I don’t think there’s any question as to whether magic is real. Magic is the manifestation of intent. From childhood dreams, to success stories, to wishes, to just plain goal-setting, there’s determination underlying whatever comes next. How the particulars happen, we don’t really know or care — external events align and the things we had imagined appear before us.
If the world was purely physical, then things wouldn’t miraculously align like that. The circumstances and people we require wouldn’t waltz into our path like they do. Yet as if by magic, things do synchronize. People do end up fulfilling childhood fantasies, people do meet the spouse of their dreams, people do overcome extraordinary odds, people do obtain success.
So there’s no debate over whether magic exists, the question is, how can we manipulate these forces to satisfy our desires. But a deeper question becomes: can we actually control this magic and do we even want to? Consider this: where do these inspiring daydreams come from? An idea simply pops into our thought-stream and suddenly we want it to come true — but why?
Is there an external narrative going on in which we simply play our part? Perhaps life is purposefully providing the false impression that we have influence over it. In other words, life does all the heavy-lifting but wants us to think we’re doing it ourself. But how could we — we barely know anything. We’re on autopilot — situations present themselves and we simply go along for the ride.
For another perspective, imagine watching a play on a stage. We the audience can’t help the production along — but we can certainly screw it up. We can become overly involved in the plot and shout about what’s going on. We can allow ourself to become outraged over little things or get distracted by a particular scene, focusing on the details we don’t like, no longer paying attention to the action currently happening. We can fail to give the playwright the benefit-of-the-doubt, criticizing the entire time, booing whenever the mood strikes. We can fail to appreciate all the effort that went into the production, yelling about what a waste of time it is.
So which is it? Are we creating the world as we live it — perhaps in a dream-like manner? Is there a pre-written narrative in which we watch as if on an amusement-park ride? Are we capable of changing any or all of it? Do we even want to? Are we the author, actor, or audience? Are the answers to these questions purposefully obfuscated in order to maintain the mirage, adding an element of mystery? Is the world all things to all people, allowing every question’s answer to depend on the perspective?