A Brief Astrophilosophical Reflection

Zodiac Man (Homo Signorum) [1]

 

 

I can't quite recall where, but I'm sure Baudrillard once mused on the idea of changing one's fate by the simple measure of adopting a new star sign. For if a man can identify as a woman (and vice versa), then surely someone unhappy with being tied down by an earth sign could, for example, identify as a free-floating air sign.

 

Having said that, I have no desire to transition from one sign to another. I'm perfectly content having been born on February 13th to be an Aquarian [2] and my sense of self closely and comfortably corresponds to the sign I was given at birth, which I suppose makes me ciszodiac.

 

I hope, however, that this doesn't make me dismissive of those queer individuals who, for example, no longer wish to identify exclusively with one star sign; or those who feel uncomfortable within the confines of the traditional zodiac divided into twelve houses across three modalities (cardinal, fixed, and mutable) [3].

 

For as Baudrillard also said (I think): We ought to be as cruelly indifferent to star signs as they are to us as individuals ... [4]

 

Notes

 

[1] Frequently encountered in astrological (and medical) works from classical, medieval, and early-modern times, the Man of Signs illustrates the (imagined) correlation between the cosmos and human physiology; as above, so below and all that (occult) jazz. 

 

[2] The philosopher Sam Harris argues that one of the things that might be said in favour of astrology is that it's profoundly egalitarian; that there are no inferior zodiac signs. However, I'm not sure that's quite true. For it does seem to me that Aquarius has a rather special status; not only is it the rarest of the twelve signs, but stands above all others due to the enigmatic and multifaceted nature of those who are governed by it (this might have something to do with the fact that Aquarius is a sign ruled by not one, but two celestial bodies: the revolutionary Uranus and the disciplined Saturn).

 

[3] The German philosopher Thorsten Botz-Bornstein, who specialises in thinking about aesthetics, politics, and culture in a playful, stylish, and slightly dreamy (neo-organic) manner, has written a short satirical skit developing this idea; see 'Genders and Zodiacs' on the Medium website (20 July 2023): click here.     

 

[4] Unfortunately, I don't have access to my books at the moment and it might be the case that I'm misremembering what Baudrillard wrote. However, I can say with confidence that he definitely suggested in one of the volumes of Cool Memories (1980-2004) that we should accord equal importance to the star sign we die under as to the one we are born under. 

 

  

Uranus

Uranus photographed by Voyager 2 in 1986

Then felt I like some watcher of the skies / When a new planet swims into his ken

One of the things I like about being an Aquarian is that I have Uranus as my ruling planet. Some love Venus, some love Mars - but, for me, the electric blue ice giant that is Uranus is the most beautiful of all the bodies orbiting the sun.

Like the other giant planets, Uranus has a ring system and multiple moons. But - and this is what makes it so attractive to me - images taken by Voyager 2 revealed the planet itself to be almost featureless; there's nothing overly dramatic about it - no storms, no scenes, no nonsense. It's just cold and blue and perfect in its neutrality.    

That's how I like my planets and gods to be; completely impersonal; neither attention-seeking nor awe-inspiring.

In fact, so unshowy and content was Uranus to remain outside the classical solar system, that, although visible to the naked eye, it didn't allow itself to be recognised as a planet by ancient observers. It wasn't until 1781 that the astronomer and composer Sir William Herschel took a long look through his telescope and declared it to be such (and even he initially mistook it for a comet).

As for the name, Uranus, the Latinised form of the ancient Greek Οὐρανός [Ouranos] - meaning sky or heaven - this was given by the German astronomer Johann Elert Bode, after Herschel failed to come up with a catchy suggestion of his own.

(His proposal that it be known as Georgium Sidus, in honour of his patron King George III, wasn't well received and so Bode's name for the new planet quickly gained wide - eventually universal - acceptance).   

Interestingly, on this subject of names, fans of a certain cinematic space opera might be amused to hear that in one of its Thai translations Uranus is known as Dao Maritayu or Death Star. Indeed, as a thanatologist, this pleases me too ...

Birthday Musings of an Aquarian

It is very easy to sneer at astrology, but perhaps the ancient heavens of the zodiac continue to offer us what D. H. Lawrence describes as a truly imaginative experience and the entry into another world of being; one that is vital and meaningful, even if it is a world of which our astronomers and physicists know nothing. Perhaps.

At any rate, without quite feeling the ecstatic sense of joy that Lawrence experiences when released into this other world of mytho-cosmic splendour, I have always been pleased that I was born under the sign of Aquarius like many of the figures I have at one time or other loved and admired (from Mozart to Malcolm McLaren).

However, although feeling blessed to be a child of the 11th House, I have never been very happy that Aquarius is symbolized by a water-bearer; certainly not when other signs of the zodiac have marvellous starry beasts to call upon and find totemic satisfaction in. Who wants someone with a jug, when there are lions, bulls, goats and even crabs on offer?

It doesn't even help to discover - as I have only recently discovered - that this someone with a jug happens to be the iconic gay figure of Ganymede; i.e. a beautiful boy who, when all's said and done, is but an eternal servant and sexual plaything of the gods, offering not only libation but soft lips, nimble fingers, and strong thighs.

Now, whilst I've no moral objection to the Greek social practice of paiderastía, I don't like the idea of any mortal down on their knees before the divine - particularly when they have been kidnapped, raped and forced into slavery.