People will stare at the ocean for a long time. People like watching processes governed by natural laws. Waves are soothing to watch because they are doing exactly and only what they do; they are neither driven by an internal purpose nor manipulated by some external desire. Natural laws apply neither from within or without; they are simply the premise of the universe, and so their action is supremely confident; restfully so.

One needn’t ask “why” a wave is crashing; the scientific explanations of “why” a wave crashes are really just fuller descriptions of what it means for a wave to crash. To see a wave is to understand why it is crashing: because this is what happens. Every moment of the wave’s action makes obvious what the next moment must be; every section of the wave demonstrates its own inevitability and the inevitability of the whole. The chain of absolutely apparent inevitability is seamless and unending.

Things that need explaining are much less pleasant to the mind. “Why” is the essence of unrestfulness.

The thought is: this principle is also at work in writing. If the chain of necessity is unbroken, the reader is at ease. Anything else is disruptive. If art can simulate the nature of a wave crashing – or snow falling, or a plant growing, or clouds drifting – it will hold its audience in a state of peaceful interest.

This principle may not be relevant for ambitious art, but it’s the most important one for mass market success. Reading Stephen King, I remember, was like watching things fall. Mm, it’s falling. Listening to a top 40 song can be a little like watching a stream ripple over a rock. There it goes. Mm.