MatheMagic

In my fifteen years as a magician, I’ve performed for dozens of corporate and private events, competed hundreds of times, and practiced thousands of tricks. In my decade as a mathematician, I’ve solved hundreds of proofs, balanced thousands of equations, and accidentally divided by zero once.

My identities as both a magician and a mathematician are anything but mutually exclusive. There’s a subtle harmony between math and magic that I’ve come to appreciate over the years, stemming from their most basic similarity: problem-solving.

In mathematics, a proof is “an inferential argument for a mathematical statement, showing that the stated assumptions logically guarantee the conclusion.” Basically, using “stated assumptions,” or theorems, you can apply the rules of logic to say something is true, or solve a proof. There are almost always countless ways to solve proofs, but as long as the theorems and logic hold up, a proof is a proof. The sum of the parts, applied correctly, equal the whole. 

A magic trick is a proof, and techniques are theorems. A good magician has mastered hundreds of techniques, and can effortlessly chain them into a cohesive trick. A great magician can perform this same trick hundreds of different ways. 

In magic, however, the sum of the parts should be much greater than the whole. What sets an excellent magician apart are the intangibles of showmanship, connection with the audience, tempo, flair, etc. This is where the similarity departs. Math is beautiful for its simplicity, its elegance. Magic is beautiful for its complexity, its subterfuge.

Anyways, math is probably the last thing that anyone wants to think about when they’re witnessing a magic trick, myself included. I will say that broken into their bare components, math and magic overlap in a neat way. 

I call it mathemagic.