The more I work with Tarot, the more I realize there’s always another layer waiting. Every time I think I’ve got a handle on it, another rabbit hole opens. And if there’s one rabbit hole that stretches all the way back to Mesopotamia, it’s astrology.
I’ll be honest: my astrology knowledge started where most people’s does with my sun sign, my rising sign, and my moon sign. (Libra, Scorpio, and Libra… yes, I am sooo Libra it hurts.) But then I started wondering: how do I bring astrology into Tarot? Is it worth the overwhelm? And what on earth is a decan, and why does it sound like I might need math?
That’s where this series comes in. Together, we’ll trace the origins, cultural development, and evolution of both Tarot and Astrology, exploring how the Tarot deck’s symbolism and the astrological system’s celestial cycles intersect and influence one another. Think of it as a guided journey: from history to structure, comparison to integration, all the way to modern practice and resources. Because here’s the truth (and maybe the reason everyone else is doing it): understanding where these systems come from transforms them from fortune-telling party tricks into profound, reflective, and creative spiritual practices.
Origins and Early Development
Astrology’s Ancient Roots
Picture this: a Babylonian priest standing on a ziggurat, eyes tilted skyward, trying to decide whether the barley will thrive (not whether Gemini is compatible with Aquarius). In those days, astrology wasn’t about love matches or personality memes; it was survival science. Stars were calendars, constellations were cosmic spreadsheets, and planetary shifts could mean the difference between feast and famine.
In Babylonia, the night sky told farmers when to plant and harvest, priests when to perform rituals, and kings when to wage war. When Egypt got a hold of astrology, it was woven straight into the lifeblood of the culture. Priests, the original cosmic forecasters, tracked lunar cycles to predict the flooding of the Nile. Solar events timed religious ceremonies (and no, not solar flares), while star alignments slipped into the recipes for healing. The heavens weren’t distant abstractions, nor were they dimmed by light pollution. They were immediate, bright, and in conversation with daily life.
Between antiquity and the Renaissance, Islamic scholars preserved and advanced astrological practice, translating Greek texts and refining techniques that Europe later adopted. By the time the Greeks picked up the cosmic baton, astrology got its first major upgrade. Greek philosophers borrowed Babylonian calculations, blended them with Egyptian symbolism, and then polished it with what they did best: philosophy. Suddenly, the sky wasn’t just a farmer’s almanac. It became a mirror for the soul, a map for destiny, a place where logic and myth could hang out together.
The Romans, with their charisma and their relentless need to conquer everything, carried astrology forward with flair. Not only was astrology traveling (though not around the sun just yet) across conquered territories, but it had also gone mainstream. Emperors used it to time battles, doctors prescribed remedies based on planetary hours, and ordinary citizens glanced upward for guidance on everything from crops to disputes.
For these civilizations, the stars weren’t abstract twinkles in a faraway sky. They were woven threads of meaning, tying human fate to the cosmos in ways both practical and profound. And here’s the wild part. Every time you check your birth chart app, you’re still carrying a little Babylonian barley and Nile floodwater in your pocket. A lineage that would one day mingle with Tarot itself.
Tarot’s Renaissance Birth
Tarot isn’t an unsolved mystery. It doesn’t stretch back to the pyramids, no matter how many mystical TikToks insist otherwise. It wasn’t etched into temple walls or buried with a famous pharaoh. Tarot arrived later, with all the glitter and drama of 15th-century Italy. Picture an aristocrat saying, “I’m bored, so I’ll commission my artisan to invent a game” — essentially a Renaissance version of Would You Rather, except dressed in allegories of virtue, classical philosophy, Christian symbolism, and the drama of fate.
These early decks were called carte da trionfi, “cards of triumphs.” They were designed for trick-taking games, not spiritual enlightenment. And yet, even as entertainment, the trump cards (what we now call the Major Arcana) carried symbolic weight. They mirrored the Renaissance obsession with morality, destiny, and the human story.
Fast-forward a few centuries. I can only imagine the frequent players of the carte da trionfi decks sighing in true 15th-century fashion as they began to notice patterns: “Ah, this card again… surely my life is about to unravel!” Slowly, Tarot began slipping out of game rooms and into more esoteric spaces. Some say it also traveled with Roma fortune tellers, adding to its aura of mystery.
Before the Rider–Waite–Smith deck, the Tarot de Marseille became the most recognizable pattern in Europe. A bridge between early playing decks and later occult Tarot, still beloved by readers today. By the 18th century, mystics and occultists were loudly insisting that the cards carried ancient wisdom. Egyptian, if you believed the hype. Etteilla, a French occultist, practically shouted “Egypt, Egypt, Egypt!” until the association stuck. And while the historical evidence doesn’t support it (spoiler: the pyramids had nothing to do with Tarot), never underestimate the staying power of a good origin myth.
By the 19th century, the Tarot tradition had been layered with Kabbalah, astrology, numerology, and more, until each card felt like a symbolic encyclopedia. This is where Tarot and Astrology began to weave closer together in the hands of occultists. And then came the turning point: 1909, when Pamela Colman Smith illustrated the Rider–Waite–Smith deck. For the first time, every card, not just the trumps, had a fully illustrated scene. Suddenly, the Tarot deck wasn’t reserved for aristocrats or scholars. Anyone could shuffle, draw, and find a story reflected back to them.
Somewhere between Renaissance game nights and occult revival experiments, Tarot found its voice, one that still speaks today, not as a dusty artifact, but as a living tradition of art, symbol, and imagination.
Cultural Contexts and Evolution
Neither astrology nor Tarot evolved in a vacuum. They were shaped, reshaped, and repurposed by the cultures that carried them forward.
Astrology started as agriculture and medicine — a way to keep the crops alive and the rituals on time. But as the centuries passed, it transformed into something more philosophical and spiritual. Different schools sprouted up: tropical versus sidereal systems, medieval house systems, and later, psychological astrology that reframed the planets as archetypes of the psyche. What began as survival strategy became cosmology — a way to map not just the seasons, but the soul.
Tarot’s evolution took a different path. From aristocratic entertainment, it slid quietly into the hands of mystics during the occult revival of the 18th and 19th centuries. The Rider–Waite–Smith deck in 1909 broke Tarot wide open for the public, and the 20th century unleashed an explosion of creativity: multicultural decks, artist-designed decks, feminist decks, queer decks. The Tarot deck became a playground where culture itself could be shuffled and dealt.
Tarot’s evolution took a different path. From aristocratic entertainment, it slid quietly into the hands of mystics during the occult revival of the 18th and 19th centuries. The Rider–Waite–Smith deck in 1909 broke Tarot wide open for the public, and the 20th century unleashed an explosion of creativity: multicultural decks, artist-designed decks, feminist decks, queer decks. The Tarot deck became a playground where culture itself could be shuffled and dealt.
Sometime during the late 18th and early 19th centuries, mystics and occultists — tucked away in their underground secret-society headquarters (candles, velvet robes, the whole vibe) had a thought: “Astrology plus Tarot… why not?” If Tarot could be mashed up with Kabbalah, why not the zodiac? Soon, Tarot and Astrology correspondences were flying: planets linked to Major Arcana (The Lovers = Gemini, The Moon = Pisces), suits tied to the elements, and the numbered cards mapped onto astrological decans. Two separate traditions were suddenly braided into the same esoteric web.
What they share is adaptability. Astrology and Tarot are both mirrors, reflecting whatever age holds them. The Babylonians saw planting cycles. The Victorians saw mystical codes. We see memes, apps, and artistic reinventions. They bend with the times, but their purpose remains constant: to connect human life with a larger, living pattern.
Major Milestones for Tarot and Astrology
Think of Tarot and Astrology’s traditions like acts on a cosmic stage — different costumes, same themes.
Astrology’s Key Acts
Act I: The Sky-Watchers. Babylonians, Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans chart the heavens for crops, rituals, medicine, and politics. The stars aren’t abstract; they’re a survival manual.
Act II: The Court Mystics. In the Middle Ages, astrology becomes the domain of court astrologers and physicians. House systems multiply, horoscopes get formalized, and medicine leans on planetary timing.
Act III: The Revivalists. By the 20th century, astrology gets a Jungian makeover. Planets are rebranded as psychological archetypes, no longer just fate-dealers but mirrors of the inner world.
Act IV: The Digital Mystics. Today, astrology lives in your pocket — apps, memes, TikTok forecasts — proof that the ancient sky-watching impulse hasn’t gone anywhere.
Tarot’s Key Acts
Act I: The Courtly Game. 15th-century Italy invents carte da trionfi, aristocrats shuffle allegories of fate between sips of wine.
Act II: The Occult Theorists. 18th-century revivalists (hello, Etteilla) declare that Tarot is ancient Egyptian wisdom — facts optional.
Act III: The Symbol Weavers. 19th-century occultists link Tarot to Kabbalah, astrology, and numerology, building an esoteric web where every card means everything.
Act IV: The Illustrators. In 1909, Pamela Colman Smith illustrates the Rider–Waite–Smith deck, giving us fully pictured cards that change Tarot forever.
Act V: The Global Deck. Today, Tarot is everywhere: indie artists, multicultural perspectives, digital decks. A tool that adapts to every culture and every hand that shuffles it.
Comparison: Distinct but Intertwined
Astrology and Tarot may look like cousins, but they can still sit down at the same family dinner and make something bigger than either could cook up alone.
And yet, the two couldn’t resist a mash-up. In the 18th and 19th centuries, occultists began weaving them together: Major Arcana cards paired with planets and zodiac signs, suits tied to the elements, pips mapped to astrological decans. Suddenly, astrology’s spreadsheets and Tarot’s storybook were being shelved side by side in the same esoteric library.
A Quick Example: When Tarot Meets Astrology
Let’s say you’re doing a simple three-card spread — Past, Present, Future.
- Past — Five of Pentacles
On its own: struggle, scarcity, feeling left out.
With astrology: linked to Mercury in Taurus, this can point to stubborn thinking, slow communication, or practical worries that kept you feeling stuck. - Present — The Lovers
On its own: choice, union, values.
With astrology: connected to Gemini, it becomes less about romance and more about dialogue, duality, and integrating opposites. - Future — Wheel of Fortune
On its own: cycles, fate, change.
With astrology: tied to Jupiter, this suggests expansion, growth, and a risk that leads to abundance — not just any change, but a big-picture, Jupiterian one.
Together, the story shifts. Without astrology: “past struggle, present choice, future change.”
With astrology: “Mercury-in-Taurus struggle, Gemini decision, Jupiter expansion.”
Cultural Impact and Ongoing Relevance
Tarot and Astrology didn’t stay locked in temples, courts, or secret-society basements. They spilled into art, literature, and eventually pop culture — proving they had more staying power than most Renaissance trends (sorry, powdered wigs).
In art and literature, both systems show up everywhere: Renaissance allegories painted as star maps, Tarot symbolism slipping into Romantic poetry, and modern fantasy novels that casually drop a deck or a horoscope to signal mystery and fate. They became visual and narrative shorthand for “something bigger is at play.”
In pop culture, astrology and Tarot have gone mainstream in ways those early mystics probably never imagined. Astrological practice now has meme accounts with millions of followers, daily push notifications from apps, and zodiac fashion trends. The Tarot deck pops up in movies, Netflix thrillers, and music videos — a card pull is shorthand for destiny, danger, or a big reveal. Tarot even made cameos in James Bond films and Stephen King novels, while astrology inspired everything from Fleetwood Mac lyrics to Co–Star push notifications.
And in personal practice, the relevance only grows. People turn to astrology for cycles and timing, to Tarot for stories and symbols, and often to both together for reflection, creativity, and spiritual exploration. They endure because they answer timeless questions: How do I make meaning? Where am I in the larger pattern? What story am I part of right now?
Astrology and Tarot keep reinventing themselves for every generation. That’s not a weakness; it’s adaptability for meaning.
Conclusion: The Parallel Journey
From Mesopotamian stargazers to Italian card players, from medieval courts to modern apps, Tarot and Astrology have walked fascinatingly parallel paths — sometimes separate, sometimes entwined, always adapting to the culture that held them.
Their histories aren’t dusty timelines to memorize; they’re living lineages. Each tells us something about how humans have always tried to link the inner world to the cosmos outside. The Babylonians watched the skies for floods, Renaissance nobles played with allegories of fate, 19th-century mystics spun occult correspondences, and here we are — pulling cards, checking charts, and making memes.
The Tarot tradition and astrological practice survive because they still work. They still give us meaning, reflection, and creative ways to connect our small stories with something larger. Together, they invite us to imagine our lives as part of a cosmic pattern thousands of years in the making.
So the next time you shuffle a deck or pull up a chart, remember — with Tarot and Astrology you’re not just dabbling. You’re stepping into a conversation that started under Mesopotamian skies, wound through Renaissance salons, and continues every time we look up or lay down a card.
And that, I’d argue, is where the real magic begins.