How Tarot Cards Work

From: http://science.howstuffworks.com/tarot-card5.htm

Tarot-card Philosophy

How can randomly drawn cards have any relevance to someone's life and what's happening in it? What most readers say, the Tarot can enlighten you about the choices you have. The cards don't tell you what you should do or what specifically is going to happen in your future, but rather the possibilities, depending on the path you take. Let's look at some of the theories behind how Tarot cards could possibly work.

Synchronicity
Carl Jung believed that in addition to the repeatable cause-and-effect relationships on which the scientific world is so strongly based, there is also another connecting principle that does not share that cause-and-effect relationship. He called this principle synchronicity. According to Jung, synchronicity explains the guiding forces in the universe. Things we might see as coincidence are actually signs that can help us make decisions and guide our lives -- if we recognize them.

Jung believed that quantum mechanics could be a possible explanation for the phenomenon of synchronicity. (Quantum mechanics explains the relationships of particles and their random interconnectivity, with behaviors being probabilities rather than certainties.) There are those who believe that because the forces of quantum mechanics affect the reality of physical objects, Tarot cards might play the role of showing us paths and patterns and helping us understand the meaning in those guiding energies. Although, according to the principles of quantum mechanics, once you see the possible outcomes in the Tarot reading, you've changed the probabilities. While Jung did not study Tarot, he was interested in I Ching (another divination tool) and suggested that synchronicity could be an explanation for how I Ching might work for divination.

Projecting
Some say, it all boils down to your subconscious mind. Arguably, how we perceive things relies heavily on our subconscious, and there are those who believe that with Tarot, the subconscious projects its own interpretations on the Tarot cards. As a person receiving a Tarot reading, your interpretation of the cards is a result of the factors in your life that shape who you are and what you are about. The questions you have about your life (usually the reason for consulting the Tarot in the first place) are projected onto the pictures, so you define answers from what you see. In this way, the Tarot is useful in helping us tap into our subconscious to find answers that we might never consciously think of. The Rorschach inkblot test uses a similar principle to look into the subconscious. Whether you believe that Tarot cards hold any power or ability to shed light on your life, your problems or your future might depend on how easily you can open your mind to the idea of it. Many Tarot-card readers have differing ideas about how or why the Tarot works. In fact, some say we only need the Tarot to help us until we learn to get in touch with our "inner guide" on our own.

Tarot-Card History: Are They Really That Ancient?

According to Tarot historian Tom Tadfor Little, traditional playing cards were first seen in Europe in 1375, having been brought over from the Islamic societies where they had been used for centuries before that. These cards were not, however, Tarot cards. At this point, he says, there is no evidence to show that Tarot cards had yet been created, which goes against many claims that ordinary playing cards evolved from the original Tarot deck.

It wasn't until 1440 that the cards that were most likely the origin of Tarot cards were first mentioned. In a letter from the Duke of Milan, there was a request for several decks of "triumph" cards to be used at a special event. The letter differentiated triumph cards from regular "playing" cards.

It does appear, however, that the first Tarot decks were created as a game. There were four suits with cards numbered one through ten and also court cards that included a queen, king, knight and page. The deck also included 22 symbolic picture cards that did not belong to any suit. The decks were used to play a game called triumph that was similar to bridge. In triumph, 21 of the 22 special picture cards were permanent trump cards. The game spread quickly to all parts of Europe. People began referring to it as tarocchi, which is an Italian version of the French word tarot, around 1530.

In 1781, in France and England, followers of the occult discovered Tarot cards. They saw the symbolic pictures of the cards as having more meaning than the simple trump cards they were used for at the time. They used the cards as a divination tool, and occult writers wrote about "the Tarot." After this, the Tarot became a part of occult philosophy.

There are also those who believe that Tarot cards originated in Egypt. In some circles, they are thought to be the sole surviving "book" from the great fire that burned the libraries of ancient Egypt. In this theory, the cards are considered to be the hieroglyphical keys to life.

For more information on Tarot cards, Tarot-card reading and related topics, check out these links.

Sources

·         Aeclectic Tarot: Tarot Deck Categories, http://www.aeclectic.net/tarot/cards/categories.shtml

·       American Tarot Association, http://www.ata-tarot.com/

·       Crystalinks: Tarot, http://www.crystalinks.com/tarot.html

·       The Hermitage: A Tarot History Site, http://www.tarothermit.com/

·       Learning the Tarot, http://www.learntarot.com/course.htm

·       RealMagick, http://realmagick.com/main/home.html

·       Salem Tarot, http://www.salemtarot.com/contents.html

·       The Skeptic's Dictionary: Tarot Cards, http://skepdic.com/tarot.html

·       Synchronicity Times: What is Synchronicity?, http://www.ropi.net/st/what_is_synchronicity.htm

·       Tarot Certification Board of America, http://www.tarotcertification.org/

·       TarotMoon: Quantum Physics, Synchronicity and the Tarot, http://www.tarotmoon.com/articles/Quantum/quantum.html

we need to die

"in order for our lives to have meaning, we need to die." - Todd May

that short sentence in NY Times, dated September 2, 2009, caught my eyes. death is always something that i'm continuously wondering about. i don't really know whether i'm scared of death or not. well, sometimes i am, sometimes i feel like i wanna die NOW. but one thing for sure, i'm always wondering how i'll die. the "how" makes it scary. will it hurt? will it be creepy? i certainly don't want a long and painful process to die. just shoot me in the head and kill me instantly. but what is "instant"? how long is "instant"? a few seconds? and in those few seconds, will it hurt? will it be creepy?

anyway, that short sentence and the following little article that i found are just so great! the article gives me a new perspective about death. and also life. i'd like you to read it, if you don't mind. it's called "happy ending" by Todd May, a professor of philosophy at Clemson University. he has also written 10 books so far, including "The Philosophy of Foucault" and "Death". here's his article. happy reading.

*****************

In the spring of 2004 I took a flight from my home near Greenville, S.C., to New York to visit my dying step-grandmother. We had been close, and it would be one of the last times I would get to see her. As the flight was about to land, it abruptly ascended and headed toward the Empire State Building. The passengers on the plane became quiet; the aura of 9/11 was hanging in the air.

We flew over the Empire State Building (but too close to the antenna for my comfort) and circled back to La Guardia. As it turned out, a small commuter plane had decided to land without taking account of our aircraft, so the pilot had had to make a quick move. But in those moments when it seemed I was aboard another human missile, I revisited my life. I realized, almost to my surprise, that I would not have traded it in for another life. There had been disappointments, to be sure, but my life appeared to me to have been a meaningful one, a life I did not regret. This is not to say that I was not nearly paralyzed with fear. I was. At the same time, strangely, my life appeared to me as worth having lived.

There are two lessons here. The first, and most obvious one, is that death is terrifying. Here in the United States, we have the technology to defer death, so we often pretend it will never really happen to us. There is always another procedure, always a cure in sight if not in hand. But in our sober moments we recognize that we will indeed die, and that we have precious little control over when it will happen.

The harm of death goes to the heart of who we are as human beings. We are, in essence, forward-looking creatures. We create our lives prospectively. We build relationships, careers, and projects that are not solely of the moment but that have a future in our vision of them. One of the reasons Eastern philosophies have developed techniques to train us to be in the moment is that that is not our natural state. We are pulled toward the future, and see the meaning of what we do now in its light.

Death extinguishes that light. And because we know that we will die, and yet we don’t know when, the darkness that is ultimately ahead of each of us is with us at every moment. There is, we might say, a tunnel at the end of this light. And since we are creatures of the future, the darkness of death offends us in our very being. We may come to terms with it when we grow old, but unless our lives have become a burden to us coming to terms is the best we can hope for.

The second, less obvious lesson of this moment of facing death is that in order for our lives to have a shape, in order that they not become formless, we need to die. This will strike some as counterintuitive, even a little ridiculous. But in order to recognize its truth, we should reflect a bit on what immortality might mean.

Immortality lasts a long time. It is not for nothing that in his story “The Immortal” Jorge Luis Borges pictures the immortal characters as unconcerned with their lives or their surroundings. Once you’ve followed your passion — playing the saxophone, loving men or women, traveling, writing poetry — for, say, 10,000 years, it will likely begin to lose its grip. There may be more to say or to do than anyone can ever accomplish. But each of us develops particular interests, engages in particular pursuits. When we have been at them long enough, we are likely to find ourselves just filling time. In the case of immortality, an inexhaustible period of time.

And when there is always time for everything, there is no urgency for anything. It may well be that life is not long enough. But it is equally true that a life without limits would lose the beauty of its moments. It would become boring, but more deeply it would become shapeless. Just one damn thing after another.

This is the paradox death imposes upon us: it grants us the possibility of a meaningful life even as it takes it away. It gives us the promise of each moment, even as it threatens to steal that moment, or at least reminds us that some time our moments will be gone. It allows each moment to insist upon itself, because there are only a limited number of them. And none of us knows how many.

I prefer to think that the paradox of death is the source not of despair but instead of the limited hope that is allotted to us as human beings. We cannot live forever, to be sure, but neither would we want to. We ought not to mind the fact that we will die, although we really would rather that it not be today. Probably not tomorrow either. But it is precisely because we cannot control when we will die, and know only that we will, that we can look upon our lives with the seriousness they merit. Death takes away from us no more than it has conferred: lives whose significance lies in the fact they are not always with us.

Our happiness lies in being able to inhabit that fact.