The universe is composed of stories, not atoms.

Muriel Rukeyser, "The Speed of Darkness"

 

 

I recently met with a client whose natal horoscope included an especially volatile Mars positioned exactly on his 4th-house cusp—the segment of the horoscope relating to home and domesticity. During the course of our conversation, the young man told me of a curious event that occurred at the moment he was born: exactly as his mother was at the hospital giving birth to him, a small fire broke out back at the family home, causing extensive damage to one of several bedrooms.

 

A curious synchronicity, I thought, considering the "fiery" pattern in his chart relating to the home—and considering the ongoing pattern of domestic turbulence this individual experienced throughout his life ever since.

 

Over the years of researching various aspects of symbolism and synchronicity, I've encountered many such stories, not only from discussions with clients but from a variety of historical sources as well. In many Native American cultures, for example, it's well known that special attention was paid to signs or symbols occurring in the environment at the moment of a child's birth. So if a child was born at the moment a deer happened to run by, that child might be named Running Deer, in the belief that personality would grow up to express qualities of swiftness or gracefulness.

 

Or, in the Tibetan tradition, if a great earthquake occurred at the moment of a child's birth, this might be taken as a sign this individual would somehow have a great or unusual destiny, and might likewise "shake the world." Western classical history tells us of similar symbols or omens that accompanied the births of figures like Alexander the Great, Socrates, and Plato. Indeed, there are few traditional cultures which did not place emphasis on such symbols or "coincidences" around the births of men and women.

 

As with astrology, signs like this have traditionally been thought to reflect the destinies or characters of the individuals involved—with or without added consideration of the celestial configurations of the moment. Applying this approach to my own client's case, any esotericist worth their salt would have immediately recognized an important insight into this person's life simply from observing the symbols in the environment around his birth—in this case, "Martian" symbols.

 

Simply put, while the starry sky offers a profound map into the soul and destiny of an individual, it is by no means the only map available within the symbolic landscape of our environment.

 

Examples like this open a window into an important but often overlooked dimension of astrology, and invite us to reconsider a very old question: How does astrology work? If there is indeed a vital connection between the celestial bodies and our lives down here on Earth, what specifically is the mechanism involved?

 

Over the millennia, any number of theories have been put forth to explain astrology's inner workings, most of which can, in simplest terms, be classified into one of two primary groups: causal, or force, explanations, and acausal, or synchronistic, explanations.

 

According to the causal model, humans are influenced by means of an energy or force transmitted from celestial bodies to creatures down on Earth. For some writers, that's to be explained in terms of an already known force like electromagnetism or gravity. Astrophysicist Percy Seymour, for example, writes about the complex way the Solar System interacts with the Earth's geomagnetic fields: "The whole solar system is playing a symphony on the magnetic field of the Earth...We are all genetically 'tuned' to receiving a different set of melodies from the symphony." 1 For still others, this causal force consists of an energy within nature that's still to be undiscovered by science—and might even be paranormal or occult in nature, as was believed by Rennaissance magical philosophers like Cornelius Agrippa. In either case, such "force" theories hold that celestial forces act upon humans by means of a classical cause-and-effect mechanism; in short, this affects that.

 

On the other hand, the acausal or synchronistic explanation believes that the secret of astrological influence won't ever be found in any purely mechanistic theories of cause-and-effect, but only in conjunction with a more holistic worldview that views all phenomena as embedded in a deeper network of interconnectedness and meaning. According to writers like Dane Rudhyar and H.P. Blavatsky, the planetary patterns at one's moment of birth don't cause particular traits or tendencies so much as reflect them. The simultaneity of celestial and earthly events are, to use Carl Jung's terminology, a "meaningful coincidence," with the position of the planets and the life of individual's lives representing joint expressions of the same underlying pattern of meaningfulness.

 

In this essay, we will look more closely at the idea that astrology is indeed synchronistic—but with a twist. The "mechanism" of astrology could be more accurately  described as symbolism, whereby celestial events not only connect acausally with earthly happenings but also incorporate dimensions of symbolism and meaning beyond their surface appearances. As evidence for this point, consider the fact that of all the myriad techniques and theories employed by astrologers, the vast majority of these are entirely symbolic in character, with little or no basis in empirical, concrete reality. Here are just a few examples:

 

* The complex network of hidden correspondences believed by astrologers to link the diverse areas of our lives, in ways that are profoundly metaphorical and archetypal in nature.

 

* The otherwise perplexing division of both houses and zodiacs specifically into twelve segments, suggesting an archetypal rather than practical basis. (Why not eight? Six? Or, more logically, four?).

 

* The method of classic progressions, based on a day-for-a-year movement of the planets from their position at one's time of birth.

 

* The art of horary astrology, whereby horoscopes are cast for such seemingly intangible things as questions or even ideas.

 

* Astrology's employment of planets positioned below the horizon in casting horoscopes. In any purely force-based model, subtle influences like this (all the more minimized in the case of distant planets like Pluto or Neptune) would logically seem blocked by the sheer mass of the Earth; in the symbolic model, though, such factors simply assume more hidden dimensions of meaning.

 

* The vast array of abstract points and "parts" employed in Arabic, Vedic, and some Western schools of

astrology, arrived at through purely mathematical or symbolic, rather than observational, means.

 

* The mysterious manner whereby horoscopes appear to operate even after their owners' deaths. For instance, mythological scholar Joseph Campbell achieved his greatest fame posthumously, when a series of televised interviews with him by Bill Moyers appeared on public television shortly after his death—right at the point when Campbell would have been experiencing his Uranus return. In a simlar way, when Clint Eastwood’s film about J. Edgar Hoover Edgar premiered in late 2011, it occurred just as transiting Pluto (the planet of resurrection) began crossing over Hoover's natal Sun-sign planets. If astrology is based on a causal "force" of some kind, how could it operate after the person is not even alive anymore?

 

As one final example of astrology's symbolist dimension, consider the widely-used concept of retrogradation. A planet like Mercury is said to be retrograde when its skyward path relative to the Earth seems to reverse itself. In actuality, of course, Mercury is traveling in its orbit around the Sun just as the Earth is. However, in much the same way that a train overtaken by a faster train might seem to be moving backward when in fact it's still moving forward along its own path at a steady rate of speed, the reversal of Mercury is a perceptual illusion caused by its position relative to the Earth's slower orbital path.

 

When Mercury's apparent motion reverses itself for several weeks at a time, business contracts begun then seem to develop complications, communications may stall, and technical difficulties arise. While most contemporary astrologers also allow for the possibility of positive effects accompanying these periods, these are generally seen as involving more psychological or spiritual levels of experience.

 

The effects of a Mercury retrograde are observable and borne out by personal experience; but the cause-and-effect, or force, model can't possibly account for them. Clearly, it's nonsensical to speculate about "backing up" rays or "retrograde emanations" coming from the planet itself, since the retrograde phenomenon has nothing to do with the objective status of Mercury itself. Rather, the celestial "reversal" of Mercury is better understood as a metaphor for conditions taking place for humans, existing only in relation to the phenomenological dynamics of observers on Earth.

 

Astrology, then, as the yogi and mystic Shelly Trimmer once suggested, is best defined as astronomy, symbolically interpreted. Said another way, astrology uses the same essential facts as astronomy but infuses them with a symbolic or qualitative dimension that's absent for the conventional scientists. As seen by astronomers, for example, Jupiter is simply a large gaseous planet with certain measurable properties, traveling at a particular speed, in a particular orbital path. For astrologers, however, Jupiter symbolizes a particular set of qualities: expansiveness, joviality, excess, exploration, spiritual learning.

 

Importantly, this astrological interpretation can't be grasped through strictly scientific, quantitative means. If one traveled to that distant planet and took samples of its gasses, or tried to measure its energy fields, one still wouldn't be able to isolate the symbolic meaning associated with the planet by astrologers. And that's because astrological interpretation requires a perceptual shift, a kind of metaphoric knowing.

 

But we need take this one vital step further. The worldview underlying astrology doesn't regard simply the planets but all of reality as symbolic and meaning-laden. To the symbolist, the heavenly bodies are only threads within a far greater tapestry of affinities. As Emerson wrote, "Secret analogies tie together the remotest parts of Nature, as the atmosphere of a summer morning is filled with innumerable gossamer threads running in every direction, revealed by the beams of the rising sun!" 2 Thus, when a child is born, the symbolist can find important clues pointing to the child's character and destiny everywhere—in the flight of birds, the movement of clouds, and other natural signs and omens; in coincidences and events in the lives of the parents and their community; in political and social happenings; as well as in the position of the stars and planets at the moment of birth.

 

The mystical Neoplatonic philosopher Plotinus, who is often misinterpreted as being critical of astrology, echoes this understanding. In Ennead II.3, his primary essay on this subject, Plotinus criticizes the simplistic understanding of astrology which holds the stars "cause" things to happen on Earth. Rather, Plotinus argues that astrological influence is based on a philosophy of cosmic unity. Since all things emanate from the One, or the Divine Source, all things are intricately coordinated or "enchained" with one another and are therefore "signifiers" of each other within a supremely regulated design—the stars no less so than birds or any other phenomena. "The wise man is the man who in any one thing can read another," Plotinus wrote. 3

 

In other words, the stars and planets are meaningful, just as every other object or event is meaningful, since all things are equally intertwined within a grand universal order. As Plotinus remarks elsewhere, one would have to be far removed from the awareness of Divine Unity to think that anything is truly accidental or the result of chance.

 

Given this philosophical framework, questions of "mechanism" almost seem inappropriate. Does a Native shaman who names their child "Swift Eagle" because of the great bird circling the village during their birth, ask what manner of force emanated from the eagle towards the child, influencing its personality and destiny? Do they wonder by what means this force is transmitted, or its precise speed? More useful than such queries is an appreciation of the wonder of a universe in which such synchronicities occur, in which meaning expresses itself in manifold and multi-dimensional ways, not only through planets and people, but animals, weather, colors, landscapes—in short, every perceivable thing, both large and small.

 

As Plotinus wrote, "All things must be enchained, and the sympathy and correspondence obtaining in any one closely knit organism must exist, first, within the All." 4 Even asking what influence the planets have on human beings conceals a fundamental misconception, since the planets themselves are only facets of a larger picture in which each element interlocks with the other in a mutually arising symphony of meaning.

 

One final analogy may help make this point clearer. Imagine a play where the lead character finally awakens to a truth he's long hidden from himself. As the playwright penned the scene, the moment of his breakthrough is accompanied by the image of a rising Sun depicted off at the back of the stage—a dramatic device meant to complement the change of heart experienced by the lead character.

 

Now, how should we understand the relationship between the sunrise and the psychological change of

character? Are there any secret "rays" emanating from the mock-Sun to the lead character which a scientist could measure and quantify? Is there some energy field set up amongst the characters acting on stage, or amongst the objects and props which comprise the backdrop? Clearly, there isn't. Nonetheless, there is a connection between the character's psychological shift and the lighting change—but it's a symbolic rather than causal one. Each element in the story unfolds within a larger framework of meaning and is interpretable only in relation to a transcendent, or "implicate" ground of reference—the dramatic design conceived in the mind of the playwright.