A Review of C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy, Part the Second

I realize this review is long overdue, as I read Perelandra over Thanksgiving and both Christmas and New Years are now past. But I was only recently able to take time to collect my thoughts, but before I do, I wanted to throw an idea out there for those who had such a fascinating and stimulating discussion in the comment section of my review for Out of the Silent Planet. I was thinking of getting some folks together and starting a blog dedicated to Lewis’ works and life, I know it’s been done before, but if anyone would be interested in writing articles, reviews, or any sort of related material for such a site, please let me know! Our previous discussion was so engaging, I would much like a forum for it to continue. Let me know if you’re interested :)
That said, Perelandra. To me, this book felt nothing like Out of the Silent Planet. While these books are certainly members of the same series, it seems that little except the main character remains constant, and that only in his presence (and not necessarily his function). And, being over 200 pages into That Hideous Strength, I can say with some measure of confidence that each entry in the Space Trilogy is almost entirely unique in its perspective and purpose to the point that they seem very little like a trilogy at all. But perhaps these are simple three unique facets of the same stone; and if that is that case, Out of the Silent Planet is the space adventure, Perelandra is the theological expose, and That Hideous Strength is Lewis’ “modern fairy tale” (as he puts it) to bring blood and breath to his philosophy (particularly of The Abolition of Man). In that light, and while I’ve yet to reach the end of the last book, I can say that Perelandra is my favorite by far.
Perelandra is a stage on which theology is wrestled with in a plainspoken and realistic way. While its prequel is purposefully silent on certain religious questions, almost every circumstance here leads to a valid and useful theological discussion. From the very beginning, which is narrated first-person by the author himself, there is a sense of the Great Story being played out, whether the character realize it or not. In that initial sequence, there is a brilliant handling of Lewis’ encounter with an eldil:
“I felt sure that the creature was what we call ‘good,’ but I wasn’t sure whether I liked ‘goodness’ so much as I had supposed. This is a very terrible experience. As long as you are afraid of something evil, you may still hope that the good may come to your rescue. But suppose you struggle through too the good and find it is also dreadful?”
After bouncing some ideas regarding this passage off my parents, I think a clarification is in order here. I don’t think Lewis is using “dreadful” here as something that is necessarily destructive or what we would call “bad.” It is, however, terrible in the sense of generating a sense of awe because, until that moment, there was no room for the existence of this sort of being in the author’s noetic structure. In that sense, I wonder how much of this we will feel upon our initial entry into God’s presence, after decades of stained-glass windows have dulled our senses and expectations and anticipations of God to the point that we may find His full presence terrifying. I am just curious if we have lost so much of the supernatural in our earthly context – or perhaps I should say the perception of the supernatural – that even the most Heavenly-minded among us will tremble along with the most calculated pragmatist.
The commentaries here on man’s will and deepeste desires are also brilliant. Lewis’ description of the Christian understanding of linear time, especially as it applies to our own lives, cuts to the heart of anyone, regardless of your sin of choice. Unfortunately, we tend to accept the idea of history being linear without taking the next step of realization that our own lives cannot be on wash, rinse, and repeat as much as we may like at times. In Ransom’s words, “This itch to have this over again, as if life were a film that could be unrolled twice or even made to work backwards… was that possibly the root of all evil? No, of course the love of money was called that. But money itself – perhaps one valued it chiefly as a defense against chance, a security for being able to have things over again, a means of arresting the unrolling of the film… money, in fact, would provide a means of saying encore in a voice that could not be disobeyed.”
How true that is! We save money so we can go to our favorite restaurants, so we can return to our hometown. But so often, at least in my own experience, these places are not the same upon my return; San Diego is not the place it was when I left. Even my family life is different because my parents are now used to the empty nest; they go to a different church and have different ministries. But I’m still always comparing it to the past. When my girls and I go to our favorite Thai place in Old Town Alexandria and the pad thai isn’t quiet as flavorful as usual, we take note of it. I’m not saying anything is wrong with any of this; I think it is a normal process of life, but one that should propel the mind of the Christian forward, not only swelling on the past. God certainly gives us memory for a reason – it is a blessing to recount His past interventions in our lives – and we should be grateful for this capacity. However, when our past becomes a goal instead of the Ebenezer He intended it to be, we are constantly frustrated, because we are (by God’s race) always moving forward, and any experience, even when repeated, cannot be the same twice, because we are different. We should recognize and embrace this as a blessings. “Among times there is a time that turns a corner and everything this side of it is new; time do not go backward.” This was an incredible important point for me, and one that may continue to challenge me the rest of my life.
Lewis also seems to completely disarm the Calvinist/Armenian debate in a way only he could manage through his fiction. I’m not sure I can properly give any commentary on this point, so I will just share a few of my favorite quotations on the subject from Perelandra. At one point, Ransom is reflecting on his awful loneliness: “He thought the difference lay in this, that mere chance (or what he took for chance) had landed him adrift in Mars, but here he knew that he was part of a plan He was no longer unattached, no longer on the outside.” How strange but true that being “on the inside” can be such a lonesome feeling! I also loved this description of Ransom’s thoughts toward Malacandra: “It was strange to be filled with homesickness for places where [Ransom’s] sojourn had been so brief and which were, by any objective standard, so alien to our race. Or were they? The cord of longing which drew him to the invisible role seems to him at the moment to have been fastened long, long before coming to Perelandra, long before the earliest times that memory could recover in his childhood… before the origins of time. It was sharp, sweet, wild and holy, all in one.” Sometimes we take for granted that god has prepared us (as well as the works) in advance for us to do.
We’re designed for a purpose; no reason to be shy about it. We should be pliable tools in the Master’s hands. Lewis’ presentation of an ordinary man being part of the Great Adventure is both inspiring and realistic in its own right. A scene late in the story – “It is not for nothing that you are named Ransom” – makes this abundantly clear in a very striking way.
There are another thousand points I could touch on, but I fear my ruminations have already run too long. Lewis’ mix of theology and adventure in Perelandra is truly invigorating; a worthy read by all accounts.