Indistinguishable from magic
Indistinguishable from magic
Eleni Maragkou
It began innocuously enough, with a few random blips in the algorithm. During a time of (inter)personal turmoil, I found myself feeling particularly vulnerable. The demands were modest—just a few taps on the screen.
“You will live your dream life! Don’t risk skipping! Interact three times to claim. How to successfully construct your reality! Grow your aura +100000! Photogenic subliminal! Don’t overuse!”
Occasionally, these videos fully embraced their occult undertones. Some showcased uncanny, AI-generated animations of fortune tellers and tarot readers, while others relied on simple, text-based messages. These hyper-personalized captions epitomized the emergent aesthetic of algorithmically curated, engagement-driven esotericism. Within this subgenre of Gen-Z and Gen-A spiritualism, some videos tap into the generational zeitgeist, urging viewers to collect more “aura points” (millennial translation: become cool). Others fully lean into the desire to escape reality altogether, inviting users to “shift” into alternative, parallel worlds, which often involves disappearing into the warm embrace of their favorite fandom universe.
“Transporting your soul into another dimension was hugely popular during the pandemic,” writes DAZED editor Günseli Yalcinkaya, “when everyone was locked into an inescapable and boring reality, where the internet acted as a portal to an alternative world beyond the borders of the ‘real’.” Indeed, if we are to mark a starting point to this phenomenon, the pandemic seems like an obvious one, although the fascination with these digital incantations persists, as it reanimates much older formats.
Consider the chain mail. As a tween exploring the web for the first time, I knew that ignoring them wouldn’t hurt me, but deep down, a part of me still believes that if I don’t like this video, save this sound, or use it in my own video, something truly bad will happen. Chain mail, an antecedent of memes, served as a playful yet ominous ritual passed down through countless inboxes and internet archives for decades. If the villains in the chain mails of old were vengeful spirits, the ones on TikTok are more mundane: financial instability, romantic turmoil, acne, academic failure.
Meanwhile, curious aphorisms emerge from another corner of my screen, my Co–Star app: Trust your instinct. You reap what you sow. Your needs are non-negotiable. Don’t drink from the jar of poison you left for your enemies. The app “generate[s] super-accurate horoscopes” by “decipher[ing] the mystery of human relations through NASA data and biting truth.” That is, through natural language processing and the methods of professional astrologers. This anomalous marriage of science and astrology is responsible for “your day at a glance,” AKA the app’s super vague, algorithmic slop of daily horoscope notifications that somehow feels both nonsensical and like driving a speculum into your soul.
Modern problems require modern solutions. Late capitalism makes life intolerable and recuperating some semblance of control feels impossible. Much like conspiracy theories, digital esotericism addresses singular, hyper-specific, and misleading issues, rather than identifying structural causes. And, lo and behold, the cure is simple: engaging with the right type of content—through interfaces that are almost magical in the way that they enable us to use them without knowing much about how they work.
In his 1962 book Profiles of the Future: An Inquiry into the Limits of the Possible, science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke developed his famous Three Laws of scientific progress. Of these, the third one states: “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
As technology continues to advance, it becomes increasingly opaque, black-boxed, appearing to be imbued by a mystical quality, a kind of technical “magic.” Things we don’t understand are often conducive to this. Is AI magic? Both its supporters and detractors would likely disagree. For the former, AI represents the pinnacle of logic, completely unmoored from emotions. For the latter, artificial intelligence is neither artificial nor intelligent but merely composed of haphazardly stitched-together fragments of human creativity. Yet, the contradiction between the seamless interfaces we use daily and our lack of knowledge regarding their inner workings leaves us impotent to critically engage with or challenge the technologies that shape our lives. With digital skills education and media literacy in the gutter, so-called “digital natives” find themselves unable to handle the challenge of a non-Apple work laptop, while older generations still struggle with converting PDFs, further entrenching dependence on user-friendly, but opaque, systems.
Humans have always used magic as a heuristic to explain what they don’t understand. However, certain practices have also been relegated to sorcery or witchcraft in order to be delegitimized, enforcing a distinctly Western and masculine hegemonic point of view. Witchcraft, astrology, and Indigenous healing practices, for instance, have long been demonized by the patriarchy. Even when not derided, such practices are often at best treated with skepticism or as a means for entertainment or reflection, self-help drivel that should not be taken seriously.
There is a deeply entrenched reason for this. “Magic traditionally is the OG anti-capitalist tool,” says artist Ginevra Petrozzi. “Very often it was women [who were accused of being witches], older women, women that weren't seen as useful in society anymore for their reproductive power or their sexual power. But also, from another point of view, society is, in the West, the society of the Enlightenment, scientific proof, and rationality. And of course, magic does not fit in that description because it cannot be proved with scientific means and therefore it is deemed to be just a silly superstition or a residue of primitive thinking.”
Petrozzi is an interdisciplinary designer and artist, whose work Digital Esoterism approaches algorithmic recommendations through magical thinking. “The reason why it made so much sense for me to reclaim magical thinking in the digital realm, is because so much of what we do in the digital realm is out of our control,” she says.
Scrolling on TikTok, Petrozzi came across a trend in which people attempt to guide their partners’ algorithmic recommendations by whispering into their unguarded phone: therapy for men, wedding ring, wedding ceremony. “I was extremely fascinated by this because I thought: this is a spell,” she says, “and it is meant to change the perception of someone else or to influence them in a way that is beyond their control.”
In our contemporary neoliberal hellscape, we are supposedly the guardians of our fate, responsible for pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps. There is no longer a spirit or force that determines what happens to us. Except there is. And it’s a “big cloud of data controlled by Silicon Valley.” Petrozzi’s thesis is that we still grapple with the same uncertainties and existential concerns as our ancestors. While the agents influencing our lives have evolved and taken different forms, the fundamental sense of vulnerability and the belief that our essence is at stake remains constant.
Petrozzi suggests that by fulfilling our need for personalized messages, visions, and images, platforms that use targeted content become fertile ground for the resurgence of magical thinking, which is exploited by Silicon Valley’s extractivism: “They need behavioral data on users and that's what keeps them going.” In her essay for The Couch, she writes that an algorithmic prediction is a lot like a tarot card, in that it:
“-has a mystical quality;
-operates through unknown processes;
-predicts your future;
-only an expert can control it;
-can change the way you behave in the present;
-can be scarily accurate…”
It feels natural that we would witness the convergence of esotericism with the algorithmic imagination. Gone are the days of mass media. The internet confers the illusion of individuality, and this individuality comes at a cost. We surrender the bits and bytes of our existence in exchange for personalized content, curated recommendations, and a seemingly exclusive experience. Is this really a more rational choice than clandestinely calling a medium’s number or having an aunt read the gritty grounds in the bottom of a coffee mug? At least in one of those cases, we will likely receive the content we asked for.
There was something magical about the virtual worlds we used to inhabit. Perhaps it was because of this sense of separation from the “real,” serious world of school, work, family, obligations. It felt more like stepping into a dissimulative playground, or a magic circle. This ability has been stolen from us. As more of our lives take place within vast digital infrastructures, our opportunities to escape those infrastructures become increasingly limited.
“I think [magic] is powerful. Not only is it a representational tool of feelings and alternative futures of reality, but also an extremely poetic tool for any human,” says Petrozzi. Even if it isn’t practical, even if you don't believe in it, or if you feel skeptical, “it at least is poetic.”
Magical thinking is rooted in imagination, transformation, the emancipation from the constraints of ordinary life, and a belief in the fundamental interconnectedness of the cosmos. It occurs in “temporary worlds within the ordinary world,” at the porous threshold between “synthetic worlds and daily life.” There is a conceptual affinity found between magic and play. The latter, whether that is a digital game or the play of everyday life, is theorized to take place within the porous boundaries of the magic circle, the conceptual boundary that separates the world of play or games from everyday reality, creating a space where normal rules and consequences are temporarily suspended.
Underpinning the Western imaginary is a fixation upon binary separations—self and Other, mind and body, public and private, real and virtual, human and machine, work and play—anchored in the belief that these oppositions are essential for maintaining order, identity, and understanding in a world that feels increasingly fragmented and unstable. Coming to terms with the inherent ambivalence that permeates our world is daunting, confronting. Containing that which eludes normative constructs into a magic circle is a fleeting comfort, one which implies that we can carry on with business as usual. The Other, whatever that may be, is a constant reminder that different, better worlds exist. And they might be more accessible to us than the boundary that the so-called magic circle implies.
If algorithmic culture has served to optimize and rationalize magical thinking through personal recommendations and the consolidation of control in the hands of tech bros, can we reclaim it by playing with the algorithm? Can I control my fate if I can control my targeted ads? If I trick my phone into thinking I’m, say, a 56-year-old divorcée, will an advertiser lose his wings?
“We could decide to isolate ourselves, get a flip phone, and disappear forever from these structures of control and only be there for what you need of the digital,” says Petrozzi, “but it's not really possible. And so, if you do want to stay, you are obliged to be part of these systems of control and of extractions of big data and surveillance capitalism.” Is there a possibility of wrestling control back from the corporate behemoths that profit from our engagement?
Petrozzi doesn’t denounce a more symbiotic relationship with technology. If it’s not possible to truly break algorithmic governance, is it possible to make kin with it? Can we form sensuous connections with “those chattering products of scientific rationality and its quest for efficiency and profit,” as writer Erik Davis so aptly puts it in his (1998!) book, TechGnosis: Myth, Magic, and Mysticism in the Age of Information? We and our algorithms, human and nonhuman interlocutors, engage in a co-constitutive relationship with each other. Algorithmic systems are arenas, different groups, and individuals in which we still have the power to tactically appropriate the infrastructure of platform capitalism to tip the scales of power in our favor.
Perhaps our mistake was to strive for efficiency above all else. What if we embraced opacity for a change? What if we challenged our algorithms to produce uncertain futures?
“You will live your dream life! Don’t risk skipping! Interact three times to claim. How to successfully construct your reality! Grow your aura +100000! Photogenic subliminal! Don’t overuse!”
Occasionally, these videos fully embraced their occult undertones. Some showcased uncanny, AI-generated animations of fortune tellers and tarot readers, while others relied on simple, text-based messages. These hyper-personalized captions epitomized the emergent aesthetic of algorithmically curated, engagement-driven esotericism. Within this subgenre of Gen-Z and Gen-A spiritualism, some videos tap into the generational zeitgeist, urging viewers to collect more “aura points” (millennial translation: become cool). Others fully lean into the desire to escape reality altogether, inviting users to “shift” into alternative, parallel worlds, which often involves disappearing into the warm embrace of their favorite fandom universe.
“Transporting your soul into another dimension was hugely popular during the pandemic,” writes DAZED editor Günseli Yalcinkaya, “when everyone was locked into an inescapable and boring reality, where the internet acted as a portal to an alternative world beyond the borders of the ‘real’.” Indeed, if we are to mark a starting point to this phenomenon, the pandemic seems like an obvious one, although the fascination with these digital incantations persists, as it reanimates much older formats.
Consider the chain mail. As a tween exploring the web for the first time, I knew that ignoring them wouldn’t hurt me, but deep down, a part of me still believes that if I don’t like this video, save this sound, or use it in my own video, something truly bad will happen. Chain mail, an antecedent of memes, served as a playful yet ominous ritual passed down through countless inboxes and internet archives for decades. If the villains in the chain mails of old were vengeful spirits, the ones on TikTok are more mundane: financial instability, romantic turmoil, acne, academic failure.
Meanwhile, curious aphorisms emerge from another corner of my screen, my Co–Star app: Trust your instinct. You reap what you sow. Your needs are non-negotiable. Don’t drink from the jar of poison you left for your enemies. The app “generate[s] super-accurate horoscopes” by “decipher[ing] the mystery of human relations through NASA data and biting truth.” That is, through natural language processing and the methods of professional astrologers. This anomalous marriage of science and astrology is responsible for “your day at a glance,” AKA the app’s super vague, algorithmic slop of daily horoscope notifications that somehow feels both nonsensical and like driving a speculum into your soul.
Modern problems require modern solutions. Late capitalism makes life intolerable and recuperating some semblance of control feels impossible. Much like conspiracy theories, digital esotericism addresses singular, hyper-specific, and misleading issues, rather than identifying structural causes. And, lo and behold, the cure is simple: engaging with the right type of content—through interfaces that are almost magical in the way that they enable us to use them without knowing much about how they work.
In his 1962 book Profiles of the Future: An Inquiry into the Limits of the Possible, science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke developed his famous Three Laws of scientific progress. Of these, the third one states: “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”
As technology continues to advance, it becomes increasingly opaque, black-boxed, appearing to be imbued by a mystical quality, a kind of technical “magic.” Things we don’t understand are often conducive to this. Is AI magic? Both its supporters and detractors would likely disagree. For the former, AI represents the pinnacle of logic, completely unmoored from emotions. For the latter, artificial intelligence is neither artificial nor intelligent but merely composed of haphazardly stitched-together fragments of human creativity. Yet, the contradiction between the seamless interfaces we use daily and our lack of knowledge regarding their inner workings leaves us impotent to critically engage with or challenge the technologies that shape our lives. With digital skills education and media literacy in the gutter, so-called “digital natives” find themselves unable to handle the challenge of a non-Apple work laptop, while older generations still struggle with converting PDFs, further entrenching dependence on user-friendly, but opaque, systems.
Humans have always used magic as a heuristic to explain what they don’t understand. However, certain practices have also been relegated to sorcery or witchcraft in order to be delegitimized, enforcing a distinctly Western and masculine hegemonic point of view. Witchcraft, astrology, and Indigenous healing practices, for instance, have long been demonized by the patriarchy. Even when not derided, such practices are often at best treated with skepticism or as a means for entertainment or reflection, self-help drivel that should not be taken seriously.
There is a deeply entrenched reason for this. “Magic traditionally is the OG anti-capitalist tool,” says artist Ginevra Petrozzi. “Very often it was women [who were accused of being witches], older women, women that weren't seen as useful in society anymore for their reproductive power or their sexual power. But also, from another point of view, society is, in the West, the society of the Enlightenment, scientific proof, and rationality. And of course, magic does not fit in that description because it cannot be proved with scientific means and therefore it is deemed to be just a silly superstition or a residue of primitive thinking.”
Petrozzi is an interdisciplinary designer and artist, whose work Digital Esoterism approaches algorithmic recommendations through magical thinking. “The reason why it made so much sense for me to reclaim magical thinking in the digital realm, is because so much of what we do in the digital realm is out of our control,” she says.
Scrolling on TikTok, Petrozzi came across a trend in which people attempt to guide their partners’ algorithmic recommendations by whispering into their unguarded phone: therapy for men, wedding ring, wedding ceremony. “I was extremely fascinated by this because I thought: this is a spell,” she says, “and it is meant to change the perception of someone else or to influence them in a way that is beyond their control.”
In our contemporary neoliberal hellscape, we are supposedly the guardians of our fate, responsible for pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps. There is no longer a spirit or force that determines what happens to us. Except there is. And it’s a “big cloud of data controlled by Silicon Valley.” Petrozzi’s thesis is that we still grapple with the same uncertainties and existential concerns as our ancestors. While the agents influencing our lives have evolved and taken different forms, the fundamental sense of vulnerability and the belief that our essence is at stake remains constant.
Petrozzi suggests that by fulfilling our need for personalized messages, visions, and images, platforms that use targeted content become fertile ground for the resurgence of magical thinking, which is exploited by Silicon Valley’s extractivism: “They need behavioral data on users and that's what keeps them going.” In her essay for The Couch, she writes that an algorithmic prediction is a lot like a tarot card, in that it:
“-has a mystical quality;
-operates through unknown processes;
-predicts your future;
-only an expert can control it;
-can change the way you behave in the present;
-can be scarily accurate…”
It feels natural that we would witness the convergence of esotericism with the algorithmic imagination. Gone are the days of mass media. The internet confers the illusion of individuality, and this individuality comes at a cost. We surrender the bits and bytes of our existence in exchange for personalized content, curated recommendations, and a seemingly exclusive experience. Is this really a more rational choice than clandestinely calling a medium’s number or having an aunt read the gritty grounds in the bottom of a coffee mug? At least in one of those cases, we will likely receive the content we asked for.
There was something magical about the virtual worlds we used to inhabit. Perhaps it was because of this sense of separation from the “real,” serious world of school, work, family, obligations. It felt more like stepping into a dissimulative playground, or a magic circle. This ability has been stolen from us. As more of our lives take place within vast digital infrastructures, our opportunities to escape those infrastructures become increasingly limited.
“I think [magic] is powerful. Not only is it a representational tool of feelings and alternative futures of reality, but also an extremely poetic tool for any human,” says Petrozzi. Even if it isn’t practical, even if you don't believe in it, or if you feel skeptical, “it at least is poetic.”
Magical thinking is rooted in imagination, transformation, the emancipation from the constraints of ordinary life, and a belief in the fundamental interconnectedness of the cosmos. It occurs in “temporary worlds within the ordinary world,” at the porous threshold between “synthetic worlds and daily life.” There is a conceptual affinity found between magic and play. The latter, whether that is a digital game or the play of everyday life, is theorized to take place within the porous boundaries of the magic circle, the conceptual boundary that separates the world of play or games from everyday reality, creating a space where normal rules and consequences are temporarily suspended.
Underpinning the Western imaginary is a fixation upon binary separations—self and Other, mind and body, public and private, real and virtual, human and machine, work and play—anchored in the belief that these oppositions are essential for maintaining order, identity, and understanding in a world that feels increasingly fragmented and unstable. Coming to terms with the inherent ambivalence that permeates our world is daunting, confronting. Containing that which eludes normative constructs into a magic circle is a fleeting comfort, one which implies that we can carry on with business as usual. The Other, whatever that may be, is a constant reminder that different, better worlds exist. And they might be more accessible to us than the boundary that the so-called magic circle implies.
If algorithmic culture has served to optimize and rationalize magical thinking through personal recommendations and the consolidation of control in the hands of tech bros, can we reclaim it by playing with the algorithm? Can I control my fate if I can control my targeted ads? If I trick my phone into thinking I’m, say, a 56-year-old divorcée, will an advertiser lose his wings?
“We could decide to isolate ourselves, get a flip phone, and disappear forever from these structures of control and only be there for what you need of the digital,” says Petrozzi, “but it's not really possible. And so, if you do want to stay, you are obliged to be part of these systems of control and of extractions of big data and surveillance capitalism.” Is there a possibility of wrestling control back from the corporate behemoths that profit from our engagement?
Petrozzi doesn’t denounce a more symbiotic relationship with technology. If it’s not possible to truly break algorithmic governance, is it possible to make kin with it? Can we form sensuous connections with “those chattering products of scientific rationality and its quest for efficiency and profit,” as writer Erik Davis so aptly puts it in his (1998!) book, TechGnosis: Myth, Magic, and Mysticism in the Age of Information? We and our algorithms, human and nonhuman interlocutors, engage in a co-constitutive relationship with each other. Algorithmic systems are arenas, different groups, and individuals in which we still have the power to tactically appropriate the infrastructure of platform capitalism to tip the scales of power in our favor.
Perhaps our mistake was to strive for efficiency above all else. What if we embraced opacity for a change? What if we challenged our algorithms to produce uncertain futures?