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Neptune and the ArtistArt and magic are closely allied. The power to make something out of nothing, to create worlds from the elusive stuff of the imagination, is an act which – even to those who regularly engage upon it – partakes of a numinous element. The artist has always held a special and ambiguous role in myth and legend – as prophet, outlaw, mouthpiece for the gods, tool of daimonic forces, and victim of both human and divine retribution. The mystery of creative power is increased by the taint of theft, for the artist’s ability to make something out of nothing transforms him or her into a god, thus encroaching upon the jealously guarded preserve of heaven. Prometheus’ terrible fate is as fundamental to the myth of the artist as is his ennoblement as divine culture-bringer.
“Mythology credits the artist with two types of achievement – that he forms beings, and that he erects buildings that reach into the sky or that rival the dwellings of the gods in size and grandeur. Both of these activities infringe upon the perogative of the gods, both provoke punishment.”
~ Ernst Kris and Otto Kurz, “Legend, Myth and Magic in the Image of the Artist”
Many lengthy tomes have been written on the subject of the artist, and from every conceivable perspective – aesthetic, religious, sociological, psychological and political. Conflict continues unabated about the nature of art, what makes an artist, whether or not psychological illness or damage is necessary for creativity, whether or not the artist is “divinely” inspired, and whether the artist is generated by the times or whether the times are heralded, and even shaped, by the power of artistic vision. Equally mysterious is why art should possess such power. Jung suggests:
“The impact of an archetype, whether it takes the form of immediate experience or is expressed through the spoken word, stris us because it summons up a voice that is stronger than our own. Whoever speaks in primoridal images speaks with a thousand voices; he enthrals and overpowers, while at the same time he lifts the idea he is seeking to express out of the occasional and the transitory into the realm of the ever-enduring. He transmutes our personal destiny into the destiny of mankind, and evokes in us all those beneficent forces that ever and anon have enabled humanity to find a refuge from every peril and to outlive the longest night . . . That is the secret of great art, and of its effect upon us. The creative process, so far as we are able to follow it at all, consists in the unconsious activation of an archetypal image, and in elaborating and shaping this image into the finished work. By giving it shape, the artists translates it into the language of the present, and so makes it possible for us to find our way back to the deepest springs of life.”
~ C.G. Jung, Collected Works Vol. 15, ‘On the Relation of Analytical Psychology to Poetry’
One might expect the artist to merit gratitude for helping us to “find our way back.” Yet he or she is regularly mistrusted, vilified and sometimes even destroyed by the very collective which has been moved and inspired by the artistic vision. Perhaps this is because the “activation of an archetypal image” can generate discomfort or even emotional upheaval in the reader, viewer or listener; and such an inner awakening may be unwelcome to a consciousness that resists change. Perhaps artists themselves are also responsible for their own crucifixion, for such close proximity to the archetypal domain brings with it many psychological problems. As Salieri discovered in “Amadeus,” the artist, far from being a perfect vessel for divine inspiration, may feel, speak and act in antisocial, anarchic, and chaotic ways which threaten the established order. The zeitgeist which speaks through the artist is not always well-behaved. According to Thomas Mann:
“Art will never be moral or virtuous in any political sense: and progress will never be able to put its trust in art. It has a fundamental tendency to unreliability and treachery; its delight in the outrageously irrational, its predilection for the “barbarism” that begets beauty, are indestructible . . . An irrational force, but a powerful one; and mankind’s attachment to it proves that mankind is neither able nor willing to survive on rationalism alone.”
~ Thomas Mann, “Pro and Contra Wagner”
Art, it would seem is like Neptune: elusive, subversive, magical, and stubbornly resistant to being tamed.
Astrological interpretation generally accords Neptune some connection with the artist. Some astrologers even define it as the planet of creative imagination, thereby implying that only those with Neptune strong in the birth chart are able to be truly creative. This belief is easily challenged by a perusal of any collection of “notable nativities,” in which innumerable examples may be found of artists of every persuasion over the ages whose birth charts reflect the creative power of other planets. In fact any planet has its own creative contribution to make, and can reflect a particular form of artistic vision – just as any planet has its own form of spirituality. But a dominant Neptune in the birth horoscope reflects a special receptivity to certain feelings and images arising from the deeper and more universal levels of the psyche. These feelings and images are connected to the primary themes of fusion, redemption and return to the source. What then might Neptune’s actual role be in the creative process, and in the life of the artist? Can it be linked with any particular artistic medium or school of art? And can the unique creative abilities of Neptune be consciously encouraged to develop in constructive rather than destructive ways?
The Artist and the Unconscious
Fantasy is a creative activity which is essential to childhood, as the infant gradually leaves its psychic fusion with the mother and begins to function as an independent being. Fantasy serves a transitional purpose; it fills the dark void between the safety of the maternal embrace and the lonely, frightening world of autonomous existence, by generating images and feelings which build a bridge between the two. What psychology calls the “transitional object” – the rattle, the night-light, the cuddly toy – becomes a little piece of mother when gilded with the stuff of fantasy, allowing the child to survive the dark night alone. Thus some of the original narcissistic sense of power and potency is retained, because fantasy transforms the terror and humiliation of helplessness and permits the possibility of closeness and separateness at the same time. The battle with the dragon and the glorious promise of the ‘hieros gamos,’ the sacred marriage which awaits the hero at the end of the quest, are mythic images which portray every infants struggle to achieve independence from the mother and relationship with her as a separate being. But fantasy may be curtailed in its development. The mother may be too dependent on her child’s constant attention, or may be so distant that the child experiences intolerable insecurity each time he or she tries to retreat into the inner world. Then the essential process of separation is never completed. Difficulties usually ensue later in life when the child, now adult, faces the experience of solitude. This is an issue frequently dealt with in psychoanalysis texts, and has great relevance to the inability of many individuals to grant themselves the time, space and privacy necessary to enter the imaginative realm. The terrible anxiety some people experience when attempting any creative work is directly linked to this dilemma.
Neptune’s problem is not the inability to fantasise, but the predilection to fantasise too much. Separation is a longer and more painful process for the Neptune-dominated child. The transitional world between the infant and the mother becomes the transitional world between the adult and the promise of redemption. This may be one aspect of Neptune’s creative urge; fantasy becomes a means of achieving fusion with the divine source. But it may also provide a means of avoiding the autonomous existence. The faculty of fantasy, rather than serving as a source of creative images and ideas, becomes an escape from reality. Often the Neptunian cannot bring his or her fantasies to birth in form because the fantasy world remains a surrogate womb, static rather than flowing, a place of painless oblivion rather than a bridge between human and divine. To anchor Neptune’s world in form means relinquishing the primary narcissism which provides the infant with its sense of godlike omnipotence. Even if the bridge is built, and the image incarnated, the Neptunian artist may be unable to detach himself or herself sufficiently to see the work in perspective; then one remains the unappreciated genius whose creative products, however crude or flawed, are exempt from the need for refinement or translation into a language others can understand. Winnicott, in describing the case of a patient addicted to unproductive fantasy, states:
“As soon as this patient began to put something into practice, such as to paint . . . she found the limitations that made her dissatisfied because she had to let go of the omnipotence that she retained in the fantasying.”
~ D.W. Winnicott, “Playing and Reality”
A strong Neptune in the birth chart is not, as some astrologers assume, an infallible signature of creative ability. Too often it is a signature of addiction to fantasy, which – like all addictions – reflects a deep reluctance to enter Saturn’s earthly domain. The creative impulse is present in every child. If there are any astrological significators for the fundamental urge, they are the Sun and Saturn, because the embodying of the stuff of fantasy is a function of the developing ego-consciousness. Incarnating fantasy in material form is the means by which the individual renders permanent the bridge between non-being and a defined identity.
A strong Neptune provides access to archetypal images and feelings which belong in the mythology of Paradise. The Neptunian’s fantasy world, when embodied in artistic forms, has the power to strike deep chords of universal human suffering, loneliness, and longing for eternal bliss. But the creative impulse – the urge to incarnate the fantasy world – is an act of affirming life. Without this, Neptune’s retreat into fantasy is an act of repudiating life. Far from generating the creative impulse, it may fuel a desire to dwell within the womb of the Paradise Garden, rather than risk the loneliness and mortality that wait outside the gates. This is the dilemma of the Neptunian artist, who often experiences a profound inner conflict between wishing to be born and wishing to be unborn. This is especially pronounced in those artists who have Sun-Neptune and Saturn-Neptune contacts – particularly the hard aspects – because each creative act contributes to the process of separation from the source. When Neptune is linked to these two planets, the artist must incarnate his or her fantasies; yet every effort is a step away from the wellspring of life, and is therefore a kind of death.
Planets which aspect the Sun in the natal chart bring their images and qualities to our perception of who we are and what makes our lives meaningful. Because the Sun symbolises the individual’s sense of personal identity, its aspects – even more than its sign – reflect attributes and archetypal perceptions which are experienced as “who I am” and “what my purpose is.” The Sun is thus a most important factor in terms of the individual’s vocation (as distinguished from his or her job, which may not be the same thing), for we find fulfillment in pursuits which can offer us the maximum opportunity to express these inner feelings of identity and purpose. The predominance of Sun-Neptune aspects in some of the individuals mentioned in earlier chapters, whom I have referred to as “Neptunian,” is understandable in this context. The longing for redemption combines with the sense of individual identity to produce a person who makes a vocation out of Neptune. He or she needs to find outlets which both offer a redemptive message to others (such as politics, the arts, or the “caring” professions), and provide a sense of personal redemption through merging with something greater than oneself.
With Neptune-Saturn, however, it is not a case of wanting to be a musician, a poet, a healer or a political philosopher. It is a case of having to be, in order to cope with the constant internal conflict between the structures and limits of earthly life and the chaotic flood that waits beyond Saturn’s boundaries. Those with Saturn strongly aspecting an outer planet are perpetually buffeted by collective psychic forces which they must find some way of dealing with. Saturn-Neptune is an aspect which is often associated with depression, feelings of fear and foreboding, phobias, and addictions of one kind or another. (See Robert Pelletier, “Planets in Aspect,” and Reinhold Ebertin, “The Combination of Stellar Influences”) This is the dark face of the aspect. In many cases the individual identifies with Saturn’s values, experiences Neptune’s world as a terrible threat, and erects massive defences against it. What is feared inside may then be projected outside, generating the characteristic free-floating anxiety and sense of being undermined by invisible forces (communists, New Age Travellers, contagious diseases) which so often accompany this combination of planets in the birth chart. Certain physical and psychosomatic illnesses are also linked with this combination, particularly those which are lingering, difficult to diagnose, and render the individual helpless – the body’s way of expresing a conflict which the individual experiences as insoluble or is unconscious of in the first place. Saturn, rather than Neptune, may also become the projected enemy, if the individual identifies with Neptune’s world. Tony Benn, the Labour MP, is an excellent example of this; the natal Sun is trine Neptune, forming the basis of his conscious political values, while Saturn, which squares both Neptune and the Moon, is projected outward and returns to meet him as the heartless and oppressive forces of class and capitalism. There is just as much anxiety and proneness to depression present in such a case. Many of the artists discussed later followed this more anarchic path, aligning themselves with romantic socialism and perceiving any symbol of authority –social, religious, political, or artistic – as the enemy.
So much for the dark side. Some elements of fearfulness and depression are likely to be present even with the benign aspects, and even if the individual has found productive ways of working with the inevitable and archetypal conflict between the needs of Saturn (for structure, stability, permanence, grounding in form, and self-sufficiency) and the needs of Neptune (for ecstasy, merging, dissolution, redemption, and return to the source). But for very good reasons Saturn-Neptune is also known as the “artist’s aspect” because the apparently mutually exclusive worlds of physical form and boundless imagination can meet, albeit imperfectly, in the artist’s creation. It is the only sphere of human endeavour where fantasy and reality can speak to each other without amputating vital elements of both. Saturn-Neptune may also gravitate toward politics or the more mystical side of the helping professions. These may provide a workable balance. But the political arena is too fraught with envy, greed and frustration to accommodate the lost Paradise of Neptune, and the world of spiritual healing is too fraught with physical pain, disease and death. In these spheres Neptune may suffer too much, leading to bitter disillusionment. In art, Neptune has to tolerate imperfection; but it does not have to give up eternity.
Does this mean that every person with a Saturn-Neptune contact ought to be an artist? Obviously not; some people simply do not possess artistic talent, and some are more strongly drawn by other, equally important pursuits in life. Yet those with Saturn-Neptune will, sooner or later, need to come to terms with the gap between the world of vision and the world of form, for neither will ever leave them alone. Vehicles other than what is conventionally considered artistic may in fact be equally considered art. Astrology is, after all, more of an art than a science, and many astrologers find that the “eternal realities” which astrological symbolism describes, contained within the orderly patterns of the horoscope, possess the same urgency, magic and meaning that music did for Mozart. Depth psychology is also more of an art than a science; and the domain of dreams, active imagination, and the chaos of the unconcious psyche, held within the structured container of the therapeutic process, can also provide a meeting ground for the two ancient enemies. To work constructively with Saturn-Neptune, we may need to reassess what we call art. If we can recognise as art any field of endeavour which requires the same dedication, skill, and imagination that music and painting, poetry and drama do, then yes: every person with Saturn-Neptune needs, somewhere in life, to be an artist.
It is not surprising that many of the artists discussed below have Saturn-Neptune contacts in the birth chart. Often this aspect accompanies Sun-Neptune, as well as Moon-Neptune or Ascendant-Neptune contacts. Saturn-Neptune is as important in shaping these artists’ direction in life as Sun-Neptune, and perhaps even more so, because when Saturn is involved there is a sense of urgency and personal suffering born out of conflict – even with the trine and sextile – which demands some kind of resolution. It may be Saturn’s aspects, more than the Sun’s, which ultimately describe the spheres where we can develop our greatest gifts, and – in the case of the outer planets – where we are most closely attuned to the currents of our times. With Saturn-Neptune, Neptune’s oceanic world, which is both a source of life and a place of death, must be incarnated in the individual’s life.
Erich Neumann offers a psychological interpretation of the artist which takes us directly into Neptune’s waters. Using Leonardo da Vinci as an example, he suggests that the artist is, by inherent character, particularly allied with the archetype of the Great Mother, and its therefore more attuned to the life of the collective unconscious – with all the attendant psychological difficulties involving personal boundaries and sexual identity. In this view, childhood experiences of wounding are not responsible for generating creative talent, any more than they “cause” serious psychological problems; rather, an inherently open door to the unconscious psyche increases the probability of childhood wounding, and no individual who has one foot in the archetypal doman is likely to escape psychological problems adjusting to the physical body and the demands of everyday reality. In describing Leonardo, Neumann states:
“He was always closer to the infinite than to the finite, and in a mysterious, symbolic way his life was lived in the myth of the Great Goddess. For him the figure of the Spirit Father, of the great demiurge and fecundating wind god, remained secondary to the Great Goddess, who had chosen the child in the cradle and showered him with her gifts, who spread her spirit wings over his life as she spread them over the world. For Leonardo the yearning to return to her, his source and home, was the yearning not only of his own life, but of the life of the whole world.”
~ E. Neumann, “Art and The Creative Unconscious”
He then quotes Leonardo himself:
“Behold, the hope and the desire of going back to one’s country and of returning to the primal state of chaos is like that of the moth to the light, and of the man who with perpetual longing looks forward with joy to each new spring and to each new summer, and to the new months and the new years, deeming that the things he looks for are too slow in coming; and he does not preceive that he is longing for his own destruction. But this longing is in its quintessence the spirit of the elements, which finding itself imprisoned as the soul within the human body is ever longing to return to its sender . . . “
Neumann does not stipulate whether his thesis applies to the female artist. Nor does he acknowledge that there are other archetypal dominants within the collective psyche besides the maternal one. The equation of collective unconscious with Great Mother seems to be derived from the work of Jung, for whom the unconscious possessed the numinous qualities of an oceanic deity. But Jung’s interpretation of reality was coloured, as everyone’s is, by those planets strongly aspecting the natal Sun. Because it is through the Sun that we derive a sense of personal meaning in life, we experience the planets closely related to the sun in the birth chart as infused with purpose and life-giving power, and – consciously or unconsciously – these planets shape our perception of the divine. This is the deeper meaning of the word “vocation,” which comes from the Latin vocare, to call. It is, in essence, the call of God. The Sun in Jung’s horoscope is in exact square to Neptune.
In many cases Neumann’s psychological protrait of the artist is accurate. But it is limed to those artists who draw chiefly on Neptune’s waters for their source of inspiration and imagery. Generalisations are not always helpful, but it is possible that this kind of artistic vision is more easily expressed through music. Leonardo has no Sun-Neptune or Saturn-Neptune contact; the planets forming aspects to his Sun are Jupiter (by sextile), Saturn (by opposition), and Pluto (by square). Neptune is certainly not obscure in this birth chart; Mercury opposes Neptune and is placed on the Saturn/Neptune midpoint. Mars is sesquiquadrate Neptune, Jupiter is quincunx Neptune and Venus trines it, and the Moon and the chart ruler, Jupiter, are in Pisces. On the emotional level, Leonardo was clearly Neptune’s child. His work, however, does not speak to us of redemption. But the frequency of Sun-Neptune and Saturn-Neptune contacts amongst composers who, as Neumann puts it, were “closer to the infinite than the finite,” is striking as we shall see later on. The other two outer planets also figure prominently in the charts of artists, but primarily amongst writers and painters. That a writer, no less than a scientist, may be moved by the Uranian rather than the Neptunian spirit is demonstrated by figures such as W.B. Yeats (Sun conjunct Uranus), Lewis Carroll (Sun conjunct Uranus), Jean Cocteau (Sun square Uranus), Katherine Mansfield (Sun trine Uranus) and Charles Dickens (Sun square Uranus). Pluto, too, can inspire great poets such as Goethe (Sun square Pluto) and Milton (Sun trine Pluto). The distinctive imagery and archetypal themes of Pluto are unmistakable in the chief artistic creations of these two writers: Faust and Lucifer. Some artists, such as Henri Matisse (Sun square Neptune, Sun opposite Uranus, Sun trine Pluto) appear to be inspired by all three outer planets. Although there are exceptions, such as Ernest Hemingway (whose only solar aspect is a square to Jupiter) and Guy de Maupassant (whose only solar aspect is a trine to Saturn), all three outer planets appear over and over again in relation to the Sun in the charts of great artists of every persuasion.
It would seem that these outer planet contacts are the driving force behind a great number of artists whose works exercise influence or attract acclaim beyond their own cultures and epochs. The dominance of Uranus, Neptune and Pluto in the domain of the artist is not surprising if we understand the outer planets to reflect broad movements within the collective psyche rather than individual values rooted in personal experience. In this sense Neumann’s case is proven: the artist is indeed the mouthpiece for the collective psyche. We cannot, however, equate the presence or degree of artistic talent with outer planet activity in the birth chart. Just as all squares may be rectangles while not all rectangles are squares, artists with powerful outer planet aspects to the natal Sun may possess a universal vision rather than a perspective circumscribed by their cultural canon; but not everyone with a powerful outer planet aspecting the Sun is an artist. Many, in fact, are not. We are no closer to understanding the astrological signature of the artist’s gift. Although many efforts have been made within astrological circles to identify this signature, ranging from Sabian symbols to 5th harmonic charts, I have never been impressed by the results. I remain convinced that artistic talent, like intelligence, is the mysterious property of that which incarnates and expresses itself through the time-bound and earthbound medium of an individual personality and an individual birth chart. Factors such as heredity, environment, and individual choice may also play their part in nourishing or stiflling an artistic gift. We can only deduce that, when artistic vision is present along with the capacity to ground it in form, a dominant Neptune in the birth chart (especially if it is related to the Sun or Saturn) may point the way toward the special archetypal perspective most likely to colour the themes of the artist’s work – as Pluto so obviously does in the works of Goethe and Milton.
In Neumann’s view the artist “expresses and gives form” to the presiding zeitgeist of the epoch. He or she may follow a given cultural canon and produce works which embody the conscious values of a particular society or social class. In this case the work may be considered great, not only in the artist’s own time but in subsequent epochs; but it is not likely to be prophetic or revolutionary. Or he or she might rebel against the cultural canon, driven by unconscious forces which are both personal and collective, bringing to birth a vision which directly challenges and may even transform the religious, political, artistic, or social status quo. This is especially the case when the Sun or Saturn contacts an outer planet in the birth chart. When seen within the context of his or her own era, such an artist may not be judged as “great,” and may appear subversive. Works may be banned or burned. When viewed from what Neumann calls “an enhanced consciousness,” the work may be rediscovered and reevaluated by future generations who are able to recognise its importance. The timeless qualities of many great works of art depend, in part, upon this enhanced consciousness, which extends beyond the cultural canon of the epoch. It also depends upon the enhanced consciousness of the artist who finds inspiration in the archetypal, rather than the temporal, realm.
Neptune is clearly the moving spirit in the work of many artists. Reading the poetry or viewing the paintings of William Blake, who had the Sun trine Neptune and Saturn square Neptune, is not a bad introduction to the planet’s mysterious domain; nor is listening to the music of Chopin, who had the Sun, Venus and Pluto in Pisces square Neptune, and Saturn conjunct Neptune. We can expect Neptunian themes, feelings and imagery to appear regularly in the creative products of those artists whose birth charts reflect such aspects. The planet may also preside over a major cultural flowering, as it seems to have done during the Romantic Movement of the 19th century. In this case we may expect Neptune to figure prominently in the charts of those artists who initiated and shaped the movement; and we may also expect Neptune’s ineffible world to provide the main focus of the movement’s artistic philosophy as well as its creations. From such explorations we can learn a great deal about the inner world of the individual in whose birth chart Neptune is strong. We can also learn about those great Neptunian collective currents in history which have shaped our own individual lives.
Thoughts??
Lindaland
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