Charles Carter’s Psychological Encyclopedia of Astrology explores how people interact with the world around them. One particularly interesting idea he raises is that those who tend to accept information without much critical thinking might have a weaker Mercury placement in their birth chart—especially if Mercury falls in a water sign. Mercury, traditionally, is the planet of the mind: it governs communication, the crafting of thoughts, the parsing of words, the forming of sentences. But when this planet slips into a water sign, something changes. The mind finds itself soaked in feeling. Critics of this placement often claim that Mercury becomes “weaker” here. But what does this even mean? Weaker by what metric? By whose standard? This presumes that the only valid cognition is the cold, calculating kind. But surely this is just one type of intelligence. And frankly, it’s a bit dull if we stop there.

When Mercury moves through Cancer, the mind becomes maternal, reflective, emotionally focused. Thoughts are filtered through memory, history, a longing for home. In Scorpio, Mercury becomes an alchemist, digging beneath surface meanings, uncovering secrets through instinct. And in Pisces, it surrenders its need for logic altogether, allowing thoughts to drift, ephemeral yet strangely resonant.

The modern world, with its obsession with proof, often ridicules this kind of thinking. We are taught to distrust the nebulous, the intuitive, the soft. Feelings are seen as obstacles to understanding. But think of all the moments in life when rationale fails us—when grief, love, awe, or spiritual longing enter the room. Perhaps those with Mercury in water signs are more inclined to absorb information uncritically. But perhaps they are also the ones who can see the things that others overlooks: the emotional subtext of a conversation, the psychic atmosphere of a room, the pain behind someone’s eyes when they say “I’m fine.” These are subtleties. And the ability to perceive them is a gift.

Let’s not pretend that emotion and intellect are enemies—this is the tired old binary we’ve been fed by a world obsessed with compartmentalizing the self. But the watery Mercury doesn’t obey such borders. It’s swimming, gliding, sensing vibrations in the current that logic might miss entirely.

Mercury in Cancer, ever protective, ever sensitive, analyzes with the care of a historian looking through family photographs. It wants the meaning behind the facts. Why did this happen? What does it remind us of? What’s the emotion beneath this event or statement? A person with Mercury in Scorpio doesn’t skim the surface of an idea—they plunge into it, feel it pulse, interrogate it with X-rays of the soul. This isn’t a lack of analysis—it’s forensic intuition. Scorpio doesn’t simply question what you say; it wants to know why you needed to say it in the first place. And Mercury in Pisces—sweet, chaotic, cosmos-tuned Pisces—thinks in metaphors and dreams. But don’t mistake this for vagueness. The Piscean mind is capable of pattern recognition that defies linear thought. It sees the whole system—the connections between what is said and what is unsaid, between myth and maths, between heartache and the stars. This isn’t woolly thinking; it’s genius in the language of feeling.

So when we say Mercury is “weakened” in water, we are often mistaking difference for deficiency. These individuals don’t always express their analysis in the same neat, categorical language as a Mercury in Virgo or Gemini. But they feel their way into understanding. These watery Mercuries show us that some truths can’t be proved—they must be understood through resonance, through empathy, through the silent knowing that comes when your soul simply nods and says, “Yes. That feels true.” A Mercury placed in the emotional currents of Cancer, Scorpio, or Pisces gives its bearer an ability to sense what lies beneath the surface. These individuals are attuned to the subtlest vibrations of human experience. Where a more analytical Mercury might miss the nuance, this one feels it—deeply. The result is often a richer, more connected way of being, where the heart plays as vital a role as the mind.

When it comes to superstitious or mystical beliefs, Charles Carter observes a pattern: Water and Fire signs tend to dominate over Earth and Air. Water signs—Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces—with their deep wells of feeling and intuition, naturally resonate with the unseen. They are the ones who might sense spirits in the wind or feel the ancient pull of the moon in their bones. Fire signs—Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius—bring their own brand of belief: passionate, intense, and driven by a hunger for the extraordinary. They’re not satisfied with the mundane. They seek what ignites their spirits, what sets their souls ablaze—beliefs that are magical.

In contrast, Earth and Air signs—Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn, Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius—tend to be more grounded and analytical in their approach. Earth signs, with their practical sensibilities, are drawn to beliefs that are tangible, measurable, and rooted in real-world experience. They value what can be seen, touched, and proven. Air signs, ever curious and mentally agile, are more inclined toward ideas that can be analyzed, debated, and understood through reason.

“Earth signs have a longing for what they call the spiritual, although this is frequently expressed as a secret fascination or “belief” in ghosts, psychism, and other para-psychological phenomena without any understanding of the implications inherent in the existence of this sort of “supernatural” world. They will often be found pursuing a love-object who personifies their idea of the medium, the inspiration, the guide who can in some way share with them the secrets of the cosmos and alleviate the dull ache within. Unfortunately, those who are in touch with the inner mysteries cannot parcel them out like bread and cheese, because such intuitive experience is wholly individual, intensely personal and cannot be explained in the concrete form which earth likes his explanations to assume.” By Liz Greene

The Belief in Astrology

Contrary to the popular image of astrology as a domain reserved for those with extraordinary intuition or psychic powers, the reality is that it’s a discipline rooted in observation, pattern recognition, and interpretation. Interpreting a horoscope requires a keen analytical mind, some understanding of psychology, and a deep familiarity with the symbolic meanings ascribed to different astrological elements. Skeptics often dismiss astrology as pseudoscience, clinging to the perception that it lacks empirical support and scientific rigor. They see it as a relic of ancient superstition, as part of a time when humanity looked to the stars for answers to earthly dilemmas. And while it’s true that astrology doesn’t fit neatly into the modern scientific framework, it offers a rich, symbolic language through which people can explore their personalities, relationships, and potential life paths.

Astrology doesn’t claim to be a predictive tool in the deterministic sense. Instead, it suggests tendencies, potentials, and influences. It provides a framework for understanding how the energy of the chart might resonate with human experiences. Think of it as a mirror, reflecting inner realities and guiding personal reflection. It’s a lens through which one can view life, identifying patterns and themes that might otherwise go unnoticed. For many, this ancient tradition brings comfort, guidance, and a sense of connection to the greater universe.

Consider this: the scientific method itself was born from a desire to understand the world in a systematic, empirical way. Astrology, while not a science in the modern sense, emerged from a similar impulse to find order and meaning in the cosmos. It reflects humanity’s innate curiosity and our longing to find our place in the vast, unfathomable universe. So, whether you approach astrology with a skeptic’s eye or an open heart, there’s value in its centuries-old tradition. It invites us to explore the connections between the heavens and our own lives, encouraging a deeper understanding of ourselves and the world around us.

Superstitions and Beliefs

Superstitions, rooted in the beliefs and practices of bygone eras, offer an intriguing glimpse into human history and psychology. They often emerge from a fundamental fear of the unknown and an innate desire to exert some measure of control over the uncertainties of life. Throughout history, people have devised a myriad of magical charms, rituals, and spells as remedies to fend off malevolent forces or to seek protection and good fortune. These superstitions have persisted through generations and continue to intrigue and influence many individuals today.

The term “superstition” typically encompasses a wide range of irrational beliefs or practices that lack empirical evidence or logical reasoning. Many of these beliefs have become part of the cultural fabric, passing down from older generations to the newer ones. They are often referred to as “old wives’ tales.” While some superstitions might seem unfounded, they often carry a deep significance. They can offer insights into historical events, societal norms, and psychological tendencies. Superstitions related to luck, protection, and avoiding misfortune often reveal a shared human need for security and positive outcomes. For example, the belief in knocking on wood to ward off bad luck might have originated from the idea that spirits reside in trees and could offer protection. Interestingly, many superstitions persist even in modern times. Despite advancements in science and technology, these beliefs continue to resonate with individuals because they address primal emotions and instincts. Whether it’s avoiding walking under ladders, carrying lucky talismans, or refraining from opening umbrellas indoors, these rituals offer a sense of control and assurance in an unpredictable world.

Fate Vs Free Will

Cloaked in mystery, draped in inevitability, fate whispers in our ears that no matter what we do, the outcome is already written. Now, to label fate as superstition is to flatten a rich and complex idea into something rather flimsy. Superstition suggests irrationality, a kind of twitchy fear of the unknown. But fate—properly considered—is a psychological mirror, a way to explain the unexplainable. It has nothing to do with black cats and broken mirrors; it’s the aching need to find order in the chaos of existence. Of course, the belief in fate can seem to threaten the sanctity of free will. If everything is preordained, then what’s the point of trying, choosing, dreaming? Why not simply recline on the chaise longue of destiny and wait for life to unfold? This is the criticism. And it’s a fair one—if fate becomes an excuse for inertia, a way to shirk responsibility, then it can be a spiritual cul-de-sac.

But there’s another way to view fate—one that doesn’t rob us of agency but rather invites us to a deeper engagement with it. Think of it as a kind of scaffolding. The broad picture may be outlined, but the other details are yours. Maybe you can’t control what happens, but you can control how you meet it. There’s also something oddly comforting about fate. When life spins into disorder, when logic fails and the world breaks your heart, the idea that there’s a thread of meaning—however hidden—can be a relief. Fate can soothe the sting of randomness. It tells you that even the hard things have purpose, even if purpose is obscured in the moment.

So is it superstition? Perhaps. But not all superstitions are foolish. The truth, I suspect, lies somewhere between fate and free will. We are not chess pieces, nor are we gods. We are co-authors in a cosmic collaboration. Fate may offer the setting, the weather, the time of day—but we write the dialogue. We choose whether to speak with courage or cowardice, love or fear.

The champions of free will often strut proudly, convinced that life obeys their every whim. It’s intoxicating. It’s the stuff of revolutions, of rags-to-riches tales, of those moments when someone looks their fate square in the eye and says, “Not today.” Free will, in this sense, is the very essence of hope. It says you are not bound by your past, your bloodline, or your postcode. It fuels the fire that burns in every act of rebellion, every dream chased against the odds, every quiet refusal to give in. It insists that your choices matter—that you matter. But here’s where it gets juicy. For all our heroic choosing, we are still creatures of habit, biology, upbringing, cultural narrative. You didn’t choose your parents, your first language, your childhood wounds. Much of what you call a “choice” might be a product of unconscious patterns set in motion long before you ever noticed them. So the notion that we are entirely free is, in itself, a kind of myth—perhaps a useful one, perhaps an empowering one, but a myth nonetheless. And yet, we feel free. We feel the weight of our decisions. We agonize over them, celebrate them, regret them. The burden of choice is real. Whether or not it is metaphysically “free” is less important than the fact that we experience it as such. And so we are compelled to act, to strive, to create. We act as if we are free, and this acting brings about change. We are suspended between forces we don’t fully understand and the choices we fiercely believe we’re making. Between the stars and the steering wheel. Between superstition and science, myth and method, chaos and control. We’re trying to build a life that makes sense—an edifice of meaning—on ground that keeps shifting beneath our feet. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the truth isn’t in the triumph of one over the other, but in the conflict itself. In the mystery. In the aching, beautiful in-between where we all live. We are not purely logical, nor purely emotional. We are both. We’re not entirely free, nor entirely fated. We are both. We have to walk bravely in the place between. This is where life happens. It’s where you happen.