What Can Tarot Cards Teach You About Morality?

Death card designed by *ligoscheffer

I sat down to do research on the Tarot for a young adult novel, yet found that the majority of the books dealt only with the meanings of each card. There was precious little on their actual history. Most of the books simple threw out a vague paragraph or two about playing cards, Egyptian gods, and mystical forces. Yeah, that’s going to help.

Then I stumbled on Paul Huson’s book Mystical Origins of the Tarot. He linked the Tarot to the Turkish Mamlük cards and all the way back to Chinese “money-suited” Dongguan Pai cards. All this explained the origin of the four suits. Huson’s best argument links the major arcana (which he calls trumps) to Christian morality plays like the Dance of Death.

Okay, strap on your time traveling belts, it’s history time.

The Catholic Church had long banned any sort of pagan drama (read Greek theatre). But, once they had successfully eradicated all hints of pagan storytelling, the Church allowed certain dramatic events (relating to the bible) to be depicted at Easter or Christmas. What started as a pure recitation of Gospel, gradually blossomed into lines of verse performed on a stage.

The French drama, “Adam”, appeared by the twelfth century, which was performed before the gates of the church. By the thirteenth century, plays not based wholly on scripture appeared. The “Miracle of Theophilus”, by Rutebeuf, depicts the popular legend of Theophilus, who lost his holy office and bartered his soul to the devil to regain it. (A precursor to Faust.)

Typical Medieval Morality Play

Morality plays were an offshoot of the Miracle plays, which encouraged proper Christian behavior rather than simply quoting gospel. The most famous morality was “Everyman” (originally called “The Summoning of Everyman”). In this drama, Everyman, who dresses in fine clothes and seems to lead a wild and sinful life, has a visit from Death. Everyman must undergo a pilgrimage to absolve himself from sin before meeting his end. He asks if he’ll have any company on this journey. Death replies that only those who are brave enough will come.

The various characters represent virtues personified. One by one, all the characters desert Everyman, unwilling to face Death with him. Everyman’s friends and family (Fellows, Kindred, Cousin) refuse to go along. Finally Goods (representing worldly belongings), also backs away.

Good Deeds would accompany Everyman, but she is too weak to walk. Her sister, Knowledge, leads Everyman to Confession, who instructs him how to show penance. This allows Good Deeds to travel with Everyman.

Discretion, Strength, Beauty, and Five Wits promise never to leave Everyman’s side. Yet, when they arrive at his grave, and Everyman begins to die, they each leave. In the end, only Good Deeds will follow him into the grave. The play makes its grim point that we can only take with us the things we’ve given.

Paul Huson's Mystical Origins of the Tarot

The Black Death ravaged Europe throughout the fourteenth century. The epidemics were so frequent and merciless, that everyone had to face the prospect of death. This led to the Dance Macabre (Dance of Death), as an offshoot of the English morality play.

This is another play where Death is viewed not as a destroyer, but a messenger from God. The drama consisted of a monk reading Scriptures while actors representing death (dressed in yellow linen painted with bones) escorted other actors to the grave. Every position in society was represented (the King, a Bishop, a beggar, a soldier, a farmer, etc.)  The purpose of the play was to illustrate that regardless of your position or wealth, you were going to die and must Repent now. This idea was summed up in the phrase: “Memento Mori” which translates to “Remember you shall die.”

This procession of figures mimics the trumps of the Tarot. We start with the lowly Fool, and travel up through the Emperor (representing the king) and finally the Pope. At least that’s the theory laid down by Paul Huson. He goes on to state that the various middle trump cards mimic the personified virtues (Justice, Fortitude, Temperance, and the Hermit for Prudence). Dame Fortunate routinely appeared in morality plays, and she’s represented in the Tarot as the Wheel of Fortune.

The four most important events in a Roman Catholic’s life, known as the Four Last Things, are represented by the four trump cards:  Death, the Devil, Judgement, and the World (if we agree with Huson that the world could mean heaven).

I found the connection of morality plays (like the Dance of Death) with the Tarot a compelling argument. There are plenty of books that border on pseudoscience, linking the Tarot to UFOs and Egyptian gods, but Huson lays out a reasonable argument based on historical traditions.

Next time you pick up a Tarot deck, think back to these Medieval dramas. And remember, you too shall die, so start wracking up those good deeds.

Tim Kane

Have a Blue Fish Day (Using Surrealism in Your Writing)

When I was younger, sometimes I would declare that such and such a day was a blue fish day, meaning it had that ethereal quality as if waking from a dream.

What I later learned, was that I was utilizing the the paranoiac-critical method to unlock my unconscious mind. It might just sound like I made those words up. I didn’t. Salvador Dalí did. He was fascinated by the unconscious mind and dreams. (He plagued Freud with letters begging for an audience).

Paranoiac-Critical Method
Typically we’re taught to associate rational cause and effect explanations to events in our lives. Dalí wanted the reverse. A sort of stream of consciousness where irrational thoughts could be attached to events. He described the paranoiac-critical method as a “spontaneous method of irrational knowledge based on the critical and systematic objectivity of the associations and interpretations of delirious phenomena.”

Ballerina in a Death's Head is an example of the paranoiac-critical method. Do you see a skull or a ballerina?

In short, this is the ability of the viewer to perceive multiple images within the same configuration. All of us practice the paranoiac-critical method each time we gaze up at clouds in the sky and imagine different shapes. In fact all those sighting of Jesus on a slice of toast or a stucco wall are simply the Paranoid Critical Method in action.

A great introduction to Dalí and the whole surrealist world comes in the short film “The Death of Salvador Dalí.”

But you don’t have to sit idly by to create these associations. There are certain games you can play to help activate this irrational side of your brain.

Exquisite Corpse
This is a game played often by the Surrealists. In this, each person writes part of a sentence, and then folds the paper over so that the next person has no idea what was written. In this fashion, a collage of words creates a bizarre sentence. The name derives from the first playing of the game: “Le cadavre exquis boira le vin nouveau.” (“The exquisite corpse will drink the new wine.”)

The game was also played with pictures. One person might draw the head and then fold the paper over so that only a few connecting lines could be seen. This would continue until a total figure had been created.

4-part Corpse drawing; Man Ray, Yves Tanguy, Joan Miro, Max Morise

Cut Ups
It seems the surrealists did have their limit as to what they’d accept. At a surrealist rally in the 1920s Tristan Tzara built a poem from scratch by pulling words out of a hat. A riot broke out and wrecked the theater. Andrè Breton expelled Tristan Tzara from the movement.

Not until forty years later did this technique reemerge. Brion Gysin, a painter and writer, noticed that he’d sliced though the New York Herald Tribune on his cutting board. The cut sections lined up and could be read across. He loved the idea so much that he fashioned and essay called, Minutes to Go. Here’s an excerpt.

“Sickle moon terror nails replica in tin ginsberg. Replicas of Squareville — grey piebald pigeons — pointedly questioned, mimic each other.”

I used this technique to write the opening line to my first published short story. I was stuck and wanted a jarring image to pull the reader in. Sitting in a coffee shop, I picked up the newspaper and started tearing (I didn’t have scissors). I had to do two or three tries until something decent came up, but I think you’ll agree, the technique works.

Unfamiliar puddles of light lurked in the crevices like cancer.

So the next time you’re stuck with a scene or a character or even an idea, turn to the Surrealists for help. As your rational brain gets stuck in rut, unwilling to deliver words on the page, kick it in the but by unlocking your irrational side. Make your day a blue fish day and see what happens.

Tim Kane

Is the Steampunk Mechanical Hand a Reality?

Rasputin's Steampunk Hand

Okay, so the mechanical construct Rasputin wore in the first Hellboy movie was actually a glove, but it illustrates the dream of steampunk aficionados everywhere: The Mechanical Hand. With today’s robotic technology, we should have Luke Skywalker hands. Right? But what about the heyday of the Victoria? Could gears make the cut?

Victorian Prosthesis

It turns out there was a macabre looking Victorian prosthesis on display in the London Science Museum. This construct of steel and brass articulates at the elbow via a spring, and the wrist joint rotates and moves up and down just like the real McCoy. The fingers curl up to grip items. This was the actual appearance, so the arm was most likely concealed with a glove.

This doesn’t offer much support for the mechanical arm. Yet, if you travel back another 400 years, you’ll find the legendary Gottfried von Berlichingen (aka Götz of the Iron Hand).

The German "Iron Hand" Mercenary

This German mercenary lost his right hand from a cannonball in 1504. He commissioned a custom mechanical hand that connected to his elbow. This remarkable feat of engineering contained spring mechanisms, buttons, and levers that allowed the fingers to operate with amazing dexterity. It earned him is nickname: “that one of the iron hand” (mit to der eisernen Hand).

Strap on super gauntlet

Gottfried’s iron fingers were controlled with ten mechanical wheels. These were sensitive enough to grip a sword (for terrorizing wealthy nobles), or clutch a quill (to write those ransom notes).

Medieval Skywalker hand

So there you have it. Looking back at Army of Darkness, the machination banged out for Ash looks pretty plausible now.

Give me some sugar baby

My question, why don’t we have more cool mechanical prostheses? If a German noble could bang it out 500 years ago, why can’t we? This historical precedent bodes well for all those steampunk constructs.

Tim Kane

Did the Greek Gods Eat Mini Marshmallows?

Ambrosia. The word either inspires dread or joy from the coconut and marshmallow concoction. But the origin of this word leads to a recipe for immortality.

Now, why the interest in the snack food of a defunct pantheon? Besides the fact that mythology is plain cool, I’m doing research for a new novel. What better way than to blog about it. Now, I’ve really dug how Rick Riordan handled the Greek gods in Lightning Thief. But I feel he could have done more with ambrosia and nectar. (Maybe he has in subsequent books). So, I’m here to explore these mythical foods, as well as what makes a god immortal.

It seems that the Greeks interchanged ambrosia and nectar. Ambrosia could be eaten or drunk. Nectar was mostly drunk, but sometimes eaten. Me, I always thought of ambrosia as the food (maybe because of the fruit salad) and nectar as the drink.

There’s little information on how ambrosia and nectar are made. Apparently doves carried the food to the gods on Olympus. Ambrosia is described as being nine times sweeter than honey and its fragrance guards against disagreeable speech. I take this last part to mean that arguments won’t break out over the dinner table—good idea when you’re dealing with the Olympian family dynamic. (My guess, they weren’t serving Ambrosia when Eris plunked her golden apple on the table.)

What is clear is that eating the stuff makes you a god. Right after Apollo had been born, he climbed up to mount Olympus (a stunning feat for a newborn) where he received ambrosia and nectar to make him immortal.

A version of the Tantalus myth has the fellow dining at the table of the gods. Tantalus slips some nectar and ambrosia in his toga, and then shares the stuff with his friends on Earth. Not a cool move. Sure you get immortality, but is that really going to help you when Zeus hurls a thunderbolt at your butt?

My first exposure to the stuff (not literally, but in literature) was with the 1904 novel The Food of the Gods and How it Came to Earth by H. G. Wells. In this story these scientists, Bensington and Redwood, create a new chemical food called Herakleophorbia IV, which makes things grow to ginormous size. Being responsible nineteenth century scientists, they feed this stuff to their kids and the result is 40 foot babies. Kind of a weird story, but it falls in line with the Greek myths. The gods and titans were supposed to be gigantic.

The interesting thing I stumbled on was the gods’ blood, or lack thereof. It seems that the Greek gods bleed ichor. I only knew this stuff from Dungeons and Dragons and H. P. Lovecraft, so in my mind, I saw this black oily liquid. However, the ichor of the gods is a golden and resplendent. The theory goes that since the gods do not eat mortal food (food that rots and dies) neither do they. After all, the word ambrosia derives from the root of mbrotos, meaning mortal. Add the prefix “a” prefix to get “not mortal”. The food won’t rot, so neither will the consumer.

So what happens when these immortal gods don’t get their food fix? Well, they can’t die. Instead, the godly ones lie down, breathless, and sleep. They loose all power until they get more ambrosia and nectar.

Now eating (or drinking) ambrosia changes mortals. I’m assuming a human’s blood would transmute to ichor. I don’t know how much you need to ingest. Did Tantalus eat enough? Who’s to say.  After Achilles died, Thetis anointed him with ambrosia to destroy the human side he inherited from his mortal father, Peleus. This implies that simply rubbing the stuff on your skin transforms you, killing your mortality.

Bottom line, you start sipping from the nectar cup, there might be no turning back. It’s like the forbidden apple. One taste is too much. No wonder the gods were irked when someone stole the stuff. There were too many bickering brothers and sisters in Olympus already. Why add a few interlopers?

Ambrosia serves as the ultimate class division between mortals and immortals. Gods have it. Men yearn for it. And no, the recipe for immortality does not include marshmallows.

Tim Kane

An Ode to Drinking Coffee in the Shower

Chocolate colored, steaming, so hot it burns your lips. Yup, I’m talking java. The liquid accelerant that slaps your mind every morning. Just the scent will get me out of bed.

Here’s the problem. Time. I like to indulge my coffee goodness. Gulping wastes the tawny-colored libation. Plus it’s liable to scorch the tongue. I typically brew up a liter to slurp in the am hours. So how do you have your proverbial cake and drink it too? The answer is combining tasks.

My second love is the shower. My wife says is swim in there. Truthfully I do my best problem solving under a piping-hot drenching. I’ve considered buying waterproof paper and pen, but that’d probably ruin the experience. It’s the fact that this is the one place I can’t write anything down which makes it the very reason so many ideas germinate there. So yeah, I take my time, swimming through my thoughts.

I used to slurp some coffee just before heading into the shower, only to return to a cooled cup. (Microwaves are none too kind to the brew.) One morning, I just took the mug o’joe in with me.

Now I’ve had plenty of people interrogate me on the logistics of this feat. Frankly, I hardly gave it much thought. My shower has sliding doors, so I simply set the cup on top, hooking the mug when I need a java boost. The whole experience reminds me of that episode where George Costanza eats his pastrami sandwich, watches TV, all while in bed (the perfect combination of three worlds). As to the logistics, it’s not like I face the water stream while I drink. That would dilute the coffee with water. I just sip now and then, enjoying the shower.

For all of you wanting a little slice of heaven, join us coffee shower drinkers (though at this point I might be the only one).

Tim Kane