Authors Brandon Sanderson and J.R.R. Tolkien are both kings of epic fantasy. So it should be no surprise that both receive their fair share of mentions here.
Catholic podcaster Aaron Irber gives us a reason to discuss both of these literary giants thanks to his recent post on Substack.
There is a big difference between what I would call Sacramental Magic and Technical Magic. I am not married to these terms but I think they capture the gist of the two schools of thought I am trying to distinguish from one another. Sanderson distinguishes Soft from Hard Magic but splits them based mostly on how explicit the magic is and how it influences the plot. Personally, I think the biggest difference between the two is that Sacramental Magic is vertical in that it can point up toward Heaven or down to Hell. Technical Magic is horizontal and tends to conflate magic and science into one mode of attaining and using power.
Technical Magic is not a modern tendency. Magical formulas and compendiums of sorcery have existed for centuries. This systematic type of magic is rooted in the mastery of certain techniques, rigid, quasi-scientific rules, and the desire for power. I am not saying that this kind of magic is inherently bad or immoral in a story. I enjoy stories with this kind of magic. It is a lot like technology in that way. However, I think that it tends to overwhelm the story with its special effects and the meaning behind the magic gets pushed to the side. In short, the power achieved through magical means is arbitrary. The fireball might as well be an energy blast or a lightning bolt. It doesn’t really matter.
Related: How Does Your Magic Work?
Framing Tolkien’s Sacramental Magic as a “magic system” is too thin, too simplistic and doesn’t hit the mark. I imagine someone pulling out a black board of mathematical equations or a periodic table of magical spells with Tolkien’s name written on top. That would be like saying the Catholic faith can be reduced to a series of bullet points about dogma and morals instead of a deep Mystery that pulls you further up and further in with the rules embedded within God’s world building.
I don’t want to be accused of creating an unnecessary dichotomy between Sacramental and Technical Magic. They often can be combined to create a story that is both heavy in explicit coherence and can act as a symbol pointing to something higher or lower. Surely, Tolkien does have Technical Magic in his Legendarium, such as that of Sauron and the One Ring as I mentioned earlier. Sauron mastered a specific technique to produce an item used to consolidate his power. Sarumon was tasked with understanding Sauron’s magic and was corrupted by it.
To borrow a quote from another name author, Dean Koontz, “Stained glass windows don’t have subtitles.”
I think magic is at its best when the meaning is hidden with minimal explanation in the plot. The implicit nature of the magic does not mean it is arbitrary or is incoherent. It should still work by the rules embedded in the world building. In fact, the story should be able to function without explaining all of the rules to the reader. The reader does not have to understand the magic to enjoy the story, but the magic should have enough coherence to draw a reader deeper into the tale. It is also my opinion that the most interesting magic has moral rules and costs.
Again, I want to make it clear that I don’t think Technical Magic in a story is “bad”. I tend to think that if portrayed on it’s own, it can tend to be flat. It can still be fun and entertaining, but I think a story needs Sacramental Magic if the author wants to point to something deeper. As Tolkien shows us, these approaches to magic are not mutually exclusive in a story and should be used together for the best effect.
Related: Neopatron Brandon
I’m not finding much to disagree with in Aaron’s treatment of the magic v sacrament debate.
Here’s a handy formula to help you distinguish between the two:
- Magic = using preternatural means for natural ends
- Sacraments = using natural means for supernatural ends.
For a couple of examples under this model, consulting a fortune teller to find your car keys is magic. Having water poured over you to obtain remission of all your sins and new birth in Christ is a sacrament.
And if you want some pop culture references, Aaron has got Grandpa Tolkien and King Brandon covered, so let’s switch gears to fantasy’s sister branch of adventure fiction: sci fi.
Luke calling upon the Force to help him destroy the Death Star: Magic.
Darth Vader sacrificing himself to save his son and thereby meriting redemption: Sacramentality.
Now, to head off the objection that Vader’s act obtained a natural end, that being saving his son’s life, and he did it while using the Force, so it was magic, keep in mind that a single act can have multiple effects.
What’s significant when it comes to the mgic/sacrament dichotomy is the presence of a supernatural effect resulting from a given act. Anakin obtained slvation by his sacrifice, which is the highest supernatural end a creature can hope for. And it could even be argued that the main fruit of that act as far as Luke is concerned was spiritual. Because remember, the whole reason Luke was prewsent on the second Death Star was to save his father, which was effected by the heroic sacrifice which Luke himself occasioned. So in liturgical terms, the entire sequence in the Emperor’s throne room was a sacrament concelebrated by Luke and Anakin Skywalker.
To dispel any remaining doubts, here’s a review of Return of the Jedi from 1983 written by an Orthodox archbishop.
Darth Vader with the two saints? Of course, for such is the power of repentance, such is that love which grants to him who wrought from the eleventh hour together with those who wrought from the first.
Get get FREE books and first looks at my exciting new projects monthly! Join my elite neopatrons to read my new dark fantasy novel The Burned Book as I write it!
Join on Patreon or SubscribeStar now.
The more I think about it, I think the issue I have with magic systems is that they are frequently used as a replacement for the Unknown (whether it be magic or miracles) in these stories instead of one part of them.
Anime and manga is a good example of how you can have power systems but still leave a lot of elbow room for things outside it. They never quite feel like they’re trying to systemize things that can’t really be systemized. You’ll never get your powers strong enough to beat up disease or possession. It doesn’t work that way. Dragon Ball, while about fighting, has had plenty of threats and perils that could not be solved just by getting stronger. In the Cell arc, for instance, Goku still needs a cure for a disease.
A lot of these projects now simply come off as figuring out the puzzle behind the Unknown and becoming a god. The lesson in Dragon Ball, for instance, is that there will always be more on the road ahead that Goku will never quite understand. He will never reach the top because there is always a new road to explore. There will always be more to master. It seems very different from how these sorts of power fantasy series play out in the West these days.
I am convinced much behind the shift over the back half of the 20th century is the same dated materialist influence that divides “Hard” and “Soft” siffy into meaningless categories that only sell less than they did before the terms were invented. I struggle to find mythic stories written before the generation influenced by Ballantine systemized everything where the Unknown is treated so flippantly. I just don’t see it.
And I think this is part of why readers moved on to other mediums.
You’ve hit upon an angle I hadn’t considered. Anime doesn’t over-explain powers like chi manipulation, mediumship, or fortune telling because they’re still taken for granted in much of the Far East. Fedoras may brag about how godless Japan is, yet large numbers of Japanese still buy good luck charms and practice minor forms of sortilege. The hard (and false) line between “logical explanations” and traditional myth never took hold there like it did here.
That’s not to say Anime isn’t wihtout its problems. Getting stronger may not keep Majin Buu from turning you to chocolate, but at the end of the day, most fights go to the guy with the bigger power level number. That conceit worked fine in the Saiyan and Freezer sagas, but the power creep got way out of hand in the last couple of seasons.
And it’s not just DBZ. Most fighting anime revolve around that kind of linear thinking. You seldom see a David and Goliath fight that the weaker guy wins a la Spider-Man vs Juggernaut.
That’s one of the conceits I liked best in the Chapter Black arc of Yu Yu Hakusho. Yusuke won the Dark Tournament and actually is the strongest human in the world. The entire arc is looking into just what that means and where a path reliant only on strength will lead him. The best fight in the saga is him questioning the decision of outright killing someone to save many innocents–something his worldview never prepared him for. Even though he has the physical strength, his enemies outmatch him in every other category.
It’s kind of the same in the final arc of Rurouni Kenshin, which never got animated. The villain is not stronger than Kenshin, but successfully ruins his life and reputation by using his past against him, as he was a victim of it as well. Kenshin doesn’t beat him with his sword, but the strength he gained from those he helped a long the way.
It’s something I wish more anime and manga would go into. It seems like it was more common before the 2000s and the Big 3 became the expected way to do battles.
Actually, the recent big hit Demon Slayer does do this exact thing and a lot of fans hated it. One of the major villains (I won’t say who) is dominating a fight against the heroes and engages in a transformation to finish them off. He sees he truly is no longer human and is a hideous beast, and freezes, unable to fight because he no longer has a reason to. This opening allows the heroes to finish him off. Many people were mad they were robbed of a fight, but I thought it was great. A lot of Demon Slayer is predicated on beating the villains by helping them rediscover their humanity at the moment of death, despite their advantage in power and making them understand they are actually already dead. I think this aspect of the series does not get nearly the credit it deserves by those who call it generic. Say what you will, but I don’t see too many fighting series that actually do this post-Big 3 and I think it deserves kudos for doing that.
Excellent analysis. George Lucas backed away from parts of the religious aspects of Star Wars in his prequels. Then he also went over the top and ruined some of other aspects. Mr. Lucas, we really didn’t need a Virgin Birth, especially of a guy we knew was going to go bad. Orphan would have been quite enough, especially of a slave mother.
Anyway, what made OG Star Wars interesting was it’s more subtle religious threads woven in a highly technical world, with an extreme diversity of life. Good and evil still existed even with the most advanced tech imaginable. Redemption/salvation still exists. There was hinting of a self consistent depth that might be interesting to know. In that, prequels were always going to be a difficult project. Lucas was going to have keep diving deeper into a Christianity that I’m not entirely sure he was comfortable with.
Anyway, part of what people like about Dune is it’s obvious “borrowing” of Catholic teaching and culture (The Bene Gesserits ?? Really? That’s just as bad as naming something “Unobtanium”).
CS Lewis’ sci fi fiction entries are little too on the nose with the religious aspects, which is maybe why they aren’t as popular.