“Today is a great day for meditation thanks to a conjunction between the Moon and Saturn. You have recently come back to a familiar setting, but you still need time to adjust. Open yourself up to new interests; it will help. The planetary energy will present you with an intriguing article from a lovely publication in your area. In it, you will read about a familiar notion through the lenses of some handy philosophical concepts borrowed from Sartre’s existentialist philosophy. By the end of it, you will have found a whole new way to perceive astrology.”

Texts like this one, presented in the weekly horoscope section of your magazines, can be so soothing. They speak with such certainty, reveling in affirmative sentences that leave no doubt. They are isles of certitude in oceans of uncertainty and we, stranded sailors, thirst for them. But, in a certain existential, Sartrean way, they are more akin to mirages in an inescapable desert, a desert called freedom.

Philosophy rockstar and leading figure in existentialism, Jean-Paul Sartre was born on June 21, 1905 at 6:45 p.m. He, therefore, was a Sun Gemini and Moon Aquarius. Indeed, Sartre was a smart, passionate and dynamic thinker as shown by the size and diversity of his work, from plays to novels to dense essays. He was outgoing, developing friendships with personalities as colorful as former Cuban president Fidel Castro and French-Algerian author Albert Camus. He loved dating and he entertained one of the most well-known polyamorous relationships with another great philosopher, Simone de Beauvoir.

A true Moon Aquarius, he was an avid reader, eccentric and compassionate toward humanity in the many stances he took against imperialism, inequality, racism and other plagues of his time. Sartre was also an atheist who thought the absence of a divine creator was the key to our freedom. If there is no God, he thought, then we, humans, aren’t defined by anything before we are born. Our existence, Sartre says, precedes our essence: we are born and only then do we define ourselves through our choices and actions. Lacking a defining, deterministic essence, we are thus free. Nothing surprising, coming from a Gemini.

Astrology seems then to have Sartre figured out. It draws a neat little profile, a clear picture that needs no further detail. Of course Sartre also had the critical thinking of a Virgo, the creativity of an Aries, the inquisitiveness of a Scorpio and a few other astrologically scattered qualities. But horoscopes don’t have to be exhaustive: they only need enough accurate qualities to appear compelling, enough qualities to build a coherent profile. For their appeal lies not in their truth but in the narrative they construct.

Among Sartre’s many witty Gemini phrases, one is especially relevant to our discussion: “Man is condemned to be free." Through this eloquent paradox, Sartre conveys two ideas: that man is inherently free and that man strives to escape that freedom. Why is that? Freedom is scary; it entails responsibility — numerous responsibilities — and, therefore, it generates anxiety. And so, even though it is impossible, we will try to negate our freedom, to deny its existence. How? By pretending we have an essence, something that inherently defines us and determines our actions.

Essences are alibis, coping mechanisms. They’re roles we take up, stories we tell ourselves, models we raise up as out of our control, all to create something to conform to. Through them, we attempt to escape our inescapable freedom. Sartre gives the infamous example of a waiter who tailors his mannerisms and expressions to fit a constructed image of how a waiter should behave, an essence he gives himself. Another example would be any trait you attribute to yourself. But, as Sartre points out, all essences are in bad faith, as even we know that deep down they are lies that cover up our freedom. In a sense, Sartre is saying we have no selves, as a self is but the essence we assign ourselves. Rather, we are sheer freedom; we are forever changing, and no self — read essence — can tie us down.

As such, horoscopes are prêt-à-porter essences. Their neat pseudoscientific foundation gives them a sense of cosmological justification and their vaguely accurate predictions comfort you in thinking them a sound system. They assign you an essence without any effort on your part. They make it easy to proclaim: “I’m not a free agent. I’m just an edgy Aquarius, an unstable Gemini, a sassy Leo.” Your bad faith feeds off them. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. You know how Sagittariuses are.”

Interestingly, horoscopes, like other artificial essences, can start shaping your behavior. In a way, they become self-fulfilling prophecies. Just like Sartre’s waiter changes his mannerisms to fit his constructed image of a waiter, a Scorpio might sustain the veneer of a cold strategist or a Cancer might indulge in mood swings just to fit the astrological essence assigned to them — or, rather, that they assign to themselves. One can easily see how this can turn into an unhealthy loop, where one acts, not because one wants to, but to maintain a certain appearance, almost unconsciously.

Therefore, despite their appeal, essences often turn into traps. Some of them are imposed upon us by birth and education. Others, like horoscopes, which once seemed so easy to adopt, can just as easily trap us into unfulfilling routines and bad habits. Sartre’s call is to abandon this bad faith, to own up to our inherent freedom, as it is ... freeing. But is that even possible? Can we function without an essence, without a self? Perhaps the point is not to live without an essence — as that may be impossible — but to know we can always adopt another. We may need to tell ourselves a story, but we can always tell a different one.