Solunars by Aldebaran Sidereal Academy

Zodiacal constellations embody archetypes: deep, pre-verbal patterns forming the shared architecture of the human psyche. From these, vast stores of symbols arise.

Symbols themselves are non-verbal, even when we use words to talk about them: They are the vocabulary of subconsciousness, which does not use the words (composed of letters with rational meanings) that “conscious” (i.e., ego-conscious) reasoning uses. Meanings of symbols are felt or intuited rather than logically reasoned.

Although we cannot verbalize the full nature or meaning of an archetype, we can infer and understand it from the diverse symbolic images it births. So that we can discuss archetypes at all, we commonly name each after one of its simpler expressions such as Wise Old Woman, Hero, or Prophet, even though that one expression is never exhaustive of the archetype’s full nature. Sign names and their primary images serve as this sort of label.

Archetypes encode, preserve, and transmit ancient information. This basic characteristic is enormously important. As a metaphor for archetypal images, elders conveying ancient wisdom to each new generation is right on target and useful for understanding the operation of the constellations. Jung thought archetypes are organic, perhaps arising from certain brain structures and thereby passed down from pre-history genetically. One of the oldest symbols of a purveyor of ancient, hidden knowledge is a serpent: These ancient pools of encoded information likely are conveyed by that one serpentine communicator of legacy wisdom shared by all life on Earth: DNA.

In any case, zodiacal constellations are matrices of symbols to which we respond when encountering them echoed in our mind or environment. Cultures (spread across centuries and geography) have represented them with diverse symbols. Reflecting on these varied representations can lead us back toward a common idea (verbally inexpressible but usefully graspable) that is the constellation’s root motif.

What follows, discussing these historic symbol sets for each sign, is necessarily incomplete: The pool of potential expressions of each archetype is vast if not limitless. Summaries or conclusions drawn here from each symbol set are intentionally naïve, i.e., striving for simplicity without artifice, to encourage your mind to take up the thread without excessive intervention from self-conscious reasoning.

These image pools account for about 5% of the meaning we normally attribute to each sign. However, this 5% figure is misleadingly small, since it overlaps with other strong symbols such as planetary rulership, often communicating the same ideas.

TAURUS archetypes
GEMINI archetypes
CANCER archetypes
LEO archetypes
VIRGO archetypes
LIBRA archetypes
SCORPIO archetypes
SAGITTARIUS archetypes
CAPRICORN archetypes
AQUARIUS archetypes
PISCES archetypes
ARIES archetypes

[I started this for Taurus some years back in this thread: viewtopic.php?f=14&t=4231 ]

Taurus resembles Moon and Venus and is unlike Mars. It is a Hub constellation in the Fertile triplicity. Its historic symbols variously express streaming life.

Ruled by Venus, with Moon exalted, Taurus is unique among the signs in having only female regency. Yet, ironically, the constellation’s name in every land with a zodiac has been unambiguously masculine: Taurus is the constellation of the bull, not the cow.

Ancient Egyptian words for bull and phallus were spelled identically, with the determinative for “phallus” attached when the sign’s name was meant. Their Taurus hieroglyph (shown at right) is reproduced from Otto Neugebauer. By etymology, the English words bull and phallus come from the same root, as do bellows, balloon, ball, and most things that you can inflate.

By “bull,” therefore, early Egyptians definitely meant something with a penis. Most other cultures also called Taurus a bull, which broadly means a reproducing male mammal. Richard Hinckley Allen wrote in his epic Star Names that Taurus

everywhere was one of the earliest and most noted constellations, perhaps the first established, because it marked the vernal equinox [during the Taurus Age]… in all ancient zodiacs preserved to us it began the year… It bore synonymous titles in various languages, in Arabia, Syria, Persia, Turkey, Judaea, Rome.

To these regions, add Babylon, Sumer, Akkad, and Greece. Current scholarship identifies this constellation as a bull since at least the Copper Age, around 5000 BCE when the vernal point was in mid-Gemini.

In each place, Taurus was the first constellation of the zodiac. Alphabets from the region began with a letter representing this constellation, a modern survivor being the Hebrew alef, which signifies a bull or ox head and, among Qabbalists, corresponds to streaming life force in the act of creation. (Alef is the Hebrew A by position but not by sound. It is pronounced as a silent flow of breath, i.e., life.)

To the Egyptians, a bull symbolized Osiris, likely for astronomical reasons since Osiris, to them, was the constellation Orion that overlaps much of Taurus. Thus, not only was Taurus the first constellation in the zodiac (the princeps armenti or leader of the herd, as the Romans later called it even during the Aries Age, or the bull out front along the Euphrates), it also stood in for the Egyptian king of the gods.

During the Aries Age, when zodiacal images settled into their permanent forms, Taurus rose at sunset (which also means the full Moon occurred in Taurus) during the month when the annual Nile flood had receded enough that the land could be plowed, moist and enriched by new topsoil. That the constellation (already called a bull for thousands of years) marked the month they could first yoke their oxen and plow and plant their fields surely was not lost on the Egyptians. The constellation of the spewing phallus came to mark the season of seeding, new life bursting forth inaugurating the new agricultural year. This was not in the spring but in the fall – in October – for the Egyptian agricultural year was six months reversed from the annual cycle in other lands.

This annual rhythm of acronychal risings (rising at sunset) of each constellation became an important part of ancient astrology. The constellation rising at sunset emerged into the darkest part of the sky and usually was the first seen. It also was the constellation in which the Moon became full as it opposed the Sun. As we move around the zodiac, we will see the impact of the annual agricultural cycle in Egypt on the final naming of most of the signs. With Taurus, it marked the springing forth of new life and fertility in the land, the renewal of an annual life cycle by a newly erupting stream of life.

/Astrologically, we still recognize in Taurus the strongest connection to fertility, sex, and life force abounding in nature – in a word, eros or libido.

Greek astrologers associated Taurus with the goddess Aphrodite (the Roman Venus) and her son Eros (the Roman Cupid). Similarly, and long before, in early Mesopotamian art, Taurus as the bull of heaven was closely linked to the Sumerian queen of heaven Inanna – Ishtar to the Assyrians and Babylonians – goddess of sex, fertility, and war (all the passions).

In the human life cycle, Taurus signifies the erupting ejaculation that inaugurates the possibility of life and the consequent fertilization of a ready egg, blending masculine energy and female regency to form a zygote, a suitably ox-themed word meaning “yoked.”

Three non-zodiacal constellations are near Taurus: Perseus, Auriga, and Osiris. Adjacent extra-zodiacal constellations often augment their zodiacal neighbor, something more obvious with some signs than others.

ORION (being to the Egyptians Osiris, and one of the largest, most dramatic figures in the sky) is Taurus’ most obvious neighbor. As Osiris, Orion reiterates the life-death rhythm of the year.

AURIGA, to the Babylonians, was the crook of a shepherd or goat herder (the herd of goats being many of the constellation’s stars). The crook’s papal or priestly symbolism is so distinctive that Taurus Sun and Taurus Moon have been the most common luminary placements for all popes born in the last thousand years.

PERSEUS, though its most important stars are in Taurus, seems a better match for Aries. I suspect an Aries Age suppression of older, matrilinear traditions has deprived us of older symbolism regarding the gorgon Medusa, whose decapitated head Perseus upholds. Her name stems from a root meaning guardian or ruler. Her stars occupy the Taurus part of the Perseus constellation near the degree of Moon’s exaltation.

Gemini resembles Mercury and is unlike Jupiter. It is a Spoke constellation in the Egalitarian triplicity.

All of Gemini’s main symbolic themes arise from one idea: duality. Two bright stars mark this segment of space as part of a more sophisticated stick-figure of two human figures perhaps with arms about each other’s shoulders. This duality idea expressed as a pair in companionship summarizes Gemini’s similar representations across time and geography.

We are most familiar with the Greek and Roman depictions of inseparable fraternal twin brothers Castor and Pollux, whose myth is unusually rich in relevant Gemini symbolism: They were divine patrons of travelers (especially sailors), invoked to draw helpful winds. Pollux invented boxing. The Greeks portrayed both as heroic fighters invoked in prayers for military success (e.g., Homer’s Hymn to Castor and Pollux) confirming ancient association of Gemini with courage and heroism (confirmed by modern statistics for Sidereal Gemini). Their inseparability and shared mortality and immortality provide meaningful depth psychological themes in Gemini’s interpretation.

Other lands portrayed them similarly as twins, sometimes as mates, or more neutrally as an unelaborated duo. In ancient Egypt, they were The Pair, with their Demotic name followed by a determinative for two children holding hands. Later, on the Denderah carvings, they appeared as the air-god Shu and his fiery, solar sister-wife Tefnut. To the Babylonians they were The Great Twins (“he who has arisen from the underworld” and “the mighty king”). In Arabia they were The Twins, and in India a married couple. R.H. Allen summarized, “The conception of a sky couple for these stars has been universal from remote antiquity.”

Broadly, any legendary tale of twins or significant pairs is an expression of the Gemini archetype, except perhaps the romantic Liebestod tales (e.g., Tristan and Isolde, Romeo and Juliet) that embody Taurus’ love-death motif.

Jung and his successors have documented legendary twins that serve as an archetype of heroic youth. This archetype often awakens in us during internal struggles involving wounds, divisions, or incompletions that need to become whole, or tensions within us between things that may be deemed mortal vs. immortal (or terrestrial vs. celestial). Gemini gives mythologists and symbolists much to explore.

Greek and Roman astrologers claimed Gemini’s divine patron was Apollo, god of the Sun, art, and healing (as they attributed the opposite sign, Sagittarius, to his twin sister Artemis-Diana). The Twins often appear I legend as children of the Sun, usually alluding to their partial or shared immortality and their status as demigods. This does not include traits astrology links behaviorally to Sun but, rather, Apollo’s other attributes: music, medicine, and other arts.

Gemini’s duo themes appear liberally and obviously in the Gemini character, most evidently in a need for companionship, identification with youth and play, and tendency to be known best as part of a pair or indulging other duality motifs. For example, Gemini songwriter Richard Rodgers, after a career marked by epic partnerships with Lorenz Hart and fellow Geminian Oscar Hammerstein II, followed his Hammerstein years with the Noah’s ark musical Two by Two. Other epic partnerships (where one party is most often mentioned in the same breath as their “other”) involved Geminians P.T. Barnum, Stan Laurel, Cheech Marin, David Brinkley, Ginger Rogers, and Paul McCartney (paired, respectively and memorably, with Bailey, Hardy, Chong, Huntley, Astair, and Lennon), to name a few examples.

Even Gemini’s strong intellect themes arise from this duality idea, which implies binary thinking including the binary basis of electronic information.

In the human life cycle, following the ejaculation and fertilization in Taurus, Gemini signifies the cleaving of the fertilized ovum into two cells and the subsequent (successive) binary cell replication that develops into an embryo. Fascinatingly, the DNA molecule that is the basis of this process is well-represented by the image of the god Mercury’s caduceus, a winged staff along which entwined (en-twinned) serpents are coiled.

Two non-zodiacal constellations are near or overlap Gemini: LEPUS, the Hare, corresponds to Gemini’s speed theme. URSA MINOR, the Lesser Bear far in the north, stretches across Gemini and Cancer. In Gemini the symbolism is that of a young cub, while in Cancer the cub joins its mother (Ursa Major). We might call Geminians “hares” and “cubs” conversationally when referring to their speed or youth traits.

Cancer resembles Moon and Jupiter and is unlike Mars and Saturn. It is a Rim constellation in the Enigma triplicity. Cancer symbolism expresses enclosure, containment, and protection themes.

Known today (in both the West and India) as the crustacean crab, to ancient Egyptians it was a scarab: specifically, Khephra, the beetle god symbolizing rebirth. In even more ancient times, Egypt called that part of space the turtles, and the Greeks similarly called Cancer a tortoise. The Babylonian name, al.lul is usually rendered crayfish.

Crabs, beetles, turtles, and crayfish all live within protective shells. Most are aquatic or semi-aquatic. Both characteristics link Cancer’s symbolism to the womb, which unlocks numerous lunar-maternal themes: Much of Cancerian life-force is spent being inseminated by others, then conceiving, gestating, and delivering.

Equally important are themes of shadow and concealment. As Leo embodies Sun-ablaze daytime light, Moon-ruled Cancer is themed to shadow and night. These speak to the mystery that the scarab ignites in the popular mind even today. Read the Appendix A interpretations of Cancer Sun, Moon, and Mars to see many ways shadow expresses itself in Cancer.

In fact, from its absence of bright stars, Cancer has been called the dark sign based on its astronomical appearance. R.H. Allen called it “the most inconspicuous figure in the zodiac,” a stunning characterization given how much energy Cancer expends to become conspicuous.

Another powerful lunar-maternal theme in the Cancer psyche is the sea: Consider the best-known works of Cancers Hemingway and Melville.

During the centuries zodiac symbols settled into their permanent forms, Cancer rose at sunset near the winter solstice. As Sun crawled low near the horizon like a scampering beetle or crab and the days (having reached their shortest) began to lengthen again, the newly reborn Sun identified the month with Egypt’s god of resurrection.

Cancer signified resurrection in another sense, too: For millennia Egypt’s agricultural year was keyed to the annual beginning of the Nile flood signaled by the mid-July heliacal rising of Sirius, brightest star in the heavens (an early record of which probably deserves to be called “world’s oldest horoscope”). This annual renewal of the land always occurred with late Cancer rising in the east, just ahead of the dawning Sun. Ignorant of the original meaning of this annual event, Greek astrologers propagated a generic sign wheel with Cancer rising that they called the Thema Mundi.

In the human life cycle, Cancer corresponds to the time in the womb. After the prolific cell multiplication-by-division themed to Gemini, the embryonic body is implanted in the womb’s lining where it continues to develop.

Four non-zodiacal constellations fall in Cancer: URSA MAJOR, the Great Bear, is an ancient symbol of maternity. South of Cancer are CANIS MAJOR AND MINOR, the Great and Little Dogs: Most important is that the Egyptians equated the night’s brightest star, the “dog star” Sirius, with Isis, mate of nearby Osiris (Orion) and a supreme maternal figure eventually subsuming other goddesses in Egypt and surrounding lands. These dog constellations also express Cancer themes of domestication, devotion, instinct, and the guardianship of inner worlds.

ARGO NAVIS, the great ship Argo, is a long, deeply southern constellation originating in Cancer and stretching through Leo and Virgo, dramatizing Cancer themes of (often treacherous) seafaring. Argo’s deep southern (“under”) placement emphasizes that the trying ordeals of the mythic Argonauts are a journey not of physical oceans but of the soul.

Leo resembles Sun and is unlike Uranus. It is a Hub constellation in the Imperial triplicity. Leo embodies symbolic themes of royalty, rapacious devouring, and roaring forth into life.

In all places with a zodiac – in Egypt and across Babylon, Persia, and India – Leo has been a lion, its appearance in the sky making for easy identification.

To this single image, the Egyptian language adds a nuance: The Demotic word for lion was cognate their word for sickle, a harvest tool evident in the constellation’s shape. Leo’s right edge looks like a detachable scythe so obviously that 21st century astronomers still call it “the sickle.” Furthermore, the Egyptian determinative for Leo (shown here) is a sickle. Notwithstanding the obvious flowing mane of Leo’s modern glyph, the sickle icon shows where our modern design began.

Why a sickle? In addition to its appearance in the sky and sickle being a homonym of lion in the old Egyptian language, when Leo rose proudly at sunset and the full Moon fell in Leo (January-February) the Egyptian agricultural year approached its climax: It was time to sharpen the tools and prepare for the harvest only a month away.

Incidentally, the sharpening theme included knives and other blades: Egyptians shaved the sickle stars off Leo and included them in Cancer, calling the remainder a knife. This subtlety of the boundaries of ancient constellations reminds us that the visual designs seeming so evident in the sky were never the astrological constellations: The curve at Leo’s right edge that seems so obviously a lion’s head, comprises stars in Cancer (i.e., earlier than 0° Leo). To ancient Egyptians, these were not part of Leo at all, their crescent shape being lunar and resembling the curve of a bow – the bow in Cancer’s last degrees that launched the arrow-star, Sirius, at its heliacal rising. Monuments at Denderah and Esna display these Cancer bow stars in the hands of the fertility goddess Sati (lit., “shooter”), who signaled the Nile’s flood each year when Sirius and the bow stars first rose at dawn.

Returning to Leo, its core symbolism is simple: In the image of the roaring king of the beasts, Leo embodies royalty, nobility, courage, and power, expressed in representations of monarchy and ravenous devouring. To ancient Greeks and Romans, the constellation belonged to Zeus-Jupiter, the lusty, thunder-wielding king of the gods. In Rome, Manilius, while admitting Leos have guileless, honest hearts, elaborated the feline metaphors, calling Leo “the monstrous Lion” that “ever devises fresh fights and fresh warfare,” “lives on spoil and pillaging,” and proudly ornaments its halls with tokens of conquest. (Today’s Leos are more likely to decorate with trophies and photo memorability than animal heads and pelts.)

R.H. Allen affirmed Leo’s core royal themes across time, summarizing:

The Egyptian stellar Lion, however, comprised only a part of ours, and in the earliest records some of its stars were shown as a Knife, as they now are as a Sickle…. Thus throughout antiquity the animal and the constellation always have been identified with the sun – indeed in all historic ages till it finally appears on the royal arms of England…

In the human life cycle, Leo corresponds to birth, the body infused with incarnating life at its first inhaled breath roaring forth hungrily into the world.

Three non-zodiacal constellations are wholly or partly in Leo: CRATER, the Cup, portrays the grail of Sun-god Apollo and, later, the legendary grail of the similarly solar King Arthur. Besides Crater, two vast, far-ranging constellations – one above (north) and one below (south) – begin in Leo and flow across the heavens:

DRACO, the Dragon, is almost too grand a symbol for one sign, stretching above Leo, Virgo, Libra, and Scorpio. Its alpha star, Thuban (the Cat’s Eye Nebula) at 13° Leo, marks the north ecliptic pole. This winged, serpentine dragon echoes in lion-serpent-solar symbolism across the centuries, especially evident in Gnostic iconography. Unfurling from Leo to Scorpio, Draco mirrors the river Eridanus that flows below the opposing constellations, south of Aquarius, Pisces, Aries, and Taurus.

With Draco soaring above, Leo also hosts HYDRA in its southern depths: Serpentine, sometimes portrayed with many heads, Hydra’s name signifies a water creature from the deep, a symbol turbulent subconscious content that must be wrestled heroically to unleash the hero’s distinctive genius.

Virgo resembles Mercury and is unlike Venus and Neptune. It is a Spoke constellation in the Fertile triplicity. Virgo’s historic images reflect themes of innocence, fertility, and ripeness (readiness for reaping). Thus, R.H. Allen called Virgo “the oldest purely allegorical representation of innocence and virtue.”

Although the Latin virgo translates “virgin,” this is only accurate in an older (Middle English) sense. Better translations into modern English are maiden, girl, or young woman, which might include a young married woman. The Hindu Kanya and Hebrew B’thoolah have the same range of meanings.

Maiden seems the best single word for astrological purposes, understood as including both innocence and ripeness: a young woman, not far past puberty, deemed ready for mating and childbearing. (This is an ancient meaning stretching across thousands of years, not an injunction on modern sensibilities.) Driving home these points unambiguously, the Babylonian name of the constellation was The Furrow, a yoni image of a field that has been plowed and is ready for planting.

In ancient Egypt, Virgo was The Female. To the Greeks (who gave rulership of the sign to the agricultural goddess Demeter, the Roman Ceres), she was Parthenos or Korè, The Maiden, both titles referring to Demeter’s daughter Persephone.

Most importantly, her representations routinely show that she has seeds (has reached sexual maturity) and has borne fruit. Virgo is innately fertile, with focus on the harvest. Across time and geography, she holds a sheaf of wheat or a spike of corn (Spica, her brightest star). Vindemiatrix at 15° Virgo (youthful Mercury’s exaltation degree) is associated with the grape harvest especially and was known to Egyptians as tsha nefre, “beautiful boy,” the infant god Horus. Ancient representations showed Virgo as Isis holding baby Horus to her breast, reinterpreted in later centuries as the Virgin Mary and infant Christ. (Aleister Crowley, who birthed an entire religion based on the newborn child-god Horus, was born with angular Sun in Virgo between Spica and Vindemiatrix.)

One early Babylonian representation showed Virgo as half human and half reptile nursing an infant with a blade of corn beside her. Later classic star atlases (often copied in modern times) commonly show Virgo as winged, having the appearance of an angel.

During the last two millennia BCE, Virgo rose at sunset (and the full Moon occurred in Virgo) in February-March, at Egypt’s annual harvest. Egypt’s writing also gave us the familiar ensign of Virgo, often thought to be a stylized M (sometimes described as “having her legs crossed”). Actually, though, it is an ancient symbol of the harvest, a hieroglyph of standing grain with the Leonian sickle cutting across the stalks. Following on the idea of grain harvest and the Demeter symbolism, Virgos are said to excel at “sorting the grain from the chaff.”

Agricultural themes (tended fields) have marked Virgo for nearly as long as humanity has existed. The 23 centuries when the northern hemisphere’s vernal equinox fell in Virgo (13,169-10,879 BCE: Virgo Age) include the start of the Neolithic Age, the threshold of human history when people moved from nomadic to pastoral lives, began settlements, and invented agriculture. Shifting to a more bountiful carbohydrate diet altered our biochemistry and brain functions. Stone tools became more sophisticated. Civilization began!

Consolidating several themes, Cyril Fagan routinely called Virgo the Cinderella of the Zodiac. This nickname integrates the image of a young woman, a servant motif, vulnerability to abuse, and adolescent princess fantasies, all of which are active in Virgo.

In later imagery, Virgo holds the scales of Libra, confusing her with goddesses of justice. There is a fine distinction: Modern statistics confirm that lawyers are more likely to be Librans, while lawyers who become judges are more likely to be discriminating Virgoans, analyzing and deciding the final balance in justice’s scales.

Though usually represented as a young woman, Virgo is androgynous. The feminine character and destiny are somewhat favored over the masculine, though not nearly as much as with Libra. Possibly this arose when personal astrology was applied primarily to men, with Virgo men seeming less decisively masculine (somewhat more feminine); but Virgo women have just as many cross-gender traits as the men.

In the human life cycle, Virgo corresponds to childhood innocence, especially overlapping the Mercury phase of childhood (Freud’s latency period or Erikson’s competency stage, both of which include primary education). Symbolically, this Mercury stage terminates at puberty, though Virgo’s imagery climaxes in the newly sexual stage of innocent sexual fertility. The simplest way to say this is that the Virgo year embody childhood and end by successfully delivering us across the threshold of puberty.

Two non-zodiacal constellations are in Virgo: CORVUS, the Raven or Crow, is a common prophetic symbol. Ravens appear in legends concerning prophesy, other information bearing, keeping and disclosing secrets, and (sometimes) lies. Some astrologers see bird symbolism in Virgo’s pick-pick-picking at details. BOÖTES means farmer or ploughman (with strong agricultural themes) or hunter. Most likely it memorializes the time at the start of the Virgo Age when humans transitioned from being primarily wandering hunters to being primarily settled farmers.

Libra resembles Venus and Saturn and is unlike Sun and Pluto. It is a Rim constellation in the Egalitarian triplicity. With more primary themes than most signs, Libra has an unusually complex symbol history to decode as we explore its archetypal roots.

In the human life cycle, Libra corresponds to the eruption of life force of puberty with cascading physical, psychological, and spiritual awakening across the adolescent years. This seems the best handle to consolidate Libra’s major symbols.

We can easily recognize Venus and Saturn themes in adolescence: surging hormones, awakening libido, concentration on social identity and personal appearance (its blemishes as much as its beauty), and increasing autonomy. Furthermore, puberty often is recognized as the portico of religious awakening, with ceremonies like the Jewish bar and bat mitzvahs, the Christian rite of confirmation, and “coming of age” rites from other and earlier cultures.

Puberty is the sunrise of the soul, our awakening to a larger life – something of great significance with this constellation because Libra’s oldest symbol is the rising Sun.

Libra’s astrological glyph is usually thought to be a sketch of two scales. However, scales imagery was a late development along the Nile: The oldest Egyptian representation of Libra was the hieroglyph akhet, meaning the place where the Sun rises. Libra is the constellation of a new dawn.

Each Egyptian month began at sunset on the day Moon first appeared above the western horizon as a thin crescent, about a day past conjunction with Sun. When this occurred near the first day of spring, it signaled the start of the year (only one of Egypt’s “new year’s days” due to their many calendars). Today, this remains the astronomical formula for calculating Passover (with Easter on the Sunday following).

During the millennia when zodiac images settled into their permanent forms, each new year began with Sun setting in Aries, meaning that Libra rose in the east marking the place of sunrise.

Furthermore, Libra rose in the east at sunset all month. Concurrent with being the signature of the new year, Libra’s acronychal rising marked the month Egyptians (who had just finished harvesting their fields) were busy weighing, storing, and bartering their crops. This scales or balance symbolism came late to Egypt, though it was well established (likely from Persian influence reinforced by Rome’s later strong hold on Egypt) by the time the Denderah zodiacs were carved around 17 CE.

Scales symbolism originated in Babylon. Libra appears as The Balance in the MUL.APIN star catalogue (1000 BCE) between The Furrow (Virgo) and The Scorpion. Though The Balance is only directly trackable these 1,000 years before the current era, Rupert Gleadow (based on Langdon) wrote:

About 2000 BC, the constellation which governed this month was connected with the judgment of the living and the dead, the time when the gods fixed the fates, and consequently the Babylonians out of pure imagination saw the sign of the Scales, Libra, here.

He meant the month Sun was in Libra not (as in Egypt) the month Moon was full in Libra. The date he gave is near the start of the Aries Age (1956 BCE). Similar “weighing the soul” traditions near the autumn equinox include the Jewish Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.

The Balance – the strongest Libra symbol in continuous use – spread from Babylon across the Middle East and western Asia (including India), eventually reached Egypt, and was a primary symbol in Greek and Roman astrology. Besides the scale pans themselves, for much of Libra’s history the connecting balance beam or yoke was equally important: Libra was called Zygon in Greek and Jugum in Latin, both meaning “yoke.” Libra themes matching this part of the symbol include a need for coupling or partnering as strong as Gemini’s need for its “other” (jugum also means “wedding” as in the English conjugal) and the idea of “the yoke of the law.”

One final symbol was prominent in Libra’s history. In classical times, Libra was called the claws (pincers) of Scorpio. “Scales” and “claws” are near homonyms in ancient Middle Eastern languages. Most scholars have written that the idea of the scales came from the claws idea; however, as the scales symbol predates references to claws, the influence was likely the other way around, perhaps even a mistake based on a pun or a wrong reading. Ignoring it as a goof is tempting; yet, this “goof” persisted for centuries, suggesting that it has valid roots in Libra’s archetypal soil. Therefore, I need to devote a few paragraphs to its history and meaning.

The Balance, established as a Mesopotamian constellation in MUL.APIN, was called ZI.BA.AN.NA in Sumerian and zibanitu in Akkadian. Both mean “scales.”

A later Arabic word, zubana, means a scorpion’s claws and became a name for Libra. We have no way to know whether this switch was a mistake or an intentional innovation. What we do know is that Greek and Roman astrologers copied the imagery, using it interchangeably with other Libra labels. For example, Latin writers used Libra (balance), Jugum (yoke), and Chelæ (claws) interchangeably, as indifferently as we might say Manhattan, The Big Apple, or Knickerbocker.

As you can see, the occasional claim that Libra “once was part of Scorpio” is unfounded. In Egypt, there was never an overlap – Libra existed as the Place of Sunrise quite early – and in Babylon it was the Balance at least as early as the 18-sign proto-zodiac of MUL.APIN.

However, The Claws had a foothold in mass mind for centuries as a legitimate expression of Libra’s archetype. What might its meaning be? The Greek word, Chelæ (XHLAI), is from XHLH, meaning a horse’s hoof or any other cloven (split, divided) hoof. The word also refers to other cleft things, such as a bird’s talon, a breakwater, or a cloven needle used to sew nets. The chief point of The Claws, then is that each is divided or split apart: It is a symbol (like yoke) of Libra’s need to be united with its “other half.”

Besides that, claws are symbolic (like Cancer’s claws) of Libra’s tenaciousness, holding fast to what is its own. When the Saturn side of Libra is strongest, phrases like pinched or penny pinching come to mind.

One final symbol set deserves mention: To the Greeks, the god Hephaestus (the Roman Vulcan) ruled Libra. This is difficult to understand from the way Vulcan was portrayed in the later classical period. From those later versions, at most we can note that he married Venus and, therefore, might serve as a masculine expression of Libra (complementing Venus as its feminine expression). That he was a disfigured, homely god seems a shadow expression (a vulnerability to shame) of Libra’s concern for appearance and need to “always look good.” Because he limped, we might (jokingly or meanly) observe that “Libra men are lame.”

While these ideas may be relevant, I think to get the Greeks’ original idea we need to look at earlier concepts about this very ancient god. In Athens, Hephaestus (Vulcan) was deemed the complement of Athena (Minerva), who ruled the opposite constellation, Aries. They shared temples and festivals. Each was credited with teaching humans the arts and useful crafts. Besides establishing strong polarity symbolism between Libra and Aries, these facts make the god ruling Libra a divine sponsor of art.

Finally, Hephaestus-Vulcan was god of volcanoes, to which he gave his Roman name. The eruption symbolism of a volcano is probably the most important detail, being analogous to Libra’s earliest symbol: sunlight breaking the eastern horizon. Both are analogous to the onset of puberty when eruption becomes a painful common expression of the skin’s terrain.

As mentioned earlier, these root symbols synthesize well in the new, cascading eruption of life force everybody experiences at puberty. Another phenomenon, though, is analogous to puberty and synthesizes these themes even better: the spontaneous rising of kundalini, a biological, psychological, and spiritual eruption commonly reported in language describing an upsurging inner Sun. Every Libra theme mentioned above is an element describing either the approach to or consequences of kundalini eruption (including the volcano god credited with first working with molten metals). I mention this parallel to puberty (at a different developmental stage) as an experience integrating Libra’s symbols.

Three non-zodiacal constellations are near Libra: CORONA BOREALIS, the Northern Crown, is a comfortable fit, being usually thought a wedding wreath or crown but also any other ceremonial head adornment (even a halo). CENTAURUS, the Centaur, almost entirely south of Libra, signifies the centaur Chiron as teacher of heroes and, more broadly, a bringer of civility. In this sense, he is barely distinguishable from core themes of Sagittarius: Libra and Sagittarius overlap on matters of civilization, culture, and law. LUPUS, the Wolf, was once thought part of Centaurus (the wolf grasped in the centaur’s hand). At first, this seems more of a Scorpio symbol, as a wolf is the characteristic animal of Ares-Mars. However, Librans do commonly have to wrestle (usually in private) a ferocious side: a shadow-demon of their natural draw to peace and justice that some higher, wiser part (like the centaur Chiron) eventually seizes and brings under control. This is aside from the modern slang use of wolf to mean a seductive charmer on the hunt.

Scorpio resembles Mars and is unlike Moon and Venus. It is a Hub constellation in the Enigma triplicity. To the Egyptians, this constellation was The Snake. To the Babylonians, it was The Scorpion. Both symbols are important in the constellation’s symbolism (especially the snake).

Scorpio is one of the largest, most ancient constellations, as obvious to the eye as Leo. Once someone is told that the star pattern traces a scorpion, it is hard to think of it as anything else – although it could as well be a coiling snake.

By at least 1000 BCE, Babylonians recorded this constellation as The Scorpion. Probably, though, they recognized it as early as the 4th millennium, in the first half of the Taurus Age when the autumn equinox fell late in Scorpio. The myth of Orion slain by a scorpion played out across the horizon when Orion set while Scorpio rose just before Sun broke the autumn horizon, chasing both from the sky. In its Egyptian incarnation, it is the tale of Osiris (Orion) slain by Set.

To the Babylonians, though, Scorpio was more complex. Stars of the giant Orion-sized constellation Ophiuchus, the Serpent-Bearer, fall in the longitudes of Scorpio. Ophiuchus’ stars portray the upper half of a man’s body rising upward from near the scorpion’s head. From these two constellations, Babylonian astrologers formed a composite centaur-like image with its lower body a scorpion and its upper body human.

In The Epic of Gilgamesh (c. 2100 BCE), Babylonian story tellers described these scorpion-men as guarding the gate from which the Sun rode forth every morning (the eastern horizon), likely another allusion to Scorpio rising just ahead of the Sun in autumn.

Beginning in the late 20th century, a few astrology hobbyists clamored to have Ophiuchus included in the zodiac as a “13th sign.” This was misguided: There was never a need since Ophiuchus is part of the 30° zone of Scorpio already. Ophiuchus and the writhing companion constellation Serpens in his hands have always been inherent to Scorpio’s symbolism.

Incidentally, this scorpion-man appeared early on Babylonian boundary stones, from which originated the familiar “four kerubs” that have persisted through the ages. Among the four figures of a bull, lion, eagle, and man, Scorpio is commonly mistaken (without astronomical support) for the eagle: Instead, arising from Ophiuchus and the early scorpion-man imagery, Scorpio is the human figure of this quartet.

In Egypt, this constellation was The Snake, matching other serpentine symbolism dominating this part of the sky. Not only did its Egyptian name mean “snake,” the hieroglyph of the constellation (and origin of our modern astrological glyph) was a snake with head raised and hood flared. During the centuries when zodiacal symbols settled into their permanent forms, Scorpio rose at sunset (and Moon was full in Scorpio) during the annual 50-day khamaseen, a season of hot, dry, blistering sandstorms. Hurricane-force winds, temperatures up to 113° F., and nearly 0% humidity created a treacherous, assaulting sandblast that – were it not destructive enough already – also drove snakes and scorpions in from the desert seeking shelter in the cities.

Life in Egypt during these weeks very much resembled the character astrologers came to associate with the constellation Scorpio.

A snake is a symbol of undulating energy. Other serpentine or scorpionic themes in the lives of natives of this constellation are sometimes as literal as ophiology and toxicology, and sometimes more subtle, e.g., Scorpio actor-fighter Bruce Lee nicknamed “the dragon,” or broader Scorpio themes of ghastly, horror-stirring symbolism often centered on snakes, death, and moral darkness, even when appearing through innocent artistic expressions.

Integrating symbols of the scorpion and snake is the sting, or swift, deadly strike. Besides Scorpio having titles meaning “scorpion” across the Middle East and India, the Babylonian original is written with characters literally meaning “the burning sting,” similar to the Akkadian girtab, “stinger.” In India, a secondary name of the constellation is ali, The Bee! The Roman astrologer Marcus Manilius later openly equated the scorpion’s sting with the phallus, which we might generalize to mean the whole of the sign’s enormous creative force:

By virtue of his tail armed with its powerful sting, wherewith, when conducting the Sun's chariot through his sign, he cleaves the soil and sows seed in the furrow…

Before planetary rulerships had stabilized, Greek astrologers placed Scorpio under the regency of Ares (the Roman Mars). Manilius, a representative Roman astrologer, described Scorpio as relying primarily on the war god’s patronage, its nature “ardent for war and active service” with “a spirit that rejoices in plenteous bloodshed and in carnage more than in plunder.” Even in times of peace, he wrote, they still look for battle venues like “mock-fights and jousts” to fulfill their “love of fighting.”

In the human life cycle, Scorpio corresponds to late adolescence and sexual maturity, which is also a time of rebellious, ungovernable, and often primitive-seeming behaviors, especially in young men. In modern times, this is the age at which nations ship nearly-grown children off to war. Maturing adolescents burst at the seams wanting independence and their turn to tackle the world.

Four non-zodiacal constellations are near Scorpio, two of which (already mentioned) portray great heroic struggle. OPHIUCHUS, the Serpent-Bearer, wrestles SERPENS, the Serpent, with both hands. They signify the maturing hero struggling with the serpentine energies biology has unleashed along with corresponding energies erupting from subconsciousness (figuratively, monsters unleashed from unlocked gates of Hell). Early attempts to show Scorpio-Ophiuchus as humanity rising above and transmuting animal energies failed, its human rising above the beast symbolism eventually going to Sagittarius: Mass mind does not expect final victory over violent energies in the Scorpio archetype. Nonetheless, the component constellations show our ongoing struggle with those forces central to the mythical hero’s life path.

Also overlapping the Scorpio part of space is the constellation HERCULES. This, too, has serpentine roots shown in Mesopotamian imagery as a man with a serpent’s body below the waist: In this case, the serpent is Draco, the vast constellation originating in Leo, with Hercules marking the climax of the dragon’s course, the heroic human finally triumphant with his heel upon the dragon’s head. Naming these stars after the Greek demigod Hercules came late: For most of its history, the constellation was called The Kneeler, which seems especially to mean the worshipper. Inverted head-down in the sky, his foot is planted solidly on heaven itself as he kneels adoring the north celestial pole, the highest (climactic) point of the heavens.

South of Scorpio is ARA, The Altar. Though one might think Ara belongs to Sagittarius, its stars are all in Scorpio. Portrayed as an altar aflame with animal sacrifices (or sometimes as a censer, or implement of consecration), its heavy smoke is the brilliant clouds of this dense part of the Milky Way. Likely its message is simple: Placing an altar here tells us that the primal animal energies native to Scorpio (including sexual and creative energies) are innately sacred. Far from degrading or demeaning us, they are primal forces that ultimately uplift and ennoble us.

Sagittarius resembles Jupiter and is unlike Mercury. It is a Spoke constellation in the Imperial triplicity. All its symbols signify aspiration toward great heights, progress, evolution, and uplifting.

Although the final form of this zodiacal constellation is of Babylonian origin, the early Egyptian form shoots for the heart of the symbolism. They called it The Arrow, a name and hieroglyph surviving in our barely modified modern glyph. A climbing, soaring arrow unleashed from a strong bow expresses Sagittarius’ higher and higher theme, the root metaphor underlying most Sagittarian traits including practical and social ambition, material and spiritual aspiration, aviation, and self-betterment.

Other nations placed attention more on the bow and the archer, while preserving the root idea of the unleashed arrow. In particular, the mature Greek view of Sagittarius as a centaur retained the archer concept and took it further: A centaur is a horse below the waist and human above. That which is behind (the past) is animal, while the forward and decision-making portion is human. Coming after the martial, animal Scorpionic stage, Sagittarius as centaur signifies social and biological evolution from animal to human, from primitive to civilized. Sagittarius establishes and matures civilization including its products: the arts, education, expanded horizons, foreign exploration, and civility.

A centaur, therefore, tells a similar symbolic story as the ever-upward arrow. However, its animal portion remains: Sagittarius does not signify perfection (full humanity) but, rather, an aspiration toward perfection. Similarly, the arrow remains in flight toward its target. The human part of the centaur must continue to govern (rein in) the run-away animal.

Babylonian images seem to be the source of the later Greek form, having a similar centaur-archer design (sometimes winged). Not only did the body show an animal beneath and human above, the head also was dual, with a human face looking forward and a panther face looking back. This composite creature was clearly a warrior. (R.H. Allen claimed it was Nergal, the Babylonian war god and, indeed, they are similar. However, the winged Nergal had a lion’s body and fully human head.)

MUL.APIN called Sagittarius PA.BIL.SAG, which was untranslatable to Fagan and Gleadow. More recent scholarship persuasively suggests a fusion of the Sumerian pabil (“elder” or “paternal relative”) and sag (“head” or “chief”); in other words, “clan chieftain,” “family head,” “forefather,” or a similar idea. This fits Sagittarius very well, implying structures of hierarchical social organization while capturing the important Sagittarian idea of heritage.

Later Egyptians also brought a more explicit warrior theme to the constellation. Fagan wrote that, with the annual khamaseen abated and the Nile at its shallowest (a month or so before the first intimations of a new year’s floods), the Egyptian army usually set out on foreign expeditions during the late spring when Sagittarius rose first at sunset. However, if this is true, at most it was a late-era justification for the Egyptians to incorporate the already fully developed Babylonian image.

Warring reminds us that The Arrow signifies literal weaponry. Sagittarius luminaries often indicate a fondness for weapons (especially knives and other tools that pierce or cut), whether for military commanders, soldiers, surgeons, sadists, murderers, or simple recreational hunters.

As the human half of the centaur imposes civility and exercises discipline over the animal, so does the centaur signify our rational governance of our own animal instincts, consistent with Jupiter being the planet most abstracted from (“above”) instincts overall. This idea extends to things like animal training, almost the only undertaking Manilius credited to the sign. “Indeed,” he wrote, “in the stars of this constellation the human form is blended with a beast's and placed above it; wherefore it has lordship over beasts.” Similarly, the sign corresponds to other forms of discipline such as teaching manners, the pedagogic corralling of unruly children, and all forms of cultivation, domestication, indoctrination, and other subordination.

In Greece, Sagittarius’ patron was Artemis (the Roman Diana), goddess of the Moon, archery and the hunt, protection of children, and chastity.

In the human life cycle, Sagittarius corresponds to early adulthood. We can time this, perhaps, as the completion of two 12-year Jupiter orbits by our mid-20s when neurologically our brains develop critical thinking abilities. This is the stage of citizenship and social maturity: Having domesticated the animal in our nature, we become able to serve as participating members of a civil, cultured society.

Three non-zodiacal constellations are near Sagittarius: CORONA AUSTRALIS, the Southern Crown, is a ceremonial wreath signifying honor. LYRA, the Lyre (especially the lyre of Orpheus) refers to the arts, including the power of music to sooth and enchant animals and even the forces of nature. CYGNUS, the Swan, soars above Sagittarius visually, along the plane of the galactic equator, falling in Aquarius by longitude; but its themes are Sagittarian and linked to Lyra. As a swan (the form Zeus assumed to beget the Gemini twins), Cygnus means flight, freedom, and ecstasy. By shape the Northern Cross, it links to religious themes prevalent in Sagittarius – not only to Christianity but also, in India, to Krishna.

Capricorn resembles Mars and Saturn and is unlike Moon and Jupiter. It is a Rim constellation in the Fertile triplicity. Its archetypal themes express ancestry, nature’s shaping of generations, and the spirit of the primitive and wild.

In Aries Age Egypt, Capricorn rose at sunset and Moon was full in Capricorn near the summer solstice, the midsummer Sun rising to its greatest height as if a climbing goat. Then, with the slow start of the Nile’s annual flood near the tail end of the month, they gave the goat a fish’s tail.

However, this was a late development, a fitting excuse for Egyptians to adopt the goatfish symbol already prominent in Mesopotamia for thousands of years. Pre-zodiac Babylonian star catalogues c. 1000 BCE included a goat-fish fusion that Rupert Gleadow wrote was originally the Antelope of the Subterranean Ocean, thought to represent the Sumerian god Enki (aka Ea). An occasional feature of Babylonian boundary stones, the goatfish’s earliest known appearance was on an artifact from the late third millennium (c. 2100 BCE). Babylonian imagery spread to India where Capricorn has been known as Mriga, the Antelope and, especially, Makara, the Crocodile.

Sumerian mythology includes overlapping fish gods that, from the perspective of the collective unconscious, seem interchangeable. The earliest, Enki or Ea, was a creator god whose streams of sacred waters representing the Tigris and Euphrates were also streams of creative energy (literally semen) fertilizing the land. Enki, who shaped the world, appeared as the goatfish that is the root of Capricorn’s archetype, bringing life and civilization exactly as the Tigris and Euphrates gave life and encouraged civilization along their banks.

However, a different god-name anchors Capricorn’s mature myth: Uanna-adapa, aka Oannes the Wise. His primary attributes disclose much: Portrayed as a fish-like figure – a human in a fish-shaped cloak with a single leg stepping forward as he emerged from the sea – he is credited with instructing humans in the story of creation and gifting them with civilization.

Do you see what this image and idea thinly veil? Oannes is a storyteller teaching ancestry, the wisdom generations have handed down to us through our cells: that we came forth from the sea to walk on land and build. (The ancestry theme of Capricorn involves genetics. The heritage of Sagittarius involves culture.)

Capricorn literally means goat horned. Besides symbolism of the summer solstice and Nile flood, the Egyptians primarily adopted the horn itself as iconography (though their glyph looks more like a cow’s horn than that of a goat). The Greek AIGOKEROS, like the Latin Capricornus, continued to emphasize this horn idea, though the Greeks also gave us the next important themes of the constellation: To them, it was the goat Amalthea, the nanny who suckled the infant Zeus – reflecting Capricorn’s anatomical association with the breasts and food (survival sustenance) themes.

Beyond this, though, to the Greeks Capricorn was the goatish god Pan and frolicking woodland satyrs. In this god and these godlings we see the primitive, wild, lascivious animal spirit of Capricorn, goat being a symbol of the wild and goatish a synonym of hypersexuality (as satyriasis is of lustfulness). The English slang horny arose as an obvious metaphor of a keratophallic male.

Parent (especially paternal) themes stem directly from the genetic arcade of generations, ancestry being the entire road from our deepest roots to our present. Paradoxes surrounding Capricorn’s relationship to history and tradition (e.g., its ties to the past coexisting with defiance of precedent) are resolved by understanding them as the normal progress of the generations.

A maternal parenting theme come not only from Zeus’ wetnurse, but also from the Greek’s attribution of Capricorn to Hestia (the Roman Vesta), goddess of home and the hearth. Her ownership of fire (from hearth fire to sacrificial fire) is consistent with Mars’ exaltation in Capricorn and is nearly the only thing Manilius wrote about the sign.

In a fascinating emergence of related symbolic ideas thousands of miles away in the isolated mid-Pacific, indigenous people of the Society Islands called Capricorn the “cavern of parental yearning.”

As the goat and other horny things became increasingly identified with pagan celebration, they became anathema to dominant orthodox religions. By at least the 6th century, goat images were in use to portray the Christian devil. Capricorn’s archetype increasingly became associated with darkness, graveyards, “dark arts,” anything fanciful, grotesque, or monstrous, and anything deemed taboo. Usually, a sexual or other desire theme runs through such portrayals. The more these ideas were repressed, the more they became demonized in mass mind.

In the human life cycle, Capricorn signifies the Saturn stage of maturity, beginning by age 30 once Saturn has made a full orbit of the Sun. In past eras, with far shorter lifespans than now, such vintage people were rightly regarded as elders, bearing the stories that are the generational wisdom of their clan or community. Then and now, parenthood is a basic theme.

Two important non-zodiacal constellations are near Capricorn: DELPHINUS, the Dolphin, is another symbol (like the goatfish) showing Capricorn bridging sea and land. Positive and joyous, dolphins are a worthy symbol of Capricorn’s playfulness. EQUULEUS, the Foal (Little Horse), overlaps late Capricorn near Mars’ exaltation degree. One myth identifies it as Celeris (Pegasus’ twin): a wild, unbroken horse portraying Capricorn’s wild, unbroken spirit.

Aquarius resembles Uranus and is unlike Sun. It is a Hub constellation in the Egalitarian triplicity. Its symbols speak of renewal, progress, and life breaking open with streaming possibility.

Each spring, melting snow and monsoon rains in the Ethiopian highlands feed enormous amounts of water through tributaries into the Nile. These waters reach northern Egypt by early June and attain full flood level in July so tightly coordinated with the annual heliacal rising of Sirius that predicting them secured the good reputation of Egypt’s astrologer-priests. For three months each year, the Nile Valley became a great lake, like a shallow freshwater ocean, with waters 50 feet deep near Aswan and 25 feet deep near Cairo. By 5000 BCE (mid-Gemini Age), Egyptian farmers had learned to surround their fields with dams and dikes and build canals and branching channels to reroute the irrigating waters that were Egypt’s lifeblood.

No other event was so important in Egyptian agriculture, not only bringing renewing, irrigating waters but also refreshing farmlands with tons of new, mineral-rich soil, making farming possible and thus allowing Egyptian civilization to grow, flourish, and dominate the area. Historians regard the Nile’s annual flood as the basis of Egypt’s existence. Furthermore, this flood is the only image that matters for Aquarius, the constellation named the “bringer of the waters.”

Across several millennia, the Nile flood occurred not only coordinated with Sirius’ helical rising (the first reappearance of the night sky’s brightest star newly visible and scintillating for mere moments before sunrise after weeks of absence from the sky), but also during the month that Aquarius rose in the east at sunset and Moon was full in Aquarius. Some students of esoteric symbolism hold that the design for the Tarot card called The Star was inspired by the annual helical rising of Sirius concurrent with the acronycal rising of Aquarius.

Aquarius’ representations in other lands usually portrayed other ways of “bringing the waters,” especially through diverse vessels. In various countries, Aquarius was a pitcher, pot, jug, vase, wine amphora, well bucket, or an overflowing water jar. The Greeks envision Aquarius as Ganymede, the most beautiful boy on Earth, kidnapped to Olympus to bear Zeus’ wine cup. Manilius had little to say about the sign except that Aquarians could engineer aqueducts and were very good plumbers:

The youthful Waterman, who from upturned pot pours forth his stream, likewise bestows skills that have affinity with himself: how to divine springs under the ground and conduct them above, to transform the flow of water so as to spray the very stars, to mock the sea with man-made shores at the bidding of luxury, to construct different types of artificial lakes and rivers, and to support aloft for domestic use streams that come from afar. Beneath this sign there dwell a thousand crafts regulated by water…

Another form of “cup” symbolism is that Aquarius’ archetype is profoundly maternal and fundamentally feminine, beginning with the sea itself and the annual chaotic birthing of the roaring Nile flood climaxing and concluding in the delta (a symbol of the vulva).

Furthermore, to the Greeks, Aquarius’ patron was Hera (the Roman Juno), mate and complement of Zeus-Jupiter, the lord of Leo. In symbolic terms elaborated below, Aquarius is the alchemical eagle to Leo's lion. Even the Babylonians (who did not create this constellation as they did those immediately before it) called Aquarius Gula, meaning the “Great One,” a giant goddess of medicine especially overseeing childbirth like Hera, ranking second only to Inanna among their goddesses.

To the Egyptians, probably no constellation was as connected to astrology as Aquarius because their priests were famous for using astronomical measurements to predict the flood. However, a more powerful association is that each night the summertime sea that Egypt annually became was a reflection of the heavens, the sea of space, the ultimate mother. These two ideas, ocean and sea of space, are inseparable in the language of subconsciousness.

In the human life cycle, with modern lifespans roughly double the average length of lifespans in those ancient times, Aquarius corresponds to the “age of oppositions” or “middlescence” just before and after age 40. Over a period of only a few years, all planets Sun through Uranus oppose their birth positions. This life stage is characterized by renewal, reinvention, and redirection.

Three non-zodiacal constellations fall or anchor in Aquarius degrees. One with obvious meaning is ERIDANUS, the River. Its unusually bright alpha star, Achernar, falls in Aquarius: From it, a river of stars flows forth from Aquarius to Taurus matching the Nile flood from the Aquarius full Moon to the plowing and planting season of Taurus’ full Moon. Eridanus, flowing through the southern skies, opposes and complements Draco high in the north, stretching from Leo to Scorpio.

AQUILA, the Eagle, including its brightest star, Altair, was one of the most important constellations of ancient times. Its stars fall in Capricorn by longitude but anciently Altair set when Aquarius was setting. In Egypt, where Aquila was Kenmut, the Vulture, its stars were the last above the western horizon as Sirius rose, three pentades called “start of the Vulture,” “sons of the Vulture,” and “under the Vulture’s rump.” On Babylonian boundary stones, Aquila as an eagle replaced Aquarius in images of what later became the “four holy creatures.” In the quartet bull, lion, human, and eagle, Aquarius was the eagle just as Scorpio (the Babylonian scorpion-man) was the human figure.

It was as an eagle that Zeus kidnapped Ganymede (Aquarius) and bore him to Olympus as his cupbearer. Also, Aquarius as Aquila is the alchemical white eagle complementing Leo as the red lion.

Just below Aquarius and sharing its longitudes is PISCIS AUSTRALIS, the Southern Fish, not to be confused with the two fishes of Pisces. No one should be surprised to see any number of aquatic characters (dolphins, fishes, and sea monsters beneath images of flocking birds) near a constellation that marked turning the land into a wide sea. The main point of this constellation, though, seems to be its alpha star Fomalhaut, the Fish’s Mouth, that (with Aldebaran, Antares, and Regulus) was one of the four Persian Royal Stars. These stars mark the four Hub constellations.

Pisces resembles Venus and Neptune and is unlike Mercury. It is a Spoke constellation in the Enigma triplicity, with symbols of the ocean, binding, turbulent deeps, and serene highs.

Pisces’ origins are obvious following the development of Aquarius’ symbolism: In ancient Egypt, in the first two to three millennia BCE, Pisces was the first constellation to rise at sunset in the August-September period when the Nile flood crested and calmed, turning Lower (i.e., northern) Egypt into “a vast sea, with an abundance of fish swimming over the land,” as Cyril Fagan summarized.

While this imagery originated in Egypt, naming this constellation after fishes (usually, but not invariably a pair) was common across most lands that developed or nurtured a zodiac. Most civilizations developed around rivers or near oceans, which were sources of life-giving food and navigable channels of transportation and commerce, so exposure to fish themes was widespread. However, there is an important symbolic distinction between oceans and rivers: Aquarius connects to specific channels of water, whether rivers, aqueducts, or waterpipes, just as it relates to specific channels or pathways of consciousness, ideas, and developments. Pisces, in contrast, relates to pools and sea (the less visibly bounded the better), just as it signifies less differentiated consciousness, unbounded distinctions, and absence of perimeters barring easy passage or transgression.

Aquarius implies streams. Pisces is the sea.

Ancient Greek astrologers named Poseidon (the Roman Neptune) as Pisces’ patron two millennia before the discovery of the planet Neptune. Anything reminiscent of this ancient Mediterranean ocean god seems natural to Pisces.

However, Poseidon-Neptune was not only lord of the seas but also a war god. The seas near Greece are turbulent and stormy, reflecting turbulent, stormy human emotion. (Poseidon had an infamous temper!) Unsurprisingly, Tropical astrologers have had little trouble mistaking the stormy Pisces temperament for the turbulence they have come to expect from Tropical Aries. However, this tempestuous ferocity and swift-changing emotional weather were common Pisces traits when Tropical and Sidereal Pisces marked the same part of space. A striking example of what astrologers saw is given in the summary of Pisces luminaries by Manilius, who, besides citing fishing and seafaring skills, wrote:

Naval warfare too is of their gift, battles afloat, and blood-stained waves at sea.

Or, as he wrote of Pisces rising:

A consuming desire urges their fevered minds to go through fire to attain their ends. It is certain that [Venus]… has implanted in the scaly Fishes the fire of her own passions.

Pisces’ strong connection to Venus or an equivalent goddess predates the formalizing of exaltations in the 8th century BCE, though usually the association is to the ferocity of her passions more than her gentleness. Nowhere is this more vivid than in the 18-sector Babylonian proto-zodiac (MUL.APIN) in which our Pisces comprises three constellations. While one, The Tails, seems to be the familiar two fishes, another is Anunitu, a goddess of war who, nonetheless, was an aspect of Ishtar (Venus). Anunitu reflected the warring passions of the goddess Venus, though perhaps filtered through emotional drama more characteristic of Neptune.

Neptune is so tightly bound to Pisces that all primary Neptune themes are part of the Pisces archetype. As Garth Allen summarized in his “Taking the Kid Gloves Off Astrology” installment on Neptune, the planet’s expressions are rooted in an unconscious memory of intrauterine bliss.

…we find Neptune given rulership over all those things which psychologists group together as common symbols of the unconscious striving to return to that intrauterine life with mother.

We came from the sea. We came from the womb. Our psyches retain powerful draws to return to them for their pacific serenity and redemptive cleansing.

An important detail of Pisces’ symbolism is that the fish are bound together. This symbol hints at the intrauterine roots of the archetype since the connecting cord seems umbilical. Also, these ties combined with Venus’ exaltation seem matrimonial. Primarily, though, Pisces’ bondage motif manifests as bindings that restrain or confine, from enslavement and other indenturing to sexual bondage, and positive enwombing sanctuary forms of asylum, haven, or refuge.

There is also a strong impression that these two fishes are trying to pull away from each other. This matches observations that Piscians often have two strong, contrary streams or directions struggling for dominance within them – like they are two different people – such as their intimate shackling of Eros to morality, two things that need not logically conflict with each other yet often are at odds within the often-stormy sea of the Piscian soul.

One of the most successful consequences of the Pisces archetype is the arising of Christianity, which began to flourish and expand its reach, eventually becoming a dominant worldview, after the vernal point entered Pisces in 221 CE. Among the abundant fish symbolism, the Greek word IXThYS (“fish”) became an anagram for the Greek phrase meaning, “Jesus Christ, son of god, savior.”

In the human life cycle, Pisces corresponds to advanced years of increasing retirement when the competing “twin fish” are greater frailty, dependency, and dotage on one hand and acceptance, completion, and wisdom on the other.

Three non-zodiacal constellations near Pisces are unusually meaningful. ANDROMEDA, the princess daughter of Cepheus and Cassiopeia often called the woman chained, is most important, echoing many Pisces themes, especially bondage. Her “damsel in distress” tale is a foundation of classic melodrama, while her full story ties together most constellations across nearly a quarter of the northern sky. In most ways, Andromeda and Pisces are astrologically interchangeable, so strong are the commonalities between them.

The other two constellations represent higher (aspirational) and lower (tumultuous) expressions of Pisces-Andromeda. PEGASUS, the winged horse born of the spilled blood of Medusa (wisdom), soars above Andromeda and is part of her myth. CETUS, a whale or deep-sea monster, lies beneath Andromeda (nearer the water constellations Aquarius, Pisces, and Eridanus), a symbol of the seemingly devouring threats that can rise up from our psychological depths. In the 1970s, astrology hobbyists sought to add Cetus to the zodiac as a “14th sign,” which was never necessary because Cetus already exists as part of Pisces.

Aries resembles Sun and Pluto and is unlike Venus and Saturn. It is a Rim constellation in the Imperial triplicity and, importantly, the final sign of the zodiac. Yet, the zodiac (like life) is a circle with no real end: It flows recurringly, seamlessly into another beginning.

Aries’ most important symbolic theme, therefore, concerns cyclical reversals, or endings that are beginnings: rising, falling, and then renewing in turn, or living life in successive, contradictory seasons. Three related Egyptian symbols reflect these ideas.

Its origins are clearly Egyptian. The Ram did not appear to Babylonians as a zodiacal figure until long after they could crib from Egypt. Ovine attributes for Aries are in Egyptian pentade lists dating probably from the 28th century BCE. Once the Aries Age began in the 20th century, ram-themed religious iconography spontaneously became more common. By the 16th century when the ram-headed god Amon-Ra gained preeminent rank, the broader flock imagery had narrowed to be images of a ram (male sheep). Maleness was an emphasized characteristic.

Furthermore, during these Aries Age centuries, Moon was full in Aries as the Nile flood began to subside, beginning the drying time. Although fields were still too wet to plow, sheep were separated and sheared. It was the season of the sheep!

The first telling symbol of the Aries archetype, then, is this annual shearing the fleece. As Fagan noted, the Demotic name for Aries, pa-yesu, meant not The Ram but The Fleece, the sheep’s heavy wool coat. Shearing (fleecing) is Aries’ most basic symbol, implying the cyclical rise and fall (gain and loss) of any fundamental measurement, whether of fortunes, energy, or mood. Although this idea is basic to Aries’ characteristics and behavior, Tropical astrologers have never cited it – to their credit since nothing similar is true of Tropical Aries. Manilius set the tone for this roller-coaster view in the Astronomicon:

The Ram, who is rich with an abundance of fleecy wool and, when shorn of this, with a fresh supply, will ever cherish hopes; he will rise from the sudden shipwreck of his affairs to abundant wealth only to meet with a fall…

In other words, sheep spends a season growing thick, luscious wool and, exactly at its peak (which, of course, is the perfect time) a farmer comes and fleeces them. Then, of course, the wool grows back.

The second of Aries’ chief symbols is the spiral ram horn, which (as Aries is a ram, not a ewe) are basic to the figure. Spiral horns also tell a circular story: Especially after Amon-Ra’s rise in eminence, they became symbols of solar energy cycles, an early solar symbol for Aries signifying fertility and strength.

One Egyptian Aries glyph is basically the one we use today. Besides portraying ram horns, it appears literally in other phenomena such as the shape of body parts corresponding to Aries (uterus, kidneys and ureters, and more: see the later chapter on Health and Illness).

The third core symbol is Aries’ correspondence to sunset or the dying Sun. As detailed previously for Libra, one Egyptian new year’s day occurred at the first new Moon at sunset nearest the vernal equinox. During the last two millennia BCE this occurred with Libra rising and Sun setting in Aries. The Ram, therefore, marked the place of sunset in the sky map that later was the basis of the earliest 12-house model. Just as Libra ascending emerged as a daybreak symbol of birth and dawning life, Aries became a symbol of death and the day’s close. Later, zodiac carvings at Esna and Denderah portrayed Aries as a reclining or sleeping ram with a solar disk about its head to show the resting Sun settling in for the night.

Thus, Aries, the last sign of the zodiac, closes the circle of life with symbols of death… after which, the circle begins again. Aries’ kingship rests in the symbol of the setting Sun: The king is dead; long live the king!

Two other Aries symbols warrant mention even though they are only secondary or supplemental to the ground just covered.

Greek astrologers named Pallas Athena (the Roman Minerva) as Aries’ patron. Athena might seem a better fit for Virgo, being a virgin goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare, called Parthenos like Virgo itself; but the Greeks clearly granted her dominion over Aries. This fits most obviously because of her warrior attributes. She forged and encouraged civilization based on reason, law, and the arts. Aries also places Athena in the heart of the seven constellations of the Perseus-Andromeda myth in which she played a crucial role.

I suspect, though, that the real reason for the attribution is that the Greeks thought Aries the first sign of the zodiac, while Athena was patron deity of Athens where this attribution originated. Perhaps they simply granted primacy in the zodiac to Athens’ most important deity, the goddess of wisdom.

Finally, the Babylonian name for this part of space translates as the hireling. Recent academics suggest that this was specifically a farm worker. Although one usually thinks of Aries as the boss rather than the hired hand, I think the main point is that this was a free man – a paid worker – not a slave, as was prevalent in that place and time. If the farmer meaning turns out to be the main point, then it ties the figure more closely to the solar cycle, like other symbols.

In the human life cycle, Aries corresponds to death. However, death is also the orgasm a brief moment before the erupting ejaculation and fertilization (Taurus) that inaugurates new incarnation.

Finally, three non-zodiacal constellations are near Aries. Two, that need little comment, are Andromeda’s parents: CASSIOPEIA, the vain, arrogant queen, filled with hubris, and CEPHEUS, her husband the pious king. These are the only royalty (mortal king or queen) in the heavens, easily viewed stacked vertically above Aries in the northern night sky and asserting Aries’ known monarchical side.

PERSEUS is more complicated. Several Perseus stars (including its brightest) are in Taurus. These are mostly the stars forming Medusa’s head on his shield, which may rightly be considered a separate constellation. Much of Perseus culminated with Aries, which better fits his heroic myth: Perseus was assisted by and agent of Athena. He seems, by character, a prototype of the strong leading man hero zooming in to rescue a helpless damsel tied to figurative railroad tracks (Andromeda).

I think about 80% of the meaning of each sign comes from the symbolism of the dignified and debilited planets. For example, about 80% of Virgo's symbolism comes from being LIKE Mercury and UNLIKE Venus and Neptune.

About 15% comes from the quadruplicity (in Virgo's case, from being a Spoke).

But nearly all of the remaining 5% comes from the archetypal symbolism of the constellation's historic iconography. These varying images across time and geography are all separate intuitions about the (too abstract to be articulated concretely) archetypal core of the sign. Fagan began the process of digging into this in his book Symbolism of the Constellations, then it never went any further in the hands of Sidereal astrology's founders (other than an occasional remark or paragraph by Fagan or Bradley here and there). I worked this out in much more detail in the late '70s and early '80s, and I'm trying to articulate that last 5% for the book.

BTW, it may be more than 5%, since a lot of what I'm attributing more concretely to the first 95% (dignities, debilities, and quadruplicities) also fits the iconography. (For example, Gemini's duality themes also express the Spoke and "Mercury as ambivalence" ideas. Taurus' erupting libido and life themes are amply expressed by the Venus and Moon dignities.) But we approach from dignities-debilities first, and quadruplicities second, because these are more concrete: They are less vulnerable to flights of fancy.

In any case, this series (pieces of the chapter I'm writing) are intended to close the gap on that last 5%.

I have now imported all of this material from the individual Archetypal Symbolism threads and deleted them. If you haven't been through these yet, this is a good time to dive in and see the whole series.

Now that each of the individual ones is finished to my satisfaction, I need to start rewriting them so that they form a working chapter for the book, which is a slightly different priority.

Most readers likely processed this chapter simply by reading it, perhaps with additional reflection on points that especially interested you. This is the best approach for a first reading of the material.

However, the greatest value of this chapter’s content is not as a stream of facts but, rather, as images and concepts that engage aspects of your mind that communicate in symbols instead of words.

I recommend reviewing the chapter in a particular way that will take about seven weeks:

1. Starting with Taurus, read the text and compile a written list of specific symbols named. Spend a little time (no more than a few minutes) thinking about these. This phase seeds your subconscious mind.
2. The next day (after an intervening night’s sleep), with journal at hand, work only from your jotted list of symbols (without rereading the chapter). Settle yourself for meditation. Bring each symbol (as a picture) into the center of your awareness. Let your mind flow freely around and through each image without judgement. You will have various impressions and, in time, will begin free-associating as subconsciousness threads associated ideas together. Let these associations develop as they will. Record any impressions that feel important.
3. Repeat this meditation the same way for three days.
4. After those three days, move on to Gemini and repeat the four-day process. Continue, in turn, with each of the other zodiacal constellations.

The goal of this exercise is to seed and cultivate these symbols in your subconscious mind where they will grow over several months while you continue your study of other chapters. In time, with persistence, you likely will develop a deeper understanding of the non-verbal, non-visual meanings underlying the 12 symbol sets.

All ideas that come to you will not objectively apply to the signs. That is, of the ideas that come to you that feel like insights or revelations, some will objectively describe people with Sun or Moon in the sign and some will not.

Therefore, you must follow the meditative seeding and cultivation stage with an objective confirmation stage: While all ideas you receive are valid in the dream-like language of subconsciousness, not all will translate into objective astrological description. You need to check each idea against actual people.