Gods in machines

The term "deus ex machina" is Latin, meaning "god from the machine". The concept, however, is derived from the Ancient Greeks. In their theatrical performances, the Greeks (and therefore the Romans as well) would often invoke the gods onstage; to show the characters' divinity, the actors would be hoisted above the stage using a crane.

But what, you may wonder, do Mediterranean actors from millenia ago have to do with modern writing techniques? If you stop and think about it, with the gods' propensity to step in and solve awkward plot points with a wave of the hand, it is not a massive leap for a term describing the function of a machine-hoisted "god" in a Greek tragedy to come to refer to the technique of bringing in an outside force to tie up your plot in a neat little bow, which is what we usually mean by "deus ex machina" nowadays.

As a writing technique, deus ex machina is not going through a period of popularity. To be honest, though, it's always been viewed with criticism, even though it has continued to be used consistently since the days of the Ancient Greeks. Because a deus ex machina is by its nature unanticipated, it often comes across as being rather contrived and unrealistic—far too convenient of a way to fill in plot holes. It can also sometimes feel unsatisfying as a resolution, because it solves the story's problems without us really having needed to engage with those problems.

So why, if using a deus ex machina is so often poorly received, does it keep being used? There are some reasons why a writer might seek out a deus ex machina on purpose—we'll explore those further on—but in a lot of cases, it's used because it's really, really convenient. Many writers find that at one time or another they have written themselves into a corner they can't figure a way out of, and bringing in a deus ex machina is a very handy way to get out of the corner (when this happened to me, however, I responded by killing off my main character, which is taking a different easy way out). It may not be the cleverest way to solve a tricky situation, but it does work, which is sometimes the best a writer can manage.

How can you spot a deus ex machina?

It's not uncommon for accusations of "deus ex machina!" to be flung around when readers or audience members feel unsatisfied with a story's resolution. But just because it feels rushed, or not entirely realistic, or a little bit too neatly tied up doesn't necessarily mean there's a deus ex machina involved; poor writing takes many forms, after all.

A genuine deus ex machina requires three components:

• It must be a solution to an otherwise unsolvable problem.
• It must not be pre-empted or intentionally caused by any previous plot points.
• It must be delivered by a figure of great authority, such as a god or a monarch, who has not been present in the narrative beforehand.

One classic example of a story ending with a deus ex machina is the Greek play Medea, by Euripides, in which the titular character is absolved of murdering her ex's new wife and her own children when her grandfather, the sun god Helios, sends a golden chariot down from the heavens to take her away (which would have been an amazing thing to see on stage). Another well-known example is the ruby slippers in The Wizard of Oz, which provide Dorothy with a very convenient way home after she misses her chance to go with the Wizard, although for some reason Glinda never got around to telling her about it earlier.

Things that aren't deus ex machinas include unexpected plot twists or coincidences that don't solve the characters' problems, suspiciously convenient timing of something that is expected to happen or has been foreshadowed, and uncharacteristic brilliance from a protagonist that saves the day. That "deus" part is important to the technique; without the equivalent of a godlike figure appearing out of nowhere to fix everything, you've just got a sparkling denouement.

When is using a deus ex machina a good idea?

There are times, however, where using a deus ex machina can actually enhance your writing, rather than undercutting it. In parodic comedy, for example, a deus ex machina can be an effective vehicle for adding humour. When your plot is already silly, having your protagonists saved from certain death in the vacuum of space by a random passing spaceship doesn't feel out of place, or any more contrived than anything else that's happened.

Deus ex machina has also historically been a standard in several subgenres; for example, in social contexts where works were written under heavy levels of censorship, such as Elizabethan theatre and films produced under the Hays Code, there were rules (or at least strongly encouraged expectations) about the appropriate sorts of endings for characters exhibiting Good or Bad behaviours. So in order to get the story past the censors and in front of an audience, writers might have been compelled to shoehorn their plot into a "proper" ending, which might then involve a deus ex machina so that the dashing highwayman could be tried for his crimes as required, but then be pardoned at the last moment to preserve the happy ending.

There are technical reasons why a deus ex machina may be desired: it might tie in with the story's themes (e.g. fate or predestination), or it could be a thrilling way to set up a change in direction or perspective in the ongoing story. For example, you might have the heroes saved from certain doom by an entirely new and powerful character, who then introduces them to new plot hooks on an entirely different level. It could also be used as a tool of subversion—dismantling genre expectations, exploring metatextuality, providing social commentary, and so on.

Whether you intend to use deus ex machinas or avoid them, it's certainly handy to know where they are and how they work. Have a go at identifying them in things you read or watch, and think about how they enhance or detract from the story.