Magical Explanations

In an interview with a prominent string theorist, the discussion drifted into the philosophy of science.  This is not an uncommon occurrence when conversing about theoretical physics, and especially string theory, which is…interesting in its current and evolving place in the literature.  When I first became aware of string theory, there was a sense it was the dominant, favored contender for addressing many of the most prominent outstanding problems in physics, especially the tension between quantum gravity and general relativity; since then, its star has dimmed due to the impracticality of testing many of its claims and the broadness of some of its predictions.  The interview included a quality discussion of these matters, but a particular observation caught my attention to share with you: magic stops being magical when it’s explained, but physics becomes more magical the more we understand it.

Perhaps because of my thoughts about magic systems in modern fantasy, this observation resonated with my writing brain.  Sanderson’s Elantris is the first example of a “hard” magic system I can recall reading, and I’ve always found the notion of “hard” magic appealing in the sense of a toolbox that the author gets to play with to solve problems.  Mistborn and its fascinating combinations and interactions between different effects and different but related magic systems works because of the notion of “hard” magic with defined and explicated rules, like an alternative physics for the books’ world.  In the past few years, though, I’ve become somewhat disenchanted with hard magic systems, to the point that I wonder if there’s something contradictory in the very notion.  In the same way that stage magic stops being magical when the trick is explained, I’ve started to find that hard magic systems are less “magic,” and more simply an alternative mechanics.

Sometime around the sixteenth century, as natural philosophy was evolving into something more rigorous and analogous to our modern conception of science, the general view of the universe underwent its own shift, from one based on analogy as with a living entity, to a more deterministic, mechanical conception, which is the dominant view which prevails today (although it may be undergoing some further evolution, at least in the minds of those who study theoretical physics).  Arguably, that shift has never permeated the general culture more than it has in the last twenty or so years.  Much of the world has become accustomed to answers being available at our fingertips via the internet: definitive, instant, and straightforward (correct is a different matter).  It’s reflected in the kinds of stories we’re telling – I consider it no small part of Sanderson’s success that he is telling stories about magic systems that have those kinds of answers.  Hard magic systems are magic explained, the questions answered.

Without the prompt from the interview, I might not have phrased it in the same way, but it’s true to a sense I’ve increasingly had reading modern works of fantasy, like Sanderson’s, which feature hard magic systems: they are less magical.  The magic of The Lord of the Rings or the Chronicles of Prydain lies in part in the mystery of the magic.  It’s there, but it comes out overtly only on rare occasions.  The scene when Delben defends his farm remains vivid in my head in part because it’s one of the only times in the series we get to see him using overt magic like that – the rest of the time, we know his power is there in the background, but he doesn’t flaunt it.  My Archmage and the Unicorn story is an attempt to write an entire novella evoking that feeling.

Physics is different.  Well, you’ll have to tell me if this is just because I happen to be interested in physics, but my perception is that, unlike magic, which loses some of its magic when it’s explained, physics only becomes more fascinating and wondrous.  Where magic becomes commonplace when it’s explained, physics explained becomes beautiful.  The way the energy and forces of the universe balance out so delicately to enable us, life, matter itself to exist, the brilliance of a proof like Penrose’s singularity paper, the wonder of an explanation that unites the force that causes an apple to fall with the force that keeps the heavens moving.

Magic is a kind of shortcut, perhaps, to the sense of wonder that comes from understanding the beauty of a theory like relativity, and that is why it fails to preserve its wonder in the face of explanation.  Of course, magic does not exist in a story in isolation.  The sense of wonder in a story can come strongest when plot, character, and setting (including magic) combine in particular ways.  Hard magic systems allow the author to use them to solve story problems in a way that doesn’t smack of deus ex machina, but some of the weight of wonder will necessarily be shifted to other story elements.  Soft magic systems, by defying explanations, can preserve that wonder.  Then again, perhaps the greatest wonder of all will remain the elegance of the physics which drive our worlds, both factual and fantastic.