Mars and Venus
I've been stuck recently on the dynamics of planetary pairings. Specifically, I've been caught up in the exercise of comparing the essences and significations of two contrasting planets with the goal of carving a deeper scope of reference for each through understanding their opposite. Trying to find answers in negative space is a form of learning I find extremely useful- I think the archetypal and algebraic language of astrology lends itself especially well to that form of learning being that astrology itself is a system of relationships. The most comprehensive, easiest to grasp, and arguably most central relationship in astrology is the one of "opposition"- planets are diurnal or nocturnal, malefic or benefic, hot or cold, moist or dry; every zodiacal sign is one side of a two-sided axis, etc (of course, there are exceptions: Mercury's status as the ever-elusive third thing is critical to its significations and the role it plays in the planetary pantheon).
To honor the upcoming shifting of the eclipse axis into the signs of Aries and Libra, I wanted to peer a little more deeply into what we can learn from the harmony and dissent of the resident malefic and benefic of the nocturnal sect: Mars and Venus.
Mars, hot, dry, and malefic in nature, derives power from action. Mars is archetypally masculine in nature, his action being that of separation, comfortably tending toward the use of force. His ancient significations are incredibly violent and intense, and include "plunderings, screams, violence, the loss of property, banishment, exile, alienation from parents, lies, wandering" just to name a few (Valens, Anthologies, Book I). His is both the steady fire that burns at the core of the earth and the cataclysmic wildfire that reduces old growth on the surface to ash, beginning a cycle anew. Venus, warm, moist, and benefic, seeks pleasure and harmony- archetypally feminine in nature, she "indicates the mother and nurture...cheerfulness, friendship, companionship, marriages...beauty...craftsmanship or trade" non exhaustively (Valens, Anthologies, Book I). Hers are the dulcet tones of the peepers in the spring, scoring the changing colors of dusk in hopes of attracting a mate. The two planetary bodies actually share the signification of marriage, Mars also bringing forth "love affairs" (Valens) in ancient astrological texts. It wouldn't be a stretch to attribute this to Ares and Aphrodite's passionate affair behind the back of Aphrodite's husband, Hephaestus (the forge dweller who I've previously discussed in relation to the archetype of Mars).
In the tarot, the Venusian archetype is represented by the third major arcana: The Empress. Her Martian counterpart resides in the following card: The Emperor, arcanum number four. In common interpretations, The Empress and Emperor are mother and father of the major arcana- The Empress, abundant in her luxury and loving care, serves as an encouraging message of perfecting nurturance, while the Emperor signifies the inner authority, will-power, and initial burst of self-discipline required to carry a task through to completion. The Emperor, in these terms, can be understood as the Hephaestean side of Mars: the power in the steady wrist that hammers down the iron, the structural strength and simultaneous painful strain of force when building muscle memory. I have a particular affinity for the traditional Marseille illustrations of these archetypes, both of whom are shown seated on their thrones, the forward-facing Empress holding her scepter above the seat of her body and tilted slightly to her left. The scepter has a small green leaf growing out of the bottom. Her right arm cradles a golden eagle in a light blue womb. The Emperor is shown seated on his throne in three-quarter profile, his legs crossed one over the other resembling the number 4 (a motif that follows the arcana through to their completion). In his right hand is a nearly identical scepter (or identical, depending on the restoration you look at), pointed straight up toward the sky. He rests upon the same golden eagle as his counterpart, as if waiting for it to hatch.
Placed sequentially next to one another, the two cards appear to be having a conversation wherein the Emperor is deferring to the Empress- their two natures are constantly in conversation, bonded in their need for one another which mythologically presents itself as lust. In his book, "The Way of Tarot" which I find to be an indispensable resource on working with the cards, Alejandro Jodorowsky assigns sexes to each of the eagles pictured in the scenes: "We shall see when studying Arcanum III that the Empress's eagle is male, whereas that of the Emperor is female. The Empress carries an element of masculinity within...this indicates that at the heart of the greatest femininity is a (masculine) core. This is the Yang point inside of the Tao Yin, just like a (feminine) core can be found at the heart of the greatest masculinity." The pull quotes are messy in terms of sex versus gender, which I attribute to the fact that it was not only translated from Spanish but also written by a man in his 70s at the time, but overall it's clear what he's saying, and what he's saying is poignant: that the two archetypal elements are inseparable and invaluable to one another. He also attributes something critical to the Empress which I feel typical modern ideas of Venusian energy, whether they be in terms of the Empress or in terms of Venus herself, lack. Jodorowsky imbues his Empress with the ability to channel raw sexual and creative energy, her archetypally receptive nature shifting from passivity into a lightning rod for that inexplicable fire of soul which illuminates each of us. Jodorowsky's Empress partakes in a gleeful sexual discovery, the "rebirth of an energy long thought vanished." This read paints Venus's womb into an electric hearth of self-actualization. Jodorowsky's Emperor is just as brutally structural and willful as other traditional reads, as the voice Jodorowsky gives him proclaims: "I am your inner warrior, the one who sees your weakness and does not weaken." Importantly, the Emperor brings us the dignified side of Mars who knows how to locate his own personal, directed will within the greater structure of cosmic occurence. He also points out that the space between the Emperor's legs forms a white square, calling to mind an uncanny parallel of the astrological aspect doctrine: the 90 degree square aspect in a chart being the configuration most commonly associated with the tense, divisive action of Mars. Though, like the Martian Emperor would tell us, hard angles and tension are critical to the integrity of any structure.
Another angle on the Mars-Venus relationship comes from my ongoing inquiry into alchemy, an art whose language so heavily centers fire and heat in its varying degrees. Heat (fire or friction) is central to an overwhelming host of alchemical processes, and in order for the heat of fire to be tamed and directed properly, it has to be contained in the right physical vessel (note: this Venus/Mars metaphor may feel a bit more comfortable for those of us whose lived experiences may lead us to be critical of traditional esoteric conflation of activity, passivity, gender and sex/genitalia. Read: we are trans). In "Alchemical Psychology," James Hillman, notably an Aries, states that "Alchemy starts in desire, and desire needs direction." When we get into the weeds of this statement as a metaphor for Venus and Mars, we might begin to further unravel inner dichotomies hidden respectively within these two planetary archetypes: Venus can be read as desire, and Mars as direction, but Mars can also be read as the red hot flame and Venus as the vessel that captures it, thus giving it a point of focus. Harkening back to The Empress and The Emperor, we see that both of these figures contain raw, creative impulse. If we think of the two in terms of alchemy, each needs the other in order to properly bring about their goal of transformation. Being that these two planets have ties in with crafts and makers, in this context we can also posit art as a creative process that mirrors the work of alchemy: Mars being the ignition of a creative fire, whether the flint is sublimated anger, heartbreak (a separation!), or simply a discordance between an emotion and the ability to express it. Venus being the product, the mixing of the separate colors to create something ever more beautiful, the transformation of inner war into a new musical language inspiring some sort of emotional harmony for the ears it falls upon (even if the sounds are frictive, violent and ugly). The heat of a libidinous desire, the flickering flame of creative lust, tends to bend toward a vessel of beauty.
Through Mars and Venus, we see the quintessence not only of opposites attracting, but opposing constitutional natures needing one another to survive. The two, fire and beauty, evoke thoughts of springtime- thoughts of how a seed cannot germinate in cold soil, and how the seedling that emerges uses force to break through the surface and reach the light of day. An egg needs warmth to incubate, and when the organism growing inside of it emerges, it needs brute force to crack the hard shell. The child comes out of the warm waters of the mother's (Venus) womb screaming (Mars) and the first action it experiences is one of severance - the cutting of the cord. Another instance where the actions of these two archetypes are intimately joined: the child must be literally separated from the body of the parent in order to grow and be nurtured. In our relationships, we must individuate, separating our own nature from the natures of those closest to us, so that we don't fall into Venus's mirror like a drowned Narcissus. We must know when to remove ourselves, to separate from the group, to differentiate. We must learn when to draw boundaries, when to use varying degrees of heat and force, and when conflict restores harmony.