Ceremony, Freemasonry, and the Mysteries

by John Algeo

Originally printed in the JULY-AUGUST 2008 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Algeo, John. "Ceremony, Freemasonry, and the Mysteries." Quest  96.4 (JULY-AUGUST 2008):127-129, 147.

Theosophical Society - John Algeo was a Professor Emeritus of English at the University of Georgia. He was a Theosophist and a Freemason He was the Vice President of the Theosophical Society Adyar. CEREMONY IS A MYSTERY—in several senses. First, we do not know the ultimate origin of the word. English ceremony comes through French from Latin caeremonia, but that Latin word is of unknown origin. It may be from Etruscan, a language spoken near Rome but unrelated to Latin. And it may originally have referred to sacred rites performed by the Etruscan priests at a site called Caere, but that is just speculation. The ultimate origin of the word is a mystery.

Second, although ceremony is basically just a form of customary action, including etiquette, protocol, and ritual of all sorts, some ceremonies have the potential of great power—of affecting their participants in deep and lasting ways. Yet that power is mysterious because we do not know how it works. William Butler Yeats, the Irish poet and Theosophist—who was himself a great ceremonialist—described the power of ceremony in a poem entitled "A Prayer for My Daughter," which ends with these lines:

How but in custom and in ceremony
Are innocence and beauty born?
Ceremony's a name for the rich horn,
And custom for the spreading laurel tree.

The "rich horn" is the cornucopia—the curved horn from a goat whose milk fed the infant Zeus. In gratitude for being thus fed, the god made that horn overflow with fruit, grain, and other good things, so it became a symbol of abundance. Laurel leaves were formed into wreaths with which to crown athletes, prophets, and poets, so the laurel is a symbol of victory, wisdom, and art. How ceremony gives rise to innocence and beauty, how it confers abundance and victory, and how it can affect the lives of those who engage in it are mysteries. 

Third, ceremony is the basis—the heart and soul—of the Ancient Mysteries, of which modern Freemasonry is a reincarnation. Aristotle said that initiation into the Mysteries was not a matter of learning something, but rather of experiencing something and of being changed by that experience. The Ancient Mysteries were ceremonies. A ceremony does not impart cognitive information, telling us something we otherwise might not know about; rather, a ceremony is a pattern of action, something we experience by doing it. The ceremonies of the Mysteries and of modern Freemasonry were and are experiences with the potential of transforming their participants. So ceremonies are Mystery actions.

Ancient Mysteries and Modern Freemasonry

The Mysteries of Eleusis were the most famous of those in ancient Greece, although there were many others in the Mediterranean world, for example, the Mysteries of Cybele, Bacchus, Orpheus, Isis, and Mithra. The Eleusinian Mysteries lasted for more than a thousand years, initiating countless numbers of nobles and commoners, women and men, free persons and slaves. After the Mysteries of Eleusis and others had been closed down by a Christian government that regarded them as subversive, the Mystery tradition did not die out, but was transformed. It continued, as Joscelyn Godwin shows in the Quest Book The Golden Thread: The Ageless Wisdom of the Western Mystery Tradition, in a number of forms: Hermeticism, Gnosticism, Neo-Platonism, Alchemy, Kabbalah, and Freemasonry, among others.

Godwin's metaphor of the thread echoes recent use of that term for a train of thought or a series of messages on a single topic (for example, a thread in the messages of a Web chat group). It is a good metaphor because it suggests a process of uniting by tying together, and uniting was and is the aim of both the Ancient Mysteries and their later descendant ceremonies. The post-Classical history of the Mysteries could also be likened to an underground stream that emerges here and there, now and again, in the landscape of history, as various springs of living water. Freemasonry is one of those springs.

The history of modern Freemasonry is reasonably well documented after the 1717 foundation of the Grand Lodge of England, but the Craft (as Freema-sons refer to their form of the Mysteries) is certainly much older than that. Elias Ashmole, the seventeenth-century English antiquary, esotericist, and founder of the Royal Society, was made a Freemason in 1646. And there is evidence that modern Freemasonry may have begun in the 1590s in Scotland.

The cathedral architects and stonemasons of the Middle Ages were part of the "Golden Thread" that Joscelyn Godwin writes about. Of all workmen in that time, they were doubtless the best informed about historical matters and the liberal arts—especially the quadrivium of mathematical arts: arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music—but also about art, history, theology, and spiritual symbolism. Constructing and adorning the great cathedrals of Europe required mastery of all those fields. The stonemasons consequently formed a brotherhood with trade secrets and great pride in their special knowledge and status within European society. They formed lodges of workmen that strictly excluded cowans, a Scottish term for someone who works as a mason but has not been properly apprenticed or entered into the craft and therefore who lacks the necessary knowledge and skill to do the job well.

What seems to have happened in late sixteenth-century Scotland is that some of the nobility and gentry who patronized the stonemasons were admitted into Masonic trade lodges as an honor to both the gentry and the lodges. Some of those gentlemen would have been Renaissance men of learning, familiar with various forms of the "Golden Thread" that were continuing the Mystery tradition, as Elias Ashmole certainly was at his somewhat later time. Consequently, those gentlemen became Speculative Masons rather than operative masons. That is, they used the craft of stonemasonry as a mirror (Latin speculum) in which to reflect upon the mysteries of life. Thus they cooperated with those who operated as working stonemasons and thereby transformed Freemasonry into a reincarnation of the Ancient Mysteries.

Thus modern Freemasonry was born: mothered by the craft of stonemasonry and fathered by Renaissance esotericists. To some extent, this history is itself speculative, but it rests on the work of such scholars as Joscelyn Godwin and David Stevenson.

Similarities and Differences

The Ancient Mysteries and modern Freemasonry are thematically, if not lineally, connected. But what are the ceremonial links between the two esoteric practices? They are significant.

First, as Aristotle said, the Ancient Mysteries had no cognitive content, nor does Freemasonry. Neither ceremonial practice involves learning information; both involve doing something, namely experiencing a ceremony, which is intended to be and can actually be transformative. Indeed, Freemasonry defines itself, not as a body of ideas, but instead as "a peculiar system of morality, veiled in allegory and illustrated by symbols." In that definition, "peculiar" does not mean "odd, strange" (though some may think such an interpretation justified), but rather "particular, characterizing, distinctive," which is the oldest sense of that word. Masonic language is conservative, often archaic. And "morality" is not just "ethical behavior" but more generally reflects the Latin etymon of the word: mos, whose plural is mores, meaning "custom(s)." So Freemasonry is a way of acting, a customary ceremony (remember Yeats's poem about custom and ceremony).

Second, Aristotle also said that, in the Ancient Mysteries, something was told, something was shown, and something was done. The thing told was a story or myth; in the Eleusinian Mysteries, it was the myth of Demeter and Persephone, including the rescue of the latter from the underworld. The things shown included various symbols associated with the myth: a basket, a cup with a drink, a pomegranate, an ear of wheat, etc. The thing done was a ceremony acting out the myth. In that ceremony, the initiands of the Eleusinian Mysteries learned what death really is and how they too might rise from the after-death world of Hades into the bright heaven of Olympus.

Freemasonry also has those same three elements. What is told is a legend about the building of King Solomon's Temple and the fate of its principal architect, which is the veiling allegory of Freemasonry. What are shown are various tools related to the building trade, such as compasses, squares, levels, and plumb rules, which are the illustrating symbols. What is done is a dramatic ceremony reenacting aspects of the building of the Temple, especially the history of its principal architect, in which an initiand plays the central role. Like that at Eleusis, the ceremony of Freemasonry is about death and resurrection, which are the subject of all the Mysteries.

Despite the close parallels between modern Freemasonry and the Ancient Mysteries, there are also some differences. Mainstream modern Freemasonry differs in two main respects from the Mystery practices of old. One of those is that mainstream Freemasonry admits only men, not women to its mysteries. That is a result of the fact that modern Freemasonry began among stonemasons, all of whom were men, and speculative gentlemen. The social accident of early unisex masculine Freemasonic Lodges was mistaken as an essential of the Craft. That mistake was corrected in the late nineteenth century when a French Lodge of male Freemasons, some of whom were also active supporters of women's rights, initiated a woman, Marie Deraismes, as a Mason. As a result, a new order of Co-Freemasonry came into existence, dedicated to the equality of all peoples, regardless of sex.

The other main difference between much contemporary mainstream Masonry and the Ancient Mysteries is that the latter were focused centrally and sharply on spiritual transformation. Modern mainstream Freemasonry tends to focus on fraternal fellowship and social service. Those are good things, and the charitable work done by many Masonic bodies is highly commendable. But the fundamental message of both the Mysteries and Masonry is one of spiritual transformation. That message was reiterated among Co-Freemasons when Annie Besant was initiated into the Craft at the beginning of the twentieth century. She restored the spiritual focus and especially the esoteric emphasis to Freemasonry.

To be sure, many masculine Masons are well aware of the esoteric side of Freemasonry, for example, to name only two, W. L. Wilmshurst, from the turn of the twentieth century, and W. Kirk MacNulty, who is still publishing new works on symbolic and spiritual Masonry. But Co-Masons like Geoffrey Hodson and C. W. Leadbeater have been especially prominent in describing the inner side of Freemasonry. Today several independent Masonic organizations practice the sexual equality of the Ancient Mysteries, but one that also dedicates itself most particularly and centrally to the esoteric, spiritual side of the Craft is the Eastern Order of International Co-Freemasonry.

Ceremony and Sacrament

The spiritual interpretation of Masonry is the essence of the Craft. For example, King Solomon's Temple is the core symbol in Freemasonry. The structure that the Hebrew king built in Jerusalem served as the house of the God of his people, but the Masonic structure is also the Temple of Humanity. The divine manifests through the world, and particularly through human beings. In a sense, every human being is a temple that enshrines a spark of divinity. But Solomon's Temple also represents humanity collectively; each of us is a stone in that building. We differ from one another in many ways, just as the stones in a cathedral or temple differ from one another. But just as every stone has its own unique purpose and is needed to complete the Temple of Solomon, so also every unique human being is needed to complete the Temple of Humanity. All human beings are integrally valuable.

The metaphor of humans as building stones has another aspect, as well. Building stones are quarried from a single mineral mass. They are rough hewn to be worked upon. Then they are smoothed and polished. And finally, they are incorporated into Solomon's Temple. So also we human beings are individualized from a group soul. At first, we are rough and unrefined. But then we are educated and evolved. And finally, when we become fully human (in what is Theosophically called the fifth initiation), we realize our fundamental unity with each other and with all life; that is, we are incorporated into the Temple of Humanity, which is also the dwelling place of the divine in this world.

The symbolic allegory of building King Solomon's Temple is what Craft Freemasonry is about. Craft Freemasonry consists of three Degrees, which parallel the three statuses of members of the building trade: Apprentice, Craftsman (or journeyman), and Master. The Apprentice is one who is learning the trade. The Craftsman is one who is practicing the trade. And the Master is one who can teach the trade to others and employ them in its practice. Freemasonry has, however, other Degrees beyond the three because, as Light on the Path tells us:

Within you is the light of the world—the only light that can be shed upon the Path. If you are unable to perceive it within you, it is useless to look for it elsewhere. It is beyond you, because when you reach it you have lost yourself. It is unattainable, because it forever recedes. You will enter the light, but you will never touch the Flame.

Ceremonial initiation is a kind of sacrament. The word sacrament is from a Latin word meaning "an oath of allegiance, an obligation, a consecration," i.e., a process of making sacred. In both Freemasonry and the Ancient Mysteries, the initiands take an oath, affirm an obligation, and consecrate themselves to a life of purposefulness. The Book of Common Prayer defines a sacrament as "an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace." The inward and spiritual grace of which ceremonial initiation is an outward and visible sign is an experience of the light within. That light is infinite, without end. We can enter it; but we can never touch the central flame that produces it. Consequently, there is no end to ceremonial initiations.

The Degrees beyond the three of Craft Masonry comprise two series: Scottish Rite and York Rite. The existence of all those Degrees and of one initiation after another is a symbol of the truths that the road winds ever onward and that we will enter the light but will never touch the Flame. They are called "additional" or "higher" Degrees, but really they are just elaborations of or commentaries on the three basic Craft Degrees, which are the fundamental sacrament of Freemasonry.

All Masonic sacramental ceremony is a search for more light and greater perfection. Freemasonry is a ceremonial quest for the only initiation that really matters—our initiation into full humanity, a ceremony of innocence and beauty, of power and wisdom. Such ceremony is the allegorical cornucopia of abundant blessings and the symbolic laurel crown of ultimate victory in evolution.


References

Eastern Order of International Co-Freemasonry. Website at http://comasonic.net
Godwin, Joscelyn. The Golden Thread: The Ageless Wisdom of the Western Mystery Tradition. Wheaton, IL: Theosophical Publishing House, Quest Books, 2007.
Hodson, Geoffrey. At the Sign of the Square and Compasses. Adyar: Eastern Federation, International Co-Freemasonry, 1976.
Leadbeater, C. W. Ancient Mystic Rites [new ed. of Glimpses of Masonic History]. Wheaton, IL: Theosophical Publishing House, 1986.
———. The Hidden Life in Freemasonry. Adyar: Theosophical Publishing House, 1926.
MacNulty, W. Kirk. The Way of the Craftsman: A Search for the Spiritual Essence of Craft Freemasonry. London: Arkana, 1988; reprint London: Central Regalia, 2002.
Stevenson, David. The Origins of Freemasonry: Scotland's Century, 1590-1710. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988.
Wilmshurst, W. L. The Meaning of Masonry. Facsimile of 1927 5th ed. New York: Bell, 1980.


John Algeo, PhD, served for nine years as president of the Theosophical Society in America and is now international vice president of the Theosophical Society. Author of the Quest Book Reincarnation Explored and most recently editor, with Adele Algeo, of The Letters of H. P. Blavatsky, 1861-1879 (vol.1), he is published widely in Theosophical magazines.


The Light of the World

By Betty Bland

Originally printed in the JULY-AUGUST 2008 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Bland, Betty. "The Light of the World." Quest  96.4 (JULY-AUGUST 2008):124-125.

Theosophical Society - Betty Bland served as President of the Theosophical Society in America and made many important and lasting contributions to the growth and legacy of the TSA.

SUNLIGHT STREAMING THROUGH BEAUTIFUL stained glass windows fills my earliest memories of religious or devotional feelings. Sitting in my family's regular Sunday morning pew and understanding little of what was going on, I would gaze at those luminous pictures of a loving shepherd holding the little lamb in his arms, or a kindly bearded man knocking to be given entry at a door draped with bunches of grapes. There was no shortage of beautiful church music and, on occasion after communion, the choir would gather around the altar rail and sing "The Lord Bless You and Keep You."

These experiences were outside the realm of my intellectual analysis, but they deeply imprinted on my heart a spiritual connection with the "other" that was not particularly conscious but a constant background presence. It did not make me religious, or even good, for that matter. In fact, "mischief" was said to be my middle name. However, in times of trouble or uncertainty the interior connection was a very present support. These experiences provided a mysterious access to an inner world that otherwise might have been invisible to me.

Depending on the individual, there are many different reactions to this weekly ritual, ranging from total boredom and resentment to conscious and life-changing inspiration. A few poignant symbols, connected and well presented, have the potential of striking an inner chord and mysteriously calling forth an intuitive response. Although unpredictable to some extent, the presence of inspiration is dependent on beauty, intentionality, and heart.

Beauty and culture were the two elixirs to humanity's evils identified by Nicholas Roerich in his writings. He felt that beauty had a unique way of speaking to one's soul and drawing out the best. Plato also identified Beauty as one of the trio of divine attributes along with the Good and the True. Although it is true that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, there is a certain balance and harmony within the form one might call beautiful that creates a sense of pleasure, and gives a certain lift to the spirit.

But beauty alone does not have transformative power. Perhaps this is why Roerich felt the need to include culture as one of the essential attributes for saving humanity. Intentionality, or understanding, has to imbue the beautiful with meaning so that some message of inspiration is transmitted. In this context the beauty is not for its own sake but is like the finger pointing at the moon, useful but not the end goal in itself, lest it become a hollow mockery. Inherent within the beauty of a sunset is a sense of awe and vastness of the whole of creation, thus inspiring the viewer to think beyond the small self.

The most important element, however, is what I call heart—the light of spirit which is a unitive, all-encompassing love. It is like the sunshine that streams through the many-colored windows to translate the darkened glass into colorful images. This spiritual light has the power to shine through and transform elements of this world from empty idols into icons or symbolic representations of a greater reality. Meaningful symbols or symbolic actions are, as expressed in the Book of Common Prayer of the Episcopal Church, outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace.

I mention the Christian idiom because that is my religion of birth and choice, but the use of symbols is universal to all religious traditions. Symbolic transmission of knowledge, in whatever system, is a gift for our human unfoldment. We have the unique ability to look into a metaphor and to see beyond it into unspoken truths. For this reason the preferred transmission of religious teachings has always been in metaphor and symbol. Certainly Madame Blavatsky chose the obscure and poetic Stanzas of Dhyzan as the foundational structure for her opus magnum, The Secret Doctrine.

As products of a materialistic, scientific age, we sometimes might forget the efficacy of using our inner light to look into and appreciate the subtleties of a symbolic or ritualistic approach to gaining insight into reality. Each of us would do well to draw to ourselves those symbols that inspire and encourage us. Moreover, we might remember that our regular practice of using them imbues them with the energy and power of heart and spiritual light. Each grain of practice helps to build a mountain of experience.

Yet, with routine and familiarity, we may forget the original inspiration. In fact, the one real danger in the use of symbols for our spiritual nurture is that we might lose sight of their true nature, getting lost in their outer forms, rather than drawing on the power of their beauty with intentionality and heart. But with conscientious effort we will access our inner light and, in the finding of it, develop a luminosity that becomes a beacon of hope for others.

In the afterword to Esoteric Christianity, Annie Besant inspires us to seek the mystery veiled in allegory in order that we might kindle our lights of intuition when she writes:

[We] have only lifted a corner of the Veil that hides the Virgin of Eternal Truth from the careless eyes of men. The hem of her garment only has been seen, heavy with gold, richly dight with pearls. Yet even this, as it waves slowly, breathes out celestial fragrances—the sandal and rose-attar of fairer worlds than ours.


Tarot and the Tree of Life

By Isabel Radow Kliegman

Originally printed in the JULY-AUGUST 2008 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Kliegman, Isabel Radow. "Tarot and the Tree of Life." Quest  96.4 (JULY-AUGUST 2008):137-141.

Theosophical Society - Isabel Radow Kliegman, a graduate of Cornell University, attended Oxford as a Fulbright Scholar, and earned her Masters degree at Columbia University. For over twenty-five years, Kliegman has devoted herself to consulting, lecturing, teaching, and conducting workshops on the Tarot and related subjects. A published poet, she spoke at International Tarot Congress, and received an award from the United Sensitives of America. Kliegman resides in Pacific Palisades, CA. This article is an excerpt from her first book, Tarot and the Tree of Life (Quest 1997); her companion piece, tying the Major Arcana of the Tarot to the paths on The Tree of Life, is in progress.WELCOME TO THE GREAT ADVENTURE! Together we are about to embark on an exploration of a time-honored facilitator of psychic growth—the Tarot cards. Many facets of the Tarot's origins, history, and evolution remain enmeshed in controversy and mystery. Tarot refers to a deck of seventy-eight pictured cards which most people associate with Gypsy fortune tellers. Others, for various reasons, have traced their origins back to the Egyptians. A more scholarly approach would say that Tarot first appeared in thirteenth-century France, in the still-available Marseilles deck. At that time, they were produced on leather and metal, predating both the invention of paper and the arrival from India of the Gypsies.

The seventy-eight cards are of two basically different kinds: the Major Arcana (Arcana, as in our word arcane meaning "secret," "esoteric," or "hidden away"), of which there are twenty-two; and the Minor Arcana, of which there are fifty-six. So we have the "great secrets," the Major Arcana, and the "small secrets," the Minor Arcana.

The Tarot eventually became associated with the Holy Kabbalah, and in particular, the Kabbalistic Tree of Life. There is the predictable controversy about when and how these two giants of metaphysical thought came together, with theories ranging from biblical times to the nineteenth century. However, it is clear that by the nineteenth century, the two modalities were used in concert, to the great enhancement of the Tarot cards.

In 1856, Alphonse Louis Constant, known as Eliphas Levi, published the first book to associate the twenty-two cards of the Major Arcana with the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet and the four suits of the Minor Arcana with the Tetragrammaton—the four-letter name of God. In 1889, Gerard Encausse, a student of Levi known as Papus, published The Tarot of the Bohemians, which asserts that the Tarot was generated by the Tetragrammaton and is to be understood in terms of it. Another student of Levi, Paul Christian, created a system combining Tarot with Kabbalistic astrology. Also in 1889, Oswald Wirth published a deck of Major Arcana whose twenty-two designs incorporated the twenty-two Hebrew letters. Both his teacher, Stanislos De Guaito, and Papus were members of the Kabbalistic Order of the Rose Cross, which has come into modern times as the Rosicrucians.

The connection between Kabbalah and Tarot continued to be recognized in the execution of decks by such proponents as Aleister Crowley, Paul Foster Case, and Manley Palmer Hall. Although the Hebrew letters do not appear in his deck, Arthur Edward Waite, a member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, assigned Hebrew letters to the cards in his writings. The Golden Dawn deck, executed by Robert Wang, associates the ten sefirot, or vessels, with the ten numbered cards, and the four olams, or realms, with the suits of the Minor Arcana. Aleister Crowley, in the Book of Thoth, went so far as to assert that "the Tarot was designed as a practical instrument for Qabalistic calculations."

Regardless of the actual origins of Tarot and Kabbalah, by 1890 Kabbalistic teaching was integral to Tarot design. It is my contention that the expanded understanding and use of Tarot has Kabbalah—properly understood—at its root.

The Minor Arcana fall into four suits: Pentacles, Cups, Swords and Wands. Pentacles became Diamonds (the word pentacle refers to a coin within which is a five-pointed star, or pentagram), Cups became Hearts, Swords became Spades, and Wands became Clubs. Of course, our deck of playing cards has fifty-two cards, and the Minor Arcana of the Tarot, as I have mentioned, number fifty-six. The disparity can be explained in that we have three royalty cards in our modern deck—the jack, queen, and king. But the Tarot equivalent is composed of four court cards—the page, knight, queen and king. The page and the knight collapsed into one another to make the jack.

If we look at the aces of the Tarot, we see in every case a similar image. We see the hand of God, a huge, oversized hand coming out of the sky, out of the heavens through a cloud, shining in a halo of white light. Doing what? Offering a gift. Kabbalah means "receiving." The aces are doing the giving, and the universe is doing the receiving. They give us the gift of pentacles, of cups, of swords, and of wands.

Each of the suits corresponds to what the ancients called elementals and also to what the great psychologist Carl Jung called the functions of consciousness. The Suit of Pentacles refers to earth, the Suit of Cups refers to water, the Suit of Swords refers to air, and the Suit of Wands refers to fire. Having announced that authoritatively, I must add that you can find reputable writers who disagree with almost every one of these associations: C. C. Zain pairs Pentacles with air and Swords with earth, and Stephan Hoeller relates Swords to fire, for example.

The Suit of Pentacles has to do with how we relate to money, how we relate to our career, to our state of health, to the material world. If I get sick, how do I feel about that? What do I do about it? When I go to work, is it just a way for me to earn money, or is there a sense of service involved? Not the world, but how we interact with the world, is the domain of Pentacles. The Suit of Cups has to do with our feelings: how we feel, how we express feelings, and how we respond to the feelings of others. The Suit of Swords has to do with our clarity, our ability to analyze, our capacity to think clearly. It also has to do with our courage. The Suit of Wands reflects the fiery energy that on one end of the spectrum expresses as frank physical sexuality and on the other end of the same spectrum as intuition, psychic knowing, and inspiration.

Of more interest, in Jungian terms, the Suit of Pentacles refers to the sensate function, information that comes to us through our five senses. The Suit of Cups refers to the feeling function, our emotional response to stimuli. The Suit of Swords refers to the thinking function, how we consciously process information. The Suit of Wands refers to the intuitive function, that mysterious way of somehow knowing, and to what Freud called libido, our primitive life force. Each of these is equally valuable. The four court cards have similar associations: pages with earth and the sensate; knights with air and the mental; queens with water and the feeling-toned; and kings with fire and the intuitive.

It is my belief that everything that is part of human experience can be expressed by, and is expressed in, the Tarot. What a card conveys is determined by a complex of factors. So how do you know? How do you know when you're reading the cards what interpretation to put on them? Ah, that's what makes the game so interesting. That's why, over the centuries and our personal lifetimes, the Tarot is never in danger of boring us. It demands our intuition as well as our knowledge. It requires feeling, perception, and an awareness of all the other cards in a spread as a distinctive pattern. It also exacts a sense about the person for whom one is reading. Sometimes things we intuit seem to be coming not from the cards but through them. When that happens, the process is amazing and wonderful.

A Tarot reading shows you where you are headed if you continue your present course of action. It is the flashing light of warning. The cards are only little cardboard pictures, to be protected or destroyed by you. They have no power other than the power you invest in them. They are the instrument. The power is in you. The power is in each of us, in the glorious human psyche, with its infinite capacity to search and sense and stretch and unfold.

Kabbalistically speaking, we want to identify with the sap that moves all through the Tree of Life. The universe is in constant motion. Nothing in the universe is static. The chairs on which we sit are composed of molecules racing through the space between them. The blood circulates in the body. The air flows in and out of the lungs. If we lock our knees and say, "Now I've got the Truth! This is where I want to be and this is where I'm going to stay!" something will happen (instantly, in my experience) that forces us to make a readjustment. If we can avoid rigid attachment to a single perspective, a single way of being, a single truth, we are more likely, as our universe continues to change, to be ready for whatever happens next and to answer the demands of the experience.

Kabbalah: The Ultimate Gift

We are now ready to turn our attention to the Tree of Life, an instrument of great power that will prove invaluable to our understanding of the cards. Each vessel, or sefirah, on the Tree is named for an attribute of the infinite, unknowable God. Each bears an archetype of that manifestation of the divine. The Minor Arcana may be seen as pictorial expressions of those archetypes. Underlying the historical association of vessel and card is a potent, mysterious psychological truth: The Kabbalistic Tree of Life provides the archetypes by which the Tarot can be understood. This observation is well made by Stephan Hoeller, drawing on the teachings of Carl Jung, in The Royal Road: "The coincidence of the two systems . . . is not a mere haphazard concurrence of unrelated circumstances, but is a meaningful coincidence of great psychological, or if you prefer, mystical power and purpose."

As Gershom Scholem conceded privately to Stephan Hoeller, and as the latter emphasizes in The Royal Road, "the combined system of Kabbalah and Tarot works. . . . Past history matters less than firsthand experience." If the proof of the pudding is, indeed, in the eating, then sample the wares herein and be your own best judge.

If we are going to enter the mystical realm of Kabbalah, which draws so heavily on the female side of us—the intuitive, the psychic, the mysterious—we have to approach it with a highly developed male part of ourselves. To use Jungian terms, if we are going into anima activity we need a strongly developed animus. If we do not have this, whether we are male or female, we are going to be yanked way off balance. Each of us, male or female in body, is androgynous. To study Kabbalah, we require a strongly developed male side, so that logic, reason, objectivity, and the capacity for analytical thinking will balance the experiences we may encounter in this pursuit. Mystical experience, regardless of its source, must, if it is to have meaning, occur inappropriate context. Maturity, balance, and the wish to use these experiences to enhance rather than to escape from life are wise criteria to apply here.

The most important thing to know about Kabbalah is very simple: Kabbalah means "receiving." We are dealing with an explanation of the creation in terms of a generous God. (Kabbalistically, the godhead is twofold. There is Adonai, the male aspect of the godhead, the Lord. And there is the Holy Shechinah, the female aspect of the godhead. We are dealing with an androgynous spirit, not to be understood as male but as the divine ruling spirit, the Eternal One. Basic to the Kabbalistic system, then, is that the universe is created by a loving God whose wish is to give and who has created us specifically as creatures who can receive, with loving awareness and conscious appreciation. We have choices to make, and we can fall into evil ways, but we are born perfect.

There is a blueprint for all human beings, for all experiences, and for any system that one can imagine. This universal symbol, central to Kabbalah, is the Tree of Life. When we look at the Tree of Life, it certainly is a strange-looking tree. Clearly then, this is not meant to be a representational tree. The Tree is conceptual. What is of extreme importance about a tree is that it is a single organism. We can't look at the beautiful crown of the tree with its brilliant green shining leaves and its bright pink-and-white blossoms and say, "Well, that part of the tree I like. But these filthy roots down in the dirt? I don't see what we need those for!"

We have the roots, the trunk, the bark, the branches; we have the twigs, the leaves, and the blossoms: what we see here is diversity in oneness. That's the message of the conceptual tree. Isn't that what the universe is, the uni being the oneness and the verse the diversity? So it is true that we are all one and that the universe is a single organism. It also true that there is great diversity.

This is certainly true of ourselves as well. What we are is a single wholeness, and we cannot separate out the parts of ourselves that we think are unworthy or that we don't like or that we think are bad or evil. Our challenge is acceptance, recognizing that everything we have is a part of one whole and that everything we have enables us to function. Perhaps the aspects of ourselves we like least will turn out to be as valuable to us as the roots are to the tree.

Another cardinal message of Kabbalah, then, is integration. We are not here to get rid of anything. If it didn't belong here, God wouldn't have put it here. We are here to integrate everything we have and everything we are in order to put it to its best possible use. We are challenged to think a new way—as an energy that has the potential for positive thrust. The challenge, as always, is toward oneness. We are challenged to be at one with God, at one with one another, and at one within ourselves. Perhaps this last is our most difficult endeavor.

diagram

We see that the Tree has three pillars. The right-hand pillar is called the Pillar of Mercy. It is the pillar of energy flow, and it is called male or masculine and positive. The left-hand pillar is called the Pillar of Severity. It is the pillar of form. It is called female or feminine and negative. (Here we must interpret "negative" in terms of a necessary "nothing" in the same way that a socket is a nothing, an emptiness which receives a plug.) A connection is required to make the energy flow. We need both the energy and the form. If you want a drink of water, and the water is the energy flow, it must be in something; you need something to give water form, for example, a cup. To give form is to restrict, and yet without form we can receive nothing at all.

The central pillar is the Pillar of Harmony. It is the pillar of integration. Our task is to acknowledge the darkness—in the world, in ourselves—and integrate it with the light. The Pillar of Harmony is the place where these energies come into perfect balance. We have to work the Tree in the way that is called the Way of the Serpent, which winds all around the Tree and slowly, gradually, and patiently experiences and integrates every energy on the Tree.

Continuing our examination of the Tree of Life, we direct our attention to the series of circles that make up these pillars. These are called sefirot, the singular of which is sefirah. A sefirah is a vessel, created to contain the divine energy that emanates from the godhead. The Tree may be perceived as a many-tiered fountain. As God allows energy to flow forth, the energy is caught up in the first sefirah. When that overflows, it fills the next two sefirot, and when they overflow, they fill the following two sefirot, down into the sixth sefirah, and so on.

We can imagine that the sefirot at the top of the Tree are lighter, thinner, more transparent and more fragile; as we move down the Tree, we move into sefirot which are thicker and stronger, but through which the light (God energy) shines more dimly. When we're down on this earth plane, we need the stronger vessels to contain the divine essence, because we know what it's like on the freeway if we're driving in Baccarat crystal. We're going to get shattered. In order to get to the clearer energies, the sefirot through which the light shines more easily, we need to do our meditations working up the Tree. But the most important thing to remember is that the light at the base of the Tree is the same light as the light at the height of the Tree. The light itself is unchanged. The difference is in the container; Dom Perignon tastes the same in a Baccarat crystal goblet and an earthenware mug. There is a place between the first sefirah and the sixth sefirah in which there seems to be an empty space. There is, in fact, an uncreated sefirah there, which is called Daath. (That is the sefirah that God is waiting for us to create.)

As we turn our attention to the Tarot, we can only be amazed at the ways in which these two totally distinct and disparate systems of thought converge, leading us to a single great teaching. In exploring the relationships between the Tarot and the Kabbalistic Tree of Life, we discover parallels that make remembering the cards, as well as understanding them, simple. We are struck by the fact that there are ten sefirot on the Tree of Life and ten pip, or numbered cards, in each suit of the Tarot. This numerical association alone invites us to connect the ace through ten of each suit with the sefirah corresponding to its number. Keter, as the first sefirah on the Tree, corresponds to the aces, for example, while the fifth sefirah, Gevurah, lays claim to the fives, Hod to the eights, and so on. We will find as we explore these connections card by card that the associations do not seem to be those of chance. Rather, there seems to be an intentionality, a rightness, even a clear fit in some cases between the sefirah and card that share the same number.

This synchronicity, in Jungian terms, benefits the student of Tarot in a number of ways. First, it separates the forty pip cards from the sixteen court cards, making each more conceptually manageable. Instead of being accosted by fifty-six random images to memorize, we begin with forty that break neatly into four groups of ten. Ten cards numbered one through ten, each of which seems to have a sefirah governing it, is a reader-friendly proposition compared to fifty-six disorganized images clamoring for our attention.

chartIn assigning the pip cards to the sefirot of the Tree of Life, we introduce a further suggestion that facilitates both understanding and remembering the cards. The implication is that similarly numbered cards of each suit have something in common. And, indeed, what they share is their association with one of the ten sefirot and the distinctive character of that sefirah. If we have understood what the energy of Chesed is, for example, in assigning the fours of each suit to that sefirah, we can say, "Look at the image of the Four of Cups. How does what I know about Chesed (mercy) color my perception of that card? Can I detect the quality of that vessel in the Four of Wands? How does it help me to understand the Four of Swords? How does the nature of Chesed challenge my initial impression of the Four of Pentacles?"

The appropriateness of the match between sefirah and Minor Arcanum is more powerful in some cases than in others, or at least more obvious. The coincidence of sefirot and pips challenges us to seek meaning and connection, to grasp why the image of the Four of Cups and that of the Four of Wands belong to Chesed, to find what, in essence, they share. Even at its most arcane, the connection between the sefirah and the cards that belong to it by virtue of their numbers is worth pursuing and exploring.

The sixteen court cards also break into four clear groups: kings, queens, knights, and pages. Once again, we are confronted with a numerical correspondence in the Tree of Life, this time with the four olams or worlds. Understanding the nature of each world will inform our understanding of each set of court cards. Again, seeing what the pages of each suit have in common, how they are manifestations of the olam that they all share, enables us to remember them more easily.

The process is reciprocal. The nebulous flavor of the sefirah or olam is rendered intelligible when we see, in the image of a Minor Arcanum, a palpable expression of it. Conversely, we find deeper meaning in the cards as we come to understand how they are characterized by the sefirot and olams of the Tree of Life to which they are assigned. That there should be twenty-two Major Arcana in the Tarot and twenty-two paths connecting the sefirot of the Tree of Life is the final mysterious connection between the two symbologies. Papus believed that from the Tarot alone all wisdom and knowledge could be elicited. If he was right, then there is no way to exhaust the riches it will yield to each of us.


Isabel Radow Kliegman, a graduate of Cornell University, attended Oxford as a Fulbright Scholar, and earned her Masters degree at Columbia University. For over twenty-five years, Kliegman has devoted herself to consulting, lecturing, teaching, and conducting workshops on the Tarot and related subjects. A published poet, she spoke at International Tarot Congress, and received an award from the United Sensitives of America. Kliegman resides in Pacific Palisades, CA. This article is an excerpt from her first book, Tarot and the Tree of Life (Quest 1997); her companion piece, tying the Major Arcana of the Tarot to the paths on The Tree of Life, is in progress.


Explorations: Meditation and Yoga

By Kay Mouradian

Originally printed in the JULY-AUGUST 2008 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Mouradian, Kay. "Explorations: Meditation and Yoga." Quest  96.4 (JULY-AUGUST 2008):148-149.

Theosophical Society -  Kay Mouradian, Ed.D. is a retired professor of health and physical education from the Los Angeles Community Colleges. A long time student of Theosophy, she is author of Reflective Meditation (Quest Books 1982) and A Gift in the Sunlight: An Armenian Story.

BING ESCUDERO never knew me or how much he affected my thinking. Privileged to have attended one of his Theosophical lectures many years ago, I still remember a powerful sentence from his talk. It resonates in my being even today. He said that Madame Blavatsky's mission was to bring the words reincarnation and karma into the western vocabulary and that the mission of the Theosophical Society in the twentieth century was to expand that metaphysical vocabulary with the words meditation and consciousness.

At the time, I was in the midst of researching yoga for my doctoral dissertation and teaching physical education at a community college in Los Angeles. I was trying to define a yoga curriculum for the public schools minus yoga's spiritual core. A sabbatical allowed me to intensify my research in India. It was there, like a bolt of lightning, that I learned that yoga, without its spirituality, is not yoga. One of several yogis I interviewed had become exasperated with my superficial questions and said, "Don't talk to me about yoga, talk to me about asana." My eyes widened in a state of a shock. I realized my questioning session had just ended.

It is important for a researcher to ask the right questions, however, at that time my consciousness was devoid of a thoughtful understanding of yoga. I wanted all the physical attributes yoga books claimed for a healthy body, but I was not sure about the rest of that "yoga stuff." As a teacher in a public community college where teaching religion is frowned upon, I was not interested in knowing how much belief and religious practice were at the heart of yoga. For me asana was yoga. I had read of the Indian sage Patanjali and his eight branches of yoga (yama, niyama, asana, pranayama, pratyahara, dharana, dhyana, and samadhi), but my heart related only to asana, the physical postures designed to keep the body supple, strong, and healthy. What I did not know at the time is that the intent of asana is to spiritualize the physical body and prepare it for the all-powerful experience of samadhi, the uniting of one's consciousness with God's consciousness, like that of a wave pulling back from the shore and again becoming one with the ocean.

The ultimate objective of all the various yoga practices is samadhi. Yoga disciplines are powerful and need to be heeded in their totality. Asana is the third branch of Patanjali's yoga and only one-eighth of its discipline. It should not be taken out of context. A warning came from Edgar Cayce when he said that what is good can also be bad.

My fear is that taking asana out of its intended realm could result in harming the physical body instead of strengthening it. Even worse, with today's dilution of yoga, I fear that Patanjali's yoga without its spirituality will become infected and eventually lose its magic as did the ancient spiritual centers in Greece when persons flooding those areas came without a purity of intent.

Where do meditation and consciousness fall within the yoga discipline? A brief overview of Patanjali's eight branches reveals that the first two branches, yama and niyama, propose living with the right action of ethical behavior and that asana and pranayama are physical and breathing exercises designed to enhance the body's atomic structure and prepare it for the lengthy stillness needed in meditation. The next three branches of Patanjali's yoga are a series of meditative techniques that study the activity of the mind to help shape it to become skillful and attentive. Controlling the mind (raja yoga), which some say is the highest yoga, is essential before one finds the entrance and passes through into the enlightened state of samadhi.

My first attempt at meditation was an uncomfortable moment. I did not like closing my eyes and not being able to see all that surrounded me. Not being the center of the scene, I no longer could make judgments about what I saw. I heard the sound of a speeding car and my mind visualized ocean waves. Why did I visualize waves? Why did H. P. Blavatsky say, "Thou shalt not let the senses make a playground of thy mind"? That was a clue that led me into an exciting adventure of delving into my mind to see how and why it worked the way it did. After seven years of intense study I am now aware of what is going on in my mind at all times. Although my mind still wanders, I often catch it as it loses focus and understand why.

As my meditation practices became stronger, I saw my thoughts speedily go hither-dither, that "monkey mind" often referred to in yoga literature. Watching the initializing of my thoughts and identifying where they came from—inside my head or from the outside—I was able to determine if I wanted to keep those thoughts as part of my consciousness. All in a flash!

Anger had been my bane in my early years. Then one day in meditation, I saw an angry thought surfacing, watched it with full attention, did not give it energy, and it dissipated on its own. It was the beginning of understanding how to clear the negative junk thoughts that had encrusted my consciousness. However, once in a while, especially when driving in traffic, I feel a seed of anger rising, but am aware of its happening and I immediately change its energy. My secret is keeping my attention at the sixth charka, the mind's eye, where thoughts I want to keep in my consciousness are strengthened. I learned to do this in an unusually quiet and attentive meditation when I saw a thought forming in the back of my head. And that phrase, "in the back of my mind" made sense. I learned to bring those thoughts to the forefront of my mind, to the mind's eye, or dismiss them if they were junk. It is not so much control of my mind as it is becoming aware of what is sitting in the back of my mind that can cause discord in my hectic life.

Swami Sivananda said that the nature of the mind is such that it becomes what it thinks intensely upon. Most of us have no idea of what thoughts are sitting in our consciousness. How often have you heard people say, "I don't know who I am"? That phrase propels many of us who have no idea what thoughts dominate our lives. But, attentive meditation focusing on how and where thoughts are formed can begin to clear the fog and confusion that clouds our minds.

Once we understand the nature of thought and how it drives us in our daily lives, we have an opportunity to strengthen our thoughts of goodness, kindness, and compassion and become a human being whose consciousness is a reflection of who we can become. Meditation and consciousness, two words activated in our daily vocabulary, can uplift the human being to heights previously unimagined.


 Kay Mouradian, Ed.D. is a retired professor of health and physical education from the Los Angeles Community Colleges. A long time student of Theosophy, she is author of Reflective Meditation (Quest Books 1982) and A Gift in the Sunlight: An Armenian Story.


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