The Uninvited – a whole new ball game?

I could be asleep or I could be awake, man
I could be alive or be the walking dead
I could be ignorant or I could be informed
I could lead my life, man, or I could be led

– John Butler

Once upon a time, astronomers used to be astrologers too: Ptolemy, Galileo and Kepler, among others. But these disciplines diverged in the 1700s, and astrologers today uphold the status quo by piously mouthing the axiom of ‘As above, so below’ without noticing astronomy’s recent quantum leap in knowledge of our solar system.

And the radical change that began when Uranus showed up in 1781 continues to snowball. The 1800s brought asteroids with the Industrial Revolution: both Earth and outer space grew more crowded. In the 1990s, centaurs (asteroids-cum-comets) thickened the plot. And in the early 2000s came the trans-Neptunian Kuiper belt, a circumstellar disc comprising thousands of small icy bodies (and counting). But just how relevant are these hordes of mostly tiny entities to what astrologers do? That question cuts to the core of our identity. The escalating rate of their discovery implies rapid destabilisation of human culture. How much more detail can we use without losing sight of the big picture? The map may not be the territory, but it helps to have a current edition.

On 5 January 2005, a California-based team of astronomers discovered a new, tenth planet orbiting the Sun way out beyond Pluto. And its similar size and greater mass fuelled the debate over Pluto’s claim to planetary status, prompting the International Astronomical Union (IAU) to consign both it and Pluto to a new ‘dwarf planet’ category. So, on 24 August 2006, the latest likely entrant to the planetary pantheon, soon to be officially named Eris, found herself uninvited, as in the ancient Greek myth. Goddess of strife and sister to the war god Ares, Eris gatecrashed a wedding and threw the guests a golden apple inscribed ‘To the fairest’. Hence the judgement of Paris, who fell for Aphrodite’s bribe, Helen, which led to the fall of Troy.

If legions of asteroids hadn’t taken most Graeco-Roman names, Eris might be called something else. And yet the names astronomers choose give us useful points of departure for approaching each archetype. Which begs the question of why most astrologers would ignore the taxonomic update, or downgrade, of Pluto to ‘dwarf’. Those with whom I’ve discussed the idea dismiss occult author John Michael Greer’s unorthodox theory that Pluto’s mojo is fading. In The Twilight of Pluto (Inner Traditions, 2022), Greer argues that the traits Pluto shares with Eris and other Kuiper belt objects (KBOs) set it apart from the big eight. However, some astrologers call Eris a planet too, due to its likeness to Pluto.

In the words of evolutionary astrologer Steven Forrest: ‘The structure of the solar system continues to reflect the structure of the human mind.’ So, with each new finding, individual and collective consciousness stretch to a new place. And Greer, a comparative historian, concurs; his innovation lies in reversing the principle: when a planet loses its standing, that new place (an atomised society/psyche, in Pluto’s case) is destined to be abandoned like a boomtown after its mine shuts down. Greer expects the archetype to pack up its toys and go home to Hades.

But what if we forget such artificial distinctions as ‘planet’ vs. ‘dwarf planet’? After all, though Jupiter is 22× the size of Mars, we don’t deem it more important, and though it has 3× the mass of Saturn, besides being slightly bigger, the longer transits of the latter tend to leave a deeper impression. Still, Greer’s instinct is to simplify what looks too complicated, and old-school techniques work well enough for his political forecasts. Hence he terms Eris a ‘confirmed’ dwarf planet and candidate for a ‘Tertiaries’ category (Sun and Moon = Primaries; the seven planets = Secondaries). His Saturnian bias towards order serves his professional needs. Likewise, the IAU voted for expedience: adding hundreds of planets to our solar system would amount to a paradigm shift on par with exploding the flat earth theory. So the IAU’s gatekeepers resist consciousness stretching to a new place. But repressing chaos traps us in the past: ‘the word “planet” is a cultural artifact, nothing more’, writes Forrest. ‘It is a word left over from the days before telescopes…’ In contrast to Greer, he makes a case for the truth of growing complexity. And Eris, named for the instigator of the Trojan War, is far from the only harbinger of disorder.

When did humans first recognise the presence of Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn in the heavens? Clearly visible, crossing night skies free of light pollution against the backdrop of seasonally changing constellations, they would have stood out when not overshadowed by the Moon. To set the stage for diminution of Pluto, Greer compellingly correlates the sequence of major advancements in civilisation with the relative brightness of the planets: for instance, crafts and gardens (Venus, the most luminous) preceded writing (Mercury, the hardest to see).

The thing is, once those five had been identified and their cycles observed and recorded, millennia went by with no more than the odd passing comet to disturb the familiar order. Civilisation marched on, but at a glacial pace compared to the industrial surge that came with Uranus, followed by the asteroid belt, Neptune and Pluto, all within a century and a half. And less than a century after the 1930 advent of Pluto, we have hundreds of thousands of asteroids between Mars and Jupiter, maybe millions of centaurs between Jupiter and Neptune, and thousands of KBOs between Neptune and the mysterious outer edge of our solar system.

These discoveries have sped up in the last few decades, along with technological developments, and the rise of the internet and fragmentation of human society reflect the growing anarchy of our celestial map. Gone is the beautiful cosmic order Greer so clearly yearns for (and predicts will return as Pluto’s power supposedly wanes). Yet the haste of many astrologers to surf the viral wave of half-baked Eris interpretations risks psychic indigestion. Not all information is created equal; the pace at which it now travels compounds the risk of dirty data. So, since it takes time to understand and integrate the principles embodied by the objects science keeps finding at an exponential rate, we can either expand our consciousness or delegate the job – and AI, a fast learner, is available for hire. Meanwhile, some burning questions arise.

Should we treat Eris like a planet? No, in Greer’s opinion (though he dwells on Pluto’s former vast influence). But if we beg to differ, which other KBOs besides Eris merit more cred?

The more I explore the manifestations of these newly revealed minor planets, irrespective of how we care to define them, the more I think that while Greer has good cause to dispute standard warnings re Pluto, he underrates the significance of the Kuiper belt as a thing in its own right, with its implications for consciousness, individual and collective. If finding Pluto accompanied the quest to penetrate matter/the atom to the core to grasp its essence, maybe we’ve had time to prepare for a vaster influx of awareness – binary planet Pluto as agent of, or gateway to, transformation. Its largest moon, Charon, discovered in 1978, is named after the Greek mythological ferryman of the dead, symbolising passage, not ultimate destination. So what lies on the other side?

For millennia, the patriarchal bias of society has been mirrored by the male names of the five visible planets. Counting the Moon, that’s two out of seven female divinities in the heavens. But then, just two decades after Uranus, came sphere-shaped Ceres. The largest asteroid, it was taken for a new planet. But more kept appearing, so Ceres got demoted after Neptune entered the picture in 1846, to be named, like Uranus, for a male god. And astronomers followed suit with Pluto. So the attribution of goddess names to a haphazard host of odd-shaped rocks (Greek or Roman for the first nineteen, found from 1801–52) now looks merely tokenistic. And despite the excitement of asteroid specialists, their individual influence often eludes detection. As the solar system has grown, so has its gender inequity.

Until, at last, it seemed that Eris, initially nicknamed Xena (a nod to the long-sought ‘Planet X’ pending an official handle), would reverse the long-standing trend. But when the IAU convened, they sidelined Xena. Synchronistic proof of minor influence for Greer. For those of us inclined to test theories against experience, much fieldwork awaits. But how do we begin to divine the meaning of a new planet?

First comes the name. If astrology is a language, as many astrologers claim, then a planet’s name should be essential to understanding its nature. But according to pop astrologer Jessica Adams, the Greek and Roman systems correspond with different stages in history. So, despite widespread use of asteroid Pallas in chart delineation, Adams advises against mixing it with Ceres, Juno and Vesta, the other three popularised by Demetra George in the mid 1980s. News for those who adopted all four as a package and find them equally valid, but the same logic goes for Eris if Adams is correct. And not only is Eris not Roman, her goddess status is questionable: sometimes she’s defined as a mere ‘personification’, in contrast to divinities honoured with many stories and temples. Which might help to explain why so few astrologers have embraced Eris the way they did Chiron, the centaur discovered in 1977.

Named for the wise and just healer, teacher and oracle, Chiron – like Uranus, Neptune and Pluto (named for gods of the heavens, oceans and chthonic depths respectively) – came with ample ready-made lore, a sometimes revealing interpretive package. So, the traits of the deity for whom a planet is named form the basis of a working hypothesis. Yet despite endless, intricate rehashing of classical myths by learned psychological astrologers, accounts of gods and goddesses fail to fully convey the qualities of planetary energies, which always span dimensions beyond the mythic. Besides which, some versions of myths can, much like rumours, conflict with others. And in the case of unpopular Eris, scant detail exists, an excuse for progressive astrologers to air their woke/feminist politics, spouting the rhetoric of empowerment. Yet Eris never evinces sisterly solidarity; aggro like her bro, she targets female vanity.

Astrologer and software creator Henry Seltzer, an oft-cited, self-styled pioneer of Eris interpretation, bills the archetype as ‘a Feminine Warrior energy for profound aspiration’, featured in the charts of leading feminists and paradigm shifters (his use of wide orbs plus both subtle and generational aspects vastly broadens the scope for reading meaning into Eris): positive, if less than objective. And his Astrograph Eris report on my natal Eris placement is, with a few small exceptions, hilarious – leaving me to intuit the nature of Eris for myself. Where to next?

Both stories in which Eris appears cast her as a provocateur, less directly vengeful than catalytic. With a mere walk-on part, she incites competition that escalates until events culminate in the Trojan War. And in a later, lesser known story, Hera sends Eris to do her dirty work: pitting a couple, Aëdon and Polytechnos, against each other, Eris is an agent, not the author, of revenge. Social justice or feminine warrior energy isn’t what links both stories; it’s action that spirals out of hand, turns viral.

Which relates to another method for inferring a planet’s meaning: big themes breaking into collective consciousness through major cultural advancements. So, what occurred between 2003 and 2006, the period during which Eris was first imaged, identified, classified and named? If Greer’s assessment in The Twilight of Pluto is correct, and Eris lacks the power of a planet, it shouldn’t count for more than many, even smaller ‘dwarf planets’ discovered around the same time. But if Eris is as potent as Pluto, despite its greater remoteness, we might well ask: what dominant 21st-century phenomena have had the most impact on the world as we know it?

The rise of the internet and global connectivity, sped by the miniaturisation of technology, have reconfigured society and the psyche, reshaped our social landscape and rewired our brains. And this ubiquitous uptake owes much to social media – which took off around 2005. In February 2004, less than a year before Eris appeared, Mark Zuckerberg co-founded Facebook. And Eris is, if nothing else, a social goddess: though unwelcome, she turned up at a wedding to make her presence felt; sparked a reaction. Eris initiates contests involving comparisons. Now, consider the origin of Facebook: Facemash. Shown pairs of photos, users were asked to choose who was hotter. (Hera? Athena? Aphrodite?) The friendly facade of Facebook, rebranded as Meta, masks what arguably started as a nerd’s revenge. And since then, social media has gone from strength to strength, implicated in the engineering of Trump’s election and Brexit. Social media is the last stop for millions before sleep; their first port of call on waking each morning. It enabled the #MeToo movement, named – like Eris – in 2006, with its toxic shadow of call-out or cancel culture, and the often destructive results. Social media has also fuelled discrimination against the unvaxxed, reviled, during peak Covid, as selfish at best and, at worst, as terrorists for defying conformist society: aptly symbolised by Pluto in Capricorn square Eris in Aries, exact on 26/1/2020, 14/6/2020, 10/12/2020, 27/8/2021 and 9/10/2021 – dates worth researching re, for starters, how the pandemic label gained traction, which speaks to the theme of epic upheaval resulting from something seemingly small.

So, do the birth charts of those instrumental in spinning the twisted narrative that legitimised a social divide implicate Eris? Anthony Fauci, chief medical advisor to Trump and Biden, has both natal Sun square Eris and Venus trine it within a tight orb; Klaus Schwab, WEF CEO and architect of the ‘Great Reset’, a warped global plan for ‘smart’ cities justified by the pandemic, has Sun conjunct Eris; Dan Andrews, Victorian premier and nemesis of the unvaxxed, has Sun square Eris exactly (1º orb max); Jacinda Ardern, NZ PM and two-tier society advocate, has Mercury square Eris exactly, and her Canadian counterpart, Justin Trudeau, has a Moon–Eris conjunction in the 8^th house of other people’s (e.g., truckers’) money, with Mercury trine it exactly. But I digress.

Social media has heightened obsession with personal and group identity – so could it be an Eris theme? Witness Pluto’s identity crisis when she came on the scene. And the IAU’s ruling provoked public protest; identity is arguably the hottest topic, so far, this century: identity politics, identity theft, digital identity, their uncertain identity making refugees pawns in the war on terror… And if the mythic Eris revelled in bloodshed, how about mass shooters? Martin Bryant, whose Port Arthur spree left 35 dead and many wounded, has Moon conjunct Eris in his first house. Columbine massacre mastermind, Eric Harris, had Sun, Venus and Mars conjunct Eris, while his partner in crime, Dylan Klebold, had Mercury and Jupiter opposite Eris. And mass shootings are on the rise in the US, as if the urge has gone viral. Speaking of which…

If digital connectivity and the resultant social media are intrinsically Eridian, does Eris feature in the natal charts of key players? Not Zuckerberg’s (though we have no birth time). But he didn’t create Facebook in isolation; he got the idea from ConnectU, and one of its founders, Divya Narendra, has Mars exactly opposite Eris. Then Zuckerberg needed more funds to outstrip the competition. Enter co-founder Eduardo Saverin, also with an exact Mars–Eris opposition. Coincidence? Well, Bill Gates has Mars opposite Eris too, and shares an exact Moon–Eris conjunction with his long-term competitor Steve Jobs. Remember the legendary rivalry between Microsoft and Apple, their companies? As a discernible pattern emerges, so begins just one line of research…

For further clues, see the attributes of a new planet: appearance, position, composition, relative size and mass, orbital quirks and eccentricity. And Eris carves a highly elliptical path, spending more than one fifth of its 558-year orbit in Aries, and less than one thirty-eighth of its orbit in Leo. Which means it’s been in the same sign for most of the last century. Now, notice how many Eris themes often also apply to Aries, such as the warrior or the competitor. Take the aspect of Moon conjunct Eris. Who could deny how well warrior roles fit Angelina Jolie, or the intense competitive drive of Bill Gates? Their exact Moon–Eris conjunctions stand out on their Aries midheavens. Yet those archetypes don’t obviously apply to, e.g., Isaac Newton, Mozart or birth control campaigner Marie Stopes, whose exact Moon–Eris conjunctions fall in Cancer, Sagittarius and Pisces, respectively. Still, all three are recognised as pioneers in their fields. So maybe Eris is a game-changer.

A planet’s archetypal nature tends to be most distinct when it returns or makes stressful aspects to its place in the birth chart. During its transits to and from other planets, energies merge, much as with natal aspect patterns. Yet a planet’s transits to itself emphasise its core function: Jupiterian opportunity, Saturnian consolidation, Uranian rebellion, Neptunian surrender. Classic examples include the Saturn return ripening around age 28–30, and the Uranus opposition midlife crisis at 40–42: universal cyclic stages that define the life journey. Even Pluto, with a 248-year orbital period, squares itself in the course of any life not cut short: between 36–60, due to its elliptical path. So one obstacle to perceiving Eris, at least on a personal level, is that none of us with it in Aries will live long enough to undergo the first square.

The shorter a planet’s cycle, the more familiar its rhythms, and so, the more tangible its expression. The shortest, the 24-hourly axial spin of the Earth, orients us, defining the contexts in which planetary forces manifest; the monthly Moon cycle regulates emotional tides; the fastest planet, Mercury, describes the workings of our minds; Venus accords with values; the Sun illuminates personal will; Mars, drive and direction; Jupiter, faith and vision; Saturn, responsibility and wisdom born of limits. The farther out a planet, the slower and, so, the more subtle – unconscious – its function. Most humans are merely reacting to the transpersonal energies of Uranus, Neptune and Pluto, and the much newer discoveries scattered far beyond them present an even greater challenge to consciousness. Which means Eris may well look like discord, competition, social division and war until or unless we can wake up. And other ‘dwarf’ planets orbiting slower than Pluto – 284 years for Haumea, 306 for Makemake – may be no less relevant, but Eris has upstaged them, as if demanding recognition first. Some astrologers throw new planets into the interpretive stew as soon as ephemerides exist, but too many can cause confusion. A net cast too wide can keep us stranded in the shallows of popular understanding. Energies must be lived through, and with, to be integrated; to initiate us into them.

So the more planets astronomers find, the more choices astrologers face. Which archetypes warrant a share of the horoscope’s limited space? The question deserves serious thought, as choices that don’t matter burgeon in sync with the minor planet catalogue. More, more, more… But the mantra of progress invokes quantity, not quality, as science explores an endless horizon. From an inner or, for some, spiritual perspective, these vast classes of objects – centaurs, KBOS, whatever – signify levels. The first few asteroids to be spotted are now widely used; ditto, the first of the centaurs, Chiron, acts as ambassador for the rest. And Eris holds space for the KBOs; enough reason to include it. As for all the others, how much time can we devote? The large asteroid Hygiea, the centaur Chariklo, or the dwarf planet Haumea might point to a special destiny if prominent in a natal chart. Vaccine crusader Bill Gates has Hygiea (goddess of preventative medicine) conjunct his Scorpio Saturn exactly. The concept of preemptive protection that gets under your skin (conjunct Venus too) makes sense within his reality construct. Funnily enough, I too have a tight Hygiea–Saturn conjunction, but while my preventative regimen of wholefoods, outdoor exercise and stress reduction works well, I don’t seek to sell it to the public.

One popular, if lazy, method of deciphering a new planet’s energies involves interpretation of its discovery chart: a great opportunity for astrologers to strut their stuff. Yet this practice seems flawed at best. A discovery chart can’t work like a natal chart because a planet isn’t born at the moment astronomers notice it. Humanity is but a blink in its lifespan. Charts for countries can work because their boundaries are constructed. But an astrologer who retrofits the discovery chart to a planet’s myth is too confused to offer constructive insight. The chart more likely points to effects of the finding. Yet the signature of, say, Eris inheres in historical cycles and figures: a useful place to start, combined with hindsight re its transits and/or secondary progressions and solar arc directions to our own and others’ charts.

Synchronicity, so intrinsic to astrology, plays a part. At the supermarket after a day of Eris research, I heard the John Butler Trio song ‘Zebra’ (2003) over the speakers. Its lyrics touch on questions of identity – and their activist writer, the front man, has a natal Sun–Eris conjunction.