AUTHOR’S NOTE: The Wheel of Fortune is a card that is passed over lightly by many tarot writers, and by most readers who think they know exactly what it means: some kind of change that can go either way, favorable or unfavorable. The reading then moves on to the next card in the spread to see what that change might portend. I’m currently working my way through Sallie Nichols’ essay on the Wheel of Fortune in Tarot and the Archetypal Journey, and I’m coming up with a few ideas that go well beyond this uncritical, open-ended notion of “change.” As with a few of the other psychological studies in the book, this is a complex subject that has as much to do with equilibrium as it does with evolution, and that at times seems more mystical than analytical. (You’ve been warned!)

After first talking about the dangers of succumbing to “circular thinking,” she goes on to say that the infinite array of diametrically-opposed influences distributed around the circumference of the Wheel exhibits no marked differentiation; all of its divers expressions exist at the same time and demand to be reconciled in the moment since their apparent separateness is just an illusion of their arbitrary arrangement along the rim, the acceleration of which defies our ability to isolate any one of them for observation. Later in the essay she explores the premise that the supposed “future” – the goal of most forays into divination – is merely an as-yet-unexamined phase of the “Eternal Now” (my own conflation of her more erudite phrasing) as portrayed by the Wheel of Fortune.

Did I say “mystical?” With a little imagination, we might envision this concept as a metaphorical pair of shoes that we can choose from our wardrobe of mental attitudes before we step out the door. While there is obviously cyclical and reciprocal communication between them, the upshot is that neither one holds sway over the other; each pair forms a cohesive, simultaneous whole of two ideological halves akin to the “yin-and-yang” taijitu of Tao, one rising and the other falling, that can’t be taken singly. The humanoid figures bound to the Wheel are emblematic of this principle, representing the “simultaneity” of Nichols’ vision. I particularly like the Medieval titles for these apparitions: “I reign” (top figure), “I shall reign” (rising figure); “I reigned” (falling figure): “I have no reign” (bottom figure).

I’m also reminded of Aleister Crowley’s commentary on yoga, which he says simply means “union,” and his assertion that all phenomena whatsoever exist in a perfectly synchronous harmony of purpose, only differing in measure or degree. Therefore, any disparity we observe in their intrinsic nature is solely due to the unique perspective imposed by our position on the physical plane (the “every man and woman is a star” premise in which no two people can view reality simultaneously from exactly the same vantage point). I agree in principle with the last assumption but still have to think about the opening statement of his (and Nichols’) argument.

Nichols’ point is that the rim of the Wheel is in perpetual motion, so – because it bears the infinite series of paired opposites – it is the only part that gains traction in the outer world through the linked development of those opposites. The hub’s forward progress is comparatively linear and exhibits little oscillation over the course of the Wheel’s travel. A smoothly-running rim spins out experiences in an impartial (Nichols says “amoral”) string of circumstances and events (or, as is more often the case, non-events) that become the stuff of daily life while the hub ideally maintains a stable anchor of inner peace. In recognizing that any spot on the moving rim touches the ground only once during each revolution, we must also acknowledge that each point of contact is just is little farther along the road; thus, instead of a straight line, it draws a helical pattern that suggests Jung’s spiral evolution of consciousness (we just have to hope that it doesn’t slam the pavement so hard that we have to stop and regroup).

No matter where we dip into the rotation, opposing factors on the rim are always relatable as entities but not necessarily conditional in their operation since one perfectly complements the other and neither is preferable. Change can only occur when the Wheel develops a wobble due to outside influences disturbing the steady-state composure of the hub. Think of it as something “getting to us” or “getting under our skin” that compels us to shift our stance from an increasingly uncomfortable position to one that is more tenable. If this is “in the cards,” it will most likely be conveyed by other disruptive factors in the spread; as with all of the trump cards in my current model, the Wheel of Fortune – in its manifestation as Crowley’s “formula of change” (“Change equals stability; stability equals change”) – might furnish the environment but not necessarily provide the “trigger” for dramatic developments. Crowley noted that, when it occurs, this change is usually for the better as it “generally means good fortune because the fact of consultation implies anxiety or discontent.” In other words, a contented individual who has already conquered the more glaring inequities of human existence is unlikely to seek a tarot reading.

An astrological birth chart is a perfect example of a “closed, circular system,” in that nothing is lacking and everything harmonizes to a greater or lesser extent. Except in certain fairly rare types of horoscope, the individual features often appear to be grossly unbalanced, either by position or dignity, but in fact all facets of the chart can ultimately be integrated into the character via compensatory adaptation that will fill any voids left by lopsided or ill-favored forces, although typically in a different manner. Only when the “core” of the personality (usually represented by the Sun-Moon-Ascendant complex) is severely distorted or debilitated by uncongenial conditions is there significant dysfunction that is best remediated through some kind of intervention.

Astrology has four dozen or so essential components that interrelate in a structured matrix (apart from the “fixed stars” and the host of “accidental dignities,” these are signs, houses, planets, aspects and an assortment of other sensitive locations), while the more-expansive tarot has 78 key “data points” that can be combined fluidly in an almost limitless number of patterns, each with an original narrative to offer. What is needed with tarot is a practical rather than philosophical system to turn “infinity” into a comprehensible and manageable “finite” population of opposites. Linking the stories in the cards to the concept of the eternally-revolving “Wheel” via the Golden Dawn’s placement of their plot elements on the Chaldean zodiac is a good way to begin comparing how their divergent focus might be blended in a similarly organized and efficient manner. I’ve written more than one previous essay on the subject; the one below is probably the most relevant:

Tarot and Astrology: Convergence or Collision?