The Heart of the Matter: Quality Over Quantity and Simplicity in Action
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Early in my re-reading of Ethan Indigo Smith’s The Tao of Thoth, I once again encountered his analysis of the virtue of simplicity over complexity. He observes that “Simplicity is often a quality, whereas complexity yields mostly quantities.” His premise is that “qualifying ourselves and (our) surroundings” through focused “inner work” is far preferable to the annoying “busywork” of managing the innumerable quantities in life. One furthers illumination while the other will ultimately generate confusion.
This reminder brought me back to my innate aversion to the use of “clarifying” cards in tarot reading. If we truly believe in the effectiveness of tarot, we will accept that every card pulled after sincere contemplation of the question represents a key insight applying to that specific aspect of the situation, an irreducible kernel of knowledge that will only be corrupted if we try to penetrate it by pulling more cards. Every card is self-evident in its sufficiency (assuming we can navigate around the folkloric baggage and anecdotal innuendo that have sprung up around its interpretation over the last hundred years), so we should steer our observations in an economical direction and not be lured into complexity. An inability to absorb its fundamental truth at first glance doesn’t confer a license to complicate things merely to avoid the obligation of trying harder; deeper thought on the subject is the correct path to that end.
This time-consuming exercise may not be feasible in face-to-face professional settings when reading “on the clock,” but rather than succumbing to the temptation of tacking on more cards, the reader’s first inclination should be to engage the sitter in a dialogue. Ask them what they think after laying out the basic meaning of the problem card; this is sure to offer productive avenues for further inquiry. It also fulfills my definition of the diviner’s art as a “mutual voyage of discovery.”
I submit that this scenario presents a perfect opportunity to bring esoteric correspondences to bear on the dilemma. For example, suppose we draw the 3 of Swords as the first card in a Celtic Cross reading; as I learned the spread, this position depicts “the situation as it stands,” which I construe as giving preliminary hints of emerging conditions before the elaboration introduced by time and experience begins to make itself felt. In other words, it’s what we have to work with in the way of raw material. Another term for it is “the heart of the matter,” or what we really need to know about the situation; everything after it is explanatory detail in the form of guidance and advice for achieving that objective.
So how do we tackle the 3 of Swords as “raw material?” Consensus opinion is that it represents a “thorn in one’s side” (or in the modern vernacular, a “pita”). But let’s deconstruct it. This card is mainly about nagging mental stress: it can be argumentative and cynical; there is no appealing to its nobler sensibilities and we must look elsewhere for tender mercies. There would be no use in piling “clarifiers” on top of such a shaky foundation; it would resemble a “mini-Tower” that is just as unstable. But as with all the Threes, there is opportunity buried within its unquiet breast. We must envision how to “think outside the box.”
Right off the bat we know that the suit of Swords (and by association, the element of Air) is analytical and critical, so we’re in cerebral decision-making and problem-solving mode. (Despite popular belief to the contrary, affairs of the heart don’t figure prominently in the mix, although there might well be minor collateral damage due to unkind words.) The other thing about the Swords is that they tend to be mercurial or transitory in their effect, so there is nothing to dwell on to the point of distraction. In esoteric number theory, Three suggests growth and development and (although it’s tempting to view the 3 of Swords as a “malignancy” waiting to spread) this often translates into an opportunity for advancement. Mounting the 3 of Swords may feel a bit like the Metallica song (and album) title “Ride the Lightning,” but it’s bound to be an exhilarating experience if we can command it to our advantage.
While it is forgivable to perceive the crossed swords as a barrier to progress, my art-school experience taught me that the interstitial “empty spaces” in a graphic design are just as crucial to the composition as the illustrated areas. They give the eye a rest and create an illusion of depth in the work. This also alleviates chromatic density and produces dynamic tension, letting a little light into the darkness that puts its shadowy features into sharp relief. I’ve mentioned in the past that there is no blood leaking from the incisions in the heart on the 3 of Swords, so perhaps what we’re seeing is an inoculation of wisdom and not a mortal wounding.
There is no denying that the cruel image gets right in your face in a “can’t see the forest for the trees” sense. So when, like Gimli in the Lord of the Rings, we feel shut out of the Golden Wood by a thicket of swords, maybe we can still enter the forest by squeezing between the trees even if we can’t see the road ahead. There is no reason to fall on our own sword in anticipation before the proverbial ax comes down since we may be able to sidestep the killing stroke. The same is true of all the other Swords “pip” cards except the Ace, which brooks no pussyfooting around.
Qabalistically, all of the Threes relate in some way to Saturn, the Great Teacher and Taskmaster. In this card it appears in the judicial sign of Libra, where it is astrologically exalted (meaning that it feels most at home and operates with the greatest fluency and effectiveness). The image might suggest “driving nails into a coffin,” but there is plenty of maneuvering room to dodge the executioner, if not the inquisitor. (Don’t ask Saturn, though, he will profess to being prosecutor, judge, jury and hangman.) But I will trade in the chaos of infinite unaccountability for the principled conformity of Saturn any day.
Three is still early in the numerical sequence; it is nimble and has yet to succumb to the drag of its elder companions, so there is no point in becoming mired in despondency. The harsh presence of Saturn here is the only justification I can think of for labeling this card “Sorrow,” although “travail” (or trying times) would be a more appropriate expression that doesn’t stray into misleading emotional territory when we’re after intellectual precision; I prefer to interpret it as motivation of the “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” variety. The first cut may be the deepest, but it’s also the most galvanizing if we hope to escape a second one. We can all use a kick in the pants once in a while (just not in the teeth if we can avoid it).
There you have it: a lot of words to describe what is a snapshot of simplicity in action, with no reason to erect unnecessary hoops and then have to jump through them. I’m not sure whether “clarifiers” could improve upon this assessment anyway (he says with false modesty and a sly wink).
Originally published at http://parsifalswheeldivination.wordpress.com on October 6, 2024.
