Beyond Coincidence Read online

  Journalists

  Jupiter, lack of Saturn

  Playwrights

  Jupiter

  Painters

  Venus, lack of Mars or Saturn

  Musicians

  Venus, lack of Mars

  By no means did all of Gauquelin’s findings came out in support of astrology. His early work on zodiacal signs found no evidence to support the astrologers’ claims. Throughout his life he faced accusations from the scientific community that his findings were inaccurate or even fraudulent. In 1991 he committed suicide, after first destroying much of his original data.

  A piece of more recent investigative research has thrown up a possible astral link between car thieves and their victims. Using statistics provided by police, it has been discovered that car thieves and the owners of the cars they steal commonly share the same birth sign. The inference is that if you are born under the same sign, you share similar preferences, including your taste in motor vehicles. It’s doubtful how much comfort that will offer the freshly bereaved former owner of a shiny new Porsche Carrera GT. What will the thief come after next? His wife?

  Amateur astronomer Peter Anderson regarded astrology as “bunkum.” One day he found a newspaper lying on a desk, opened by chance at the horoscopes and, despite his innate skepticism, found himself glancing at the prediction for his birth sign—Capricorn. It said he would be offered two jobs in the next week. He had a good laugh about it. The next day he was offered two jobs.…

  The more coincidences we observe in our lives, the more they excite and entertain us. And strange, inexplicable coincidences, predicted or unpredicted, are happening around us much more frequently than we realize. We tend only to notice those events that are brought to our attention or are so startling that we can’t miss them.

  Writer, heroin addict, and wife-killer William S. Burroughs believed that our paths through life are littered with coincidences and that all of them are significant. He kept records of his dreams, a scrapbook of newspaper clippings, and notes on seemingly anything that occurred, searching for the coincidences in his life—and their meaning. Burroughs suggested that we should all increase our awareness by being more observant. He advised friends to take a walk around the block, come back and write down precisely what happened, with particular attention to what they were thinking when they noticed a street sign, or passing car, or stranger, or whatever caught their attention. He predicted that they would observe that what they were thinking just before they saw a sign, for example, would relate to that sign. “The sign may even complete a sentence in your mind. You are getting messages. Everything is talking to you,” he told them. “From my point of view there is no such thing as coincidence.”

  The mystery of coincidence is seductive. We want to see coincidences around us—we need to see them. But our enthusiasm can lead us astray, resulting in false sightings. A sense of missionary zeal may have been burning in the breast of the person who first noticed, and posted on the Internet, the “extraordinary coincidences” between the classic Judy Garland film, The Wizard of Oz, and the bestselling rock album, Dark Side of the Moon, by Pink Floyd. All you have to do, explained the Web site, is play the album at the same time as the film to spot the amazing synchronicity. It suggested that some sort of cosmic force had been at work here, unifying the creative output of the musicians and the moviemakers.

  Such was the Internet-surfing public’s fascination with this revelation that shortly after this “coincidence” theory was first described on the Internet, sales of the Pink Floyd album surged and copies of The Wizard of Oz were swiped from the shelves of film rental shops.

  To check out these coincidences for yourself you have to carefully follow some very precise instructions:

  First of all, buy your album and video. Start your Pink Floyd music at the precise moment the MGM lion finishes its third and final roar … “and you will find some very interesting coincidences.”

  You’ll know you’ve got it right when the first chord of the song “Breathe” comes in at the same time as “produced by Mervyn LeRoy” is displayed on the screen, and Dorothy is teetering on the fence to the pigpen when the band is singing “balanced on the biggest wave.”

  Dorothy falls into the pigpen just as you hear the words “race towards an early grave,” and the music changes at the same time. Dorothy holds a little chick up to her face in a caring manner as you hear the band sing the words “don’t be afraid to care.” When the band sings “smiles you’ll give and tears you’ll cry” the Lion and the Tin Man are smiling and the Scarecrow is crying. The song “Brain Damage” begins at about the same time the Scarecrow starts singing “If I only had a brain.” When the Munchkins are dancing after Dorothy arrives in Oz, the scene appears to be perfectly choreographed with the song “Us and Them.”

  And on and on it goes in similar fashion.

  Now for those who haven’t immediately rushed off to try this experiment, you should be warned that you may find the experience a little frustrating—a complicated and unsatisfactory way to spend an hour or so of your life. Does it confirm that the world is full of wonderful and exotic and inexplicable coincidence? What do you think, Toto?

  But the very fact that—at a conservative estimate—thousands of people have gone to the trouble to explore this alleged phenomenon says a lot about our collective need as a species to find meaningful coincidences in our lives.

  Our love of coincidence seems to be inextricably tied to that other fundamental human need—to understand the meaning of existence. In both cases we seem desperate to convince ourselves that there is more to it, more to coincidence and to life, than random chance and serendipity.

  Douglas Adams bent his mind to the meaning of life in his hugely popular Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series. The comic novels famously come to the conclusion that the answer to the meaning of life, the universe, and everything is 42. Adams might have found it harder to explain the coincidence that occurred to him at Cambridge railway station.

  Adams went into the station cafeteria and bought a packet of cookies along with a newspaper, then sat at a table. A stranger sat down, opened the bag of cookies and started to eat them. There was obvious confusion over the cookies’ ownership. “I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do,” says Adams. “I ignored it.” Both men alternately removed cookies from the bag until it was empty. It was only when the stranger left that Adams realized he had placed his newspaper over his own identical bag of cookies. “Somewhere in England there is now another man telling the exact same story,” Adams observed, “except that he doesn’t know the punch line.”

  Perfect coincidences make perfect stories—better than anything even an accomplished storyteller like Douglas Adams could have invented.

  Few of us encounter the “double cookies packet” coincidence scenario. More common is the experience of unexpectedly bumping into your brother-in-law at a nudist camp. That happens a lot. But wherever an experience appears on the Richter scale of coincidence, it always feels amazing and very special to the person involved. The universe has singled us out for special attention. “Look what I can do,” it seems to be saying.

  Our love of coincidence knows no bounds. As if there weren’t enough naturally occurring coincidences to satisfy our insatiable need, we fashion them ourselves, working them elaborately into our art and literature. We are in love with the shape and sound, the rhythm and rhyme of coincidence. It makes us laugh, too:

  A baby goat wanders too far from his nanny, tumbles over a cliff, and is swallowed by a large flat fish. A fisherman hauls in the flat fish, cuts it open and out jumps the baby goat. The fisherman says: “What’s a nice kid like you doing in a plaice like this?”

  Why does this joke work? Because we enjoy the coincidence of these ideas coming together. We love the surprise of seeing or hearing words used in unexpected ways. Puns are coincidences of sound and meaning—two parallel thoughts tied together by an acoustic knot. The English language, cobbled together as
it is from Latin, Norse, and French, as well as your common or garden Anglo-Saxon, has innumerable words of similar or identical meaning—as well as many words that sound the same but mean something completely different. It makes wordplay a cinch. For example:

  Time flies like an arrow.

  Fruit flies like a banana.

  Coincidence is integral to the interior creative process. Every second our minds make hundreds of links, rejecting most, bringing together unlike elements to see if, in sum, they make more than their separate parts. It is this meaningful linking from which an idea is born, be it a pun, an apt metaphor, a rhyme, or a relentless plot mechanism.

  Secretly we are delighted that an article in a urology journal should have been written—and this is true—by J.W. Splatt and D. Weedon, even though we maintain in public that we are above such childish amusement. The coincidence that links Messrs. Splatt and Weedon to their profession is by no means unique. Just ask Cardinal Sin of Manila or the former Saudi Arabian oil minister Sheik Yamani. There are many more examples.

  A police officer Neil Cremen, who luxuriates (for reasons unknown) under the nickname “the Dog,” was sent to investigate a complaint about a savage dog. When he arrived at the house, the dog duly bit “the Dog.” In the hospital Cremen was treated by a Dr. Bassett. The owner was taken to court and prosecuted by a lawyer named Barker.

  There is immense satisfaction in the sound of those references closing together. There’s completeness about such a story, a relief from chaos: pattern resolved, cycle fulfilled, ends tidied away. Is this what motivates us? Neatness?

  Coincidences, real or artfully contrived, can make us laugh out loud. Here’s a true story:

  A woman sunbathing on an inflatable lobster was washed out to sea. She was rescued by a man on a set of inflatable false teeth.

  But this one’s made up:

  An old man goes to heaven, and sitting at the reception desk in heaven is Jesus, who calls the old man forward and says, “Old man, welcome to heaven. I have to take some details—could you tell me your name?” The old man says, “My name is Joseph.” And Jesus says, “Well there’s a coincidence, when I was on earth my father’s name was Joseph.” And the old man says, “Well I had a little boy, you know, he’d be about your age by now.” And Jesus says, “Well how extraordinary … but I left home when I was quite young.” And the old man says, “Yes, my little boy left home when he was young. He went away with his friends, they got involved in magic and other mystical stuff.” And Jesus says, “Another coincidence—how extraordinary, that’s exactly what happened to me. Tell me, what was your job back on Earth?” And the old man says, “I was a carpenter.” And Jesus says, “That’s an amazing coincidence, that was my father’s job too … you don’t think that you and I could be…” And the old man says, “No, you see, my little boy was not born like ordinary boys.” And Jesus says, “That’s how it was with me.” And the old man says, “Look, I would know my little boy anywhere, you see he has these little holes in his hands and feet.” And Jesus says “… you mean like THIS.” And the old man says, “I can’t believe it.” And Jesus says, “You must believe it—so many coincidences, you must be my earthly father Joseph.” And the old man says, “… and you must be my little boy—Pinocchio!”

  One of the most memorable images from the history of silent movies is of Buster Keaton standing innocently in front of the collapsing façade of a house. The house falls, but by a stroke of luck Keaton happens to be standing directly in line with an open window. Our delight in this apparent coincidence mirrors the satisfaction we get from true dramas—like the woman saved from serious injury when her chimney crashed through the ceiling, smashing the end of her bed, seconds after she had curled up her legs, or the soldier saved from a bullet fired at his heart by the silver locket containing a picture of his fiancée.

  Coincidence is the driving force behind the most popular of all modern forms of entertainment. Where would As the World Turns and All My Children be without all the outrageous coincidences that propel their convoluted and incredible storylines—the amazing chance encounters and complex interrelationships. Hitherto unheard-of brothers, sisters, uncles, mothers, and sons materialize from thin air, just in time to resolve tricky plot dilemmas or revive flagging ratings. The more far-fetched the coincidence, the more we love it.

  But, as usual, truth tends to be stranger than fiction. Would modern soap opera fans swallow a storyline that imitated the real-life relationships revealed by the marriage announcement carried in an American newspaper back in 1831?

  At Saco, Maine, on Christmas Eve, by the Rev. William Jenkins, Mr. Thophilus Hutcheson to Miss Martha Wells; Mr. Richard Hutcheson to Miss Eliza Wells; Mr. Thomas Hutcheson to Miss Sarah Ann Wells; Mr. Titus Hutcheson to Miss Mary Wells; Mr. Jonathan Hutcheson to Miss Judith Wells; Mr. Ebenezer Hutcheson to Miss Virginia Wells, and Mr. John Hutcheson to Miss Peggy Wells.

  Another popular dramatic device that also materializes in real life and relies entirely on coincidence is mistaken identity.

  There are more than six billion people in the world. Most of them have a similar arrangement of arms, legs, and facial features. They come in a limited range of colors, heights, and builds. That two people might look very similar is perhaps not so extraordinary, yet we take great delight in the coincidence when they do. Actors and actresses have built careers on the fact that they have a more than passing resemblance to the president or Michael Jackson, or Britney Spears. Impressionists like Dana Carvey delight us with their capacity to both look and sound like a range of familiar figures.

  We experience a strange and slightly disturbing frisson when friends say they have met someone who is the spitting image of ourselves. “He had wild staring eyes, a bad haircut, and poor posture,” we’re told. “I was certain it was you.”

  Alfred Hitchcock’s film The Wrong Man draws on the real-life drama of Manny Balestrero—a New York Stork Club musician falsely accused of a series of holdups. He was arrested and charged in 1953 after several witnesses identified the bass player as the culprit. He was eventually released when his “double” was apprehended.

  The idea of a double or “doppelgänger” is common throughout literature and in drama. The Hollywood film, The Talented Mr. Ripley, is based on the idea that someone’s life could be completely taken over by a double, a theme that fiction writers have warmed to over the years.

  In some specific circumstances, obsession with this particular kind of coincidence can actually have a physiological cause—seated deep within the brain. Swiss neurobiologist, Dr. Peter Brugger of Zurich University Hospital, has evidence of a brain condition that can make the sufferers believe they have a real double. This rare delusional disorder is called Doppelgänger Syndrome.

  Sufferers imagine they see an exact replica of themselves. In extreme cases the sensation is accompanied by a belief that they are gradually being replaced by their doppelgänger. In one of Dr. Brugger’s cases a man felt so persecuted by his double that he shot himself to get rid of it.

  Within the world of fiction, this classic doppelgänger scenario features in Dostoevsky’s The Double, Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, and a number of other works. Dr. Brugger speculates that some authors who have used this particular dramatic device may themselves have been suffering from Doppelgänger Syndrome and writing from experience.

  Coincidence has been an engine of literature for centuries, its exponents including no lesser wordsmiths than Shakespeare and Dickens—who seldom hesitated to introduce extraordinary chance events to keep their plots bubbling along.

  Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities, for example, revolves around successive coincidences, that feuding central characters Sydney Carton and Charles Darnay look alike, resulting in Carton going to the guillotine in Darnay’s place, and that Darnay, who marries the heroine, Lucie Manette, happens to be the nephew of the marquis who had her father imprisoned.

  Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night is packed with coincidence. Viola believes h
er twin brother Sebastian has died. To protect herself in a strange country, Viola pretends that she’s a boy—Cesario. But in her boys’ clothes she looks just like Sebastian, and when he turns up with his new friend Antonio, everyone thinks that he is Cesario. The beautiful Countess Olivia has fallen in love with Cesario (not realizing he is Viola) while Cesario has been taking messages of love from Duke Orsino to Olivia. Eventually all is resolved in a happy, if somewhat coincidence-packed, ending.

  Writer and literary critic John Walsh believes Macbeth to be the Shakespearean play that makes the most interesting use of coincidence. Macbeth is assured by the three witches that he should fear no man born of woman … and certainly not before Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane. So no worries there for Macbeth. Unfortunately it transpires that his adversary Macduff was born by caesarean section. Macduff’s soldiers then creep up on Macbeth at Dunsinane by using the branches of the trees of Birnam Wood as camouflage.

  Says John Walsh, “I imagine Macbeth turning away, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand and saying, ‘How unlikely a coincidence is this?!’ Just before his head is severed by Macduff.”

  It has been said of Charlotte Brontë’s somewhat romantic plot developments in Jane Eyre that she “stretched the long arm of coincidence to the point of dislocation.” The same could be said of countless writers over the centuries. Not that this has made them any less successful. Quite the contrary.

  Coincidence is more sparingly used in contemporary fiction. The more sophisticated modern reader can be left feeling short-changed or even cheated by its overuse. Not that this much inhibited James Redfield, author of The Celestine Prophecy. Despite its modest literary credibility, the book became a number-one bestseller around the world. Its plot revolves around the search for the “nine key insights to life itself.” The first insight, it transpires, occurs when we become “fully conscious of the coincidences in our lives.” This turns out to be little more than the justification for one of the most unconvincing, coincidence-laden plots ever conceived. Still, the book-buying public of the world can’t be wrong. Our love of coincidence knows no bounds.