AN INTRODUCTION TO THE TAROT

Oct 19, 2020

by Sarah K. S. Hanks

Tarot is not that hard to understand on the surface. It’s a deck of 78 illustrated cards, each representing different things—energies, archetypes, universal human experiences. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of tarot decks available on the market today, each following a set pattern. The origins of these cards are mysterious, but as best anyone can figure, they were developed in 15th-century Europe as a simple card game before taking on a more mystical bent in the 18th century. Occult movements of the 20th century popularized tarot in the modern age, and even in the last five years, tarot has received renewed attention and gained an enthusiastic following.

A standard tarot deck is divided into two sections: the Major Arcana and the Minor Arcana, arcana meaning mysteries. Of the two, the structure of the Minor Arcana will be more familiar to most people; it’s arranged like a standard deck of playing cards, with four suits and numbered cards within those suits. These minor cards tend to represent smaller moments in life, things we can easily identify and describe. The Eight of Pentacles, for example, has to do with refining your talents and practicing your craft. The Four of Swords is a reminder that you need rest. The Minor Arcana offers vital wisdom, but it does so in a realistic, practical way.

The Major Arcana speaks to something larger, and when people think of tarot, these are usually the cards that come to mind. They stand for the overarching themes and energies we’re all operating within, the big picture, the great pattern.

There are 22 cards in the Major Arcana, numbered from 0 to 21, and they tell a story of creation and destruction, life and death and rebirth, self-discovery, self-recovery. The sequence of these 22 cards is often called The Fool’s Journey.

In this story, an intrepid, naive explorer, The Fool, stumbles into a complicated world and meets a series of mentors. The Magician, The High Priestess, The Empress, The Emperor, and The Hierophant each teach The Fool about aspects of existence and what it means to be human. After learning their ways, The Fool reaches a crossroads of choice in The Lovers card and leaves safety for the unknown in The Chariot. From there, our protagonist comes to understand the true spirit of Strength and meets The Hermit in order to go within and find wisdom in solitude. The Wheel of Fortune is the next stop, teaching The Fool about the limits of his control. From there, they learn about reality with Justice, practice surrender with The Hanged Man, and finally, embody the ultimate loss of Death. You might think the journey ends there, but no; death only serves as a portal to more ephemeral realms. Temperance is waiting there, preparing The Fool for a meeting with The Devil, where a struggle for freedom takes place. From there, The Tower brings destruction to everything that’s outlived its usefulness, followed by the bright hope of The Star, the wild self-expression of The Moon, and the clarifying synthesis of The Sun. Having spent all this time in the underworld and passed through its concentric lessons, awakening comes in the Judgment card; our hero is resurrected and made aware of their true self and calling. The tale completes itself in The World as The Fool sees their place in the interconnected universe and prepares to cycle back to the beginning.

I’ve been a tarot reader for 5 years, but I’ve been a Mormon considerably longer (32 years and counting). Growing up as an active LDS girl in southern Utah in the 90s and early 2000s, I learned at church to be careful about horoscopes in the newspaper and to stay far away from Ouija boards. Reading Sylvia Plath in high school felt risky because I’d heard she was a practicing Pagan before she died. I’m not sure I was ever warned against tarot cards specifically, but I didn’t need to be; anything with a mystical, otherworldly vibe was suspect. I was drawn to these subjects, but I couldn’t tell you even now if I was motivated by genuine interest or by a sense of attraction to whatever was forbidden.

Tarot finally came into my life when I was well into adulthood. One summer, on a group camping trip, a friend pulled out a tarot deck and did quick readings for anyone who wanted them. I don't remember much about my reading, but I knew I liked what was happening, and the following Christmas season, I walked into my local Barnes & Noble with a gift card in hand and bought a deck of my own.

That was in 2014. I've been reading tarot cards ever since. By the time this all started, I’d become pretty unorthodox in my Mormonism, but I was still surprised at this turn of events. What was a basic Mormon girl like me, a stay-at-home mom in the Utah suburbs, doing with a closet full of metaphysical supplies and guidebooks? It was a total plot twist, at least on the surface, but I also sensed some common threads between my Mormon upbringing and the tarot-centric spirituality I was starting to explore. How many times had I been taught the value of personal revelation, of seeking an answer and watching for heavenly messages disguised as coincidence? Wasn’t I encouraged to open my scriptures to a random page, point to a random verse, and ponder its meaning as though it was meant especially for me (a practice I now know is called bibliomancy)? Patriarchal blessings still feel like crystal ball fortune-telling, no matter how emphatically my Young Women leaders insisted there was a difference. Every meaningful ordinance in my church life was a matter of saying precise words and moving your body in specific ways, not so very different from casting a spell. All these parallels and more made me feel strangely at home in this new world of freeform, magical spiritual practice. I’d always trusted the spirit to help me ascertain my path through the world, and that didn’t change just because some of the spiritual messages were now coming through tarot cards.

The Mormon tradition has a history of mystical belief and practice. In his book Early Mormonism and the Magic World View, celebrated historian D. Michael Quinn lays out abundant evidence for the way church founders and early followers utilized folk magic, astrology, talismans, forms of divination, and, yes, even tarot cards as integrated aspects of their religion. The LDS church has moved further and further away from those foundations through the generations, likely as part of its efforts to be seen as wholesome, traditional members of the mainstream Protestant Christian community. Magic isn’t exactly welcome there, which is a shame and a curiosity; the most quintessential Christian story of all, that of the babe born in Bethlehem, recalls the magi who relied on astrological knowledge to find Mary’s infant son and on dream interpretation to keep him safe from one who wished him harm.

Regardless of Mormonism’s magical foundations and legacy, the correspondences between tarot and church history is striking. I found Josh Baird’s work with the Mormon Tarot during a late-night Google walkabout in 2017, and seeing these familiar Mormon stories and figures portrayed within the framework of tarot was exciting to say the least. I loved watching the evolution of Joseph Smith Jr. through his stages, The Fool to The Hierophant to The Lovers to The Hanged Man. Emma Smith as The High Priestess gave me chills. When I met Josh in person in the summer of 2018 and got to discuss the project in more depth, I was thrilled to learn about his concepts for other cards that were still in the works. It heartened me to see firsthand his passion for what he was creating, for honoring the complexity of Mormonism, the power of tarot, and the archetypal wisdom found in both traditions.

IMAGE: American Prophet

In my work as a tarot practitioner, I’ve spent a lot of time reading, researching, talking, writing, and thinking about these 78 cards. I’m by no means the ultimate expert, but I’ve put in my time, and I’m confident in my insights and approach. That said, tarot is having quite a moment in the cultural consciousness, and there are thousands of people out there with their own unique connections to the cards and the craft. Many see a divinatory power in tarot to which I don’t personally relate; many others use tarot in a more casual, lighthearted way. That variety is completely appropriate, in my opinion. Different spiritual tools fill different needs for different people, and the way I use tarot isn’t binding on anyone else. Humanity is way too varied for anything to be one-size-fits-all.

There’s a huge body of accepted knowledge on what all these cards mean, but there’s also diversity in how people interpret them. And while tarot is simple enough in concept (you shuffle the deck, pull some cards, and see what comes up, easy peasy), if you take a more serious look, you inevitably encounter some big questions: Does tarot "work"? Can it tell you things that are accurate in more than a coincidental way? If so, how does it work? Are we talking real magic here?

I find satisfying answers in this passage from the book At the Root of This Longing by Carol Lee Flinders:

"...the knowledge and the truth and clarity we are seeking isn't 'out there' at all, but deep inside. Certain insights want to break out into daylight, but we hold them down, fearing the kind of change that might take place if we knew them experientially and all at once. Down through time, we've evolved different methods, by which they can emerge in small, manageable doses. We throw the I Ching, we deal out tarot cards, we analyze our dreams, and through these fissures in ordinary logic we can in effect nudge ourselves along -- self talking to self in a heavily coded language."

This idea—the fissures in ordinary logic theory—is how I explain tarot's effectiveness. We have reliable pieces of information locked somewhere in the labyrinth of body, spirit, soul, mind, but we struggle to access that inner wisdom. Using tools that sidestep ordinary logic opens our eyes to subtle clues, gut feelings, and symbols. When we're tapped into that kind of flow, intuition reveals what we already know to be true.

The words of artist and therapist Thea Monyee’ are instructive here:

“Of all the things I’ve done to myself, both consciously and unconsciously, the worst has been to convince myself that I don’t know what I know.”

I can’t always explain why I know what I know. I’m betting you can relate. As human beings, we have vast reservoirs of knowledge inside us, but it’s not always easy to recognize or believe. Other voices are louder. Other sources of information are credentialed and recognized as appropriate. Like so many people, I learned early on to outsource my authority. I learned that what I knew, what I wanted, what I valued was only legitimate if it was confirmed by something external -- authority figures at home or at church or at school, someone famous, a storyline in a movie, a magazine cover. I trusted my formation to anyone but me. It’s what we’re taught.

But regardless of all those distractions, your inner wisdom, your soul, your intuition can still be heard. It is speaking. For reasons I haven’t quite nailed down, tarot helps intuition come through more clearly in this crowded, cluttered world. It helps people honor what they know.

This is how I’ve connected with tarot: as something like therapy, something like meditation, a tool for checking in with myself and supporting others as they do the same. It’s not something I use to predict the future so much as to prepare for the future by better understanding the past and present.

If you’re in a moment of transition, or a moment of need, or a moment of rage, or a moment of emptiness, or really any moment at all, I want to offer the possibility of tarot to you. I want to figuratively place a deck in your hands. It can serve as a mirror. It can function as a bridge. It can soothe and heal like medicine, communicate like language, instruct like a story. It is adaptable to your needs.

You want my ultimate theory on tarot? Tarot works because it's weird. The weirdness is an essential part of the formula. The method isn't sensible, so the guesses at answers don't have to make obvious sense either. Once you turn into a weirdo who uses a deck of cards to tell you something important about your life, you figure you may as well embrace that weirdness fully and just let your heart's inexplicable truth bubble up. And in that way, tarot really can be magic, in the sense that it helps unlock the magic inside ourselves. I think all us fools could use a little help in that department.