AUTHOR’S NOTE: I find it it immensely revealing that, in historical tarot decks like the Tarot de Marseille, the Thirteenth Arcanum (“Death” in our less-superstitious age) was typically left untitled, embracing the principle of sympathetic magic that if we don’t name something, we can pretend that it has no power over us.

Modern interpretation has added layer-upon-layer of deflection to that “avoidance” tactic with the same goal in mind (suppressing or obfuscating the obvious): “Oh, it just means major transformation; its simply an ending; it signifies something outworn that we have to let go.” Bleh! We’re getting into “lipstick on a pig” territory here. Author Andy Boroveshengra, back on the old Aeclectic Tarot forum, once quipped wryly that “There is nothing more transforming than rotting in the ground.”

I recently came across the notion, apparently borrowed from playing-card divination (where the Ace of Spades and the 7 of Spades can be a fatal combination), that the Death card will only mean physical demise if it is accompanied in a reading by three or more of several other cards: first-and-foremost, Judgement; the World; the Tower; the 10 of Swords; the 6 of Swords (huh?); the 4 of Swords; the 3 of Swords and “the blank card” (for those who use it). With this formidable hurdle to overcome, the assumed destination will almost never be reached and we can continue to look the other way. I like to quote the old Maine wags who advised tourists “You can’t get there from here.”

In my own practice I stay with the presumption of “an ending,” usually of the sobering variety unless it delivers relief. This leaves the forecast intentionally equivocal, thus supporting any kind of terminal event – big or small – that will be experienced as stressful in most cases. It is, after all, the “Grim Reaper,” although I don’t think it must be accompanied by a retinue of henchmen in order to deliver its ultimatum.

Followed by the Chariot, it could mean “moving on” from an untenable situation; by the Wheel of Fortune, it might be seen as “turning the corner” in a more fulfilling direction; by the Tower as “going from the frying pan into the fire” (I’ll leave the vision of “purifying flames” to the philosophers); by the Hermit as perhaps winding up incarcerated (yikes!); by the Fool as “getting caught with your pants down.”

The card preceding it could indicate what is being “cut off at the knees,” similar to the meaning of the Coffin card in Lenormand reading. There are all kinds of clever twists that can be put on it without attempting to sanitize its import as modern readers are inclined to do.

I’ve written a number of essays on Death (one is linked below) that covered the subject in more depth (or would that be “more death?”); the linked example proposed that “Affirmation hits a brick wall (or perhaps ‘goes over a cliff’ is a better analogy) when it encounters the finality inherent in this card.” In the recent “non-esoteric” rewrite of my Tarot de Marseille trump-card meanings, I made the same point by defining it as “Inevitability and finality; the end awaits.”

I see it not as fatalism, nihilism or cynicism, but rather stark realism. Change in life is a given; if it were not there would be no reason to perform divination to chart its course. Every card partakes of it to a greater or lesser extent, prompting MacGregor Mathers to coin the phrase “for good or ill.” With the Wheel of Fortune (the other “poster child for change”) there is an opportunity to gain traction in our affairs (Jupiter looms large) while with Death there is a greater likelihood of losing it. Omar Khayyam is my favorite champion of this philosophical premise (regardless of what we may think of his “moving finger” or his obsession with wine).

Death, Be Not Loud