The missing symbolism

It is no secret that I am strongly skeptical against every kind of divination devices: they only work by the Barnum-Forer effect, producing intentionally vague predictions that the gullible shoehorns into their present circumstances, disregarding any gross inaccuracies and overvaluing the accidental agreement. Still, I admit that they can have a certain value as a source of inspiration during a meditation or introspection. The vague statements can help us focus in our analysis in a certain aspect of our lives, blurring the rest and providing a bit of distance. In sum, I can only say that I do not abhor divination devices as long as they are used in a non-supernatural way.

The other aspect is that (intended) mysticism of the devices demands them to be visually impressive, so they are often carefully crafted, intricate, mysterious, delightfully decorated, a pleasure to behold. From magical wands to ominous grimoires or shiny crystal balls, the luxurious level of detail in their manufacture makes many of these devices fabulous decorations and coveted collectibles. With this in mind, it would probably not surprise you that we order some weeks ago a Tarot deck masterfully illustrated by the Spanish engraver Tomas Hijo, strongly influenced by the oniric creatures of Guillermo del Toro.

Photo: Curtis Gregory Perry

This morning, after a longer than usual wait, we finally received the packet. Karen, who had completely lost track of when (and even if) the deck was coming, was delighted to see the content and quickly inspected the cards, which are beautiful as we expected. However, the moment she made an attempt at a "consultation" she realized that something was off: the cards were so different from the other deck that they were impossible to recognize. The need to devote a couple of seconds to identify each card and associate it with the known image completely threw her off track, so where she was usually able to do a "reading" on the cards alone this time she had to grab pen and paper, as if she were trying to decipher a very complex typeface and, by the time she had decoded the last letter, she was not able to remember what all the others were.

In the end it is just a matter of getting used to it, like tossing a coin with a map on one face and a famous building on the other: you would feel the impulse of calling "head or tails?", but after just a second you would correct it to "map or building?" and the toss will be able to proceed just as normal. What I find remarkable is how we internalize the symbols: many of them have no similarity between their representation and their meaning and yet, once we learn them their meaning becomes unequivocal. Furthermore, there are symbols that started as stylized versions of real-life objects but, as technology has evolved, the original objects have become obsolete but the symbol survives: think about the floppy disk as an icon for saving you work or the 1950s telephone handset depicted in the WhatsApp icon.

These days the number of landlines is dwindling around the world, being replaced by cell phones which require significantly less ground installation and maintenance, so less and less people actually "pick up" their phones from the hook when it rings or "hang up" at the end of the conversation. But these old-time devices are still a powerful and easily recognizable symbol that everybody uses on a regular basis. Symbols are a great cultural device that allow fast and mostly non-verbal communication. But when the sides of a coin of the faces in a deck of cards change, the symbolism is lost and it has to be learned again. Maybe one day we manage to communicate mind to mind, but until then we will have to learn (and re-learn) to read the symbols. Have a nice evening.