A partial schematic approach to deus ex machina (cont)
Of course, this now opens another array of tricky questions because the series is Science Fiction and so we are voiding a rather large number of our real world laws.
The machine called upon in the Night's Dawn Trilogy is capable of the quasi-magical acts it does, obviously. More important than its actual capabilities is the extent to which we consider such powers to be plausible. So, looking briefly at our other two examples: do we consider it likely that Medea would own a magic chariot, or that Batman might have an array of useful gadgets? Probably not. God-like machines are a staple of Science Fiction, but are rarely used with that bluntness.
This somewhat counters our natural feeling as I argued earlier, that deus ex machina "essentially produce[s] an item [or event] needed to void the obvious plot conclusion". It is not obvious that any of these examples might exist, but it is plausible in some essential way. And it seems likely that we can take this easy route to accepting divine interventions in all kinds of stories. When Athene ends the conflict between Odysseus and the Suitors' families at the end of The Odyssey that is the same sort of ending as a Euripidean deus ex machina, but nobody complains about it because it is merely the last in a long series of such divine maneauvres, and patently within the aegis of Athene.
To recap: we have discussed deus ex machina as being essentially a resolution of the plot by some unexpected means outside of the apparent capabilities of the actors in the plot. We have realized though that anyone acting on the plot actions is inherently dramatically capable of performing said tinkering. The "Naked God" at the end of Night's Dawn, Medea's chariot, Batman's Utility Belt, Athene in The Odyssey... are all largely rational within the context of the larger work. We are not vastly closer to understanding why such endings might be unsatisfactory in some ways. What is needed here is a wider perspective on the action of the story; a perspective wide enough to give a view of the usually silent actors like gods and magical chariots.
This is a rather glib dismissal of a profoundly felt objection, and furthermore restricts the use of the meta-term deus ex machina to refer to someone wholy outside the world in which the plot happens making a determination. Like the author stepping onto stage, or a god appearing in a kitchen-sink drama. This too happens, but not with particular regularity.
That "solution", in other words, is not compelling. I suggested earlier in my discussion that we typically approach literature looking for three aspects. My discussion so far really relates to the extent to which a work of fiction "imitates" or models a set of world laws as stipulated by genre conventions. But the prevalance of deus ex machina means that it can essentially be regarded as a genre convention of tragedy, and (as I'll argue later) elsewhere.
Thus I am arguing that deus ex machina is not a problem on two different grounds:
1. That it does form a plausible plot outcome based on a wider perspective on the plot actors
2. That in some genres it is a genre convention, and so no more to be decried than a chase scene in an action movie
Alfred Hitchcock famously stated that the fear lay in the anticipation, not the bang. Or words to that effect. Consider the typical plot actions of a tragedy then:
First, we establish the particulars of circumstance (exposition), then we introduce some disturbance to the order (conflict initiation), then we catalogue a list of consequences for disaster, then we let the worst happen. We might see after this an aftermath:
Let foure Captaines
Beare Hamlet like a Soldier to the Stage,
For he was likely, had he beene put on
To haue prou'd most royally:
And for his passage,
The Souldiours Musicke, and the rites of Warre
Speake lowdly for him.
Take vp the body; Such a sight as this
Becomes the Field, but heere shewes much amis.
Go, bid the Souldiers shoote.
If the fear is in the anticipation, then the actual resolution is superfluous: the emotion has already been generated in us. We have, for the preceding three and a half hours (in the Branagh version) known instinctively and logically that, simply put, things aren't going to end well. Given that, does it matter how it ends? Perhaps the simplest answer is that we don't like being wrong!
Before postulating an answer in complete form, I'd like to digress for a moment to talk about the alternates to the deus ex machina. I rather swiftly dismissed its functional necessity earlier, but I did not fully address why an author would use it given that obvious truth. Why does Peter F Hamilton have an alien magic wand rescue humanity? Why does Medea need to escape on a magic chariot?
In the case of the Night's Dawn Trilogy, I think stephanie_pegg summed things up the common as well as I myself might have when she said that it seemed as if the author just writes themselves into a corner, and without a sensible way of moving forward and without the energy to re-write they just chuck in a god to save things. While this may be the case some of the time, a monumental epic with the vast number of interwoven plot threads that Hamilton deals with does not just "happen". Clearly there is some substantial point being made. I'm not sure I'm backing Eloieli's rather grim perspective that in Hamilton's view humanity is doomed without some kind of divine aid.
What was the alternative in that work? Well, the destruction of humanity certainly seemed on the cards. However, from my perspective, there were obvious alternatives on the cards. Several of the leading sequestered souls had begun to get to grips with the real issue: that of what comes after death. Personally, I think that Al Capone and his moll came to understand the issue perfectly, and their choice to move into the afterlife with conviction was the kind of spiritual enlightenment that eventually all humans need to achieve within the context of the novel. What was unsatisfying for me about the deus ex machina was really that having begun to indicate that one solution was possible, we suddenly got a completely different one. Moreover, the souls who began to come to terms with it and understand the problem were "moved on": he prevented rather than precipitated the ending. After the intervention of the device, humanity is really in the same position as when the novels began.
The issue in Medea's case is similarly one of necessity. The legend of Medea shows no magic chariot: she escapes through conventional methods. Those familiar with Medea generally can easily appreciate that the mythological persona is always going to be capable of outsmarting and outplaying the somewhat stupid Jason. Euripides chose a deliberately off-the-wall solution. Why?
These questions, and more, much, much more, in part 3.
The machine called upon in the Night's Dawn Trilogy is capable of the quasi-magical acts it does, obviously. More important than its actual capabilities is the extent to which we consider such powers to be plausible. So, looking briefly at our other two examples: do we consider it likely that Medea would own a magic chariot, or that Batman might have an array of useful gadgets? Probably not. God-like machines are a staple of Science Fiction, but are rarely used with that bluntness.
This somewhat counters our natural feeling as I argued earlier, that deus ex machina "essentially produce[s] an item [or event] needed to void the obvious plot conclusion". It is not obvious that any of these examples might exist, but it is plausible in some essential way. And it seems likely that we can take this easy route to accepting divine interventions in all kinds of stories. When Athene ends the conflict between Odysseus and the Suitors' families at the end of The Odyssey that is the same sort of ending as a Euripidean deus ex machina, but nobody complains about it because it is merely the last in a long series of such divine maneauvres, and patently within the aegis of Athene.
To recap: we have discussed deus ex machina as being essentially a resolution of the plot by some unexpected means outside of the apparent capabilities of the actors in the plot. We have realized though that anyone acting on the plot actions is inherently dramatically capable of performing said tinkering. The "Naked God" at the end of Night's Dawn, Medea's chariot, Batman's Utility Belt, Athene in The Odyssey... are all largely rational within the context of the larger work. We are not vastly closer to understanding why such endings might be unsatisfactory in some ways. What is needed here is a wider perspective on the action of the story; a perspective wide enough to give a view of the usually silent actors like gods and magical chariots.
This is a rather glib dismissal of a profoundly felt objection, and furthermore restricts the use of the meta-term deus ex machina to refer to someone wholy outside the world in which the plot happens making a determination. Like the author stepping onto stage, or a god appearing in a kitchen-sink drama. This too happens, but not with particular regularity.
That "solution", in other words, is not compelling. I suggested earlier in my discussion that we typically approach literature looking for three aspects. My discussion so far really relates to the extent to which a work of fiction "imitates" or models a set of world laws as stipulated by genre conventions. But the prevalance of deus ex machina means that it can essentially be regarded as a genre convention of tragedy, and (as I'll argue later) elsewhere.
Thus I am arguing that deus ex machina is not a problem on two different grounds:
1. That it does form a plausible plot outcome based on a wider perspective on the plot actors
2. That in some genres it is a genre convention, and so no more to be decried than a chase scene in an action movie
Alfred Hitchcock famously stated that the fear lay in the anticipation, not the bang. Or words to that effect. Consider the typical plot actions of a tragedy then:
First, we establish the particulars of circumstance (exposition), then we introduce some disturbance to the order (conflict initiation), then we catalogue a list of consequences for disaster, then we let the worst happen. We might see after this an aftermath:
Let foure Captaines
Beare Hamlet like a Soldier to the Stage,
For he was likely, had he beene put on
To haue prou'd most royally:
And for his passage,
The Souldiours Musicke, and the rites of Warre
Speake lowdly for him.
Take vp the body; Such a sight as this
Becomes the Field, but heere shewes much amis.
Go, bid the Souldiers shoote.
If the fear is in the anticipation, then the actual resolution is superfluous: the emotion has already been generated in us. We have, for the preceding three and a half hours (in the Branagh version) known instinctively and logically that, simply put, things aren't going to end well. Given that, does it matter how it ends? Perhaps the simplest answer is that we don't like being wrong!
Before postulating an answer in complete form, I'd like to digress for a moment to talk about the alternates to the deus ex machina. I rather swiftly dismissed its functional necessity earlier, but I did not fully address why an author would use it given that obvious truth. Why does Peter F Hamilton have an alien magic wand rescue humanity? Why does Medea need to escape on a magic chariot?
In the case of the Night's Dawn Trilogy, I think stephanie_pegg summed things up the common as well as I myself might have when she said that it seemed as if the author just writes themselves into a corner, and without a sensible way of moving forward and without the energy to re-write they just chuck in a god to save things. While this may be the case some of the time, a monumental epic with the vast number of interwoven plot threads that Hamilton deals with does not just "happen". Clearly there is some substantial point being made. I'm not sure I'm backing Eloieli's rather grim perspective that in Hamilton's view humanity is doomed without some kind of divine aid.
What was the alternative in that work? Well, the destruction of humanity certainly seemed on the cards. However, from my perspective, there were obvious alternatives on the cards. Several of the leading sequestered souls had begun to get to grips with the real issue: that of what comes after death. Personally, I think that Al Capone and his moll came to understand the issue perfectly, and their choice to move into the afterlife with conviction was the kind of spiritual enlightenment that eventually all humans need to achieve within the context of the novel. What was unsatisfying for me about the deus ex machina was really that having begun to indicate that one solution was possible, we suddenly got a completely different one. Moreover, the souls who began to come to terms with it and understand the problem were "moved on": he prevented rather than precipitated the ending. After the intervention of the device, humanity is really in the same position as when the novels began.
The issue in Medea's case is similarly one of necessity. The legend of Medea shows no magic chariot: she escapes through conventional methods. Those familiar with Medea generally can easily appreciate that the mythological persona is always going to be capable of outsmarting and outplaying the somewhat stupid Jason. Euripides chose a deliberately off-the-wall solution. Why?
These questions, and more, much, much more, in part 3.