算命是我国从古代流传至今的一种传统文化，我们所说的算命是民间俗称，学术上的专业称谓叫预测，研究算命的学术叫易学、也叫术数。
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占测这门类玄学在中国历史上源远流长，其起源有据可考可追溯到最早的伏羲氏，之后周文王演八卦，则算命开始逐步得以发展，具体的发展过程比较漫长，每一代都有或多或少的贡献。“算命”是将中国传统易学文化中的“天人合一”原理应用于预测人生轨迹变化规律的方法。术数家用人出生的“年、月、日、时”按天干、地支依次排列成四个柱八个字（称为“四柱八字”），再用所排的干支所属五行生克推算人的命运，断定人的吉凶祸福。易学在中国历史上源远流长，据中国之声《新闻晚高峰》报道，算命或起于先秦，当古埃及人用纸草记事、古巴比伦人以泥版为书时，中国的古人劈竹成篾，削薄打磨、火烤编连，将最鲜活的史实书于竹简，传遗后世。算命的起源大约可以追溯到夏商时期，从出土的甲骨文大多是卜辞这一点可以得到印证，那时候的人们在举行婚嫁、征伐、祭祀等重大事情之前，都会烧龟甲或演蓍草对该事进行虔诚的卜筮，借此判断吉凶，这大抵是早期算命术的萌芽。到了周朝时期，周文王、周公等人在前人经验的基础上整理成书，取名为《周易》，才把卜筮之术上升到理论层面。人们对命运的大胆探索及阴阳五行学说的确立是在春秋时期，再到东汉王充禀气说的创立，使中国的命学理论有了明确的哲学根基，逐渐形成了一套有理论、有方法的卜卦算命系统，之后则算命开始逐步得以发展，具体的发展过程比较漫长。
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算命以《易经》为根基、以阴阳五行体系为理论依据，其中《易经》有“三易”，包括《连山》、《归藏》、《周易》三部易书，内容极其丰富，对中国几千年来的政治、经济、文化等各个领域都产生了极其深刻的影响。是阐述天地世间关于万象变化的古老经典，是博大精深的辩证法哲学书，是中国传统思想文化中自然哲学与人文实践的理论根源，是古代汉民族思想、智慧的结晶，被誉为“大道之源”。
算命作为一门探究人类命运的学问，不乏对其感兴趣之人，有名的算命大师也有不少，唐代有李虚中、李淳风、袁天罡等，五代有徐居易，宋有徐子平、僧道洪，元有徐大升，明有刘伯温，清有沈孝瞻、陈素庵，民国有韦千里、袁树珊、任铁樵，现代有邵伟华，李居明，秦阳明等。更有许先潮盲派八字理论，盲派快速算命秘诀，金口铁断算命秘要等。
在古代算命通常是一种利用个人切身资讯，例如脸与手的纹路，出生八字、姓名笔划等配合术数来预测或判断命运吉凶福祸并且寻求指点迷津的行为亦称指迷算命。千百年来，经过人们的不断发展与完善，已经形成了一套较为完善的理论体系，而且已深深地扎根与人们的心灵中，经久不衰，显示了强大的生命力。
超过100000+人测算，都说特别准！
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以下是西方算卦英文版
“Eter-nity! Eter-nity!” came echoing down the road.
There were sad, haggard women tramping by, well dressed, with children that cried and stumbled, their dainty clothes smothered in dust, their weary faces smeared with tears. With many of these came men, sometimes helpful, sometimes lowering and savage. Fighting side by side with them pushed some weary street outcasts in faded black rags, wide-eyed, loud-voiced, and foul-mouthed. There were sturdy workmen thrusting their way along, wretched, unkempt men, clothed like clerks or shopmen, struggling spasmodically; a wounded soldier my brother noticed, men dressed in the clothes of railway porters, one wretched creature in a nightshirt with a coat thrown over it.
But varied as its composition was, certain things all that host had in common. There were fear and pain on their faces, and fear behind them. A tumult up the road, a quarrel for a place in a waggon, sent the whole host of them quickening their pace; even a man so scared and broken that his knees bent under him was galvanised for a moment into renewed activity. The heat and dust had already been at work upon this multitude. Their skins were dry, their lips black and cracked. They were all thirsty, weary, and footsore. And amid the various cries one heard disputes, reproaches, groans of weariness and fatigue; the voices of most of them were hoarse and weak. Through it all ran a refrain:
“Way! Way! The Martians are coming!”
Few stopped and came aside from that flood. The laneen opened slantingly into the main road with a narrow opening, and had a delusive appearance of coming from the direction of London. Yet a kind of eddy of people drove into its mouth; weaklings elbowed out of the stream, who for the most part rested but a moment before plunging into it again. A little way down the lane, with two friends bending over him, lay a man with a bare leg, wrapped about with bloody rags. He was a lucky man to have friends.
A little old man, with a grey military moustache and a filthy black frock coat, limped out and sat down beside the trap, removed his boot—his sock was blood-stained—shook out a pebble, and hobbled on again; and then a little girl of eight or nine, all alone, threw herself under the hedge close by my brother, weeping.
“I can’t go on! I can’t go on!”
My brother woke from his torpor of astonishment and lifted her up, speaking gently to her, and carried her to Miss Elphinstone.eo So soon as my brother touched her she became quite still, as if frightened.
“Ellen!” shrieked a woman in the crowd, with tears in her voice- “Ellen!” And the child suddenly darted away from my brother, crying “Mother!”
“They are coming,” said a man on horseback, riding past along the lane.
“Out of the way, there!” bawled a coachman, towering high; and my brother saw a closed carriage turning into the lane.
The people crushed back on one another to avoid the horse. My brother pushed the pony and chaise back into the hedge, and the man drove by and stopped at the turn of the way. It was a carriage, with a pole for a pair of horses, but only one was in the traces. My brother saw dimly through the dust that two men lifted out something on a white stretcher and put it gently on the grass beneath the privet hedge.
One of the men came running to my brother.
“Where is there any water?” he said. “He is dying fast, and very thirsty. It is Lord Garrick.”
“Lord Garrick!” said my brother; “the Chief Justice?”ep
“The water?” he said.
“There may be a tap,” said my brother, “in some of the houses. We have no water. I dare not leave my people.”
The man pushed against the crowd towards the gate of the corner house.
“Go on!” said the people, thrusting at him. “They are coming! Go on!”
Then my brother’s attention was distracted by a bearded, eagle-faced man lugging a small handbag, which split even as my brother’s eyes rested on it and disgorged a mass of sovereigns that seemed to break up into separate coins as it struck the ground. They rolled hither and thither among the struggling feet of men and horses. The man stopped and looked stupidly at the heap, and the shaft of a cab struck his shoulder and sent him reeling. He gave a shriek and dodged back, and a cartwheel shaved him narrowly.
“Way!” cried the men all about him. “Make way!”
So soon as the cab had passed, he flung himself, with both hands open, upon the heap of coins, and began thrusting hand-fuls in his pocket. A horse rose close upon him, and in another moment, half rising, he had been borne down under the horse’s hoofs.
“Stop!” screamed my brother, and pushing a woman out of his way, tried to clutch the bit of the horse.
Before he could get to it, he heard a scream under the wheels, and saw through the dust the rim passing over the poor wretch’s back. The driver of the cart slashed his whip at my brother, who ran round behind the cart. The multitudinous shouting confused his ears. The man was writhing in the dust among his scattered money, unable to rise, for the wheel had broken his back, and his lower limbs lay limp and dead.29 My brother stood up and yelled at the next driver, and a man on a black horse came to his assistance.
“Get him out of the road,” said he; and, clutching the man’s collar with his free hand, my brother lugged him sideways. But he still clutched after his money, and regarded my brother fiercely, hammering at his arm with a handful of gold. “Go on! Go on!” shouted angry voices behind. “Way! Way!”
There was a smash as the pole of a carriage crashed into the cart that the man on horseback stopped. My brother looked up, and the man with the gold twisted his head round and bit the wrist that held his collar. There was a concussion, and the black horse came staggering sideways, and the carthorse pushed beside it. A hoof missed my brother’s foot by a hair’s breadth. He released his grip on the fallen man and jumped back. He saw anger change to terror on the face of the poor wretch on the ground, and in a moment he was hidden and my brother was borne backward and carried past the entrance of the lane, and had to fight hard in the torrent to recover it.
He saw Miss Elphinstone covering her eyes, and a little child, with all a child’s want of sympathetic imagination, staring with dilated eyes at a dusty something that lay black and still, ground and crushed under the rolling wheels. “Let us go back!” he shouted, and began turning the pony round. “We cannot cross this—hell,” he said and they went back a hundred yards the way they had come, until the fighting crowd was hidden. As they passed the bend in the lane my brother saw the face of the dying man in the ditch under the privet, deadly white and drawn, and shining with perspiration. The two women sat silent, crouching in their seat and shivering.
Then beyond the bend my brother stopped again. Miss Elphinstone was white and pale, and her sister-in-law sat weeping, too wretched even to call upon “George.” My brother was horrified and perplexed. So soon as they had retreated he realised how urgent and unavoidable it was to attempt this crossing. He turned to Miss Elphinstone, suddenly resolute.
“We must go that way,” he said, and led the pony round again. For the second time that day this girl proved her quality. To force their way into the torrent of people, my brother plunged into the traffic and held back a cab horse, while she drove the pony across its head. A waggon locked wheels for a moment and ripped a long splinter from the chaise. In another moment they were caught and swept forward by the stream. My brother, with the cabman’s whip marks red across his face and hands, scrambled into the chaise and took the reins from her.
“Point the revolver at the man behind,” he said, giving it to her, “if he presses us too hard. No!—point it at his horse.”
Then he began to look out for a chance of edging to the right across the road. But once in the stream he seemed to lose volition, to become a part of that dusty rout. They swept through Chipping Barnet with the torrent; they were nearly a mile beyond the centre of the town before they had fought across to the opposite side of the way. It was din and confusion indescribable; but in and beyond the town the road forks repeatedly, and this to some extent relieved the stress.
They struck eastward through Hadley, and there on either side of the road, and at another place farther on they came upon a great multitude of people drinking at the stream, some fighting to come at the water. And farther on, from a hill near East Barnet, they saw two trains running slowly one after the other without signal or order—trains swarming with people, with men even among the coals behind the engines—going northward along the Great Northern Railway. My brother supposes they must have filled outside London, for at that time the furious terror of the people had rendered the central termini impossible.
Near this place they halted for the rest of the afternoon, for the violence of the day had already utterly exhausted all three of them. They began to suffer the beginnings of hunger; the night was cold, and none of them dared to sleep. And in the evening many people came hurrying along the road near by their stopping place, fleeing from unknown dangers before them, and going in the direction from which my brother had come.
Chapter 17
The “Thunder Child”
HAD THE MARTIANS AIMED only at destruction, they might on Monday have annihilated the entire population of London, as it spread itself slowly through the home counties.eq Not only along the road through Barnet, but also through Edgware and Waltham Abbey, and along the roads eastward to Southend and Shoeburyness, and south of the Thames to Deal and Broad-stairs,er poured the same frantic rout. If one could have hung that June morning in a balloon in the blazing blue above London every northward and eastward road running out of the tangled maze of streets would have seemed stippled black with the streaming fugitives, each dot a human agony of terror and physical distress. I have set forth at length in the last chapter my brother’s account of the road through Chipping Barnet, in order that my readers may realise how that swarming of black dots appeared to one of those concerned. Never before in the history of the world had such a mass of human beings moved and suffered together. The legendary hosts of Goths and Huns, the hugest armies Asia has ever seen, would have been but a drop in that current. And this was no disciplined march; it was a stampede—a stampede gigantic and terrible—without order and without a goal, six million people unarmed and unprovisioned, driving headlong. It was the beginning of the rout of civilisation, of the massacre of mankind.
Directly below him the balloonist would have seen the network of streets far and wide, houses, churches, squares, crescents, gardens—already derelict—spread out like a huge map, and in the southward blotted. Over Ealing, Richmond, Wimbledon, it would have seemed as if some monstrous pen had flung ink upon the chart. Steadily, incessantly, each black splash grew and spread, shooting out ramifications this way and that, now banking itself against rising ground, now pouring swiftly over a crest into a new-found valley, exactly as a gout of ink would spread itself upon blotting paper.
