The History of Tarot — Origins, Myths, & Evolution

Tarot is a 78-card deck split into 22 Major Arcana and 56 Minor Arcana. Today people use it for insight, coaching, creativity—and yes, divination. But it didn’t start that way. The earliest decks were luxury playing cards for nobles.

You can think of tarot as a set of structured story prompts. Each card pairs imagery with keywords that nudge you to explore a situation from multiple angles instead of hunting for one rigid answer.

A quick three-card spread, for example, might examine the current energy, the obstacle, and an invitation. The conversation that follows is what unlocks insight—not a predetermined prophecy.

The oldest surviving tarot cards—like the Visconti‑Sforza—were handcrafted in 15th‑century Northern Italy. They were game decks called trionfior tarocchi, not occult tools. Courts commissioned artists to paint allegorical trump cards (the future Major Arcana) that elevated play. No fortune‑telling manuals, no secret temples—just art, status, and games.

Game historians note that the suits mirrored the standard Latin playing-card symbols of the era. Winning required strategy, witty table talk, and the occasional flourish of wealth when a duke unveiled a gilded deck for special guests.

Understanding tarot’s start as leisure clarifies why images focus on virtues, power figures, and the social order. The iconography was designed to entertain nobles, not transmit hidden doctrine.

In the late 1700s, Antoine Court de Gébelin claimed tarot preserved ancient wisdom. Soon after, the professional reader Etteilla published spreads and meanings. Their influence reframed tarot from pastime to portal. Whether or not their history was accurate, the idea caught fire: you could readwith tarot, not just play it.

Court de Gébelin’s multi-volume encyclopedia speculated wildly about Egyptian priests and hidden alphabets. Etteilla doubled down, marketing guidebooks, printed meanings, and exotic origin myths that sounded irresistible to Enlightenment audiences hungry for mystery.

By the early 1800s, pamphlets across Paris taught curious readers how to lay out cards for love, business, and reputation. The game had officially become a tool for insight—even if the scholarship was flimsy.

Occult orders like the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn mapped tarot onto the Tree of Life, elements, and planets. A.E. Waite and Pamela Colman Smith created the Rider–Waite–Smith deck (1909), the most widely taught system today. Later, Aleister Crowley and Lady Frieda Harris produced the Thoth Tarot. These decks set the visual and symbolic DNA many readers use now.

Members of the Golden Dawn assigned correspondences to each card, connecting tarot to astrology, angelology, and alchemy. Smith’s illustrated Minor Arcana scenes made those associations easier to teach, giving students visual cues instead of abstract suit symbols.

As print technology improved, companion books spread the lore even further. The result: tarot evolved into a study system with shared symbolism that readers across continents could reference.

The Egyptian‑origin story is a gorgeous myth, but historians find no evidence before Renaissance Italy. Likewise, there’s no rule that a deck must be gifted to work. You can buy your own, shuffle your own, and still have powerful readings. Keep the romance—ditch the limits.

Most origin myths came from 18th- and 19th-century writers looking to add prestige. Travelers’ tales about Romani caravans and secret temples made for great marketing copy, even if they ignored real history.

Treat the myths like stage lighting: they set a mood but don’t dictate the script. You can honor tradition, verify facts, and still indulge in a little mystique when it serves the moment.

The Majors speak in archetypes—big life themes. The Minors track everyday energies across four suits: Wands (drive), Cups (feelings), Swords (mind), Pentacles (material). Numbered cards show a journey; courts bring people and roles to life. Understanding this skeleton makes any deck less intimidating and way more useful.

The Major Arcana chart a hero’s journey from The Fool’s leap of faith to The World’s integration. Seeing where a card appears along that path instantly tells you whether a moment is about initiation, challenge, or completion.

Court cards personify reactions. Knights charge forward, Queens nurture, Kings steward, Pages experiment. Combine those personas with suit themes and you get nuanced characters to dialogue with in a reading.

Early decks were one‑of‑a‑kind art objects. With woodcuts and later lithography, tarot spread to cafés and living rooms. The 20th century made RWS ubiquitous; the 21st century opened the floodgates to indie artists, inclusive iconography, and digital reading apps. Tarot keeps evolving with the tools of its time.

Industrial-scale printing slashed costs, letting printers produce pocket decks for traveling entertainers and parlors. Publishers localized imagery to suit regional tastes, which is why Marseille decks look distinct from English ones.

The 21st century invites creators to crowdfund experimental decks, remix familiar archetypes, and release companion PDFs or apps. Readers now move fluidly between cardstock, tablets, and augmented spreads.

Games move with people. Tarocchi spread through Europe; French occultists gave it a second life; English‑language publishers sent it global. Today you’ll find local spins everywhere—from Marseille traditions to modern manga‑inspired decks—each culture adding its own symbolism and style.

In France, tarot settled into café culture as both a game and a divinatory novelty. In the United States, it traveled alongside Spiritualist circles and eventually New Age bookstores, picking up self-help language along the way.

Today, translations, online communities, and cross-cultural collaborations keep the deck evolving. Artists weave in ancestral stories, social justice themes, and pop culture references that let readers see themselves in the cards.

Many modern readers approach tarot as a mirror rather than a mandate. It can spark journaling, clarify choices, or prompt brave conversations. Therapists and coaches sometimes use card imagery to unlock insight—carefully and ethically—because images bypass overthinking and reach the intuitive voice.

Many journaling practices pair a daily card pull with reflective questions: What am I resisting? What support is available? The cards provide a narrative skeleton and you supply the lived experience.

Even professional readers emphasize consent and dialogue. A good session feels collaborative, offering language for what you already sensed and anchoring next steps in imagery you can revisit later.

Digital tools help you log spreads, tag questions, and track repeated cards over time. AI can summarize trends, suggest prompts, and highlight blind spots—while you choose what resonates. Tech shouldn’t replace your intuition; it should amplify it and make your practice easier to sustain.

Apps can timestamp readings, store photos of layouts, and remind you when a suit keeps recurring. Data turns hunches into patterns you can examine without losing the personal, intuitive layer.

The best digital companions stay transparent about how insights are generated. Pair them with handwritten notes or voice memos so your interpretations remain grounded in human context.