A Review of C.S. Lewis’ Space Trilogy, Part the First

Of the literary geniuses who have captured my imagination, the one who has most passionately and regularly engaged, fascinated and intoxicated me is C.S. Lewis, as most of my readers are well aware from previous posts. While my love for his work began at the age of eight, I never got around to reading his acclaimed Space Trilogy. I decided to end my ignorance of the subject this weekend, and these are the thoughts that ensured.

As I started reading Out of the Silent Planet, I was overcome with the desire to discover its context and place in the timeline of literature. I immediately noticed several themes and phrases that Lewis had exquisitely stolen from himself – most notably the theme of what constitutes a “right” as well as the presence of holy light-beings (eldila), both notions that stuck in my mind from The Great Divorce. Knowing the long history of the friendship-competition between Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, I was also intrigued by some strong connections between the Space storyline and that of Lord of the Rings. If you have read both series, I’m curious if anyone shares my observation of a strong similitude between Ransom and Frodo (stumbling into an adventure, confronting new peoples, languages, and worlds). The scenes and descriptions of Ransom riding on the shoulder of the sorn Augray brought to mind the hobbits and ents in Lord of the Rings. My findings on this front were surprising, as more often than not, the things I tend to really like end up being alleged rip-offs of others’ work. Not so here. Out of the Silent Planet was published in 1943. This endeavor clearly gave Lewis some of his ideas for The Great Divorce, released a mere two years later. Tolkien’s trilogy was released over a decade after the Space Trilogy, between 1954 and 1955.

I’m sure Tolkien regarded his magnum opus as a triumph over Lewis’ "mere children’s stories" (that much is clear in their correspondence), but in actually reading the Space Trilogy (and Narnia), the purposes of Lewis’ writing is so vastly different than Tolkien’s that it is really a detriment to both works to compare them. Lewis studied, wrote, and adored allegory and mythology; Tolkien disavowed the suggestion that his work was anything of the sort. In the Space Trilogy, Lewis displays worldviews and the philosophical underpinnings of life for the purpose of making people ask questions: “Why do I wish to acquire wealth? Will Earth and mankind go on forever? Is God called by another name still God?” I’m sure I’ll step on some toes here, but Tolkien’s fiction is in large part philosophy for philosophy’s sake. While those who think his work is in fact allegorical and referring ultimately to the industrial revolution *cough Allis cough cough* are entitled to their opinion, at the end of the day, Tolkien is grandstanding his considerable knowledge of history, mythology, and language, and that’s about it. Is Tolkien a master storyteller? Absolutely. Can some Lord of the Rings lessons and characters be instructive? Yes. However, the authors’ objectives are fundamentally different. Tolkien creates the world of Middle-earth largely to bask in his own creation and share it with others; why else would he go to such great lengths to create a half-dozen new languages, each with multiple dialects? Do you really think he created Middle-earth for general consumption? If you don’t believe me, try reading The Silmarillion.

On the other hand, Lewis seeks to draw out his readers to make meaningful decisions about their lives, and he writes to that end. Sure, he’s a linguist like Tolkien, and Out of the Silent Planet introduces us to the Malacandrian tongue that plays a significant part in the understanding between man and alien. However, it is hardly the centerpiece of the work: no, it is the workaday worldviews are what have the strongest function in Lewis’ plot and the deepest affect on the reader. Out of the Silent Planet brilliantly demonstrates the grotesque ramifications of avarice (Weston) and humanism (Divine) by setting up these relatively common worldviews in the context of another world. Here, the commonness of these principles prevents much meaningful discussion; they are nearly assumed. When justification for greed or self-importance must be given from the ground up, as Lewis does here, it becomes a whole new argument. (Outside of fiction, he best demonstrated this method in Mere Christianity). For all their “knowledge,” Weston and Divine are shown stupid and cruel when cast into stark relief by the brilliant simplicity of the Malacandrians. Fairly instructive for all of us, methinks.

A couple clean-up observations. From the time our main character was introduced, I knew the name Ransom would be unavoidably meaningful, in true Lewis fashion. While I am not sure exactly how much that will come into play in the next two novels, I think it an interesting concept. Even though we don’t hear Ransom’s account of salvific history (very disappointing, might I add), there is a sense in which he has “redeemed” Earth’s status by the very telling of the story. (I love the simple summary of praise – “You have shown me more wonders than are known in the whole of heaven.”) The presentation of Lucifer’s fall from an extra-human perspective was a fascinating one, especially as it related to the fall of man and the naming of Earth as “the silent planet.”

In all, a brilliant and charming read, not that anything less could be expected of Lewis. The fantastic science-fiction approach provides refreshing perspectives on theological topics most may consider overdone or mundane. While the notion of finding life on Mars seems even more fantastic in 2005 due to our improved awareness of the universe since 1943, our own sense of security in our knowledge make the lessons of Out of a Silent Planet even more relevant and meaningful.