占星術と図像学について


私は主に中国と日本(宿曜道)の資料を研究していますが、占星術をちゃんと理解するには、インドとイランの背景もよく調べる必要があります。ホロスコープ占星術が西ヨーロッパにも伝えられたため、たまにラテン語の文献と比較する価値も高いです。

チベット語の文献の場合、『Kālacakra』以外に今まであまり扱っていないですが、その分野も重要でしょう。チベット文化圏の占星術の詳細をよく説明してくれる学者が来れば、幸いです。チベットの資料を漢文の占星術と比較してみれば、面白いでしょう。

敦煌文献において漢文の占星術の文書が残っているのです。例えば、「Pelliot chinois 4071」はホロスコープの解説です。その内容を分析してホロスコープの図を想像できました。

British Museum. International Dunhuang Project. Pelliot chinois 4071.





日本でもホロスコープの図が残っています。「1113年」の宿曜勘文というようなものです。


「1113年」の宿曜勘文


このような資料で唐朝中国と平安時代の日本の占星術を想像し、その文化と技術を説明できると思います。チベットでも似ている占星術がありますが、学術的に説明している学者がいるかどうかは見ていません。今もインドのDharamshalaに行くと、チベット人の占い師に会えます。ネパールもそういうラマに会ったことがあります。

その点で、Berthe Jensen先生が紹介してくれたチベットの資料をシェアしたいです。これはLeiden大学の図書館のものです。




時代とかの詳細は、私は全く分かりませんが、十二星座の図像に興味があります。



唐代中国の占星術もおひつじ座を「白羊宮」と呼ぶのです。やぎ座を「磨羯宮」と呼ばれます。それは梵語の「Makara」(もともとイルカであった可能性)です。上の図では竜に見える獣であり、実際には中国風の図像です。日本でも非常に似ている図像を指摘できます。例えば、『仏像図彙』(1690年)の「十二宮 」における「磨羯宮」。




上のチベットのイメージだけでチベット人はインドではなく中国の図像を意識して利用していたと解釈できるのではないかと思います。このため、占星術の歴史を調べる時、同時に図像学にもよく注意を払うべきだと思います。

このような方法で、もともとイラン文化圏まで遡ることができる「中国風」の図像を発見しました。例えば、日本密教の「現図曼荼羅」における土星(土曜)と天秤宮をアラビア語の写本と比較すると、非常に似ていると言わなければなりません。

天秤宮 
左:『Kitāb al-Bulhān 』(十四世紀) 右:『現図曼荼羅』

天秤ばかりを持っている老人は土曜です。なぜかというと、てんびん座は土星のエグザルテーションからです。『現図曼荼羅』における土曜も老人です。



この姿は実際にはインド系ではなくイラン系です。以下のイメージを見るだけでそれを更にギリシャ系エジプトの文化圏のクロノスという神まで遡ることができます。





真言宗の『現図曼荼羅』は、もともと中国の『胎蔵曼荼羅』から作られたものです。後者を日本に伝えた時、同時に流行っている占星術の図像が曼荼羅に入り込んでしまったのではないかと考えられます。なぜならば、『胎蔵曼荼羅』のインド系の図像を表している『胎蔵図像』と『胎蔵旧図像様』(平安時代)における「土星」が全く違う姿だからです。



『胎蔵図像』の土星


面白いことに日本の美術史における土星は普通に老人の姿です。例えば、以下の絵(ニューヨークのMet博物館)。


New York Met. 1975.268.15.
 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/45617.


この土星の杖の先端は鎌(かま)のような形です。ギリシャのクロノスも同じように鎌を持ち、小麦を収穫する神です。

結論として占星術の歴史を研究する時、美術史は不可欠な分野であると言わなければなりません。

Neoplatonic Cosmology and Astral Magic


Over the last two years or so I have taken an amateur interest in the writings of Plato and the later Neoplatonic thinkers, especially Iamblichus. At the same time, my research into the history of astrology has included readings of pre-modern texts on astral magic. One thing I have noticed is that the cosmology of astral magic during the medieval period clearly stems in large part from an earlier Platonic worldview, although of course there are other elements in the mix that reflect Ptolemaic and Aristotelian concepts. Understanding this cosmology is necessary to comprehend the theoretical metaphysical framework that underlies the efficacy of astral magic. My aim here is to provide a rough outline of Neoplatonic cosmology and how it relates to the practice of medieval astral magic. This is merely a digestion of a number of materials that I have studied over the years, as well as my own notes on the subject, so I would welcome any corrections or comments.

The cosmology at hand is a type of monism, i.e., a metaphysical framework that attributes existence to a single source. The process of Creation is undertaken in the Platonic universe by the Demiurge, who is the figurative crafter of our world. As explained in Plato’s creation myth, titled Timaeus, the Demiurge establishes time through the creation of the movements of the Sun and Moon. He is responsible for the crafting of the physical world and the life that inhabits it.

The Timaeus was the foundational work from which later Platonic thinkers, especially Plotinus during the third century CE, developed what we might call the Neoplatonic cosmology. The cosmos in said cosmology emerges as a continual emanative process, originating from what is called The One (to Hen), which is the first principle of reality. From this comes the divine Intellect, in which the forms (eidos) described by Plato are placed. This leads to the emanation of the Soul (psyche), which is the initial activation of the forms. This in turn leads to an expression of the Body, which is the material world. At this point in Creation, the emergence of a plurality of souls occurs from the earlier cosmic Soul. This process is equated to a single beam of light breaking down into multiple rays when it passes through a prism.

Engraving by C. Lasinio after Raphael, 1516.
Wellcome Collection.
There are gods that exist at the level of hypercosmic reality, although they operate outside time and space, since they are immaterial and not subject to movement as we are within material reality. One Neoplatonic aim is to achieve ascension into this state, which leads to liberation from suffering (indeed, the parallels with Buddhism have been noted many times in modern scholarship). The expression of these divinities extends downward into materiality.

At the height of the material cosmos are the archons, who are rulers of everything below them. These deities are equated to the planets. Until the adoption of a heliocentric worldview during the Renaissance, much of the world conceived of the cosmos from a geocentric perspective, in which the Earth is stationary while the seven planets (including the Sun and Moon) revolve around it. The planets were said to occupy concentric spheres surrounding the Earth, the ordering of which is traditionally called Chaldean (another name for Babylonian), which reflects the distance of the planets from the Earth from farthest to nearest: Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Sol (Sun), Venus, Mercury, and Luna (Moon).

Although the planets in Greek were named after the Hellenic gods (Zeus, Ares, etc.), this process of denomination was just a way of assigning familiar names to the planetary deities of Mesopotamian religion. The Zeus of this astral religion is modeled after the Mesopotamian Marduk, hence this Zeus differs qualitatively from the Homeric Zeus in many ways. Zeus in the astral religion plays the role of judge, rather than being the lusty figure from Greek myths. That being said, the Hellenistic world blended together motifs from Greek, Egyptian, and Mesopotamian sources. There was a deep process of amalgamating divinities from multiple cultures.

The planets as archons function as the intermediaries between the hypercosmic and material realities. They are the divine intelligences that design and govern our world, but they are akin to rulers who remain distant from their subjects. They are not directly involved in the labor of Creation. Such duties are assigned to their underlings, who in Neoplatonic writings comprise three classes of deities: angels, heroes, and daimons. The latter under Christian influence became what we know as demons, i.e., purely evil beings under the direction of Satan, but originally daimons were the functional intermediaries between humanity and gods, akin to what we might think of as spirits in modern terms.

Again, we can turn to Plato for an explanation of the daimons. There is a dialogue in his Symposium in which the priestess Diotima explains to Socrates the nature of Love, which is a daimon. The dialogue reads as follows (translation by Benjamin Jowett):

'What then is Love?' I asked; 'Is he mortal?' 'No.' 'What then?' 'As in the former instance, he is neither mortal nor immortal, but in a mean between the two.' 'What is he, Diotima?' 'He is a great spirit (daimon), and like all spirits he is intermediate between the divine and the mortal.' 'And what,' I said, 'is his power?' 'He interprets,' she replied, 'between gods and men, conveying and taking across to the gods the prayers and sacrifices of men, and to men the commands and replies of the gods; he is the mediator who spans the chasm which divides them, and therefore in him all is bound together, and through him the arts of the prophet and the priest, their sacrifices and mysteries and charms, and all prophecy and incantation, find their way. For God mingles not with man; but through Love all the intercourse and converse of God with man, whether awake or asleep, is carried on. The wisdom which understands this is spiritual; all other wisdom, such as that of arts and handicrafts, is mean and vulgar. Now these spirits or intermediate powers are many and diverse, and one of them is Love.

Diotima remarks that all prophecy and sorcery are the workings of daimons, a concept that generally defined the mechanics of magic until the nineteenth century when other ideas were proposed and widely embraced.

In the Platonic worldview, phenomena within material reality are supervised, influenced, shaped, and/or directed by daimons. The classes of divine beings, however, multiplied in later centuries. Daimons in classical Neoplatonic cosmology function as the laborers or custodians under specific divine hierarchies. They carry out the micro-management necessary for Creation to operate (this includes affecting emotional states of beings). They are also the enforcers of fate, so to speak, which is why the eleventh house in horoscopy was called the “good daimon”.

Daimons each fall under a hierarchy that stretches up to one of the archons. All activities in the sublunar world (i.e., Earth) are under the direction or co-direction of these hierarchies. The angels and heroes also have their roles in serving their divine hierarchies. Angels and archangels form a class above that of the daimons. This angelic class generally does not descend into generation (our material world), but the daimons do.

Some thinkers, such as Plotinus, believed that one ought to escape the influence of daimons in order to transcend fate and ascend to a permanently divine state beyond the material world. Others, such as Iamblichus, sought to proactively work with them and modify reality according to one's will, which is connected to the magical practice of theurgy, a ritual framework designed to bring about ascension of the person into the higher realms.

The issue with daimons is that they compel the cosmic design to continue unfolding, which is called generation, i.e., the natural world in which we find ourselves with all its disorder and suffering. Animal instinct, for instance, is under the daimonic domain. Animals and one half of humans (according to Iamblichus) are governed by instinct. This instinct is embedded in beings by design and reflects a principle of a higher hypercosmic design (that is to say, everything in material reality is an expression of the divine forms). The faculty of reason, which human nature possesses as its other half, is divine, and so it is through reason that one can become a fully autonomous being, rather than simply obeying that which has been fated, which is characterized by the natural passions we experience, as well as normal mortal life.

How does this relate to astral magic?

Moving forward to the medieval period, since we do not have treatises on astral magic from Antiquity, we see mature treatises on astral magic, such as the Ghāyat al-Ḥakīm from around the tenth century. This work in Arabic was translated into Spanish between 1256 and 1258 at the court of Alfonso the Wise (1221–1284), and sometime shortly thereafter a Latin translation of the Spanish was produced.

Although astral magic can at times be explained in materialist terms, for instance the theory of planetary rays, in general the efficacy of talismanic magic and petitions assumes some kind of negotiation or interaction with spirits or gods. The practice of astral magic works within this worldview in an attempt to negotiate fate through the employment of petitions directed to the planets or the production of talismans.

In the case of the former, the magician identifies their aim and determines the planetary deity under whose domain the matter at hand falls. Love would be Venusian. Military matters would be Martian. Longevity would be Saturnian. The magician then gathers to himself or herself the appropriate ingredients necessary for the ritual.

The substances prescribed in spells directed at specific planets in the Picatrix and other works sometimes have identifiable sources in Antiquity. For example, in the Greco-Egyptian papyri, we see some documents that assign specific metals and stones to each of the planets (Betz PGM CX 1–12): the Sun is associated with gold, the Moon with silver, Saturn with obsidian, etc. Similarly, PGM XIII. 17–22 associates the planets with different types of incense. Such associations between planets and substances clearly started quite early.

In later “mature astral magic” that we see attested only from the early medieval period in languages such as Arabic and Syriac (the Latin translations come later in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries), all organic and inorganic substances and creatures are said to be ruled by one or sometimes two of the planets. This is a totalizing system that assigns planetary rulers to everything in the physical world. This extends even into diseases and emotional states.

How are the substances in offerings used? Suffumigation (burning) is the preferred method of activating material offerings in the Picatrix, although in East Asia some fragments of Iranian astral magic reveal spells that require an altar to be set up, atop which one places an image of the planetary deity, plus offerings and incense appropriate to them. The latter is more of a basic cult offering, whereas the former requires a much more complex ritual framework, recipe, and most importantly exact timing that considers planetary configurations (an astrological election).

Determining an election requires advanced knowledge of horoscopy, since once has to calculate the positions of the planets relative to the constantly mobile zodiac signs. In fact, even determining planetary hours requires careful calculation, since these are what we call seasonal hours. The Greeks divided the day into twenty-four hṓra or hours, but these differ from the modern convention of each hour consisting of sixty minutes (equinoctial hours). This model of seasonal hours divides daytime (sunrise to sunset) and nighttime (sunset to sunrise) respectively into twelve hours of equal duration each. The length of daytime or nighttime hours will therefore vary according to latitude and the time of the year. One must also understand concepts such as latitude and know how to calculate for it. In other words, determining elections was a demanding but essential component to astral magic.

Returning to the concept of suffumigation, there are various ways one might conceivably explain the efficacy of it from an emic perspective (that is to say, from the viewpoint of an astral magician).

Iamblichus explained that the commonest link between humans and the divine is through people and the daimons. This would be akin to meeting a lowly underling of a king or queen. All but a few human beings have ever directly met with a god, although meeting an angel or archangel is conceivably more realistic in this worldview, albeit still rare. This means that when people pray to a god and sense a response, it is normally interaction with a daimon, not the god itself.

The daimons possess little autonomy, and merely carry out the tasks assigned to them (in ancient Greco-Egyptian magic, interestingly, the magician would compel and coerce these entities to do his or her bidding using the names of their superiors, but entities up the hierarchical chain become less susceptible to such compulsion). The daimons are also the intermediaries between material offerings and the gods they serve.

There were different metaphysical speculations on how precisely this occurs. How does an archon benefit from a person offering them incense and foodstuffs, or blood sacrifices? One idea was that the daimons actually feed on the fumes of the material offerings. In effect, one was nourishing the underlings of a god or goddess. If this proved ample and sufficient, then the hierarchy became aware of the act and hopefully one’s prayers would be transmitted up the chain of command, at which point fate might be adjusted at the discretion of the divinity.




Ritualized offering of substances under the rulership of a given planetary deity effectively constitutes an act of giving unto the ruler the fruits of their administration. The qualities of the substances are critical in this respect: one would not give unto Saturn, who is associated with bitter and fermented flavors, something sweet like honey, which is Venusian in quality. Saturn rules over substances such as lead and styrax (a type of incense), animals such as crows, and processes such as decay and fermentation. Saturn co-rules olives with the Sun. Each of the planets also possess their own sigils, which can considerably differ according to the manuscript or textual tradition (see the comparison above). All such lore is necessary in designing spells directed toward one’s aims. The explanation thus far can be illustrated on the following figure:




The advanced petitions explained in the Picatrix basically open a direct channel to a divinity, rather than relying on a simple prayer, which conceivably would normally only be heard by a daimon of the divinity to which one has issued a request. The election is essential because if unfavorable, then the divinity in question is similarly thought to be in an ill position to grant a favor, whereas if the election is precisely tuned, they are likely to respond favorably.

The worldview of astral magic illustrated by this concept of elections is characteristically feudal (you ought to meet with the King or Queen when they are in a good mood), but this is by no means a medieval adaptation, since it is clear that such concepts of rulerships and subordinate deities were a core component in earlier Platonic cosmologies.

Talismans are another wing of astral magic aside from petitions. This is an art of enchanting an object with the influence or spirits of a planetary hierarchy. Again, there are different emic explanations for metaphysically how this occurs. Some explain that the rays of the planet become embedded in the enchanted object, such a ring. Other traditions say that the spirits of the planet come to reside in the talisman.

Saturn, seven-armed and cross-legged. Manuscript 373.
Wellcome Collection.
These talismans can be used to benefit oneself or curse others (or curse a specific location). For instance, the Picatrix provides a spell to banish all dwellers of a place (p. 100, Greer and Warnock translation): one acquires a lead plate and on it one produces a string of specific characters with pig brains upon the day and hour of Saturn when Saturn is rising in the second decan of Capricorn. People will avoid dwelling in the place in which the plate is deposited. Here the idea is that one harnesses the divine influence of Saturn to achieve a specific aim.

To sum up, astral magic is premised on the concept of fate. Fate constitutes divine will or organization. Numerous types of magic and religious practices are directed at affecting or changing fate through ritual means, petitions, and prayers.

The magician utilizes their faculty of reason in coordination with a wide array of natural forces to produce a desired change. Astral magic necessitates interaction with the planetary deities. In Antiquity these figures were understood as archons or divine rulers of the world.

According to Iamblichus, humans are in a unique position in that they possess souls comprised of both animal and rational components. Animal instinct is primarily governed and compelled by force of fate. This fate is expressed through the activity of daimons. The faculty of reason that we possess enables us to observe, analyze, and even modify fate. The practice of astral magic was conceived of as a tool with which the hard aspects of fate could be negotiated or modified.

Arab and Indian Lunar Stations



The Arab tradition of astrology utilizes a system of twenty-eight lunar stations  (otherwise called “lunar mansions”) called al-manāzil or manāzil al-ḳamar. There is no such parallel system to be found in Mesopotamian or Hellenistic Greek sources, but there exists an ancient Indian system of twenty-eight lunar stations, called nakṣatras.

What is a lunar station? The Moon revolves around the earth over the course of 27.32 days and it therefore appears from a standpoint on Earth to “lodge” in twenty-seven or twenty-eight positions throughout its circuit. The Chinese devised their own unique system of lunar stations (二十八宿) independent of any foreign influences, although during the twentieth century there was much scholarly debate on this matter, even in Japan, with some arguing for a Babylonian origin. The present evidence, however, indicates that Indian and Chinese civilizations created their systems separate from one another. This point is easily demonstrated by the fact that the system established by the Chinese court in Antiquity does not correspond to any documented system of nakṣatras.

It is important to note that the original systems of Indian nakṣatras and Chinese lunar stations divided the ecliptic or celestial equator into uneven zones. The former, however, was redeveloped following the introduction of Hellenistic astrology and astronomy during the fourth to fifth centuries CE. The zodiac signs are each uniformly comprised of 30°, thus dividing a 360° ecliptic into twelve even zones. At some point in the history of Indian astronomy someone devised a method of bringing together the nakṣatras and the zodiac signs into a coherent and workable model. 

This revised system was the navāṃsas or ninths of a zodiac sign, in which 27 sidereal nakṣatras are employed (the nakṣatra of Abhijit is dropped). The ecliptic is comprised of 108 pādas (quarters), with each zodiac sign comprised of 9 pādas. 108/28 = 3.85, but 27 divides into integers (108/27 = 4). 360°/27 moreover gives a manageable 13°20. In short, lunar stations of uneven dimensions were reformatted to fit into a sidereal zodiacal system of 360°.

The Sassanian Persians, perhaps during the third century CE, adopted the nakṣatras into their system of astrology (called xwurdag in Pahlavī or Middle Persian). These are listed in the Zoroastrian Bundahish, a late Pahlavī work on Zoroastrian cosmogony and cosmology (see chapter II.2 here).

Did the Arab tradition acquire the concept of lunar stations from the Persians after the conquest of the Sassanian empire during the early-seventh century, or perhaps earlier from the Indians? This is a question that nobody has been able to satisfactorily answer, but here we might consider some aspects of the Arab manāzil.

As Kunitzsch in the Encyclopedia of Islam (Brill) notes, the Arabs named the lunar stations after their anwāʾ . The full list is reported by ʿAbd al-Mālik b. Ḥabīb (d. 852). The anwāʾ collectively refer to the evening setting and heliacal rising of specific stars or constellations for the purposes of estimating the passage of time.

Unlike the navāṃsas, the manāzil are tropical (i.e., they are defined according to the vernal equinox, rather than fixed stars). There are also twenty-eight, each comprised of approximately 12°51. Why would they be tropical rather than sidereal? Unlike Indian astronomy, the Arabs adopted the tropical zodiac, most likely based on the work of Claudius Ptolemy (2nd century CE). If the manāzil were based on the navāṃsas, it would have made sense to define the lunar stations using tropical rather than sidereal parameters.

Another interesting point to note is that the sequences of the manāzil and nakṣatras follow a very similar order:

1. al-s̲h̲araṭān
2. al-buṭayn
3. al-t̲h̲urayyā (the Pleiades)
4. al-dabarān

1. Aśvinī
2. Bharaṇī
3. Kṛttikā (the Pleiades)
4. Rohiṇī

The oldest model of nakṣatras commenced from Kṛttikā, but later the sequence was revised with Aśvinī at the start. The reason behind this was likely to ensure that the starting nakṣatra would line up with the vernal equinox (the nakṣatras were still sidereal by definition however). The fact that the manāzil and nakṣatras both count their third lunar station as the Pleiades is either a remarkable coincidence or an indication that the former borrowed from the latter.

Why isn’t it possible at present to come to a definitive conclusion regarding the history of the lunar stations? There is simply a paucity of evidence. I suspect we could easily solve the problem at hand if we had access to astrological and astronomical materials from Sassanian Iran, but unfortunately the extant material is quite scarce and moreover not from works written by professional astronomers. 

We know that the Sassanian Persians had a deep interest in astrology, in light of the testimonies of later Arab sources. One key work in this regard is the Kitāb al-Fihrist (especially chapter 7.1 & 7.2), a catalog of texts by Ibn al-Nadim (c. 987–988). He records that the Sasanian king Šāpur I (r. 239–270) translated into Persian the books of Dorotheus and Ptolemy as well as an Indian named “Farmāsib”. These works in Persian are now lost to us, but they show that early Sassanian Iran brought together Hellenistic and Indian works (hence their concurrent use of zodiac signs and lunar stations). Early Arab astrologers utilized Persian works to a great extant, but as far as I know, we cannot identify the source of the manāzil from their writings.

Dorotheus in East Asia


Dorotheus of Sidon (c. 75 CE) was arguably one of the most influential authors on astrology in Antiquity, standing alongside Claudius Ptolemy (2nd cent. CE), author of the Almagest and Tetrabiblos, as a sort of canonized figure in classical horoscopy. Dorothean astrology is predicated on a theoretical framework of fate in which planetary configurations and movements signal predestined developments. Ptolemaic astrology, in contrast, is based on a materialist cosmology in which planetary influences are conceived of as impersonal physical forces affecting the Earth and its inhabitants. The approach of Ptolemy it seems was rather unusual among Hellenistic astrologers, but nevertheless his work became standard among later Arab and European astrologers.

Dorotheus’ work, unfortunately, is only partially extant in Arabic translation. We do, however, possess Latin, Greek and Chinese fragments. Dorotheus’ work was first translated into Pahlavī (Middle Persian) from Greek during the early years of the Sassanian dynasty in Iran between 222–267. This version was later expanded between 531–578, and then around the year 800, this recension was translated into Arabic by ‘Umar al-Tabarī. It was curiously around the same time that a certain figure named Li Miqian 李彌乾 (d.u.), said to hail from Western India (Xi Tianzhu 西天竺), brought an astrological text to China, which was subsequently translated between 785–805 with the title in Chinese Duli yusi jing 都利聿斯經.

Some modern scholars in Japan in recent decades identified fragments of this text. Yano Michio suggested that it might have been a transcription of “Ptolemy”, but Bill M. Mak in 2014 argued on the basis of the fragments and a very short versified version of the original text that this work was most likely that of Dorotheus. My recent dissertation in 2017 (see here, pages 124–139) examined a number of additional fragments of Dorotheus in a Daoist astrological work of the ninth or early tenth century, especially those concerning lots.[1] 

Lots or κλῆροι refer to a technique in which the distance between two planets or otherwise two points in a chart are measured and then that same distance is applied from the ascendant in the same direction. The degree or more generally the zodiac sign upon which the end of that distance falls is designated as a lot. The lot in question will deal with some concern, such as parents or marriage.

Being illiterate in Arabic, I was forced to depend upon David Pingree’s translation from 1976. In some cases the Chinese matched up with Pingree’s translation so well that it was very clear that the Chinese text in question was derived from Dorotheus. For example, the following remark is given concerning the lot of the mother in the Daoist text:

日月同在翻復宮,又居東方,此人父母不同類。
If the Sun and the Moon are in tropical signs, and also [a tropical sign] is resident in the East [at the ascendant], then this person’s parents will be of different types.

Pingree’s translation (1976: 174) of the section in Dorotheus concerning the lot of the mother reads, “If you find the Sun and the Moon in tropical signs, and the ascendant is a tropical sign, then the parents of this native are not from one race … .”

The term fanfu gong 翻復宮, literally “tropical palace” (“palace” means “sign”), in the Chinese refers to tropical or solstitial signs, i.e., Cancer and Capricorn. These are the positions in which the Sun seems to “turns” in its apparent motion during the solstices. The Chinese rendering of fanfu 翻復, literally “turning” or “reversing”, actually semantically reflects the original Greek term τροπικός quite well. Similarly, in English we have the term “tropical”, which is etymologically derived from the same Greek word.

I consulted Pingree’s translation, but last year Benjamin N. Dykes published his translation of the Arabic translation of Dorotheus. He renders the aforementioned line as follows (Dykes 2017: 84):

Now if you found the Sun and Moon in convertible signs, and the Ascendant in a convertible sign, then the parents of that native will not be of one [and the same] nationality …

Dykes’ translation is far more readable than Pingree’s. Dykes also provides numerous footnotes, comments and a solid introduction to the work with many references to other relevant texts of Antiquity and the Medieval period. Although I cannot evaluate the quality of the translation, Dykes has a PhD from the University of Illinois and has published numerous translations of Latin and Arabic texts, so I have no reason to doubt his ability to translate the material.

Returning to the Chinese, we might wonder from which language was the Chinese version of Dorotheus produced? Although it is vaguely conceivable that the Arabic translation of ‘Umar al-Tabarī could have been brought to China shortly after its production, this is highly unlikely for the simple reason that there were no documented translators who were bilingual in Arabic and Chinese and moreover familiar with astrology at this point in history. At the time, however, there were plenty of ethnically Persian men who had been born and raised in China. Some of them even worked at court directly under the Emperor. It is therefore most likely that a Pahlavī translation of Dorotheus was used as the source text for the Chinese. Whether it was the same text that ‘Umar al-Tabarī used is an interesting question, but I have no good answer for this. What I can say is that the translator(s) of the original Chinese text, judging from its fragments in Chinese and also Japanese sources, were quite capable and systematic in their work. The readability of the translation would have facilitated its popularity in China.

At the moment I am carrying out a research project concerning the sinicization of Indo-Iranian astrology in Medieval China (eighth to sixteenth centuries). I am examining Dorothean and Ptolemaic sources of astrology in Chinese translation, in addition to considering the types of nakṣatra astrology (originally Indian, but Iranians also adopted it) studied by Chinese astrologers throughout the centuries. 

With respect to horoscopy specifically, I’ve settled on calling it “Indo-Iranian”, since Chinese astrologers built their traditions upon Indian and Iranian sources, in addition to adding their own uniquely Chinese concepts and interpretations. Although Dorothean horoscopy is originally Hellenistic, it is simply more accurate to call it “Iranian” once it reached China, and moreover it was integrated into a system that simultaneously utilized nakṣatra lore. This is why I think we best just call this type of horoscopy “Indo-Iranian”. Chinese writers by the fourteenth century interestingly forgot about the originally foreign origin of their horoscopy, so by that point it had become sufficiently sinicized that we could securely call their horoscopy simply as “Chinese horoscopy”.

In some forthcoming publications I will demonstrate the depth of Dorothean astrology in East Asia. One of the points I want to make is that East Asia was as much heir to Dorotheus’ work as was the Arabic world. More than that, East Asia was also as much heir to Persian astrology as was the Arabic tradition. 

The study of horoscopy in East Asia is really in its infancy when we consider that there are extant manuals that comprise hundreds of pages. Few of them have been read by modern scholars. In order to make sense of them, you need to read Classical Chinese in addition to understanding classical horoscopy. There are also numerous social dynamics that we ought to consider. There were plenty of poets and literati in the Tang and Song dynasties (particularly between the ninth and eleventh centuries) who wrote about horoscopy. This art was clearly a part of aristocratic society until at least the seventeenth century when some Jesuit influences begin to appear. The deeper I dig into this topic, the more I realize the scale of what needs to be done.


Dykes, Benjamin N. 2017. Dorotheus of Sidon: Carmen Astrologicum, The ‘Umar al-Tabarī Translation. Minneapolis: The Cazimi Press.

Kotyk, Jeffrey. 2017. “Buddhist Astrology and Astral Magic in the Tang Dynasty.” PhD dissertation, Leiden University.

Mak, Bill M. 2014. “Yusi Jing – A treatise of ‘Western’ Astral Science in Chinese and its versified version Xitian yusi jing.” SCIAMVS 15: 105–169.

Pingree, David. 1976. Dorothei Sidonii Carmen astrologicum: interpretationem arabicam in linguam anglicam versam una cum Dorothei fragmentis et graecis et latinis. Leipzig: Teubner.



[1] Lingtai jing 靈臺經 (DZ 288) or Scripture of the Spiritual Terrace.