Divination and meaning

Some clarity from the Azande

Not long ago, I read an excerpt from a 1937 study of the Azande people of sub-Saharan Africa and their use of divination. It explained that these people built substantial granaries of wood and clay, held safely clear of the ground by wooden supports. And sometimes those wooden supports would collapse, and sometimes this would happen while people were sitting underneath.

The Azande had no difficulty in explaining how this could come about: the wood decayed, and termites ate through the supports. But they would turn to divination to discover why it happened ‘at the particular moment when these particular people were sitting beneath it’.

‘How’ vs ‘why’

And this, it seems to me, epitomises the kind of understanding we cannot get from our regular scientific education. We can learn all we want about how: any information we might want about the workings of decay in wood at a cellular level is there for the asking, along with the knowledge of how to prevent it. But if we ask why, there’s no answer.

Yet despite this, at a deep level we still naturally want and expect an answer. If I dream vividly about escaping from a dark house, I want to know why. If a song on the radio answers a question in your mind, then you want to know why. Perhaps if there always seem to be crows flying overhead and calling when you think about leaving your job, you might also wonder why.

Our scientific knowledge can tell us more than traditional cultures ever dreamed of about ‘how’ – neurochemicals or radio waves or the social habits of crows – but nothing about ‘why’; it would even try to persuade us that these things are random, and there are no reasons.

We need meaning

It’s not in our nature to be convinced of randomness. We understand the ‘how’; we also want to know why. At the deepest level, we don’t believe any more than the Azande that these things are random. We know that the events of our lives have meaning, and some are so charged, so luminous with meaning that we can recognise them as signs.

(Or if we’re embarrassed to talk about ‘signs’ or ‘omens’, we might call them synchronicities – Jung’s word for an acausal, but meaningful, connection between an inner state and something in the outer world.)

…and divination

And this is when we need divination. A sign or synchronicity is a beginning:

‘Hello! Pay attention, please, here is something you need to understand!’

Turning to an oracle to ask, ‘What does it mean?’ is the most natural way in the world to continue the conversation.

You can consult the I Ching with questions such as

• ‘What did my dream mean?’

or for more focussed study,

• ‘What did that house [or whatever] in my dream represent?’

And the oracle will reach out over the gap between sleeping and waking life and help you to weave the two together. It may also give you a clearer idea of what deeper inner changes are played out in the dream imagery: it helps you to see the big patterns that find expression there.

Another way of putting it:

• ‘What is there for me to learn from this sign?’

– and then you can ask about the crows, or the song on the radio, or whatever synchronicity has seized your attention. Asking what there is to learn, what you need to know – this is a simple, open question that shows your willingness to engage with the guidance you’re offered.

Be prepared for the conversation to unfold faster and more vividly as you ‘show willing’ in this way. Imagery from the I Ching may show up in dreams. Signs in the outer world may bring your attention back to a reading.

(I once had a ‘tiger day’, seeing tigers on TV, on book covers, on signposts, posters, even (in case I was missing the point) on a drinks coaster – all following on from a reading that morning with Hexagram 49, line 5, ‘The great person changes as a tiger…’)

Starting to notice signs, to acknowledge our deep-seated belief that what happens around us has meaning, brings flashes and highlights of colour to a world that easily sinks into grey abstraction. Consulting the I Ching about signs and dreams, engaging willingly with our world in all dimensions, is like flooding an old silent film with sound and colour.