“And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
These are the final words of Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel—the Great Commission’s closing promise. For nearly two thousand years, Christians have understood this as assurance that Christ remains present with his people until history reaches its consummation.
Zeitgeist offers a radically different reading.
According to the film, “end of the world” is a mistranslation. The Greek word is aiōn, meaning “age,” not “world.” Therefore, Jesus isn’t promising to be with his disciples until the end of history—he’s marking the duration of the astrological Age of Pisces. When Pisces ends (roughly 2,150 years after Jesus), the Age of Aquarius begins.
The film even claims to find the symbol of Aquarius hidden in the Gospels. In Luke 22:10, Jesus tells his disciples to follow “a man carrying a pitcher of water” to find their Passover room. For Zeitgeist, this man is Aquarius, the Water Bearer—a coded prophecy of the coming age.
If this interpretation is correct, Christian eschatology is fundamentally misunderstood. The Second Coming isn’t Christ’s return in glory—it’s merely the next turn of the zodiacal wheel. The “end times” aren’t about divine judgment—they’re about astronomical mechanics.
It’s a bold claim. And it’s completely wrong.
What Zeitgeist Gets Right (and Then Ruins)
Let’s give credit where it’s due: Zeitgeist is correct that aiōn means “age,” not “world.”
The Greek word kosmos means “world” in the sense of the ordered universe or human society. The word aiōn means something different—a period of time, an era, an age. When Matthew 28:20 speaks of the synteleia tou aiōnos (literally “the completion of the age”), it’s referring to the end of an era, not the destruction of the physical cosmos.
This is standard Greek lexicography. Any first-year seminary student knows it. The King James Version’s “end of the world” is indeed a less precise translation than modern versions’ “end of the age.”
So far, so good.
But Zeitgeist then makes a catastrophic interpretive leap: because aiōn means “age,” it must mean a zodiacal age. The film assumes that “age” in first-century Jewish discourse meant the same thing as “age” in Hellenistic astrology—a 2,150-year period determined by the Precession of the Equinoxes.
This is where everything falls apart.
The Jewish Meaning of “The Age”
The concept of “ages” in first-century Judaism had nothing to do with astrology. It was rooted in apocalyptic theology—a distinctive Jewish worldview that divided history into two epochs.
”This Age” and “The Age to Come”
Jewish apocalyptic thought operated with a fundamental temporal dualism:
This Age (ha-olam ha-zeh in Hebrew, ho aiōn houtos in Greek): The current era of history, characterized by sin, suffering, injustice, and the apparent triumph of evil. In this age, the righteous suffer while the wicked prosper. Israel remains subjugated to foreign powers. The world groans under the weight of corruption.
The Age to Come (ha-olam ha-ba, ho aiōn mellōn): The future era when God will intervene decisively. He will defeat the powers of evil, vindicate his people, raise the dead, judge the nations, and establish his kingdom in fullness. Justice will finally be done. God’s purposes will be consummated.
This two-age schema appears throughout Second Temple Jewish literature—the Dead Sea Scrolls, the book of Enoch, 4 Ezra, 2 Baruch. It was the standard framework for thinking about history and God’s purposes.
The “End of the Age” in Jewish Context
When Jesus and the Gospel writers speak of the “end of the age,” they’re using this established Jewish vocabulary.
The “end of the age” is the moment when “this age” gives way to “the age to come”—when God acts to consummate history, overthrow evil, and establish his kingdom. It’s an eschatological concept, not an astronomical one.
Bart Ehrman explains: “Jewish apocalypticists were dualists who divided history into two distinct periods: ‘The Present Evil Age’ and ‘The Age to Come.’ When the Gospels speak of the ‘end of the age,’ they are referring to the cataclysmic intervention of God to overthrow the forces of evil and establish his Kingdom on earth.”
This has nothing to do with the vernal equinox drifting from one constellation to another. The “ages” aren’t defined by stellar positions—they’re defined by God’s redemptive purposes.
Transformation, Not Precession
E.P. Sanders notes an important nuance: the “end of the age” doesn’t necessarily mean the physical destruction of the cosmos. It signifies the end of an epoch—the transformation of the current political, social, and spiritual order.
The “age to come” wasn’t imagined as existence in some other realm, but as renewed life on a transformed earth. God would reign. Justice would prevail. The dead would rise. Creation itself would be liberated.
This is light-years away from the mechanistic cycling of zodiacal ages. The Jewish hope was for divine intervention to set things right—not for the impersonal grinding of celestial gears to tick over another notch.
The Chronological Problem: Imminence Contradicts Precession
Here’s where the Zeitgeist interpretation becomes historically absurd.
If Jesus understood “the end of the age” as the transition to Aquarius, he was referring to an event roughly 2,150 years in the future. The Age of Pisces (under this schema) began around the time of Jesus and would end around 2150 CE.
But everything we know about Jesus’ teaching indicates he expected the end imminently—within the lifetime of his contemporaries, not two millennia later.
The Sayings of Jesus
Consider these passages:
Mark 9:1: “Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the kingdom of God after it has come with power.”
Mark 13:30: “Truly, I say to you, this generation will not pass away until all these things take place.”
Matthew 10:23: “When they persecute you in one town, flee to the next, for truly, I say to you, you will not have gone through all the towns of Israel before the Son of Man comes.”
These sayings point to an imminent expectation. Jesus tells his disciples that some of them will still be alive when the kingdom comes. He says “this generation” will witness the fulfillment. He suggests they won’t even finish evangelizing Israel’s towns before the end arrives.
This is not language appropriate for an event 2,000 years away.
The Early Church’s Expectation
The early Christians clearly expected Jesus to return soon.
Paul writes to the Thessalonians as though he might still be alive at the Lord’s coming (1 Thessalonians 4:15–17). He tells the Corinthians “the appointed time has grown very short” (1 Corinthians 7:29). James urges patience because “the coming of the Lord is at hand” (James 5:8). The book of Revelation opens with “the time is near” (Revelation 1:3).
This pervasive sense of urgency makes no sense if Jesus had taught a 2,150-year astrological cycle. Why the breathless expectation? Why the constant readiness? Why the repeated assurances that the end was “near” and “soon”?
The “Delay” Problem
In fact, the early church had to grapple with what scholars call the “delay of the parousia”—the fact that Jesus didn’t return as quickly as expected.
2 Peter addresses this directly: “Scoffers will come in the last days… saying, ‘Where is the promise of his coming?’” The author responds that “with the Lord one day is as a thousand years” (2 Peter 3:3–8). This is damage control—explaining why the expected event hasn’t happened yet.
If Jesus had taught that the “end of the age” meant the Age of Aquarius two millennia hence, there would have been no delay problem. The early Christians wouldn’t have been puzzled by Jesus’ non-return because they’d have known they had centuries to wait.
The very existence of the delay problem proves the original expectation was for something imminent, not something astrologically scheduled for the distant future.
The Man with the Pitcher: Aquarius or Passover Logistics?
Zeitgeist claims that Luke 22:10 contains a hidden reference to Aquarius, the Water Bearer:
He said to them, “Behold, when you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him into the house that he enters.”
The man carrying water supposedly symbolizes Aquarius, pointing forward to the next astrological age.
This interpretation strips the passage completely from its literary and historical context.
The Passover Setting
The scene in Luke 22 is preparation for the Last Supper—Jesus’ final Passover meal with his disciples before his arrest. Jesus sends Peter and John ahead to prepare the meal, and he gives them instructions for finding the location.
The “man carrying a jar of water” isn’t a cosmic symbol. He’s a recognition signal.
Why a Man with Water?
In first-century Jewish culture, carrying water in ceramic jars was almost exclusively women’s work. Men transported liquids in leather wineskins, which were more durable for travel. A man carrying a water jar would stand out—he’d be conspicuous in a crowd.
This made him an ideal marker for a clandestine meeting point.
Jesus was arranging the Passover meal discreetly. Judas had already agreed to betray him (Luke 22:3–6), and Jesus needed to secure a location without the authorities knowing in advance. The man with the water jar served as a pre-arranged signal—the disciples could spot him easily and follow him to the safe house without asking directions or drawing attention.
It’s practical tradecraft, not astrological prophecy.
Scholarly Consensus
E.P. Sanders and other scholars situate this passage firmly within the historical context of Passover preparation. The instructions are logistical, not symbolic.
Maurice Casey directly criticizes attempts to find astrological meaning in such passages. He calls similar efforts to link John the Baptist to Aquarius “comically inaccurate” and devoid of historical value. The mythicist tendency to strip narratives of their Jewish cultural setting and hunt for pagan parallels is, in Casey’s words, methodologically bankrupt.
The man with the pitcher is a practical detail in a historical narrative. Reading him as Aquarius requires ignoring everything the text actually says about its setting, purpose, and meaning.
The Category Mistake
The fundamental error in Zeitgeist’s argument is what philosophers call a “category mistake”—confusing one type of thing with another.
The film correctly identifies that aiōn means “age” rather than “world.” But it then incorrectly assumes that “age” in first-century Jewish discourse meant the same thing as “age” in Hellenistic astrology.
It’s like observing that both English and French use the word “pain,” then concluding that when a French person says “pain,” they’re talking about suffering rather than bread. The same word carries entirely different meanings in different contexts.
In Jewish apocalyptic thought, “age” referred to epochs defined by God’s redemptive purposes. In Hellenistic astrology, “age” referred to periods defined by the Precession of the Equinoxes. These are completely different concepts that happen to use overlapping vocabulary.
Zeitgeist exploits the verbal overlap to smuggle an alien meaning into the text.
What the “End of the Age” Actually Means
Strip away the astrological speculation, and what remains is the actual message of the Gospels.
Jesus announced that God’s kingdom was breaking into history. The age of sin and death was reaching its climax. God was about to act—to vindicate the righteous, judge the wicked, and set creation right.
This message created urgency. If the kingdom was near, people needed to respond now. Repentance couldn’t wait. Allegiance to Jesus couldn’t be deferred. The opportunity was present, but it wouldn’t last forever.
The “end of the age” wasn’t an astronomical inevitability grinding forward on celestial clockwork. It was God’s sovereign intervention in history—something requiring a response, not just observation.
And Jesus’ promise to be with his disciples “to the end of the age” wasn’t a declaration of limited tenure during one zodiacal period. It was assurance that whatever they faced, wherever the mission took them, however long it lasted—he would be present.
That promise has sustained Christians through persecution, plague, war, and every conceivable trial for two thousand years. It’s a promise about presence, not precession.
Conclusion
The claim that “end of the world” should be “end of the age” and that this refers to the Age of Aquarius fails on every level:
Philologically: While aiōn does mean “age,” the word in Jewish apocalyptic contexts refers to the two-age schema (this age / the age to come), not to zodiacal periods. The astrological meaning is foreign to the text.
Chronologically: Jesus taught that the end was imminent—within his generation’s lifetime. This contradicts a 2,150-year zodiacal cycle. The early church’s expectation of Jesus’ soon return, and their struggle with the “delay,” proves the original expectation wasn’t astrological.
Contextually: The “man with a pitcher” in Luke 22:10 is a practical recognition signal for locating the Passover room, not a symbol of Aquarius. Reading him astrologically requires ignoring the passage’s historical setting entirely.
Methodologically: The argument commits a category mistake—assuming that because two systems use the word “age,” they must mean the same thing. They don’t.
The astrological ages thesis offers a grand unified theory that explains nothing while distorting everything. It takes texts rooted in Jewish theology, Jewish eschatology, and Jewish cultural practice, then forces them through a pagan astrological grid they were never designed to fit.
The “end of the age” is about God’s purposes reaching their goal—not about stars drifting through the sky.
Author’s Note (2026): This article was originally written in 2013 but was never published at the time. Prior to publication in 2026, it has been carefully reviewed and updated to ensure that historical references, scholarly claims, and source material are accurate, current, and properly represented.