On the Nature of Daylight
Alien translation, authentic storytelling, and the "wicked" magic of language itself
Facts were beginning to be replaced by subjective assertions in the build-up to the Iraq war, which seemed to be viewed as inevitable and justified in spite of all the evidence to the contrary.
— Max Richter, discussing the inspiration for his hit song from The Blue Notebook album, used to communicate bittersweet emotion in dozens of feature films.
On the Nature of Daylight is six minutes long, about the same length of time it takes to read this article, and I recommend combining them.
Within the last few days I’ve re-entered two cinematic worlds: the 2016 film Arrival, and the just-released Wicked movie, adapted from the 2003 smash Broadway hit, which was adapted from a 1995 book by Gregory Maguire, itself an alternate retelling of L. Frank Baum’s 125-year-old children’s novel The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.
So in the latter case, at this point we’re basically discussing classical American folk heroes like Superman or Paul Bunyan, but minor spoilers for the Oz universe are ahead if you care about that kind of thing.
I sometimes see folks mis-identify the overarching message of Wicked, which isn’t just the recurring theme about how fascism represses minority groups. It’s about being radicalized by constant exposure to those injustices: when witnessing the soul of someone’s subjugation inspires someone to commit violence on behalf of the victimized. Is that heroism? Or is it wicked?
That message is much more explicit and dark in Maguire’s book, but his influence can still be felt in the modern adaptations — despite the Disnification of the whole terrorism angle — when Elphaba casts what in Dungeons & Dragons terms would be a high-level area-of-effect on the Emerald City. Boom.
Alien landings and magic spells
Only a couple days prior, I rewatched Arrival after being reminded by Carlos Perez’ viral tweet last week about how the Google research underpinning AI language models was directly inspired by the alien language in the film.
There’s an alien language in Wicked, too: the, uh, extra-Ozian circumstances of Elphaba’s conception gives her the innate ability to read books of magic, a skill that the most talented sorcerers in Oz lack.
There is inherent magic in being able to read, write, and speak things that others cannot. It represents a kind of fundamental power law. The classic quote “To have another language is to possess a second soul” is attributed back to Charlemagne, the medieval emperor who ruled much of Western Europe by the early 9th century; although since winners write the history books, Charlemagne probably stole credit for that quote from someone he had killed.
A thousand years ago, when militaries ventured across continents or oceans in search of conquest and destiny, they bore close resemblance to alien races landing on distant planets. Modern conflicts, on the other hand, develop through broadcast media and long-range artillery, months or years before the first tanks rumble across borders.
Today being multi-lingual is table stakes for international ambassadorship. In Charlemagne’s time, until well after the Columbian Exchange, it was not uncommon for explorers to make first contact with entire civilizations, and derive their ability to communicate from first principles, just as Louise did in Arrival.
In our own exploration of mindfulness, or expanding our consciousness, we often proceed in the name of “soul-seeking” spirituality: the search for authenticity, the purpose of our lives, the direction of our will, the dissection of our trauma.
But if a soul can be described, and captured in the sorcery of language itself — the answer to our vision quest is not sourced from a sage’s mountaintop wisdom, but crystallized in the deep grimoire of translation.
Fluency as authenticity: the true believer
The opening scene of Arrival depicts Louise Banks (Amy Adams) clasping her hands in silent prayer. Her practiced, meditative capacity for empathy and inference, both intuitive and well-trained, are key attributes of her ascendance. Louise sheds light on literally time-less mysteries through the fluent application of attentive empathy. It is this skill set, and the true belief it represents, that sets her apart.
This is the skill set of a leader. Leaders can feel the need for support and belief in those they lead.
Fluency is the ability to translate at the speed of conversation, even the speed of your own thought and attention. It literally changes your mind, like how becoming trained in martial arts eventually changes the way you unconsciously carry yourself.
That act of instinctive translation — communicating a concept from the emergent consciousness of the chemical brain and passing it into verbal or written language — is deeply intertwined with notions of storytelling: how we compile and retrieve memories and meaning. And that ability, combined with true belief, constitutes magic in every sense that matters.
