The Ages of Man
“The Ages of Man” is a general time-lord system that first appears in Book Four of Ptolemy’s Tetrabiblos[1]. The idea is very simple. The entirety of a life is divided according to the seven classical planets in Chaldean order starting with the Moon. Just as in zodiacal releasing, Venus, the Sun, Mars, and Jupiter are each allotted the same number of years as their minor periods. Mercury gets half its normal years, and the Moon only four (I don’t know why). Saturn receives the remainder of the life once Jupiter’s time is up.
Here are the periods in order: Moon 4, Mercury 10, Venus 8, Sun 19, Mars 15, Jupiter 12, and then Saturn until death…
The idea is that this planetary order signifies the archetypal periods of life, generally common to all of us on account of that most fundamental condition we all share in common: that we occupy a body within time. The order in which the planets are listed, the Chaldean order, is thus not only fitting, but telling. For the Moon is most significant of the body, and Saturn, coming at the end, is most significant of time. What transpires in between, organised around the centrality of the Sun, is what most signifies our individual distinctiveness. It is during these periods of Mercury, Venus, the Sun, Mars, and Jupiter that those forms most specific to our individual life make their appearance. But even so, less we should consider our selection in the eyes of the world too highly, this period of individualisation is held fast on either side by unassailable guards in whose eyes we remain common, utterly generic, and unworthy of exception: we take birth in a body (the Moon) and experience life through it for only a limited time (Saturn).
Between birth and sometime around the completion of our fourth year, it’s all about mom, nourishment and emotional bonding. Moonlike, even our bodies lack the distinct sharpness of feature that will set us apart from others later on. No mother will admit it, but there’s something generic about babies. And the Moon signifies the generic, such as the amassing of crowds, in which the individual is rendered indistinct. Even the fact that an infant can so easily be referred to as “it” shows to what extent this period of life is ruled over by the Moon, lord of the generic and the non-individuated.
Then, as we embark upon our fifth year, Mercury takes over. We mimic those around us to develop our language and communication skills, exploring and sponging up our immediate environment. We learn the rudiments of logic and begin developing our dexterity and coordination. This is the period of childhood, and it lasts until around the end of our 14th year.
Then puberty hits, and Venus takes over for the period of our adolescence. These are the “smitten” years. Social acceptance, fashion, and attractiveness become very important. Love takes on new and bewildering dimension. Sex becomes interesting, as does the desire for social pleasures. It’s during this time that nearly everyone, whatever their lasting proclivities will turn out to be, becomes interested in music and art. This is also a time of refinement in which many of the activities and articulations begun during the mercurial period of childhood receive more exacting attention. Those who started to engage in sports under the auspices of Mercury, lord of contest, seek to refine their performance under the auspices of Venus. It’s the same with many other pursuits and with the body in general, which in this period loses the androgynous quality of the previous age and begins filling out according to gender; with their bodies changing, girls and boys both seek to refine their appearance, each in their own manner.
The Sun takes over sometime around our 22nd birthday and signifies our life until around our 41st birthday. This is the period in which we most naturally turn towards the world with intention to find our purpose, our place to shine. Here, the ambit begins. Under this period, we develop our higher intelligence, our ability to see things clearly, make critical distinctions, and select our way. We learn about choice. It’s also a time in which we seek honour and distinction, or at least dream of doing so. It might be grand or it might be modest, but stepping forth like heroes we enter into adulthood in this age of the Sun, naturally seeking our place of recognition.
When Mars takes up responsibility for the period roughly between our 41st and 56th birthdays, the need to accomplish something in life and leave one’s mark becomes more pressing. This is naturally a time of challenge, effort, and hardship, a time of work and application, for the world rarely offers up the rewards we seek without some real effort, and sometimes even a fight. Ambition invokes enmity, accomplishment adversity. We must separate the wheat from the chaff and sever ties with whatever holds us back. But it is also a time when all that has gone before now translates into skill. This is not an age of abandonment, but of persistence and mastery.
After Mars, it is Jupiter’s time, marking the beginning of retirement. These are the august years. Learning to accept our diminishing physical stature and leave material ambition behind, we become more mature and orient ourselves increasingly towards both the appreciation and dispensation of wisdom. Some rise to prominence during this period, perhaps as judges or statesmen of various rank. Many become grandparents, offering their stabilising influence to the younger generations. Whether formally or informally, our judgement is sought, for this is in fact the role of this age: stabilisation.
Then, around the time of our 68th birthday, Saturn assumes signification for the remainder of our life. We deepen in wisdom (one hopes) and deteriorate steadily towards death (this part is sure). We become less flexible and drier in body, and sometimes also in spirit. With the fancies and ostentations of personal conceit no longer viable, time itself becomes an overwhelming presence, rejecting all but the essential. There is no appeal to this time, no later lord to promise relief. It is harsh, insisting on finality as the age unto death. The bony finger points in one direction only.
. . .
It occurs to me that a clearer way to understand these ages is to think of them in terms similar to the seven hermetic lots. According to Robert Schmidt, the key to understanding the lots is to think of Fortune and its derivative lots in terms of what befalls one, and of Spirit and its derivative lots in terms of what inspires one.[2] Both can signify various kinds of action, but in the case of the fortune lots those actions will be taken in response to the circumstances befalling one, while in the case of the spirit lots those actions will be self-motivated and thus generating of circumstance. The Lot of Eros, for example, shows how we’re motivated internally through desire, and the Lot of Victory similarly through hope. The Lot of Necessity, however, shows how our actions are motivated by the changing play of external constraints to which we must adapt, and the Lot of Courage by the adversities we encounter—be they personal or impersonal. The Lot of Nemesis
doesn’t link itself to action as readily, for it is heavier and limits action more bluntly than Necessity. Necessity leaves room for negotiation. It presents a changing maze. But Nemesis dampens action; it inhibits the impulse.[3]
Looking back, then, through the ages:
With the Moon naturally signifying the body and the nourishment of growth, what befalls us in the first age is birth, our body itself, and the nature and quality of its care. For the incarnating spirit this is the first and most fundamental moment of circumstantial encounter. What can an infant do to effect the shape of its reality? Very little. Its life is primarily determined by the circumstances in which it finds itself as a helpless body afloat in the care of others—fortune.
The second age is also dominated by fortune, the circumstantial, but modulated by Mercury. Starting with our fifth year, formation befalls us. We begin attending school. Our lives become scheduled. Language becomes a major focus. We learn to socialise. Certainly it is a time of learning, a mercurial activity, but this is an action stimulated in response to circumstance. It’s not like we choose what we learn. We are spoken to and expected to answer. We are put in school and expected to learn what is taught. We are subjected to various schedules and other activities to which we must adapt and develop appropriate response. And in the social milieu, we are subjected to the various personalities of our peers with whom we must learn to grapple, compete, and cooperate. This is the mercurial nature of fortune befalling us in this age. The quality of circumstantial constraint necessitates the development of Mercury’s attributes as the protagonistic spirit develops itself in adaptation.
The third age is the first to be dominated by individual spirit—the protagonist—though here it is modulated by Venus. It’s not that the press of circumstance suddenly recedes, nor that the presence of desire has remained until now unfelt. Having gone through the preceding stages, having by fortune’s grace now received a certain quality of body and expressive formation, spirit has sufficient faculty to afford itself a more proactive rather than merely reactive posture. For the first time, the question “what do I like?” rises to the fore as a fatefully relevant, actionable concern. While the decisions and actions flowing from it are not likely to be as momentous as those that will be taken in the next age, that of the Sun, still they have consequential bearing on the life, becoming factors of fate in a more pronounced way than in the previous two ages in which circumstance was the more defining factor. This is the age of eros.
The fourth age, beginning at 22 years old, is that of spirit itself, overseen by the Sun. Here, the protagonistic principle is most pronounced. Having in the age of eros explored the nature of its own likes and attractive desires, the protagonistic spirt now arrives upon the stage of action in its phase of young adult and assumes “the lead”. If in the previous age it was the question “what do I like?” that held the moment, the momentous question in this age is “what will I do?” And from the answers that are selected, tried and entertained, a particular path will be described through the delta of one’s fateful current. This age of spirit is an age of essay, of trial, attempt and endeavour.
The fifth age sees the press of circumstance return to the fore. The selection period is done. Beginning at 41 years of age, the path that was embarked upon during the age of spirit must now be seen through in this age demanding courage. There is no turning back. It must be won and defended. No hero’s journey is complete without the encounter of real adversity. In this sense, we might combine the previous age of spirit with this age of fortune modulated by Mars and think of them together as describing the ambit of but a single heroic epoch; one spanning 34 years, between our 22nd and 56th birthdays. In this second, Mars-ruled section of that epoch, the allotment of fortune attending our selections in the Sun-ruled period of spirit befalls us as adversity.
The sixth age is again a spirit age, but this time modulated by Jupiter. It is the age of victory. Were it not for the prospect of this age and its ability to engender hope, the endeavours set out upon in the age of spirit would never have been attempted, nor the difficulties in the age of courage seen through. Without the good expectation of victory, nothing daring is ever ventured. In this way, victory extends its affect back in time in the form of faith and optimism to earlier periods in the life. Arriving at this age, having ventured and persevered, one enjoys the fruit of their success—however bountiful or modest it may be—for they have “made it” around the ambit. It marks a time of wisdom and venerated opinion in which the protagonistic spirit seeks out respectful association, office, and the avenues of regard. The motivation for this is not simply vain, but generous and proud, desiring to participate in the stable trust and reputation of society.
The next age is the final age. It extends from the 68th birthday unto death—whenever that may be. Like the first, it is a fortune age, an age defined primarily by circumstance. But unlike the first, in which the circumstances of birth, body and nourishment occupy centre stage, this age of fortune is modulated by Saturn and presents us with the mirror opposite. Increasingly, by the steady press of time, the inescapable circumstances of bodily decay, impotence and death are what befall us. It is the age of limit. For some the circumstances of this age present themselves without delay, while for others the inevitable appears postponed–there may even be talk of escape… It matters not. In this age of nemesis, the account is balanced. You were born? You will die.
. . .
Perhaps the easiest and most immediate way to characterise these seven ages is to typify them as personages. Of course, in order to do this in a recognisable fashion we have to
imagine ourselves in a previous time, less complicated by the massive social projects that have so characterised the past century and rendered the traditional shape of our lives into an incomprehensible blur. If we imagine ourselves in the time of Shakespeare, for example, when trade guilds flourished and the halls of higher learning were relatively small affairs reserved for but a few, when most followed in the footsteps of their parents, perhaps in a trade, perhaps as farmers, some going into the military and others to the priesthood, then the following characterisations will seem more natural. The first age is that of the Baby, followed quickly by that of the Student, then comes the age of the Lover, then the Hero, the General, the Statesman, and finally the Senior. These are the seven stages of life as they would have been known to the inhabitants of the traditional world. Not just in Shakespeare’s time, but in the time
of the ancient Greeks as well. It’s only very recently that we’ve taken the electrified eggbeater of idealism to society and whipped into a foaming frenzy.
There is an interesting symmetry, it seems to me, connecting the ages occurring on either side of the Sun. It isn’t a symmetry of sameness, but of complementary relevance. Those in the age of Mars are particularly well suited, for example, to mentor those in the age of Venus. They are still engaged in their vocations, still applying their labour to the matters of the world. They are masters of their craft. (We might note that all three lots of techneh have Mars as the defining planet, connecting Mars to technical mastery.)[4] Who better than a master of craft to take on as apprentice an adolescent fumbling through their age of refinement?
The same symmetry occurs between the age of Mercury and the age of Jupiter. Just as with Venus and Mars, their domiciles are opposite and naturally complementary. A child is a sponge for knowledge, and an elder a fountain of wisdom. Childhood is inherently an unstable and unsettled time, filled with constant change, question, exploration and discovery. Just as it is natural that masters in their craft should engage young people who are seeking to refine their abilities, it is natural that children should find a source of stabilising guidance in those who have already run their ambit and settled upon a verdict. This is what grandparents provide their grandchildren. Imagine what is missing when the grandparents, or other such elder authority figures, are not present. The parents, usually in the Sun period, are in the middle of their “hero’s journey” and unable to provide this quality of resolved stability.
This symmetry plays out a bit differently between Saturn and the Moon, and it isn’t nearly as clear who is “helping” who. Compared to the rest, those in these two ages are closer to that mysterious doorway through which we enter and leave. It’s what they have in common far more than anything occurring more deeply within the temporary movie-like bubble of life. From opposite ends, they bookend life. Saturn is rigid and dry, the Moon moist and constantly changing. Saturn signifies the definition of limit, the Moon undefined potential. But both are cool and passive; the infant requires help for everything, and increasingly the senior too. Like the others, these two make a complementary pair. It’s as though they share an unspoken substance, a certain sameness of being despite their differences. Both are in radically liminal state. Like players on the bench, one just in, the other about to go out, neither are actively “in the game”. Whatever the case, it’s well known a baby in the arms of a senior benefits both.
I imagine these pairs ideally holding hands on the journey of life. Only the Sun stands alone—as indeed do we all when making the fateful decisions that shape the arc of our life. This isn’t to say that someone in their Sun period has no company or counsel, nor that those in the other periods make no fateful choices, only that the period of life signified by the Sun most typifies this heroic moment in life. All of us face the question, “what will I do with my life?” In real terms, this question is most often determined during the period of life overseen by the Sun. The periods to either side all refer to that decision: those prior, preparing; those later harvesting and disseminating. The period of Mars, coming directly after that of the Sun, signifies the labour of harvest. It takes real effort to gain the fruit of one’s decisions. In Jupiter’s period we abound with harvest. The work is done, the wine is ready; we rest, become jovial and pontificate. Then things slow down and
something more essential begins to emerge. Saturn oversees our reflections. What we hope to do, or would do differently, we can no longer do. Like rocky outcrops uncovered by erosion, our life as it is begins to emerge, the outcome of our choices exposed. What better company for this moment than an infant, reminding us how little we knew coming in, how far indeed we’ve travelled–and yet how not very far at all–and how it’s all really just about swings, ladders, and slides.
. . .
These are the archetypes, the generic templates. In order to then see how they will express and play out in a particular life, we can examine the placement and condition of the planets in the individual chart. There is the question of the planet’s compatibility with the sign it occupies, whether or not it is comfortable there. Is it dignified, peregrine or debilitated? Does it enjoy the stability of being received by the domicile lord, or is the host turned away, promising
instability? There is also the question of what kind of place it is in. Is it angular, succedent or cadent? Is it in a “good” or “bad” place? And, of course, there are aspects and configurations to consider. It may also be intriguing to consider if perhaps the configuration (or lack there of) between the various “hand-holding” pairs mentioned above sheds light on the presence and quality of such relationships within the life. For example, having Mercury and Jupiter in adjacent signs might show lack of regular contact with the grandparents, or similar such figures, during the childhood years. All of these together compose a general image of the time.
Footnotes: [1] Ptolemy, Tetrabiblos, 4,10. [2] Robert Schmidt, Translating Hellenistic Astrology into a Modern Idiom (workshop audio recording), Project Hindsight 2000. [3] The Spirit lots are: Spirit (Sun), Eros (Venus), and Victory (Jupiter); the Fortune lots are: Fortune (Moon), Necessity (Mercury), Courage (Mars), and
Nemesis (Saturn). [4] Daytime calculations for the three lots of techneh, from Paul of Alexandria, are: Asc = Venus - Mars; Asc = Moon - Mars; Asc = Sun - Mars.