Mathematicus, Mathematici

According to the New World Enclyclopedia:

Historically, the term mathematicus was used to denote a person proficient in astrology, astronomy, and mathematics.[1]

or the plural, if there are more than one: “mathematici”. It is strange to think of a world in which astrology was considered mathematical. But, pretty much every early civilization incorporated some kind of astrology into their “sciences” and religions. Hocus pocus=mathematicus.

Astrology is an example of how a feeling of wonder and awe can produce an artificial feeling of religious experience and an encounter with something supernatural. It is that human need to rely on a constant for a feeling of stability.

I think of astrology sort of like this: Some people need a sort of “baby mobile”, with balls of planets and stars hanging over them, forming pretty, connect-the-dot animals and pictures in the sky to point to, reassuring them that the future has a naturally predestined plan, and that they are not lost.

And, what is also interesting is this little tidbit story about an astrologer–according to wikipedia:

A favourite topic of the astrologers of all countries has been the immediate end of the world.

This did not prevent [the astrologer] Stöffler from predicting a universal deluge for the year 1524 – a year, as it turned out, distinguished for drought. His aspect of the heavens told him that in that year three planets would meet in the aqueous sign of Pisces. The prediction was believed far and wide, and President Aurial, at Toulouse, built himself a Noah’s ark – a curious realization, in fact, of Chaucer’s merry invention in the Miller’s Tale.

I find this story really funny. I can just imagine such a thing happening…. An astrologer tells people that there is going to be a flood of biblical proportions. Then the naive president of Germany goes so far as to build a really big ark, sits in it, not unlike a child in a tub, awaiting its bath, waits patiently for God to shoot his wad, to unleash his great waters of wrath, waits and waits, gullibly, for a grand climax, and then…. nothing. Ha, ha sucker, that’s what chicken little gets for believing the bunk of an astrologer.