Those Paradoxical Planets

I think you'd have to say that famous British astrologer Jonathan Cainer is an expert, don't you? The phrase "expert astrologer" sounds funny to me somehow, like "expert dowser," in that it suggests you've achieved mastery through training and experience in doing something that most sensible people don't believe can actually be done. But he's immensely popular, and when he had his predictions in the newspapers he was, for a time, the United Kingdom's highest-paid journalist. So let's say he's an expert.

I don't believe in astrology myself, but I believe (there's evidence for this one) in positive thinking, and Cainer is nothing if not positive. He constantly hammers away at the idea that what seems like a problem is really a blessing in disguise and you'll soon see why. As I say, I don't believe the stars can tell you whom to marry or whether to buy gold, but most of the time I can use a pep talk as much as anyone else and the man is, after all, an expert.

But I was brought up short by a prediction he made for me and my fellow Librans the other day. He was talking about the way the swine flu epidemic that was going to end all human life on the planet a few days before had seemed to abate just a bit, or at least the media uproar had, since the actual epidemic-wannabe itself never really seemed to work up a good head of steam. So Cainer made a few remarks about how often experts are wrong, and told us Librans to "be wary of expert opinions today."

I read that and scratched my head. I did at least implicitly consider Mr. Cainer himself to be an expert, as we've discussed, and I thought, OK, if you're an expert, I should be wary of your opinion too, so that means I shouldn't be wary of expert opinions, which means I should take seriously your opinion that your opinion shouldn't be taken seriously—does not compute—does not compute—she's my sister and my daughter—ack!

I mentioned this to friends I was having dinner with and one of them, a philosophy major in college, laughed and immediately pegged it as an instance of the famous "liar paradox," which people have been having fun with since the fourth century B.C.

Luckily, Cainer is himself again today. He said that when we don't know what we do, we resort to doing the sensible, adult thing. Am I now pursuing a course that seems comforting, yet makes little sense? "Today's discovery gives rise to several new possibilities," Mr. Cainer assures me.

I don't know what those possibilities are yet, but the day is young—I'm eating breakfast and writing this, actually—so I guess we'll see. I'm certainly open to new possibilities. Having been well trained by Mr. Cainer over the years, I just now imagined it was possible that all my problems are actually good things waiting to happen. It's as if I were surrounded by growling bears, and I faced the prospect in the next second or so of being devoured with nothing left but half a shoe and a belt buckle. Then suddenly the bears pull off their scary masks and reveal themselves in their true nature—they're all my dear friends and close relations, come to douse me with champagne and hoist me on their shoulders like a conquering hero so they can carry me, as I grin with relief and happiness, out of the dark forest and all the way home.