AUTHOR’S NOTE: Whenever I consider the Thoth 10 of Cups in light of the Golden Dawn’s original title, I’m amused by the fact that Aleister Crowley chose “Satiety” as his one-word condensation of the Order’s “Lord of Perfected Success.”

The expression goes beyond mere sufficiency into a state of egregious excess, as in consuming far too much of a good thing (i.e. “If one is doughnut is ideal, a dozen must be better”). Satisfying fullness gives way to the error of gross overindulgence that can become stultifying. (Who can forget “Mr. Creosote” in Monty Python’s Meaning of Life?) Chronic binging-and-purging (aka “bulimia”) was not yet acknowledged as a psychological disorder in Crowley’s time, so it you ate it you owned it and suffered the consequences (or, as the distressed man in the old Alka-Selzer commercial moaned, “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing!”)

Crowley was of the Qabalistic opinion that the Nine represents the “completion” of its suit, while the Ten signifies a condition that has overstayed its welcome. At worst it is like the obnoxious relative who comes to visit and won’t leave, while at best it becomes an incidental postscript or afterthought to the situation in which it appears, and its correction is looming in the Ace of the next suit. The creative energy that emerged in the Ace of the present suit has become thoroughly diminished and degraded. In Cups it can defile the kindly demeanor of the 9 of Cups by becoming smarmy, sleazy, sanctimonious or saccharine. The oiliness of the first two conveys the false charm of the snake-oil salesman; the third is “putting on airs;” and the fourth finds a home in the sticky-sweet RWS 10 of Cups.

These uncharitable assumptions are light-years away from the belief of Pythagoras and other early Greek philosophers that Ten represents the “perfect number.” I have two problems with the Golden Dawn’s title: in the first place, the word “perfected” does not agree with the Qabalistic premise that the Ten is “overripe” and embraces decay even as it finishes manifesting; furthermore, the suit of Cups in its later stages seems to gravitate toward unforced equanimity and does not seek the businesslike rigor that derives from concerted effort, which is more of a Wands/Disks preoccupation. It strikes me that Mathers and his cohorts used “success” rather indiscriminately across all of the suits, unless they considered it to be a foregone conclusion of the more favorable cards throughout the population. When there is no outright failure in sight, I suppose they can impart at least “qualified” success, and the enervated Tens are no exception (although they can imply “post-perfection,” like a stale, three-day-old doughnut).

So how can the 10 of Cups be more suitably renamed? Staying clear of the psychological jargon of emotions and feelings, we could surmise that, since water seeks the lowest point in a system, a proper title for the last card of the suit would be “Lord of Drains and Sumps.” (Too creepy? Then imagine Ross Perot’s “giant sucking sound” as gravity prevails.) The 10 of Cups does seem to exude an aura of entitlement, so how about “Lord of Unearned Fulfillment” or “Lord of Gratuitous Satisfaction?” Personally, I’m kind of partial to “Lord of Feelin’ Groovy.” Just kidding, of course, I wanted to see who would read this far, but it does gain traction in the Waite-Smith 10 of Cups that I call the “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” card after The Beatles’ tale of Desmond and Molly Jones in their “home-sweet-home.” I get a toothache just looking at it, then I pull out the Thoth version as a “palate-cleanser.”