Is it fair to suggest that we each have an innate desire for life to be worthwhile? The possibility that we might waste our finite time with something inconsequential is irritating. To find ourselves so considered is infuriating. Are we born to the search for meaning or do we learn to seek it?
Regardless of its source, that need may be the origin of the concept of fate. The idea of having a destiny (and presumably a good one) appeals to our sense of making some sort of difference. A fate simultaneously helps us feel more secure about our future and our mortality. Without specificity, however, it also can aggravate our fear of the unknown. We want to be optimistic and so we hunt for data.
Our collective sense that the Cosmos can be known – or, at least, better understood – leads us to communication and quests for experience. It’s a far better motivation than merely alleviating boredom. And whether the alchemy that transforms experience into wisdom results from quiet contemplation or by a more public affinity, it is that magic that matters. How we share with a community, and it with us, is less important than the sharing itself – the act and the content.
Some believe that anything described by the term magic is evil. To an extent this view can be understandable (but not justifiable). Magic can both hearten and unnerve us. Emphasis on the latter, particularly when combined with ideology, can lead to book- and witch-burnings. The burning of a book that is believed to “teach” magic is in and of itself a ritual practice.
“…for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”
— Hamlet: Act II, Scene II. William Shakespeare
Others dismiss magic as being a primitive or irrational belief. Science, in effect, sides with religion in wanting to drive away the magical.
But what magic is and does depends on what we think. If I were going to propose that there be Three Laws of Magic, the first would be “Magic is a personal force.”
In my fiction, fate and magic play key roles. I have been wondering why. Having been a scientist, the answer is suddenly obvious only as I write this post: it is part metaphor and part escapism. Magic in my fiction has nothing to do with what I really believe and practice day to day. Outside of writing, were I to actually define my magic, it would probably be closer to the following:
— that which contributes to understanding and/or ameliorates negative emotions (including fear of the unknown) especially if sudden inspiration is a factor.
Do I believe in magic? I do in mine.