artists seem have gained the worlds of operativity by breaking and entering, in an illicit way, loaded down with a whole pack of more or less convoluted, neurotic and egotistical material. Others open the Doors of Paradise for us.

But I am also thinking about Chang Canasta, a magician who devoted the last decades of his life to painting. When he was asked why, he answered: “I believe in something called talent. Once you have it, you can apply it to everything.”

Idries Shah named this “learning how to learn”. Once you’ve learned how to learn, in 6 months to a year you can achieve excellence in a profession previously unknown to you. He went on to say that in a well-filled life it was necessary to have practised at least 6 trades at the highest level! Serghiu Celebidache was the celebrated orchestra conductor and the respected mathematician and rug expert and pheasant breeder and exceptional linguist speaking 7 languages…

Talent here is, again, an understanding of form, rhythm and pattern that a guy like Canasta could use to present a card trick or to paint a landscape. As soon as we understand proportion, balance, symmetry and contrast, we can apply that knowledge to all areas of our experience. Is it that the tarot intends to teach us, beyond the iconographic choice of imagery: mastering your craft is mastering yourself?

You have perfectly summarised the mission of the tarot. It goes even further: «mastering yourself» in order to participate in the Soul of the World.

You also mention in your text that “All master engravers during the second half of the 17th century were instructed in the inner meaning of the tarot – Mermé is their last representative.” How do you relate that affirmation to the idea of the Dodal being the last tarot that was consciously permeated by the companions intention?

It is the flame of Maison-Dieu which induces me to say that.

The tarot emerged from a Platonic-type mental world of philosophical immanence: the individual can, by his own achievements, put himself in a position to join the worlds of the Spirit. The flame is thus ascending, and to my knowledge Dodal’s is the last tarot to depict it in this way. All the other significant details confirm how well-understood the “pilgrimage of the soul” was, and how at that time the procedures of transmission were fully-functioning and conscious.

Later, the flame billows down from above, raising the question of  divine grace and its intercessors: we are in a philosophy of the Aristotelian type. The inner meaning is lost; what remains is reduced to recollection and hearsay. The same applies to the other meaningful details. At best one installs them by copying, while at worst “fantasy” takes over. The engraver of Nicolas Conver went so far as to settle his accounts with nascent freemasonry by placing 3 dots on the chest of the Devil: freemasonry is a she-devil! These mid-eighteenth century quarrels mean nothing to us today. Respect for a tradition vanishes, the overall consciousness of a civilization shifts and the pre-industrial era dawns.

Cartouche of Haultin l’aîné, cardmaker at La Rochelle attested in 1680

Dodal furnishes only meaningful details and signs with the Master’s chrism. Resembling a stylized 4, this figure evokes measuring instruments and has been the prerogative of image-makers, carpenters and stonemasons since the Middle Ages.

I am asking you this because I am not familiar with the companions’ tradition, but I am familiar with what I would call the ‘Marseille Lore’. To me, this lore consists of a series of footnotes added to certain images, without their necessarily being in accord with the image’s original iconographic intention. I take that lore to be a fundamental part of the Marseille tradition, and by tradition I mean the narrative/divination use we made of these cards. To mention a couple of these footnotes, there is the idea that The Fool is the card without a number and Death is the card without a name; so when you overlap both, Death becomes The Fool’s skeleton.

If I remember correctly, it is to Tchalaï that we owe this idea.

That lore is the reason Jodorowsky said, in a preface to his first deck edition or in one of his books, that having been raised on classic Marseille lore (Grimaud), “killing the father” was the condition on which he could produce his deck. Numerous bad “good habits” had been acquired because this was the only historic deck on the market. Along the same lines, there is Tchalaï’s fine discourse concerning the comma on Force’s hat. But this comma was the result of damage to the woodblock!

When I began work on the Conver, after having painted over the Marteau images, I underwent the same temptation: make my own deck. For example, at first I painted the figures in Soleil naked, then put on vines with green leaves…then became annoyed with myself and dressed them back in their shorts! When Jodo liberated himself from the Marseille/Grimaud lore, he went into an egotistical creation frenzy. Considering his talents, this choice was regrettable.

There is also the idea of the person who is emerging from the grave in Judgement being, graphically at least, composed of two halves of two visibly different persons, or the idea of The Hermit containing a visual pun in that a man who looks at his lantern blinds himself instead of finding anything.

This pun is part of the essence itself of the Hermit. But within this lore, some details are significant, like this androgynous figure in Jugement, or the Hermit’s cane which resembles a spine, while others are not.

Your book is full of these great “narrative spells”. I call them ‘narrative spells’ because they are these little stories that validate a detail in a card, but at the same time they get validated by that same detail, in some sort of symbiotic loop; but these little tales don’t seem to amount to a coherent code one can read through the whole sequence,

These stories are there to bring into relief a particular perceptive state, explain certain experiences, or highlight a detail. They don’t add up together, and are indeed like footnotes.

I am a little bit septical about their historical validity.

You are right to be sceptical. Certain stories come from my own stock of experiences and I can validate them, while others are visions drawn from the memory of the world. These are from time to time corroborated by other people in strange ways. For example, I received a mail explaining that the “caterpillar trance” was an exercise practised in simplified form by people studying phosphenism.

For one thing, these descriptions can’t be found in books. They spread by word of mouth, it seems. So, what I want to know is, what is your take on that lore?

For the last 150 years, and it is barely older than that, this Lore has been fed at best by visions, at worst by the analyses and pronouncements of its spokesmen. The word-of-mouth transmissions have been interrupted for centuries. Only the world’s memory remains, that strange source phenomenon which is the tarot’s gift to its faithful enthusiasts. The memory of Jean Noblet or Jean Dodal is present still, and the path has been cleared of underbrush. These ancient masters can still flood you with their spirituality. It is for us to make contact. The stories issued from the world’s memory have an incomparable savour, leading you into a consciousness where doubt doesn’t exist. Here direct transmission comes into play; it is the storyteller’s talent. As a tarot reader, you often enter into visions and know how to share them. You already exercise this talent.

It is that lore part of the message from the companions,

Yes, direct transmission was part of the Compagnons’ teaching in times past. Today the younger generation is thirsty for stories, as it is these that transmit. In any case, what choice do they have? There is no longer any techno-spiritual instruction available through a profession.

or is that an embellishment on the way we describe the images that happened later? Do you think that such lore may have influenced the way the images were drawn?

Significant details were transmitted and utilized. The other details, those nourishing the lore, are late and intellectual, mostly dating from the middle of the 19 th century.

I like that lore a lot. In fact, at some point I mentioned to Roxanne that one of the reasons why I enjoy working with the Dodal more than working with the Noblet is precisely because many of these footnotes can’t be seen in the Noblet.

Noblet is a bit dry, and close-fisted with details, while Dodal’s engraver is savory, his details are numerous and imaginative! Compare their versions of the lady in the Star: Noblet made her half adolescent/half man to illustrate the virginal-purity/force-maturity of the master, a very strict and masculine definition of the canon. Dodal makes her pregnant to emphasize the transmission of essentials, and gives her a double regard to signify that she understands from within and without – a very supple and feminine description of mastery.

This leads to my next question: you make a distinction between the Noblet, the Dodal and the Viéville and the rest of the decks within the Marseille tradition. For you the Dodal is the last deck within the Marseille tradition in which some details were purposefully added.

Yes.

Now, for the untrained eye, like mine, when it comes to certain details the Dodal is more similar to the Conver than to the Noblet. The Noblet seems to be the odd one.

That is exact, and I feel the same way. I think the answer has mostly been covered: it is the “Marseille lore”. Noblet undoubtedly is part of it, but from afar and in a strange way. He gives the impression of being an ancestor from another planet! One sees that the basic teaching is the same, but the two seem not to have had the same professor.

How do you manage to see such distinction between the Dodal and the following decks so clearly?

Dodal’s engraver knows what he’s talking about from experience, or transmission, or (as I believe) both. After him, one speaks of things because at best one has heard them spoken of. It is hearsay: my cousin told me that his brother had heard this or that… As long as the engraver has not lived the inner process of transformation to mastery, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and can only copy. With Noblet and Dodal, we are in the same world, but not with Conver and even less with those who follow him. We know their mental world by heart, and let me say we are very glad to be rid of them.

Finally, I wouldn’t like to end this interview without knowing: what will be next? I imagine that right now you and Roxanne may be feeling ready to rest a little bit and rejoice in the enormous accomplishment you have made but, what will you do when you get restless again? What is next?

Viéville, if I manage to extract myself from the historian’s quandary I’m mired in. I am convinced that this tarot was made “as mirror” by necessity, by an impossibility to do otherwise, and not to confer a particular meaning. Furthermore, why perturb and confuse the coming generations with all these images conforming to the Marseille pattern, but reversed? As for the 4 or 5 unusual arcana, they alone justify the effort. These “exceptions” confirm the rule and are the major interest of this tarot. The question deserves reflection by the community of historians and enthusiasts.

So yes, I would like to edit the Viéville in the classic Marseille order and direction. This would indeed be an illicit act. Will I have the co