THE

SAMPLES FROM THE APPRENTICE'S STOREROOM:

From "How to Beat Time" (Issue 20)

A client entered the workshop one day, gorgeously arrayed and carrying a plump chicken for payment. ‘What I would like to know,’ he asked, as I sat him down in our consulting room, ‘Is, will I die?’

I had barely finished rubbing my hands together with glee in order to set the chart when, to my disappointment, I woke up. For it is ever the reality of horary that clients want not just predictions, but timed predictions. There, alas, is the rub.

Finding the event itself is usually the easy bit; the timing is more difficult, as a close reading of William Lilly makes plain, as we see him over and again fumbling towards a plausible answer, with the aid either of inside information or a querent sat before him so suggestions can be bounced back and forth until a feasible result is hammered out. The spectacular answer, where the timing announces itself in trumpet tones of indisputable clarity, does occur; but more often than not, the exact timing of a specific event in horary is hedged around with cautions and probabilities.

This is both salutary and inevitable. On the one hand it keeps the burgeoning egos of journeyman astrologers in check; on the other, as when we look at time we are looking at the very stuff of which our astrology is made - looking, as it were, not so much at the face of the clock, where the events that mark time are displayed, but into the workings of the clock itself - the fathoming of time is bound to be harder than the mere tracking of events.

The conclusions about the nature of time to which the practice of an accurate, verifiable astrology directs us are not the least of the benefits of directing our attention to the celestial science. Two key works to which we might direct the curious reader are Plato’s Myth of Er, at the end of his Republic, and Iain Mackenzie’s The Anachronism of Time (Norwich, 1994), which is hard work, but which, with a tight logic, clarifies the concepts with which we must work. But we direct our attention here away from our prison bars to the more immediately practical purpose of finding the answer in the chart.

Method

We will assume that we have set our horary and judged that there will be an event. This will usually have been shown by an aspect between two planets; occasionally by a planet moving to a cusp, or even, rarely, vice versa. Aspects planet to cusp, however, are not to be relied upon to show an event unless the planet signifying the quesited is applying to the querent’s cusp. The querent’s planet applying to the cusp of the quesited, whatever Lilly may say to the contrary, tends to show desire rather than fulfilment and is not reliable - except when the event is more or less certain. That is, ‘Will I get the job?’ with Lord 1 applying to the MC: desire; ‘When will I get the job?’ with Lord 1 applying to the MC: certainty.

The best behaved of charts show a timeable past event. These are not so common, but are delightedly received whenever they arrive. Suppose the question is ‘When will I marry again?’ and we know that our querent divorced three years ago. The chart shows her significator separating from Mars, the natural ruler of divorce. If it is y degrees separated from Mars, we know that y = 3 years. So if it now applies to aspect the ruler of the seventh house, signifying the future husband, in 2y degrees, judgment is simple: you will remarry in 2 x 3 = 6 years. It is as if the chart carries its own scale of calibration, as we might find the scale marked on a map. Conclusions we reach from this are highly accurate and highly reliable.

Few, however, are the charts that show such past events. Or, as in principle I suppose that they all should, few are they that show them with sufficient clarity to be of use. So we need to find something else - and this is when it starts to get complicated. For reasons which we cannot fathom, students invariably display the utmost resistance to absorbing what follows, more than on any other subject. We would suggest, then, that those who wish to work with these ideas tear out this page and forcefully insert it into their head through the left ear with the aid of a screwdriver.

We will assume that our chart shows an applying aspect. If it does not, we have no event, so there is no point in trying to time it. If we have an aspect there will be a number of degrees between where the planets are now and where they will be when the aspect perfects. This number is the number of time units between the time of question and the time of the event. Getting this is the easy bit! But even this is not so simple: usually we take the number of degrees that the applying planet must travel before perfecting the aspect. So we look at the degree at which the aspect happens, following the astronomical truth that the planet applied to is not going to stand and wait while the other catches it up. Sometimes, however, we take the number of degrees from where our applying planet is now to where the planet applied to is now - as if the other planet were standing still and waiting. What we have here is in effect not an aspect, but a transit.

Example: let us say that our event is shown by Mercury applying to aspect Mars, and Mercury is now at 8 deg of its sign, Mars at 12 deg of its. From looking at the ephemeris we see that aspect perfects when they are both at 16 degrees of their signs. Mercury has had to travel 8 degrees to perfect the aspect, so our judgment will be that the event will happen in 8 somethings: days, weeks, months, years, whatever. But sometimes we will assume that Mars stands still and take only the distance between the planets’ present positions, giving us just 4 degrees and so 4 days, weeks, months etc.
‘So how do I know when to go for the true aspect and when to go for the transit?’ I don’t know. I have not found any reliable guidelines in either the texts or in practice. I would suggest that the only guide is that in many cases one answer will make sense within the context of the question, while the other will not. I suggest that this is what we see Lilly doing in various of his judgments - bouncing possibilities off the client, or off his own knowledge of the realities of the situation. Suppose we ask ‘When will the King be executed?’ and find that the transit-type judgment gives us 3 days and the perfection-type gives us 6. We might know that the trial has yet to finish, and when it does it will take time to build the scaffold and organise the hot-dog concessions. 6 days would make better sense.
The golden rule in all matters of timing, as in all else in astrology, is that we do not have to be perfect. We are allowed to judge, ‘It might be in three days; but weighing all the evidence I think it more likely to be in six.’

We have a piece of music; we must allow ourselves to play. We can swing it or we can play it straight: we are still playing. The one vital point is that we learn our scales, else we cannot play at all.
So: we have our number of time units; we now need to work out which is the appropriate unit. Lilly brings nothing but confusion here. First, he gives two contradictory scales of timing; second, he pins both to fixed units. The suggestion that, for instance, angular houses = years is most unhelpful. Suppose our question is ‘When will my boyfriend phone?’; ‘years’ is not a relevant concept. So put Lilly away and listen up.

Any question carries its own time-frame, which will have a short, a medium and a long possibility. For the love-struck teenager demanding ‘When will my boyfriend phone?’ minutes as short, hours as medium and days as long might be the options. For the older querent asking ‘When will I meet Mr. Right?’ years must be the longest option, giving months as medium and weeks as short. The three units will follow one from the other: we do not have minutes, months and years.

‘Yes, but this assumed time-frame limits the possibilities of what the chart can tell us.’ No, it doesn’t. We can have perfection in less than one degree, so our decision that years, months or weeks is the reasonable range of choice for ‘When will I meet Mr. Right?’does not clip Cupid’s wings. A perfection at less than one degree on our fastest option could still give us ‘This afternoon!’

To decide which of our time units we shall choose, we consider the sign and the house in which our applying planet stands. Ignore the sign and house in which the planet applied to stands. No, I know you weren’t listening: ignore the sign and house in which the planet applied to stands. Even if you like the look of them. Ignore them!

Within our reasonable time-frame for the question, fixed signs will give the longest time-unit, cardinal the shortest and mutable the middle one.

That is the easy bit. The complication comes when we introduce the houses, as there is an in-built contradiction. Of their nature, angular houses equate with fixed signs and so indicate the slowest time unit. Cadent - as might be expected from a house that is literally ‘falling’ - gives the fastest; succedent the middle. Combining house and sign will give us, for instance, long + long, which must indicate our longest unit. Or short + short, which is our shortest. Any other combination will give our middle unit.
‘But that’s not fair, ref!’ Yes, the system is heavily weighted in favour of the middle unit. This probably says something about the nature of things; but if the chart wishes to show us the fastest or the slowest it is quite capable of so doing.

Now for the contradiction: angular houses of their nature are slow. But a planet in an angular house has a good deal of accidental dignity. Accidental dignity increases the planet’s power to act. If that planet wants to act, then, it is well able to do so, and is likely to act quickly. So angular houses are fast.

The key is the word ‘wants’: the issue of volition. If things are unfolding of their nature, whatever is in an angular house will unfold slowly. If whatever or whomever the angular planet signifies is, within the context of the question, in a position to act, and if (and only if) the receptions indicate that it wants to act, it will act quickly. This inherent (apparent) contradiction is the reason for Lilly giving two apparently contradictory tables.

Example: I ask ‘When will the cheque arrive?’ and find the significator of the cheque in an angular house. There is nothing the cheque can do to expedite its own arrival. The angular house would suggest a slow time unit.

On the other hand, when Asian women ask the question ‘When will I meet the man I will marry?’ it is common to find their significators in angular houses. Once they have taken the decision that it is time to marry, there is a good deal that they can do to expedite the process, in contrast to Bridget Jones, who can only wait until Cupid squeezes himself into her life. If these angular significators provide us with an applying aspect, and if (as the fact that she is paying to ask the question would lead us to expect) their receptions show that she wants the match, we can take this angularity as showing a fast unit, because she has power and wishes to use it.

Similarly, if a would-be Napoleon were to ask ‘When will I conquer the world?’ and we were to find his significators in cadent houses, even given an applying aspect we would have to assign a slow time-unit, because he has little power to act.

Confused yet? If not, you probably haven’t been paying attention. Let us throw a few more ingredients into the stew. What we have so far is the number of degrees needed to perfect an aspect giving us the number of time units, and the sign/house combination of the applying planet telling us which time units they are. In a good proportion of charts this will work. I would suggest using this unless common sense tells that the answer it provides is wrong.

In some charts, we consider only the sign of the applying planet, not its house. Which charts? The charts where we consider only the sign of the applying planet, not its house. I would like to be able to quote a rule, but have never found one. They just look like ‘sign-only charts’. Given enough practice, you will develop an eye for them. It may be that a preponderance of them have the planet in a fixed sign, but as with Lilly’s empirical ‘rules’, this suggestion should be treated with caution.

The number of time units, as shown by the number of degrees, is subject to change. If the applying planet is moving significantly faster or slower than its usual speed, it will take a greater or lesser time to cover the same number of degrees. We can, if we wish, adjust the number. I have timed predictions with an unnecessary degree of accuracy by carefully calculating the exact proportion by which the planet is faster or slower; but while such displays of virtuosity make an amusing party trick there is little point to them. ‘A bit’ is quite accurate enough an adjustment.

NB. the speed of the applying planet will - if we are sufficiently Virgoan to factor it in - affect only the number of time units. It will not affect our choice of time unit. Please, gentle reader, write this out 500 times to make sure it is instilled into your head.

Double-bodied signs make things slower. Our psychologically inclined brethren will tell us that this is because they are far too busy talking, worrying, or going down the pub to bother acting. This too will affect only the number of time units, not their nature.

In practice, it is not usually necessary to consider these factors, work though they do. Striving to tell our client that she will meet Mr. Right at 3 minutes past 10 on Monday 28th serves only our ego. ‘Around the end of the month’ is all the accuracy required.

If the aspect is to a retrograde planet, so that both planets are applying to perfection, the event can happen faster than the number of degrees would suggest. How much faster? Usually ‘a bit’. In such cases it is probably best to use the number of degrees to give an outer limit of time, qualified by ‘probably sooner’.

If the chart that shows two aspects indicating that the event will happen, these aspects will usually - as we might expect - show the same time. ‘Close enough’ is good enough. If one, for instance, shows 12 units and the other shows 3, a correlation of 12 weeks = 3 months is sufficiently close to add confidence to our prediction. We could, in principle, expect them to be exactly congruent; but such an expectation ignores our place in the cosmos. We are aware that nor progressions nor transits to the nativity manifest exactly as they happen; so with degrees of precision in horary. If the planets send us an angel, it takes a while for him to find us amid the fogs of this world of generation and corruption. Our gross coporeity resists the instant response that the chart might suggest.

When judging horaries, we do best to disregard what we might think is real time. It is a common failing among students, no matter how hard they are beaten, to cling to the idea that if the ephemeris shows that the aspect will happen next Tuesday, the event shown by that aspect will happen next Tuesday. No it won’t! What the ephemeris shows us is time from our perception, which is an illusion; what the planets show us is as close an approximation as we may easily get to time as is. ‘Next Tuesday’ is rarely a correct response to ‘When will I meet Mr. Right?’

When ephemeris time does become relevant is when our questions are on general indications over long periods of time, or when we wish to look beyond the immediate limits imposed by the question to see what may happen over a longer period. This is often to reassure the querent that all is not lost.
Examples: suppose the question is ‘Can you give some general indications for my business over the next few months?’ and we find that the querent’s business is signified by Jupiter, which will enter its own sign in three months’ time. We might judge that things will start looking up around then. Experience is that the querent will usually respond, ‘Oh yes - that’s immediately after the big trade show,’ or some such, and that such indications will prove accurate.

Or, suppose the question were ‘Is this really the man of my dreams?’ and the chart gave an obvious judgment of ‘Are you insane?’ we might look further, noting that in a couple of months the querent’s significator moved out of its detriment and into some interesting mutual receptions, and so add ‘But by the Autumn you’ll be feeling much better in yourself, and so be able to enter a relationship that nurtures you, rather than scraping the barrel of humanity out of sheer desperation, as you are doing now’. Or words to that effect.

When considering the longer term, a planet’s passage through an entire sign shows one of the natural time-units, usually a month or a year. So if, for instance, the querent’s business were signified by Venus, placed now at 28 Leo, in a question about long-term prospects, we might judge (other testimonies concurring), ‘You may feel you have the world at your feet just now (Venus on Regulus), but you are entering a sticky period (into Virgo). The next year (passage through Virgo) looks set to be a story of considerable potentials (Venus in triplicity) never quite unfolding (Venus in fall). Overall, the downside during this period is going to be significantly more than the up; but after that (Venus into Libra) all falls happily into place. So grit your teeth and hang on in till then.’5 It is foolishness to look beyond the next sign or two, as if we do we find everything happening to everybody. And this looking ahead does need to be done sparingly: students show an enthusiasm for racing planets around the chart as if it were a Snakes and Ladders board; such enthusiasm is better curbed. For the most part, we are concerned only with a planet’s next aspect and nothing beyond that.

Lilly gives several examples where a ‘real time’ transit is significant. So if Mercury applies to Jupiter he is judging not ‘It’s four degrees till perfection; it will happen in four weeks’, but ‘My ephemeris shows this aspect happening next Tuesday at 3.56; it will happen then’. Our advice to the student must be, ‘Don’t try this at home!’ Please.

We suggest that, if you really must dabble in this kind of thing, it is best kept to side issues. Example: we have decided that boy, our querent, will marry girl in six months’ time, judging by the six degrees needed to perfect the aspect between them. We note that both planets are in major dignities of the ruler of her fourth house, showing that her father has a major say in this matter. We note also that at 11.52 on Friday 28th, boy’s planet transits the twelfth cusp, there being a mutual reception between the ruler of the twelfth and the significator of the girl’s father. The twelfth being the house of animals larger than goats, we advise that at 11.52 on the 28th he attends the market, where he will be able to purchase the very camel that will swing the father’s opinion in his favour.

On the subject of transits, let us deal with the idea that if something in the horary chart conjuncts something in the querent’s nativity, the chart is ‘radical’ (whatever that may mean). I ask a question about love, and find in the horary that Venus is right on my natal Ascendant. Does this make the chart radical? Of course not. It shows that Venus is transiting my Ascendant, and I, surprisingly enough, am thinking about love. No more than that. Let us not forget that this with which we deal is a congruent system: it all fits together, in the most intricate and endlessly remarkable of ways. That Venus is on my Ascendant may show that I am thinking about love - a fact that might be obvious from my going to an astrologer and asking him ‘Does she love me?’ - but it tells us nothing about whether this love is reciprocated. Such considerations serve only to confuse the issue. All charts are ‘radical’, and we are well advised to keep the querent’s nativity well apart from his horaries, lest they breed monsters.

A particular instance in which the ‘real time’ movement of the planets can be significant occurs in lost object questions. In the chart for such it will often be found that the significator of the object is combust: it cannot be seen. Assuming that all else in the chart is indicative of a recovery, we can reach down our ephemeris, note the exact moment at which the planet leaves combustion, and judge, ‘You’ll find it then’. This may present the odd picture of thousands of people around the world throwing up their hands in glee as they recover cherished possessions at exactly 8.22 GMT, but it seems to work with the reasonable degree of reliability that is all we ask.

When a date is specifically mentioned in the question, it is often of great significance, so it is always worth checking the planetary placements on that date against the horary chart. As a general rule, if we restrict the querent to few words, whatever those few words are will usually be important; if those few words relate to timing, let us look at them. (Continued with example charts.)

From "The William Hill Astrology Awards" (Issue 5)

Whenever we find ourselves lamenting the cruel fate that has born us into a world that has so little regard for the art that we practice, we would do well to remember that we are blessed with a patronage that our fellow craftsmen of past ages would have envied. For Mr William Hill, supported by Mr Ladbroke and Mr Joseph Coral, have founded an institution solely for the support of astrologers in their studies.

Their bursaries, which can be quite substantial, are provided on an on-going basis, with no restriction to the number of awards any one astrologer may win. Applications may be made at any time, and Mr Hill and his colleagues have thoughtfully opened shops in every high-street, just so that astrologers in throughout the land may have access to their largesse. All that the budding astrologer need do is to make a specific prediction, usually of some form of sporting event. Mr Hill will make his own estimate of the likelihood of this prediction coming true, and, if the astrologer is right, will make an award based on the unlikeliness of the prediction.

There are those among us who look askance on their brethren accepting this bounty, but the Apprentice believes it can play an important part in any astrologer's education, not least by encouraging him to put his money where his mouth is and make his predictions what they should always be - specific. After all, if we cannot predict the outcome of a football match, what are we doing attempting to predict the fate of nations?

Will Chelsea Win the Cup?

The Final of the FA Cup this year was played by Chelsea and Middlesbrough. Chelsea were hot favourites, though the unprecedented number of foreign players involved in the match was held to give it an air of unpredictability, Johnny Foreigner being an unreliable sort.

The question "Will Chelsea win?" (May 16 1997, 2.52 PM BST, London) was asked by a Chelsea fan, so Chelsea are given the Ascendant. Immediately, we are struck by the Moon applying to conjunct the Ascendant. As the Moon represents the course of action, its flowing to Chelsea is strong testimony of their victory. It is notable that, had the question been asked a short time earlier, the Moon would have been prohibited from this application by its conjunction with Mars; but this is now past. Lucien Windrich has suggested that the Moon going from Mars to the Ascendant might indicate an early goal - the previous record for fastest ever goal in a Cup Final was broken in this match.

The North Node just inside the Ascendant, and consequently the malefic South node just inside the seventh, the house of the open enemy - Middlesbrough - is a second strong testimony. The Moon's next aspect is to trine the Sun, which is generally a sign of good fortune, especially here, as the Sun is in Taurus, the Moon's exaltation.

In any contest horary, we need to weigh the respective strengths of the Ascendant and Descendant rulers. Jupiter, significator of Middlesbrough, has slightly more dignity, being in its own terms while Mercury is in only its own face, but Mercury is greatly strengthened by its mutual receptions with both Venus and the Moon - the more so as the Moon is so prominent in this chart. Mercury's placement in the eighth house is redeemed from its usual unfortunate consequences by his not being in the same sign as the house cusp. A planet in a house but in a different sign to the cusp is almost in limbo: the house placement has little effect. So Mercury's superior strength is a third testimony of Chelsea's success.

Saturn on Middlesbrough's second cusp is a serious affliction: they had two players, including their star striker, taken off injured early in the game, the second house representing the team's resources. The Part of Victory (Asc+Jupiter-Part of Spirit) falls at 14 Gemini, and so is disposited by Mercury. Apart from its obvious significance, this gives added importance to the mutual reception between Mercury and the Moon, showing the Moon also taking victory to the Ascendant.

So we have a clear Chelsea win; but only the most partisan Middlesbrough fans really believed any other outcome was possible. The querent then asked for the score. I do not know a reliable method of determining the score from a chart: the best possibility seems to be based only on feel. Here, there is no positive indication at all for Middlesbrough, which is a fairly reliable pointer to their not scoring. Chelsea are obviously dominant, but dominance is not necessarily translated into goals.

The Chelsea testimonies could be stronger, so they probably won't score a lot, but testimonies are sufficient for at least one goal. 2-0 seemed a reasonable option (a prediction that was recorded before the match. Result: Cheslea 2, Middlesbrough 0).

with further discussion of sporting predictions, this time by the events charts for the matches themselves

From "Neptune - the Short Version"

While we find that the idea of the outer planets ruling signs - or part-ruling signs, or 'being associated with' signs, or being nodding acquaintances of signs - betrays so vast an ignorance of the foundations of astrology that its bearers cannot be taken seriously, neither can we agree with those who would disregard them altogether. If we consider the possibility of an astrologer resident in Australia, undiscovered in Lilly's day, refusing to use Uranus in a chart because it was undiscovered in Lilly's day, we can begin to see the absurdity of this view.

The outer planets clearly have their functions within the chart: in previous issues we have convicted Uranus of the killing of Nicholas Culpeper's bride-to-be (Issue 3), and seen the dire effects of failure to placate Pluto on the Czech Republic's opponents in the European Football Championships (Issue 1). Neptune is a particular favourite of many astrologers: in recent discussions on the astrology of rock music that the Apprentice has attended, Neptune was assigned rulership of music, of drugs, of sex and of so many other things we can only conclude that the remaining planets were too stoned to do their jobs during the late 60s.

These two charts display one aspect of Neptune - that, as its name suggests, beyond all the ideas about confusion and duplicity which do, if used with circumspection, seem to hold, it is above all else wet.

Wimbledon

The chart for the start of the Wimbledon tennis tournament is cast for noon on June 23rd. Mercury, the Lord of the Ascendant, is currently in a hot, moist sign. It is about to enter a cold, moist one, but combustion will stop any rainfall that might promise.

As a sporting event, we are particularly concerned with the fifth house. The Lord of the fifth is Saturn, a cold, dry planet in a hot, dry sign: no rain there. Jupiter, the traditional ruler of rain, and the Moon, ruler of all things wet, are both in a hot, moist sign in the fifth; but they are in a different sign from the cusp. This greatly lessens their effects on affairs of that house.

But the briefest glance at the chart, with Neptune retrograde immediately applying to the fifth cusp, is enough to predict rain, and plenty of it. As this article is written, at the end of the first week with even some first-round matches still unfinished (Moon applies to Uranus, planet of disruption) because of unremitting rain, it seems plain that the blame for this weather can be given to Neptune.

continued...

From "The Most Beautiful Music"

Finn McCool and his companions were out riding one day, hunting the wild boar through the wooded hills of Ulster. While they rested at midday, lying eating in the sunlight of a forest glade, McCool posed the question, "What is the most beautiful music of all?"

The fearsome, one-eyed warrior Golla MacMorna spoke first: "It is the sound of battle," he opined. "The sound of sword on sword, of the spear in flight; the sound of fear and of victory."

Then spoke Diarmid, so beautiful that no woman could look on him and not lose her heart. "It is the sound of a soft voice calling from her chamber in the night; the sound of sweet words whispered in the dark; the faint trembling of lips as they hover for that first long waited kiss."

Then Fergus spoke, who told of the singing of the wind through the cornfields near his home; Connor, of the tympani of waves crashing on the shore; Conan, of the murmur of his child in sleep; and Oisin, Finn's own son, of the warmth and wisdom in a father's voice.

Each one answered, each with his differing view. Then, when all were quiet, Oisin asked , "And my father, Finn McCool: what say you is the most beautiful music of them all?"

"The music of what happens," said Finn McCool, "That is the most beautiful music of them all."

And that is what, as astrologers, we are privileged to study: the music of what happens, indeed the most beautiful of them all.

There are many ways in which man has attempted to make this music intelligible - to read the score, as it were. Some of these are inevitably more successful than others. The experimental methods of what is now, for some reason not immediately obvious, called 'science' seek not to read the score or hear the music, but to understand it purely by examining its effects on its listeners, the existent animate and inanimate entities of the world, so putting many levels of opaque reality between themselves and the composer. At the other extreme, the mystic attempts to comprehend by realising his oneness with the mind that is creating this music.

Of what might loosely be called the divinatory arts, though limiting astrology to this does her a great disservice, some attempt to predict by humming along with the tune until the operator, if skilled enough, can catch sufficient of its form to gauge where it is going next, while some, of which astrology is the epitome, use the vestiges of true scientific method to objectively - or dis-involvedly - understand the nature of the forms from which the music is built: its notes and tempi, for example. From an understanding of these forms - the building blocks of the music of what happens - the astrologer can then proceed in two directions: to understand the music that is made from these blocks and predict its flow, and to understand the mind that created the blocks. The astrology that we have is, in this sense, a fragment of a structured, disciplined mystical science.

Plotinus says that if we establish the comprehensive principle of co-ordination behind all manifested phenomena 'we have a reasonable basis for the divination, not only by the stars, but also by birds and other animals, from which we derive guidance in our varied concerns.' That is, if we imagine all manifested phenomena as two dots on the surface of a balloon, these dots will move as the balloon is blown up. It is not until we realise that the balloon is being blown up and that this has an effect on the dots that their movement becomes comprehensible to us. Once we have grasped the basic coordinating principle of the balloon's expansion, a knowledge of the movement of one dot will enable us to determine the movement of the other. If one of the dots is me, it is of no matter whether the other dot is the planet Venus or what my cat had for breakfast: the understanding of the basic coordinating principle will still enable me to deduce things about my own position from observing it. Over the centuries, the position of the planet Venus has proved rather easier to tabulate.

In practice, of course, the position is rather more complex than the metaphor suggests, in that we have the familiar Aristotelian principle of balloons within balloons; but the idea remains the same.

It is the size and apparent regularity of orbit of the planets that has made them of so much more practical use than the movements of birds or animals, especially so for a sedentary race increasingly removed from contact with the natural word against which the movements of animals must be seen if they are to become comprehensible. In India, we are told, the classical model of the astrologer at work has him seated in a clearing, making judgement from the surrounding world as well as from the chart itself: the weather, the direction from which the client comes, his clothing, movements of animals, the chart - all are used as one.

That we are a sedentary and, increasingly, an urban race has a profound effect on our choice of technique for grasping the coordinating principle. We judge from pieces of paper rather than the livers of newly-slaughtered sheep; but the form, too, of our astrology has been shaped by our culture.

Continued...

Ye Merrie Game of Astropubbe

After a meeting of any astrological group, tradition demands that those present adjourn to the fifth house. The novice may tag along in expectation of an evening of light-hearted banter and informative astrological chat. Little does he know he is about to enter a desperate struggle for survival, where only those with nerves of steel, the reflexes of a jungle cat, and an inoperative hearing-aid are likely to emerge alive.

In order that the novice may prepare himself for this ordeal, and that those who are used to it may hone their survival skills in preparation for the next fray, the Apprentice is proud to launch Ye Merrie Game of Astropubbe. Hours of fun for all the family.

Ye Rules

In any group of twenty astrologers, there will be three with whom one may have an enjoyable conversation; three who can induce life-threatening degrees of ennui merely by saying hello, and two who not only study other planets but give every indication of living on one of them. The remaining twelve are neutral.

In the game of Astropubbe, the board is modelled on a typical saloon bar and each move represents fifteen minutes of elapsed time. The players aim to manoeuvre their counters next to the pieces with whom they may enjoyably converse, while using the neutral pieces to shield themselves from the attentions of the boring and the insane.

If a player finds his piece within two places of one of these malevolent counters, he should move it away immediately. But the neutral pieces, who have so far been so useful in screening him from unwanted conversations, now become a barrier making it physically impossible for him to move quickly, or making comments that must, out of politeness, be answered, thus slowing his escape from peril.

If you are unable to move your counter out of range of a malevolent within two goes, you are considered to have died of boredom. Unfortunately, this does not mean you are out of the game: you just have to stay exactly where you are, in the grip of the unwanted conversationalist, with rigor mortis setting inexorably in, until eventually, after several aeons have passed, the landlord calls 'Time'. Suicide, however tempting, is not allowed.

By this stage of the game, the fortunate player will have acquired a "Powder Room" card. This is your only means of escape, enabling you to move your counter to the toilet square, a place of sanctuary ('bathroom square', in the American version - don't forget your towel). It may stay there for only one move, but you are then allowed to return it to the game at the place of your choice.

Even a Powder Room card may, however, be trumped by one of your opponents playing a "Nativity" card. This causes all the neutrals to simultaneously show you their birth-charts, demanding "What was I in a past life?" and "What is the significance of my natal Chiron/Pluto square?". At this, without any possible appeal, the game is most definitely over and you are out..