It happens to me all the time. I’ll be in the middle of a perfectly intelligent conversation with a college-educated person who graduated from a reputable college. We’ll be talking about something serious, like whether or not our country should aim for 60 percent of the population holding “high quality” 2 or 4-year college degrees. Suddenly, without warning, that person will interrupt to ask, “What’s your sign?” I’ll be nonplussed. Inside, I’m saying, “This person has a college degree?” Outside, not wanting to be rude, I’ll give the straight answer. “Aries,” I’ll say. Half the time the response is, “Ah, I knew it!” The other half it’s, “Hmmm. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
On occasion — as a form of entertainment coupled with genuine curiosity — I’ve tried pursuing the topic of astrology’s merit by asking such questions as, “Do you really believe that stuff?” or, more aggressively, “How can you believe in that crap?” I’ve even permitted myself to be sucked into discussions about the “philosophy” behind astrology. “You know,” someone will say, “It’s awfully curious how often astrology is right,” or, “You have to admit there are a lot of coincidences in life that can’t be explained,” or, seemingly the most profound, “There’s a lot human beings don’t know.” I’ll then say something like, “Look, OK, I do agree with that,” which is a mistake.
The whole discussion is a mistake, since one can never prove a negative. But I do enjoy asking why, if the alignment of planets is so all-important, it’s affixed to the birth date? Why not to the moment of conception? That seems a vastly more significant formative moment than a birth date, especially if you take into account those of us born at midnight, on the cusp of this or that sign — as was my case. (Of course, conception is a bit murky as well.) Anyway, these conversations go nowhere, and I shouldn’t even be recounting them.
Recently, a very good friend (college-educated, extremely numerate and smart as a whip) gave me Your Astrology Guide 2009, by Rick Levine and Jeff Jawer (New York: Sterling, 2008) (Isn’t that just perfect? A copyright from 2008 for an astrology book for 2009?)
“Look,” she said, “I know you hate this stuff, but you might find it entertaining.” She proffered the book hesitantly, as a sort of invitation to join the club of happy-wonk astrology geeks — people who semi-know it’s all claptrap, but enjoy the fun. Even so, these are the sort who, against all reason, reserve a small part of their brain for listening to astrology’s predictions.
When I finally mustered the energy to peek under the book’s covers, I discovered sweet, mayonnaise-covered pages of bologna. The authors say they’re intent on “presenting astrology in an intelligent light,” and express appreciation for the “Taurean persistence” of the editor, as well as “the whole Tarot team” that helped them. They’re thankful for having “readers who are hungry for valid astrology information that is based on hope rather than fear.” Jeff then thanks Rick for the “high quality” of his astrology. (How strangely ironic, I thought, that the acknowledgements so closely resemble, in form, what Brian Greene wrote in his acknowledgements for The Elegant Universe.)
I looked over the almost 40 pages dedicated to my sign, Aries, to find out what’s in store for me this year. There I found the usual suspects — fear, love, breakthroughs, creative bursts. Alas, not much I could translate as money coming my way. I do have to watch out for myself on October 29th, however. That’s the day when “tempers can flare” and I’m “to try to understand the other’s point of view.”
Look, I understand that astrology played an important role in the development of astronomy and modern science, and was a form of comfort, as well as a way of exercising power, to people long ago. I also know firsthand — from restless nights, when I toss and turn, or starry nights, when I think about how small and fleeting a dot I really am — that we all feel terror and awe whenever daring to face the enormity of the cosmos.
Religion offers many people solace. The idea that an all-knowing (if not necessarily individually caring) God set this half wretched, half exhilarating situation up is comforting to almost everyone. And great minds, even in the modern age, have found ways to juggle the discoveries of Athens with the demands of Jerusalem. Many people — including pilots — accept both airplanes and God. But can any serious person — especially a pilot — accept both airplanes and astrology?
I have a brand new idea for the Outcomes Assessment movement: We can figure out precisely what people have learned in four years of college, and whether or not they warrant their college degree, by asking one simple exit question: Do you believe in astrology?
