Chaos Ex Machina vs. Deus Ex Machina

[Johne]

Here's a sneak peak of my LinkedIn post for next Monday.
What's the difference between 'coincidence' and 'deus ex machina?'

Authors hate coincidence in fiction. It's widely considered an almost unforgivable sin, a sign that you haven’t been able to make your story work logically.

But what if I told you there's a way to write coincidence that works?*

Take THE NICE GUYS by Shane Black. Ryan Gosling and Russell Crowe’s characters keep stumbling into bigger messes through sheer dumb luck—a chance beating, a wrong-place-right-time moment, a killer who keeps showing up.

By all rights, it should feel contrived. But it doesn’t. Why?

Because every coincidence makes things worse.

Each one tightens the noose, forces the duo to adapt, and reveals who they are under pressure.

In short:

• Coincidence that causes trouble → fuels tension, demands choice → drama
• Coincidence that fixes trouble → removes tension, demands nothing → disappointment

Rule of thumb:
> Coincidence can start a story or make things worse.
> Coincidence cannot end a story or make things easy.

 

[Johne]

(Example, Bram Stoker’s Dracula hinges on one massive coincidence, and yet it’s still one of the greatest horror novels ever written.

Dracula meets Jonathan Harker—a random English law clerk handling his real estate deal in Transylvania. Later, the Count sails to England and just happens to land in the seaside town of Whitby, where Harker’s fiancée Mina is vacationing with her friend Lucy. Lucy becomes his first English victim, purely by chance. No reincarnated lover, no fated connection—just coincidence.

And it works.

So if Stoker could build a classic on coincidence, maybe we’ve been too quick to condemn it.)

 

[lynnmosher]

Interesting, Johne!

 

[Johne]

I learned today there's another name for this—Chaos Ex Machina.
Coincidence that causes trouble = believable chaos

When coincidence creates conflict, it feels like real life.
Because that’s how life feels: random, unfair, uncontrollable. You miss your flight. You run into your ex at the store. A freak storm ruins your plans.

This kind of coincidence disrupts order, and disruption is the fuel of story. It puts characters under pressure, forcing them to make choices, reveal character, and struggle toward meaning.

Writers call this “chaos ex machina” — the machine of fate breaking things.
Audiences instinctively accept it because it mirrors our lived experience of randomness.
Life happens to us all the time.

Coincidence that solves trouble = false order
When coincidence resolves conflict, it short-circuits drama.
Instead of a character making a meaningful choice or paying the cost of their flaws, a lucky break just wipes the slate clean.

That feels like cheating the emotional contract.
We don’t relate to unearned rescue, because it denies the truth we know: growth and redemption require cost.

That’s why “deus ex machina” — literally “god from the machine” — feels alien. It imposes divine order from outside the story’s internal logic, telling us the characters didn’t need to grow after all.

It breaks the trust contract between storyteller and audience.

In short:

• Coincidence that causes trouble → fuels tension, demands choice → drama.
• Coincidence that fixes trouble → removes tension, demands nothing → disappointment.

So the rule of thumb is:
Coincidence is allowed to start a story or make things worse.
It’s not allowed to end a story or make things easy.

 

[Wes B]

When chance humiliates your characters, it feels like life.

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Heh heh... that's 'cuz that sounds so much like real life...

In all seriousness, I suspect that all kinds of chance happen to us all the time, but we're most likely to remember the awkward ones. (They also make the most amusing stories to tell, when relaxing with our friends.)

There doesn't seem to be anything satisfying when a problem goes away, all by itself, at least in a serious story. (Inspector Clouseau can bumble his way out of a crisis; Sherlock Holmes cannot...)

 

[Westee]

Inspector Clouseau can bumble his way out of a crisis

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or Maxwell Smart

 

[DeeLo316]

Coincidence that solves trouble = false order
When coincidence resolves conflict, it short-circuits drama.
Instead of a character making a meaningful choice or paying the cost of their flaws, a lucky break just wipes the slate clean.

That feels like cheating the emotional contract.
We don’t relate to unearned rescue, because it denies the truth we know: growth and redemption require cost.

Click to shrink...

In some instances, can't that "lucky break that wipes the slate clean" or the "unearned rescue" be God's grace? Isn't that what grace is: unmerited favor? Perhaps it's the lucky break that leads to a changed behavior. When a character realizes they "dodged the bullet" growth can take place from that point.

 

[Lynae Fisher]

In some instances, can't that "lucky break that wipes the slate clean" or the "unearned rescue" be God's grace? Isn't that what grace is: unmerited favor? Perhaps it's the lucky break that leads to a changed behavior. When a character realizes they "dodged the bullet" growth can take place from that point.

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Well yes, in Christian fiction that work sometimes. But for general fiction or used in the wrong places could look fake. The point is to make it look real.

 

[SC_Ed]

or Maxwell Smart

Click to shrink...

Or one of those semi-hapless baseball teams in the movies, that somehow steal victory from the jaws of defeat.

 

[Wes B]

I hope I'm not venturing too far outside @Johne 's original intent here, but if you want to balance on a knife's edge, there's a very slender region where a well-crafted Butterfly Effect can produce a plausible "almost coincidence" that can have very good and satisfying consequences. That is, a small event can trigger a set of expanding consequences that make a helpful difference. While this can make surprise twists, both happy and sad, it even happens in real-life (google Günter‘s Gaffe to find how the fall of the Berlin Wall was heavily triggered by the mindless screw-up of an inconsequential official...)

That's not just a fable, BTW... I once knew a guy who had been a soldier in the East German Army when the full events unfolded, and I first learned of the story from him, mere years after "the wall" had fallen. He had his own wild seat from which to view the story... various underling soldiers were actually trying to soothe and calm their officers (who had access to some Real Weaponry) from doing anything sudden and rash, as they were watching their own futures and livelihoods crumble around them. Intense real-life irony there...

Anyway, we might separate well-crafted butterfly effect from mere blind coincidence, and consider how a clever writer may use the one instead of the other...

 

[Johne]

In some instances, can't that "lucky break that wipes the slate clean" or the "unearned rescue" be God's grace?

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Ok, so this is really interesting.

As Christians, we believe there is an actual 'God in the machine,' an external force who insinuates Himself in the lives of his creation. And that got me thinking... with regard to Deus Ex Machina, what do you do when the living God helps a protagonist who cries out for help? Is there a way to both require the protagonist to change and for God to be instrumental in leading to that change?

In other words, 'How can I write a story where God truly intervenes — but it still feels earned, not like a lazy “deus ex machina”?'

The answer lies in James 1:4:

“Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

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1. God’s intervention isn’t the shortcut — it’s the shaping
A true Deus (the living God) doesn’t bypass the protagonist’s transformation.
He uses the hardship to shape it.

In other words, the miracle isn’t there to bail out the character.
It’s there to complete the work that perseverance began.

So if the protagonist cries out to God, and God intervenes, the story question becomes:
“What kind of person has this trial made them become — and how does that make them able to receive what God gives?”

If the character’s heart has been transformed, the blessing feels earned through faith, not handed out for free.
That’s why the audience won’t feel cheated — because they’ve witnessed the sanctification process.

2. God’s “help” is often catalytic, not substitutive
In biblical storytelling (and great Christian fiction), divine help rarely erases the problem — it reveals the path through it.

Think:

• Moses still has to raise the staff and step toward the sea.
• Gideon still has to fight, even after the fleece.
• Peter still has to get out of the boat and walk.

God’s role is to illuminate obedience, not to remove the struggle.

So, in your story:
When the protagonist cries out to God, let His answer require trust, surrender, or courage — something that demands internal change.

That’s not deus ex machina.
That’s theology embodied in drama.

3. Obedience is the climax, not the blessing
If the climax of your story is the moment of obedience, then the divine blessing that follows feels inevitable and right.

In other words:

The miracle isn’t the point — the surrender is.

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Readers won’t object to divine help if they’ve watched the protagonist wrestle, doubt, endure, and choose faith anyway.

God’s role then becomes the faithful rewarder (Heb. 11:6), not the mechanical fixer.

And that’s what aligns perfectly with James 1:4:

Perseverance must finish its work — then comes completeness.

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4. How to dramatize this.

To make it feel earned rather than easy, show the pattern:

1. Trial — forces the protagonist into dependency.
2. Crying out — authentic surrender, not manipulation.
3. Response — God’s direction, not instant relief.
4. Action — protagonist obeys, demonstrating growth.
5. Blessing — outcome that validates both obedience and divine faithfulness.

That’s divine intervention that transforms the character instead of replacing them.

In short:

• A Deus Ex Machina breaks the story when God saves the character from change.
• A divine act of grace fulfills the story when God saves the character through change.

 

[Wes B]

Okay, so it looks like you're trying to formulate a pattern or set of useful rules, here. Why not try to formulate a term, and see if it catches on? My Latin's a bit rusty, but trying to playfully copy the original term, I'd nominate something like Deus est manifestum, (roughly, God is evident.) It's not perfect Latin, I mean, they put their verbs at the end of the sentence. (Hard to imagine Cicero and Caesar sounding vaguely like Yoda, but there it is...) Still, it's a start...

 

[Johne]

Okay, so it looks like you're trying to formulate a pattern or set of useful rules, here. Why not try to formulate a term, and see if it catches on?

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I really like this idea! I don't know Latin, but I can turn a phrase... I'd nominate Deus in machina: When divine intervention works through the logic of the story and the transformation of the character, rather than overriding them.

Deus in Machina: when divine grace reveals itself through story logic and character transformation.

 

[Wes B]

I really like this idea! I don't know Latin, but I can turn a phrase... I'd nominate Deus in machina: When divine intervention works through the logic of the story and the transformation of the character, rather than overriding them.

Deus in Machina: when divine grace obeys story logic

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Sounds reasonable, and I think it's even grammatically correct Latin. 'Course, as you're the one working to formulate a set of rules here, you don't need to nominate anything; you're the arbiter. (Which is also Latin, 'cuz, why not? ) Your rule set... your name...

The only possible consideration is that, unless it really catches on, people may often think you're using the phrase Deus ex machina incorrectly, and constantly try to 'straighten you out" on it. (I been hearin' that on this internet thang, folks like to call each other out on stuff... ) As long as you're prepared for that, take it and run with it. You're the one doing all the work, so it's yours to construct.

 

[Johne]

As long as you're prepared for that, take it and run with it.

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Oh, I was practically born to scrap online, heh.*



* Now largely retired, thanks be to God.

 

[DeeLo316]

Ok, so this is really interesting.

As Christians, we believe there is an actual 'God in the machine,' an external force who insinuates Himself in the lives of his creation. And that got me thinking... with regard to Deus Ex Machina, what do you do when the living God helps a protagonist who cries out for help? Is there a way to both require the protagonist to change and for God to be instrumental in leading to that change?

In other words, 'How can I write a story where God truly intervenes — but it still feels earned, not like a lazy “deus ex machina”?'

The answer lies in James 1:4:


1. God’s intervention isn’t the shortcut — it’s the shaping
A true Deus (the living God) doesn’t bypass the protagonist’s transformation.
He uses the hardship to shape it.

In other words, the miracle isn’t there to bail out the character.
It’s there to complete the work that perseverance began.

So if the protagonist cries out to God, and God intervenes, the story question becomes:
“What kind of person has this trial made them become — and how does that make them able to receive what God gives?”

If the character’s heart has been transformed, the blessing feels earned through faith, not handed out for free.
That’s why the audience won’t feel cheated — because they’ve witnessed the sanctification process.

2. God’s “help” is often catalytic, not substitutive
In biblical storytelling (and great Christian fiction), divine help rarely erases the problem — it reveals the path through it.

Think:

• Moses still has to raise the staff and step toward the sea.
• Gideon still has to fight, even after the fleece.
• Peter still has to get out of the boat and walk.

God’s role is to illuminate obedience, not to remove the struggle.

So, in your story:
When the protagonist cries out to God, let His answer require trust, surrender, or courage — something that demands internal change.

That’s not deus ex machina.
That’s theology embodied in drama.

3. Obedience is the climax, not the blessing
If the climax of your story is the moment of obedience, then the divine blessing that follows feels inevitable and right.

In other words:


Readers won’t object to divine help if they’ve watched the protagonist wrestle, doubt, endure, and choose faith anyway.

God’s role then becomes the faithful rewarder (Heb. 11:6), not the mechanical fixer.

And that’s what aligns perfectly with James 1:4:


4. How to dramatize this.

To make it feel earned rather than easy, show the pattern:

1. Trial — forces the protagonist into dependency.
2. Crying out — authentic surrender, not manipulation.
3. Response — God’s direction, not instant relief.
4. Action — protagonist obeys, demonstrating growth.
5. Blessing — outcome that validates both obedience and divine faithfulness.

That’s divine intervention that transforms the character instead of replacing them.

In short:

• A Deus Ex Machina breaks the story when God saves the character from change.
• A divine act of grace fulfills the story when God saves the character through change.

Click to shrink...

My novel, The First Last Concert, (self-published in January 2025) follows that pattern. But you outline it so clearly!

 

[Johne]

My novel, The First Last Concert, (self-published in January 2025) follows that pattern.

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I love that title! (And gratz on publishing your novel!)

 

[DeeLo316]

Thank you! The title is a reference to events in the story, including a scene in which Victoria's employer Zechariah asks her to find the Scripture "about the last being first and the first last." She reads him Matthew 20:16, KJV.

 

[DeeLo316]

How was your post received on LinkedIn today?