I want to wrap up with a quote from astrologer and Jungian psychologist Liz Greene, because she encapsulates this more painful aspect of the Neptunian archetype that the heroism and narcissism of the Western mind and culture deeply struggle with. In her book, The Astrological Neptune and the Quest for Redemption, Greene argued,
"…there is often profound meaning in what is conventionally called pathology, addiction, or madness; and the individual in the grip of Neptune's peculiar form of breakdown may ultimately see further, and more, than the doctor who is treating such a patient. What is deception, and what is illusion? Who is deceiving whom, and about what? And where, as any Neptunian might well ask, is the rule-book which offers us a definition of reality so unshakable that we know with certainty at least whether that Other, which is the object of our longing, is merely the opiate of the masses, or alive and well in the great transcendent unity we call life, or just another word for Mother?" [1] [emphasis added]
We can well associate Greene's "Other" on one level with the daimonic and transpersonal, but, as Greene's larger argument takes us, also into the watery and placid depths of biological gestation, a ground from which we all emerge (and at least symbolically, will someday return). Greene intertwines this longing for redemption with the primal longing to return to Mother and womb, and with the more transcendent longing of the religious, spiritual, and transpersonal, whether through a God, Goddess, or universal consciousness. From this, we can equate both ends of the archetype with the sense of a "hidden hand" at play in every human life, from the unseen forces of biological evolution to the mysterious and daimonic — guiding and directing, yet also beckoning us to return to the ground of emergence.
Neptune touches deeply on this dimension of every human experience: having to submit, let go, and surrender to this hidden hand, letting it have its way with our lives. Both the historical and archetypal Christ, and its inherent martyrdom, are deeply involved in this, as were many mythological, Christ-like progenitors. Whether in the throes of love and infatuation, carnal passion, ecstatic mystical union with the divine, a compulsion toward some higher calling, or in the depths of so-called "madness" or "pathology," where do we ultimately draw the line? Saturn is our means of distinguishing between those acceptable and unacceptable means of madness, but as Greene ultimately invites us to question, where "is the rule-book which offers us a definition of reality so unshakable" that we at last have certainty about it all?
Further, is there a purpose to our delusions? Without them, there would be no awakening. Without being given only part of the picture or story, we would never discover anything, and perhaps, we would never take critical steps toward our destiny. There are destinations in life for which we cannot fully know, otherwise we wouldn't consciously move toward them. There would be no genuine revelation and or transformation of consciousness.
And the same is true of pain and suffering, light and dark. As Jung famously stated, "There is no birth of consciousness without pain." [2] For Jung, the psyche — and, by extension, our whole subjective experience of life — was a struggle to integrate and come to terms with our own inherent paradoxical nature. Denial of this truth of reality leads us only deeper into delusion, madness, or evil.
The most mad and evil among us are those who believe they're immune or cleansed of such pathologies. Yet, there is much growth and beauty in embracing our madness, confusion, and mystery. We exist in a whole culture that tries to pathologize and thus control everything--medicate, cleanse, and fix via every conceivable positive affirmation or antidepressant, to even out and make smooth the mess and confusion we sometimes find ourselves.
Does anyone really know what's going on anyway? Saturn's role is to convince us that someone or something knows, yet, on a bigger, cosmic level, there may be no rule-book after all. There may be no one with any ultimate control. Yet, that doesn't discount the notion of fate, a larger plan, or a hidden hand with its own agenda and directive. A plan can exist without ultimate control. We may only know that a larger plan exists, or that some other force beyond the biological and evolutionary does.
We may never get closure on any of this in our embodied experience. Our human tendency is to construct some grand narrative (via worldview or cosmology) to make sense of it all, to ensure that it'll all be okay in the end. Anyone deeply entrenched in shadow possession may well believe that such is true for the chosen, for those most rational, pure of heart, intellect, or bloodline to discern the bigger plan, or for those who leaped to the "right" timeline.
Yet the actual, more uncomfortable reality is that we're all in this together, whether we like it or not. There's no way out alive, with ultimate certainty, or with clarity. Will we ever know the ultimate purpose of our life, or any life? These are uncomfortable daimonic and thus Neptunian questions. They bring us to the layer of our lives and experiences that seem unconcerned with our petty, egoistic needs and problems (and their limited perspective).
Extrapolating to the level of humanity, civilization, and its real but ultimately petty problems (at least from the perspective of billions of years of biological evolution), what is the purpose of any of this, the whole arc of so-called "progress" we think ourselves to be on? I don't think anyone knows, and if Neptune has a say in it (which, at the moment, it very much does), it would suggest that purpose is not at all what we think — or would like to believe.
So what do we do with that? Jung would argue that we do our shadow work, get on with waking up and individuating, and allow the inner work to shape our destiny. With that, I wholeheartedly agree. I also suggest that we humbly surrender to the transpersonal hand doing what it wills, because, aside from the painful aspect of the process (which we cannot fully escape), there is still the possibility of awe, wonderment, and enchantment on the other side. It's possible the plan, no matter how crazy we might think it is, is a good one. Life may all be a paradoxical mess, but there's always that end to any Neptunian experience, always the hope that something beautiful awaits us beyond the liminal threshold if we can merely let go and trust the wisdom in the process.
Footnotes
[1] Liz Greene, The Astrological Neptune and the Quest for Redemption (Boston & York Beach: Weiser Books, 2000), p. xv
[2] In "Marriage as a Psychological Relationship", Jung stated, "there is no birth of consciousness without pain," in reference to the (mostly) inevitable crises he argued were inherent to any relationship--describing marriage as a catalyst for individuation, involving the complex confrontation with one's shadow unconsciously projected onto one's partner. Elsewhere, in Contributions to Analytical Psychology, the phrase "there is no coming to consciousness without pain" is translated and commonly quoted.
For more on the unfolding Saturn–Neptune cycle, explore [From Disillusionment to Global Awakening] and [The American Dream and Other Delusions]—two earlier essays that trace this alignment’s historical roots and collective psychological impact.
To explore how the Saturn–Neptune alignment—or any major planetary symbol—speaks to your personal chart, book a private consultation or reading with Chad Woodward of Kosmic Mind Astrology. His sessions blend evolutionary and psychological astrology with spiritual insight, offering grounded guidance for navigating cycles of change and self-realization.