The New York Times, early this weekend, had breaking news for all us stargazers. It turns out, they report, that the astrological signs in the sky no longer match up to what they were thousands of years ago, when astrology first came into being. The result: if you're a Cancer, the sun isn't really set against the constellation Cancer when you're born.
The opening sentence of the article, however, is a snarky and ignorant attack on astrologers everywhere: "Astrologers, not surprisingly, say they knew this would happen." Well, duh! Of course astrologers knew this would happen! Claudius Ptolemy - who developed the mathematic system that astrology is based upon back in the 100s - included the "precession of the equinoxes" in his seminal work. The precession of the equinoxes has been a part of astrology since the very beginning.
That doesn't stop the writer of the New York Times piece from doing a straw-man, ad hominem hack job on astrologers everywhere, however, asserting in essence that the practice is just vague, meaningless mumbo-jumbo. Now, I've been interested in astrology for long enough to know that some people will simply never take it seriously, but for those of you who are open-minded enough to at least consider that astrology might, for whatever reason, have some merit, read on.
The precession of the equinoxes is indeed built into astrology. You've probably heard about the "Age of Aquarius," that we have now entered. Almost certainly, however, you have no idea what makes our modern era the Age of Aquarius, and, likewise, you probably don't realize that before this we were mired in and/or blessed with the Age of Pisces. You see, the current astrological age comes from where the sun is on the first day of the astrological new year (that is, on the spring equinox). Because the stars drift backwards very slowly - taking about 2,000 years per sign, we move through the signs in reverse.
Consider the history of the world from the perspective of astrological ages, to get a sense of how astrology may actually be in the right here:
8000 BC to 6000 BC - Age of Cancer
Transition from hunter-gatherer societies and rise of the first agricultural communities. Cancer, being the sign of the home (and of food), is particularly appropriate. Under the influence of Cancer, humans settle, invent newer, more reliable ways to access food, and start to cultivate family relationships (Cancer's emotional attachment is at play here as well) for the first time.
6000 BC to 4000 BC - Age of Gemini
Gemini is the sign of communication and short-range travel. Here, it's particularly important for its relationship with practical wisdom: that is, Gemini is a sign of thinking practically, and knowing how to operate in a way that allows for survival. The development of pottery, plowing, and early trade between communities all fit well into the Age of Gemini's profile.
4000 BC to 2000 BC - Age of Taurus
Taurus is a sign of laziness, but also of determination. More importantly, however, Taurus is a very possessive sign, interested in beauty and value. The development of early currency systems, as well as early works of art and literature fit well in the Age of Taurus. Moreover, city-states began to develop walls and armies at a scale previously unseen, reflecting the sense of ownership that Taurus bestows.
2000 BC to 1 AD - Age of Aries
A sign of, well, war. It's no accident that turbulent conflicts marked the Greek and Roman eras. Aries, however, is also aggressive in its developing of opinions and ideas, and the flowering of civilization in Greece and Egypt during this time period demonstrate a love of debate (sophistry and/or philosophy, in Greece) and a general striving for excellence that is indicative of Aries.
1 AD to 2000 AD - Age of Pisces
The most recent age of our time is Pisces, an age of deep spirituality, of rediscovering the past, and of self-deceptions. Pisces is a transitional sign, always, and the numerous revolutions that have dotted the last two millenia indicate both the covering and uncovering of truth and a lack of unity in intentions that go with Pisces. The so-called "Dark Ages" or "Age of Christendom" are a strong example of Piscean influence. But, indeed, there is no better indication than the disagreement about which title is correct for the time from the fall of Rome to the Renaissance. That both have a claim suggests Pisces has been at work.
Now, don't take these dates as perfect. There's not really agreement about exactly when a given age ends or when a new one begins, and that's ok. When it comes down to it, the transitional points between ages are just as important as the ages themselves, and those transitional points tend to include influences from both signs. Our contemporary world, for example, shows strong Aquarian aspects: the rapid development of technology, the rampant (compared to the past) idealism, the desire for change; but it also still shows Piscean qualities, like religious warfare and conflict, and corrupt and deceptive governments. Such is to be expected. Just as a cusp in the birth chart indicates that both signs have influence, the same can be said about the Ages.
The influence of the astrological age, however, is limited by the distance of the stars at work. The specifics of day-to-day life, or even life-to-life generations, are not really touched that much by the current astrological age. Instead, astrology is concerned with smaller units of measurment. You see, the signs are based not upon the stars, but upon the seasons. While Leo derives its name from the lion-like constellation it was found under two thousand years ago, its qualities are attributes of the mid-summer, of a time after the solstice, but before the autumnal equinox.
Some astrologers, it is true, use the siderial zodiac, choosing to interpret charts based upon what is really in the sky. It is these astrologers that are concerned with measuring the actual size of the signs (hint, not all 12 cover 30 degrees of the 360 in the ecliptic, the band through which the sun and planets move). It is, ironically, these astrologers who are most subject to the criticisms of astronomers and less-informed New York Times journalists, as well. I prefer traditional zodiac for exactly this reason: its mathematics are clearer, and its interepretations are rooted not in astronomy, but in mythology.
Don't get me wrong, astronomy and astrology are deeply intertwined. It is important, however, to recall the difference between the two, going back to their linguistic roots. "Astronomy" means, simply, the rules of the stars. It is a science desinged to calculate exactly what is going on in the heavens. "Astrology," however, means the story of the stars, or the interpretation, or the logic, or the account. It is, regardless of exact translation, a lyrical and interpretive study from the outset, concerned as much - or more - with why we call Pluto "Pluto" as whether Pluto is a planet. Why? Becuase the account astrology has of human life, at a grand scale or for a given individual, is designed to take into account the mythological and literary history of mankind as well as the mystical influences of the stars. Indeed, some astrologers, like myself, would argue that astrology has nothing to do with the stars at all, that the stars are just a convenient metaphor for our hopes and dreams and desires, and that finding order in their motions operates by analogy and mythology.
You might think the results, here, would be chaotic, and in some sense they are. I would argue, however, that they are also meaningful in that they provide an interpretive framework for a chaotic world. Astrologers use that framework as a starting point for a conversation, as a way to enter into our inner cultural and metaphyiscal lives. In my experience, it works.
Whether you believe it works or not, however, at least know the facts. Any criticism of astrology should challenge its interpretive frameworks - its logos - not its understanding of the location of the stars - its astro. The latter is accurate. The former? Up for debate. I'd venture, though, that a good astrologer can wow even the staunchest skeptic.
Showing posts with label ptolemy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ptolemy. Show all posts
Monday, January 17, 2011
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Astronomy, Astrology, and the Natal Chart
Astrology is an interest I picked up as a Sophomore at St. John's College. There was something about reading Ptolemy's Almagest, tracing his mathematical and mythological argument for how the planets move around the Earth according to circular paths that was alluring. Of course, Ptolemy is wrong about the construction of the solar system - indeed, he would never even call it a solar system - but he was not really that off on the appearances. That is, the conceptual framework for his system may have been incorrect, but the math more or less wasn't.
More important than the question of right or wrong, to me, was the project itself. As my roommate and I would sit on our balcony and gaze at the stars during one of his smoke breaks (my second-hand smoke breaks, I guess), we would ruminate on college-y things like how mind-bogglingly vast the universe is. But, at least as Sophomores, we'd also think and talk about Ptolemy, about how much dedication and effort it must have taken to build his model.
The thing is, Ptolemy worked well before even telescopes had been invented. His evidence that Mercury even existed was scant, and his complex formulae describing the motions of the other planets like Mars and Venus were built upon the kind of inexact measurements that mere eyesight and some fingers held up to the horizon provide. In short, his was a Herculean task, impossibly detailed, completely lacking the equipment to do it, and without even a solid theoretical backdrop (for example, a theory of gravity) to do it from.
The mythos not only of the planets and their namesakes, but also the man who first described with a degree of accuracy the paths of those planets is a powerful one. My own interest in astrology may surprise - does surprise - people who know me as a scientific kind of thinker. I would argue, however, that while I do not know how or why the planets seem to be so relevant to my life and my understanding of the world, I do know that mythology is a much more powerful force than we like to give it credit for. Human energy poured into any project - especially one as ancient and alternately revered and persecuted as astrology is liable to produce results we simply do not yet have the capacity to understand.
As a person interested in mythos, there is no question that astrology is fascinating to me. Each planet, each sign, each aspect and house has its own story, its own anthropological and anthropomorphic being. Whether those elements of astrological calculation are causes for us or we for them is irrelevant; they tell a story, they are an organized and orderly system in a chaotic world, a lens through which we can filter the nonsensical noise of life and end up with a meaning. And what, after all, is a myth? Is it not a story, a moral or ethical parable that provides way of divining meaning from chaos? And what, after all, is science? Isn't it the same thing?
The other key piece of Ptolemy's story is what happened to his work afterwards. Sure, his model of the universe was co-opted by the Catholic church and turned into a dogma used to persecute scientists - the first astronomers in particular. But the church had little use for astrology either, seeing its practitioners as just as dangerous as their more scientific brethren. Indeed, in many cases those people were one in the same. Astrology and astronomy may be worlds apart in our modern age, just as alchemy and chemistry are, but there was a time when those words meant essentially the same thing.
Think about the Greek roots for a minute. Astronomy means, simple "laws of the stars," while Astrology means either "study of the stars," "logic of the stars," or, as I prefer, "story of the stars." The difference is minimal, really. Astronomy is, in some ways, a mere subset of astrology, a piece of the bigger picture. Astronomy delineates the rules - hence Ptolemy as astronomer - but astrology tells the story.
All of which leads me to the actual practice of astrology. My interest was piqued by Ptolemy, reinforced by gazing at the night sky, informed by my grandmother - who was a professional astrologer - and refined as I studied more and more, eventually taking an online course (which I heartily recommend) from the Astrology Career Institute and Samuel Reynolds. I have learned a lot of specific skills along the way, but because I'm a meta-learner, too, I've also thought a lot about how different people both do and teach astrology differently. My grandma, for example, has a number of opinions about how retrogrades work that differ from Sam's. Some of the books I've read characterize certain aspects as bad and good, while others see them as "hard" and "soft." In short - and this is no surprise - in this mythological, anthropological, psycho-social, linguistic field there's no shortage of debate and disagreement about everything from meaning to process to the nuts and bolts of which method of calculating houses is best.
All of which, I think, speaks in astrology's favor. It's a robust world, an ancient study that has more to do with interactions and relationships than it does with solitary absolutes. There is no greater misunderstanding of astrology than the notion that you are your sun sign, leading to the off-hand, "But I'm nothing like what the paper says a Virgo is like!" Of course you aren't, I say, because astrology is about the way that Virgo sun you have interacts with your other planets. But more than that, it's also about how the astrologer you're with right now reads your chart, and how that reading differs from the one a different astrologer would give. The point is, both of those astrologers, though they might interpret every single piece of your chart differently, might both be right nonetheless. The point is, astrology isn't about reducing your life or your person into a single sentence or a single word ("Leo!"), but rather it's about expanding it and complicating your picture of yourself. It's about providing you a lens to discover your heart and soul and grow in ways you never previously imagined.
For those of you who don't know anything about astrology, then (and I'm impressed that you're still reading), I want to show you what a chart looks like. I usually use openastro.org to run my charts, but since I'm too lazy to boot to Linux and create one right now, I'm just plopping my own birth info into alabe.com, a free chart service online. Take a look and see what you think about it. As a teacher who prefers inquiry-based learning, I'm going to let the thing stew for a couple days before I write another post getting into more of the details here, explaining how I read a chart.
More important than the question of right or wrong, to me, was the project itself. As my roommate and I would sit on our balcony and gaze at the stars during one of his smoke breaks (my second-hand smoke breaks, I guess), we would ruminate on college-y things like how mind-bogglingly vast the universe is. But, at least as Sophomores, we'd also think and talk about Ptolemy, about how much dedication and effort it must have taken to build his model.
The thing is, Ptolemy worked well before even telescopes had been invented. His evidence that Mercury even existed was scant, and his complex formulae describing the motions of the other planets like Mars and Venus were built upon the kind of inexact measurements that mere eyesight and some fingers held up to the horizon provide. In short, his was a Herculean task, impossibly detailed, completely lacking the equipment to do it, and without even a solid theoretical backdrop (for example, a theory of gravity) to do it from.
The mythos not only of the planets and their namesakes, but also the man who first described with a degree of accuracy the paths of those planets is a powerful one. My own interest in astrology may surprise - does surprise - people who know me as a scientific kind of thinker. I would argue, however, that while I do not know how or why the planets seem to be so relevant to my life and my understanding of the world, I do know that mythology is a much more powerful force than we like to give it credit for. Human energy poured into any project - especially one as ancient and alternately revered and persecuted as astrology is liable to produce results we simply do not yet have the capacity to understand.
As a person interested in mythos, there is no question that astrology is fascinating to me. Each planet, each sign, each aspect and house has its own story, its own anthropological and anthropomorphic being. Whether those elements of astrological calculation are causes for us or we for them is irrelevant; they tell a story, they are an organized and orderly system in a chaotic world, a lens through which we can filter the nonsensical noise of life and end up with a meaning. And what, after all, is a myth? Is it not a story, a moral or ethical parable that provides way of divining meaning from chaos? And what, after all, is science? Isn't it the same thing?
The other key piece of Ptolemy's story is what happened to his work afterwards. Sure, his model of the universe was co-opted by the Catholic church and turned into a dogma used to persecute scientists - the first astronomers in particular. But the church had little use for astrology either, seeing its practitioners as just as dangerous as their more scientific brethren. Indeed, in many cases those people were one in the same. Astrology and astronomy may be worlds apart in our modern age, just as alchemy and chemistry are, but there was a time when those words meant essentially the same thing.
Think about the Greek roots for a minute. Astronomy means, simple "laws of the stars," while Astrology means either "study of the stars," "logic of the stars," or, as I prefer, "story of the stars." The difference is minimal, really. Astronomy is, in some ways, a mere subset of astrology, a piece of the bigger picture. Astronomy delineates the rules - hence Ptolemy as astronomer - but astrology tells the story.
All of which leads me to the actual practice of astrology. My interest was piqued by Ptolemy, reinforced by gazing at the night sky, informed by my grandmother - who was a professional astrologer - and refined as I studied more and more, eventually taking an online course (which I heartily recommend) from the Astrology Career Institute and Samuel Reynolds. I have learned a lot of specific skills along the way, but because I'm a meta-learner, too, I've also thought a lot about how different people both do and teach astrology differently. My grandma, for example, has a number of opinions about how retrogrades work that differ from Sam's. Some of the books I've read characterize certain aspects as bad and good, while others see them as "hard" and "soft." In short - and this is no surprise - in this mythological, anthropological, psycho-social, linguistic field there's no shortage of debate and disagreement about everything from meaning to process to the nuts and bolts of which method of calculating houses is best.
All of which, I think, speaks in astrology's favor. It's a robust world, an ancient study that has more to do with interactions and relationships than it does with solitary absolutes. There is no greater misunderstanding of astrology than the notion that you are your sun sign, leading to the off-hand, "But I'm nothing like what the paper says a Virgo is like!" Of course you aren't, I say, because astrology is about the way that Virgo sun you have interacts with your other planets. But more than that, it's also about how the astrologer you're with right now reads your chart, and how that reading differs from the one a different astrologer would give. The point is, both of those astrologers, though they might interpret every single piece of your chart differently, might both be right nonetheless. The point is, astrology isn't about reducing your life or your person into a single sentence or a single word ("Leo!"), but rather it's about expanding it and complicating your picture of yourself. It's about providing you a lens to discover your heart and soul and grow in ways you never previously imagined.
For those of you who don't know anything about astrology, then (and I'm impressed that you're still reading), I want to show you what a chart looks like. I usually use openastro.org to run my charts, but since I'm too lazy to boot to Linux and create one right now, I'm just plopping my own birth info into alabe.com, a free chart service online. Take a look and see what you think about it. As a teacher who prefers inquiry-based learning, I'm going to let the thing stew for a couple days before I write another post getting into more of the details here, explaining how I read a chart.
 |
| My Natal Chart |
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Ode to the Ptolemaic Venus
This is an assignment from back in (undergraduate) college. We were asked to write a 3 to 5 page essay about Ptolemy's treatment of the planet Venus, so of course I wrote an essay in verse. It probably took me 10 times longer than the assignment should have, but I'm still happy with the result. It occurred to me this morning that I hadn't posted this, so here it is.
Of planets fair and fairer still ‘tis Venus that’s most bright
Before sunrise or after set when Moon conceives the night.
Described by motion circular, the learned Ptolemy claims
Through Almagest, in which for wisdom he enshrined his name
In tomes of history, the planets move about the earth
In just such way divinity would give the sky its birth.
And yet a question plagues his work (that long was held as True):
What of the equant, we must ask, that gives appearance due
Measure against the doubt that our observance fuels with sight,
When Venus struts across the sun in variable flight,
That circles lone cannot describe except with forced constraint
Of center offset that a line to epicycle paints,
Describing thus by motion circular about a path
Itself circular? It is here we later find the wrath
Astronomers to come will hold, and doubt ourselves whether
Ptolemy can be justified in sending this tether
To bind the motion of our star (the brightest and most fair).
If circles can only describe the heavens with repair
By inconsistent equant, then it seems simplicity
(Which is a gauge of truth and, more, this task’s felicity)
Is lost, with both epicycle and eccentricity.
Our author asks if we can judge by earth’s shallow standard
What is ‘simple’ to heaven high, or if instead it’s slandered
By our unwitting questions, thus in Book Thirteen he writes:
“We should not judge the simple by what nature’s spirit frights
To changeability, for we forever move and change
And find ‘simplicity’ of constant motion out of range
Of human possibility.” Therefore we must rethink
Whether objections on these grounds must surely start to sink
Beneath other concerns, or if instead we will challenge
The bold proclaiming Ptolemy and for ourselves avenge
Our first complaint. Defense, it seems, is possible on grounds
That, while eternal, motion such as this is hardly bound
By laws divine, for though we cannot know the mind of God,
We can ask whether “constant motion” is but a facade
For Ptolemy through which his physics he can then imbue
Without having to worry whether ultimately True
His universe remains. For his concern, I think, is not
For Truth complete, but rather what he passionately sought
Was explication of mathematics pure, and what we see
In starry night that seems to us to move with constancy,
And more, still left in this is something true, we may decree.
To Venus, then, we must direct our literary gaze,
For in the star of love our enterprise may yet be razed.
If from appearance first our author asks us to derive
The motion of a planet that a theory can describe
By means of observation first, then reason soon applied,
Allowing first predictive sight, and then to physics tied,
Then we are blessed with math divine that morning star abides.
If from a misconception, though, of earth-bound universe,
Accepting as a truth assumptions now found as perverse,
And then applying oft sought visage to a path rehearsed
By circles impiously from their very source reversed,
And put in hands of man, then sadly we are cursed.
Returning to the open of astronomy’s great work
Confronts us with a disparate opinion which to shirk:
That Ptolemy, a charlatan, has hidden us from truth
(Despite his claims that to do so would be a bit uncouth),
Or else that he may be aware of centric point besides
The earth. It hinges on a phrase, a clause he leaves aside,
Which some translate as “simple” where we may have “simplistic,”
And this is where suggestions of heaven heliocentric
Are born. If Venus, to rephrase the thought, moves by mean sun,
Which Ptolemy himself admits, it seems with only one
Small step we can deduce that circles epicyclic move
About the sun itself, and we with bright planet of love.
Regardless of translation we approach a reason odd
For why this cannot be the case, that, if we still must prod
Into the nature of the heavens, it will soon be clear
That nothing could exist on earth (letting alone the air)
If quick about the sun we twirled. In this there is complaint
That gravity and Newton fix, but now ‘tis still a feint,
Avoiding possibilities this system strong implies,
But undermining eloquence, and thus we cast aside
The whole affair, rather to face a truth left incomplete
Than ‘knowledge’ false. Such quick restraint an admirable feat
It is for our learnèd astronomer, who did not shroud
In propositions ostentatious falsehood far more loud;
For in philosophy there is no room to hold the proud.
Questions of equant left and doubts of insincerity,
In Venus we find questions still of what the point may be.
Why Almagest was written, so much time and effort spent
On tracking nightly skies with inaccurate equipment
If only to arrive at a confusion unresolved
By equant line, a paltry thing, that neigh the problem solves?
Alas that problems physical which plague this work divine
Could come from planet Venus, causing questions unrefined!
Before an answer I propose to why we read this book
I first ask that we contemplate the task that undertook
Great Ptolemy when every night he gazed on spinning sky,
Imagining and measuring where in the heavens lie
The Beauty that first Euclid gazed upon so well.
And in this task he found there was a story still to tell
Of Euclid’s pure geometry in heaven ably mirrored,
That now he too, toward realms of gods, had fortunately peered.
He did not see a universe that spun around a pole
Impaled in sun, but rather saw the spinning human soul
And heard the music that only the goddess, Venus, sings
When morning comes, or evening falls, and love through cosmos rings,
For that is where humanity must find its hidden wings.
My answer, then, I fear I have precluded with too much
A hint. My reader likely has proposed to guess that such
A world as our astronomer unfolds we ought to see
Because in his great work he shows us true divinity.
Not Truth as we would have it in our ultimate repose,
But truth as best we can perceive, with senses so imposed
Upon our reason, that only in math do we see pure
An abstract world that, free from us, provides our wonder cure,
Proclaiming Truth as Ptolemy, who saw Venus as we,
And knew that in his human sight could only hope to see
Its motion through the heavens from his humble place on ground,
While it, so perfect in its light, about the stars was wound
Like justice, or a true account, or Plato’s fleeting forms
That hide themselves and so withstand the ever-blowing storms
Of false impression. In such way soft Venus moves the mind
To Beauty, and in Beauty’s hearth we may at long last find
A Truth that only Beauty’s breath could e’er hope to unwind.
Of planets fair and fairer still ‘tis Venus that’s most bright
Before sunrise or after set when Moon conceives the night.
Described by motion circular, the learned Ptolemy claims
Through Almagest, in which for wisdom he enshrined his name
In tomes of history, the planets move about the earth
In just such way divinity would give the sky its birth.
And yet a question plagues his work (that long was held as True):
What of the equant, we must ask, that gives appearance due
Measure against the doubt that our observance fuels with sight,
When Venus struts across the sun in variable flight,
That circles lone cannot describe except with forced constraint
Of center offset that a line to epicycle paints,
Describing thus by motion circular about a path
Itself circular? It is here we later find the wrath
Astronomers to come will hold, and doubt ourselves whether
Ptolemy can be justified in sending this tether
To bind the motion of our star (the brightest and most fair).
If circles can only describe the heavens with repair
By inconsistent equant, then it seems simplicity
(Which is a gauge of truth and, more, this task’s felicity)
Is lost, with both epicycle and eccentricity.
Our author asks if we can judge by earth’s shallow standard
What is ‘simple’ to heaven high, or if instead it’s slandered
By our unwitting questions, thus in Book Thirteen he writes:
“We should not judge the simple by what nature’s spirit frights
To changeability, for we forever move and change
And find ‘simplicity’ of constant motion out of range
Of human possibility.” Therefore we must rethink
Whether objections on these grounds must surely start to sink
Beneath other concerns, or if instead we will challenge
The bold proclaiming Ptolemy and for ourselves avenge
Our first complaint. Defense, it seems, is possible on grounds
That, while eternal, motion such as this is hardly bound
By laws divine, for though we cannot know the mind of God,
We can ask whether “constant motion” is but a facade
For Ptolemy through which his physics he can then imbue
Without having to worry whether ultimately True
His universe remains. For his concern, I think, is not
For Truth complete, but rather what he passionately sought
Was explication of mathematics pure, and what we see
In starry night that seems to us to move with constancy,
And more, still left in this is something true, we may decree.
To Venus, then, we must direct our literary gaze,
For in the star of love our enterprise may yet be razed.
If from appearance first our author asks us to derive
The motion of a planet that a theory can describe
By means of observation first, then reason soon applied,
Allowing first predictive sight, and then to physics tied,
Then we are blessed with math divine that morning star abides.
If from a misconception, though, of earth-bound universe,
Accepting as a truth assumptions now found as perverse,
And then applying oft sought visage to a path rehearsed
By circles impiously from their very source reversed,
And put in hands of man, then sadly we are cursed.
Returning to the open of astronomy’s great work
Confronts us with a disparate opinion which to shirk:
That Ptolemy, a charlatan, has hidden us from truth
(Despite his claims that to do so would be a bit uncouth),
Or else that he may be aware of centric point besides
The earth. It hinges on a phrase, a clause he leaves aside,
Which some translate as “simple” where we may have “simplistic,”
And this is where suggestions of heaven heliocentric
Are born. If Venus, to rephrase the thought, moves by mean sun,
Which Ptolemy himself admits, it seems with only one
Small step we can deduce that circles epicyclic move
About the sun itself, and we with bright planet of love.
Regardless of translation we approach a reason odd
For why this cannot be the case, that, if we still must prod
Into the nature of the heavens, it will soon be clear
That nothing could exist on earth (letting alone the air)
If quick about the sun we twirled. In this there is complaint
That gravity and Newton fix, but now ‘tis still a feint,
Avoiding possibilities this system strong implies,
But undermining eloquence, and thus we cast aside
The whole affair, rather to face a truth left incomplete
Than ‘knowledge’ false. Such quick restraint an admirable feat
It is for our learnèd astronomer, who did not shroud
In propositions ostentatious falsehood far more loud;
For in philosophy there is no room to hold the proud.
Questions of equant left and doubts of insincerity,
In Venus we find questions still of what the point may be.
Why Almagest was written, so much time and effort spent
On tracking nightly skies with inaccurate equipment
If only to arrive at a confusion unresolved
By equant line, a paltry thing, that neigh the problem solves?
Alas that problems physical which plague this work divine
Could come from planet Venus, causing questions unrefined!
Before an answer I propose to why we read this book
I first ask that we contemplate the task that undertook
Great Ptolemy when every night he gazed on spinning sky,
Imagining and measuring where in the heavens lie
The Beauty that first Euclid gazed upon so well.
And in this task he found there was a story still to tell
Of Euclid’s pure geometry in heaven ably mirrored,
That now he too, toward realms of gods, had fortunately peered.
He did not see a universe that spun around a pole
Impaled in sun, but rather saw the spinning human soul
And heard the music that only the goddess, Venus, sings
When morning comes, or evening falls, and love through cosmos rings,
For that is where humanity must find its hidden wings.
My answer, then, I fear I have precluded with too much
A hint. My reader likely has proposed to guess that such
A world as our astronomer unfolds we ought to see
Because in his great work he shows us true divinity.
Not Truth as we would have it in our ultimate repose,
But truth as best we can perceive, with senses so imposed
Upon our reason, that only in math do we see pure
An abstract world that, free from us, provides our wonder cure,
Proclaiming Truth as Ptolemy, who saw Venus as we,
And knew that in his human sight could only hope to see
Its motion through the heavens from his humble place on ground,
While it, so perfect in its light, about the stars was wound
Like justice, or a true account, or Plato’s fleeting forms
That hide themselves and so withstand the ever-blowing storms
Of false impression. In such way soft Venus moves the mind
To Beauty, and in Beauty’s hearth we may at long last find
A Truth that only Beauty’s breath could e’er hope to unwind.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Intervals and Astrology
I haven't written an Astrology 101 post, so forgive me if all this is a little bit confusing. Those uninterested or unversed in music theory and/or astrology may want to hold off on this post.
What I want to try to do is talk about the relationship between astrological aspects and musical intervals. In astrology there are 12 signs, in music, 12 tones. On some level that is a superficial similarity, but I wonder if they don't fit together in an unexpected way.
The ancients - Boethius in particular - believed that the planets themselves rotated about the Earth in musical intervals. Ptolemy's "circular" orbits provided a basis for Boethius in his "Musica Universalis," often translated "Music of the Spheres." The planets whizzing around were not strictly audible, but the notion that they mirrored harmonic patterns was religiously, mathematically, and philosophically agreeable.
Now we know that not to be the case, of course. The planets behave in all kinds of strange, non-circular ways, influenced not only by the incredible gravity of the Sun, but by each other as well. Nevertheless, astrology - never a musical practice in itself - has endured. How astrology works and whether it does is a post for another time (yes, I know, I've got about a dozen of these "another time" posts). For now I'm more interested in the analogy between the twelve-tone scale and the zodiac.
In trying to map the zodiac onto the scale, it is immediately clear that direct mapping is impossible. Moving chromatically creates strange relationships. Aspects that should be pleasant turn dissonant, signs that work well together sound awful. And this makes a kind of sense. Astrology comes from the ages before well-tempered tuning. While mapping directly (C = Aries, C# = Taurus, etc) might make transferring from one sign to another easier, it doesn't reflect the actual essence of astrology. Similarly, before well-tempered tuning, it was impossible to modulate from one key to another. If you started in C, you could not move to D, because in D all of the notes would sound off.
Over time, new tunings were developed, pulling all of the natural intervals ever so slightly off so that modulation became possible. These days, the difference between a C and a C# is identical to the difference between any other two half-steps. This means that, while it is very close, the frequencies of C and G are not in a 3:2 ratio. The "Perfect Fifth" was sacrificed for modulation.
All of that goes to show, we shouldn't try to make our astrological analogy work with modulation. If we are dealing, for example, with an Aries, there is no reason to imagine transforming that Aries into a Capricorn. What good would that do us? Rather, I think it makes more sense to establish the commonalities between signs and intervals according to the base sign in question. In the end, this will end up looking similar across signs, but it will be impossible to assign C to a given sign, F to another, and Bb to another.
So let's kick it off with the great kicker-offer Aries. Imagining Aries as a tonic, what roles would the other signs play? Which are dissonant, and which are consonant? Which lead into or away from Aries?
The obvious first step is to establish which signs represent the fourth and the fifth. These are the most consonant and harmonically functional intervals. Given that there are two, and that they are meant to represent the closest relationship to the tonic, I believe the other signs of the same element - in this case Leo and Sagittarius, which are also Fire signs - are the most logical choice. Because Sagittarius comes "behind" Aries and Leo "in front" on the zodiac, I think Sagittarius should be the 5th and Leo the 4th.
ARIES:
4th - Leo
5th - Sagittarius
In other words, Aries lead into Leo, and comes out of Sagittarius. As a cardinal sign - an initiator - it makes sense that Aries would lead into the fixed sign - more stable and immovable - of the same element. Likewise, Sag is a mutable sign - meaning it tends to be an ending, cycling to a new beginning - making it a natural dominant for Aries.
Another important aspect is the opposition. While my first inclination was to put the opposing Libra in the place of the tritone, I don't feel that's appropriate. The tritone is the most dissonant relationship possible between two notes. While it is a kind of musical opposite, however, that does not make it an astrological opposite. Libra and Aries have much more in common than C and F#, because Libra and Aires are both cardinal and both masculine signs. Their primary point of difference betrays a fundamental sameness: Where Aries is concerned with the individual, Libra is concerned with partnerships. Both, however, are about the relationship of the self to something. Compare that to Taurus, which is about personal resources and appreciation of beauty. Aries and Libra may have much that is not in common, but they have much that is as well. Indeed, opposites are often closer together - in terms of context - than synonyms (consider: yes and no; yes and affirmative).
With all that in mind, I think Libra fits best in the spot of the flat seven. That is not a consonant interval, but not totally dissonant either. Its presence or absence does more to transform the key than any other. The presence of a flat seven turns a major key into a dominant, causing a need for resolution. The same could be said of astrological opposites; they shape each other tremendously, and if both are present in the same chart, it signals a need for resolution.
ARIES:
4th - Leo
5th - Sagittarius
b7 - Libra
The actual largest discrepancies in astrology are between signs at the quincunx (one sign away from opposition). While these signs are not directly opposed, they share nothing in common. For Aries, Scorpio and Virgo are 150 degrees away, meaning they are different elements, ordinality, and gender. Much more than opposition, these signs are dissonant when compared with Aries, and should therefore occupy the two most dissonant intervals, the half-step and the tritone. As for which should occupy which, the shared relationship with the planet Mars suggests to me that Scorpio and Aries ought to be at least close together, so I think they should be at the half-step. Virgo, on the other hand, has nothing in common with Aries at all, and is therefore the best choice for the tritone.
ARIES:
b2 - Scorpio
4th - Leo
b5 - Virgo
5th - Sagittarius
b7 - Libra
There is one more truly dissonant interval, but it is an interval that serves an important harmonic function. That interval is the natural seventh. Similar to the half-step, the seventh is "next to" the tonic, but unlike the flat two, it leads into the seventh. Works of Medieval polyphony often started with a seventh opening into an octave. With that in mind, the natural fit here is Pisces. Pisces and Aires do not share much in common, but Pisces flows naturally into Aries all the same. Pisces is the last sign of the zodiac, and signifies the end of winter, while Aries signifies the beginning of spring. The astrological New Year occurs on the Equinox, when the sun passes from Pisces into Aries. What could be more perfect than for Pisces to be the leading tone in the Aries scale?
Similarly, Aries leads into Taurus. As the "next step," Taurus fits naturally in the spot of the natural second. Again, this is not a consonant interval, but it is a natural scalar progression. With that in mind, I'll plug Taurus and Pisces into our picture.
ARIES:
b2 - Scorpio
2nd - Taurus
4th - Leo
b5 - Virgo
5th - Sagittarius
b7 - Libra
7th - Pisces
Which leaves us with the so-called "most harmonic" intervals, the 3rds and the 6ths. Functionally, the 3rd and 6th serve only to add color to a piece. What they determine, however, is the flavor of the sound, as flat 3rds and 6ths indicate a minor mood while naturals indicate major. Our four remaining signs are either at a sextile (60 degrees, or two signs) from Aries, or square (90 degrees, or three signs). Sextiles are regarded as "soft" aspects, but do not connote the same intense relationship that trines (which are also soft) do. Rather, they are a source of general ease, a kind of coloring of the basic function of the signs involved. Indeed, they are rather like the major intervals of the scale. Squares, on the other hand, are the classic "hard" aspects, indicating the major sources of challenge and effort in a person's life. That said, they also denote opportunity, and can be a source of great pride strength once mastered and overcome. For that reason, they make sense as "minor" intervals; central to the harmony of the key, not always pleasant, but far from crushing or dissonant.
As with the 4th and 5th, the "which sign goes where" game is simplified by the arrangement of the zodiac. The planets that come 'after' Aries make for a more natural fit as 3rds. This puts Cancer on the minor third, and Gemini on the major. This means that our progression from Aries to Taurus can follow naturally into Gemini as well (which follows Taurus). On the other side of the zodiac, Capricorn and Aquarius fill in the flat 6th and natural 6th spots respectively. Aquarius flows naturally into Pisces (which flows into Aries), meaning there's a nice symmetry to our "scale."
ARIES:
b2 - Scorpio
2nd - Taurus
b3 - Cancer
3rd - Gemini
4th - Sagittarius
b5 - Virgo
5th - Leo
b6 - Capricorn
6th - Aquarius
b7 - Libra
7th - Pisces
We could go through the same process with the other twelve signs, but I'll spare you (and myself). Ultimately, I think the arrangement would be similar: trines at the 4th and 5th, opposition at the b7, squares at the minor intervals, quincunxes as the most dissonant, and sextiles and semisextiles (30 degrees) in the 2nd, 3rd, 6th, and 7th spots.
What are the implications of this kind of arrangement? Hard to say. By looking at a chart one might be able to translate it's major aspects into music, but that would only be a heuristic analogy. On the other hand, I do think that the analogy fits remarkably well (much better than I would have expected), and is probably worth further investigation. Since I'll be doing some astrology at our cohort's end-of-quarter party tonight, maybe I'll find a way to turn some of my compatriots into music. And hey, at the very least, it's fun.
What I want to try to do is talk about the relationship between astrological aspects and musical intervals. In astrology there are 12 signs, in music, 12 tones. On some level that is a superficial similarity, but I wonder if they don't fit together in an unexpected way.
The ancients - Boethius in particular - believed that the planets themselves rotated about the Earth in musical intervals. Ptolemy's "circular" orbits provided a basis for Boethius in his "Musica Universalis," often translated "Music of the Spheres." The planets whizzing around were not strictly audible, but the notion that they mirrored harmonic patterns was religiously, mathematically, and philosophically agreeable.
Now we know that not to be the case, of course. The planets behave in all kinds of strange, non-circular ways, influenced not only by the incredible gravity of the Sun, but by each other as well. Nevertheless, astrology - never a musical practice in itself - has endured. How astrology works and whether it does is a post for another time (yes, I know, I've got about a dozen of these "another time" posts). For now I'm more interested in the analogy between the twelve-tone scale and the zodiac.
In trying to map the zodiac onto the scale, it is immediately clear that direct mapping is impossible. Moving chromatically creates strange relationships. Aspects that should be pleasant turn dissonant, signs that work well together sound awful. And this makes a kind of sense. Astrology comes from the ages before well-tempered tuning. While mapping directly (C = Aries, C# = Taurus, etc) might make transferring from one sign to another easier, it doesn't reflect the actual essence of astrology. Similarly, before well-tempered tuning, it was impossible to modulate from one key to another. If you started in C, you could not move to D, because in D all of the notes would sound off.
Over time, new tunings were developed, pulling all of the natural intervals ever so slightly off so that modulation became possible. These days, the difference between a C and a C# is identical to the difference between any other two half-steps. This means that, while it is very close, the frequencies of C and G are not in a 3:2 ratio. The "Perfect Fifth" was sacrificed for modulation.
All of that goes to show, we shouldn't try to make our astrological analogy work with modulation. If we are dealing, for example, with an Aries, there is no reason to imagine transforming that Aries into a Capricorn. What good would that do us? Rather, I think it makes more sense to establish the commonalities between signs and intervals according to the base sign in question. In the end, this will end up looking similar across signs, but it will be impossible to assign C to a given sign, F to another, and Bb to another.
So let's kick it off with the great kicker-offer Aries. Imagining Aries as a tonic, what roles would the other signs play? Which are dissonant, and which are consonant? Which lead into or away from Aries?
The obvious first step is to establish which signs represent the fourth and the fifth. These are the most consonant and harmonically functional intervals. Given that there are two, and that they are meant to represent the closest relationship to the tonic, I believe the other signs of the same element - in this case Leo and Sagittarius, which are also Fire signs - are the most logical choice. Because Sagittarius comes "behind" Aries and Leo "in front" on the zodiac, I think Sagittarius should be the 5th and Leo the 4th.
ARIES:
4th - Leo
5th - Sagittarius
In other words, Aries lead into Leo, and comes out of Sagittarius. As a cardinal sign - an initiator - it makes sense that Aries would lead into the fixed sign - more stable and immovable - of the same element. Likewise, Sag is a mutable sign - meaning it tends to be an ending, cycling to a new beginning - making it a natural dominant for Aries.
Another important aspect is the opposition. While my first inclination was to put the opposing Libra in the place of the tritone, I don't feel that's appropriate. The tritone is the most dissonant relationship possible between two notes. While it is a kind of musical opposite, however, that does not make it an astrological opposite. Libra and Aries have much more in common than C and F#, because Libra and Aires are both cardinal and both masculine signs. Their primary point of difference betrays a fundamental sameness: Where Aries is concerned with the individual, Libra is concerned with partnerships. Both, however, are about the relationship of the self to something. Compare that to Taurus, which is about personal resources and appreciation of beauty. Aries and Libra may have much that is not in common, but they have much that is as well. Indeed, opposites are often closer together - in terms of context - than synonyms (consider: yes and no; yes and affirmative).
With all that in mind, I think Libra fits best in the spot of the flat seven. That is not a consonant interval, but not totally dissonant either. Its presence or absence does more to transform the key than any other. The presence of a flat seven turns a major key into a dominant, causing a need for resolution. The same could be said of astrological opposites; they shape each other tremendously, and if both are present in the same chart, it signals a need for resolution.
ARIES:
4th - Leo
5th - Sagittarius
b7 - Libra
The actual largest discrepancies in astrology are between signs at the quincunx (one sign away from opposition). While these signs are not directly opposed, they share nothing in common. For Aries, Scorpio and Virgo are 150 degrees away, meaning they are different elements, ordinality, and gender. Much more than opposition, these signs are dissonant when compared with Aries, and should therefore occupy the two most dissonant intervals, the half-step and the tritone. As for which should occupy which, the shared relationship with the planet Mars suggests to me that Scorpio and Aries ought to be at least close together, so I think they should be at the half-step. Virgo, on the other hand, has nothing in common with Aries at all, and is therefore the best choice for the tritone.
ARIES:
b2 - Scorpio
4th - Leo
b5 - Virgo
5th - Sagittarius
b7 - Libra
There is one more truly dissonant interval, but it is an interval that serves an important harmonic function. That interval is the natural seventh. Similar to the half-step, the seventh is "next to" the tonic, but unlike the flat two, it leads into the seventh. Works of Medieval polyphony often started with a seventh opening into an octave. With that in mind, the natural fit here is Pisces. Pisces and Aires do not share much in common, but Pisces flows naturally into Aries all the same. Pisces is the last sign of the zodiac, and signifies the end of winter, while Aries signifies the beginning of spring. The astrological New Year occurs on the Equinox, when the sun passes from Pisces into Aries. What could be more perfect than for Pisces to be the leading tone in the Aries scale?
Similarly, Aries leads into Taurus. As the "next step," Taurus fits naturally in the spot of the natural second. Again, this is not a consonant interval, but it is a natural scalar progression. With that in mind, I'll plug Taurus and Pisces into our picture.
ARIES:
b2 - Scorpio
2nd - Taurus
4th - Leo
b5 - Virgo
5th - Sagittarius
b7 - Libra
7th - Pisces
Which leaves us with the so-called "most harmonic" intervals, the 3rds and the 6ths. Functionally, the 3rd and 6th serve only to add color to a piece. What they determine, however, is the flavor of the sound, as flat 3rds and 6ths indicate a minor mood while naturals indicate major. Our four remaining signs are either at a sextile (60 degrees, or two signs) from Aries, or square (90 degrees, or three signs). Sextiles are regarded as "soft" aspects, but do not connote the same intense relationship that trines (which are also soft) do. Rather, they are a source of general ease, a kind of coloring of the basic function of the signs involved. Indeed, they are rather like the major intervals of the scale. Squares, on the other hand, are the classic "hard" aspects, indicating the major sources of challenge and effort in a person's life. That said, they also denote opportunity, and can be a source of great pride strength once mastered and overcome. For that reason, they make sense as "minor" intervals; central to the harmony of the key, not always pleasant, but far from crushing or dissonant.
As with the 4th and 5th, the "which sign goes where" game is simplified by the arrangement of the zodiac. The planets that come 'after' Aries make for a more natural fit as 3rds. This puts Cancer on the minor third, and Gemini on the major. This means that our progression from Aries to Taurus can follow naturally into Gemini as well (which follows Taurus). On the other side of the zodiac, Capricorn and Aquarius fill in the flat 6th and natural 6th spots respectively. Aquarius flows naturally into Pisces (which flows into Aries), meaning there's a nice symmetry to our "scale."
ARIES:
b2 - Scorpio
2nd - Taurus
b3 - Cancer
3rd - Gemini
4th - Sagittarius
b5 - Virgo
5th - Leo
b6 - Capricorn
6th - Aquarius
b7 - Libra
7th - Pisces
We could go through the same process with the other twelve signs, but I'll spare you (and myself). Ultimately, I think the arrangement would be similar: trines at the 4th and 5th, opposition at the b7, squares at the minor intervals, quincunxes as the most dissonant, and sextiles and semisextiles (30 degrees) in the 2nd, 3rd, 6th, and 7th spots.
What are the implications of this kind of arrangement? Hard to say. By looking at a chart one might be able to translate it's major aspects into music, but that would only be a heuristic analogy. On the other hand, I do think that the analogy fits remarkably well (much better than I would have expected), and is probably worth further investigation. Since I'll be doing some astrology at our cohort's end-of-quarter party tonight, maybe I'll find a way to turn some of my compatriots into music. And hey, at the very least, it's fun.
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