Musings on Perelandra

A little while ago I did a post featuring random musings on Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis. I had a very sweet request to write about the rest of the Space Trilogy, so here I am with some random musings on Perelandra.

Perelandra, in a sense, runs with the fascinating premise of OotSP and carries it even further. We got to see another world, an un-fallen world, in OotSP. In Perelandra, we see not only an un-fallen world, but an un-tested world. We know, of course, about our first parents; their chance at a sinless, un-perfect world; their Fall and simultaneously the Fall of all humanity. In Perelandra, we get to see how all of this might have played out in a different world.

In the same vein, in Perelandra Lewis manages to do the same thing he accomplished in OotSP; he creates a world very different from ours (and very different from Malacandra), but not grotesque. Perelandra is, again, an alien place, but a beautiful place.

It is strikingly different from Malacandra in a couple interesting ways. One is that Malacandra is an old planet – in a sense, a dying planet. There is a certain air of melancholy (though a beautiful, pure kind of melancholy) to Malacandra, because everyone knows it won’t last for much longer. Perelandra, on the other hand, is a brand-new (help! too much Dickens in my brain; I can’t even say the word “brand-new” without thinking of the Veneerings) world, so new that temptation has not even entered it. Malacandra has the quiet, serene joy of an old man who has lived a good, happy life. Perelandra has the irrepressible, bubbling joy of an infant just entering into life (but still a weighty joy, mind you: a joy with some gravitas to it).

Then, of course, the most obvious difference is that while Malacandra is un-fallen, Perelandra (at the start of the story, in any case) is un-tempted. Where Malacandra has a full maturity that the Silent Planet can’t ever have, Perelandra has an innocence that the Silent Planet can (no longer) ever have.

This scenario gives the story extremely, extremely high stakes. In OotSP we were just concerned about the safety of the characters we liked, and while I don’t want to write off those stakes (since we did quite like those characters), in Perelandra the fate of an entire world is hanging in the balance. And with the example of our own world dangling, all too real, right in front of us, we can by no means feel sure that we know that the outcome will be good.

Let’s talk about Ransom.

Ransom is, once again, simultaneously shockingly relatable and also probably a lot braver than any of us would be. The situations Ransom finds himself in in this book? I would probably be curled up in a ball praying and begging to just go home. We do see Ransom’s growth since the last book, too; I think you see it most especially in his serenity at the beginning, when he knows he’s being sent to Perelandra. Of course, you could say, “Well, of course he’s serene then; he has no idea what he’s in for,” but I think that honestly, if we can reach that level of serenity, we’re doing pretty good. If you can reach the stage where you can entrust yourself to God right before entering on a crisis, that is a very good start.

Also, Ransom does very notably put himself completely in God’s Hands at a moment when it really counts. Does he whine and fight and try to wriggle out of it beforehand? Of course. And that is what makes him so relatable. He’d hardly be human otherwise.

Moving on to the Lady of Perelandra. In the Lady, we get to see what we of the Silent Planet never got a chance to see: ideal womanhood. (Well, you know – to be technical, what we’re seeing is actually Lewis’s vision of ideal womanhood.) She is  a beautiful, perfect woman, who is completely good, completely desires good for others, and completely commands the love and respect of the creatures of Perelandra.

Something significant – which you’ll notice is true of the Fall in our world, too – is that the devil doesn’t start presenting temptation when the King and Queen are together. He waits until they’ve been separated to start tempting the Lady. People are stronger in community and weaker by themselves, and the devil knows that. (There’s a lot that could be said about the Lady and the King’s relationship, and how it relates to men and women in general…however, I’m not sure exactly how I feel about all of it, or how much I agree with Lewis and how much I don’t, so I shan’t get into that whole aspect of the matter.)

Something else I find interesting about the temptation of the Lady is that the devil is very, very subtle in his temptation. He can’t start by trying to just convince the Lady to disobey God’s commands, because she is thoroughly good and she delights in pleasing God. She wouldn’t even understand why anyone would ever have the desire not to please Him. The devil knows this. The devil is intelligent (although Lewis makes the fascinating point that the devil only uses intelligence as a tool – a tool which is happily dropped when it is not useful for his purposes), and starts by simply confusing the clear lines of good and evil. He doesn’t, at first, even try to get her to do anything. He simply tries to make it harder for her to clearly and instinctively know what is right and what is wrong. Then he tries to introduce the idea that sometimes, perhaps, one must do something wrong, but in order to bring about a good. Of course, what all this is leading to is the attempt to get her to wilfully do something wrong, knowing it’s wrong, out of selfishness and with no higher motive. But he introduces the idea slowly, by increments, to get her pure mind used to the idea. And those slow stages are probably uncomfortably familiar-sounding to all of us. Lewis has some pretty profound (and ACCURATE) insights on just how the devil works on the human mind.

Before I wrap this up, I must touch on Weston – not the Un-Man, just Weston. I am sorry for Weston. I feel like Weston really did believe in his cause…but without anything higher to put his trust in or to guide him, he had to turn to filth, and dangerous (EXTREMELY dangerous) filth, to continue his “cause.” And, thereby, made his cause demonic. (Not, just for clarification, that his cause was ever a godly one.)  But I feel bad about his character arc. Perhaps Weston could have seen the light at the last moment and begged for mercy, right? Let’s say that’s what happened. I prefer it that way.

Well, that’s enough musings on Perelandra from me. Now, why don’t you go read Perelandra for yourself, and you can muse back at me. (Or if you’ve already read it, muse with me in the comments section.)