I reread Out of the Silent Planet so that I could reread Perelandra. That’s how much I remember loving it.
Unfortunately, however, while Silent Planet raised its initial rating by half a star and rounded up on this reread, Perelandra lowered its own by two.
Don’t get me wrong: It’s not that Perelandra is so much worse than I remember it being. It’s just that I no longer find the elements that blew me away the first time all that astonishing anymore.
For context, Perelandra explores what could have happened if God had created sentient humanoid life on multiple planets, and if not all of those planets fell from their original, sinless states. Essentially, Lewis is asking what it would look like if God had created another Adam and Eve, on another planet, and if they had not committed the first sin of disobedience when tempted to by Satan. If the Fall, in fact, never happened.
Now, that’s a gutsy allegorical premise, on many levels, and I could get behind it in theory. Lewis could also write allegory quite well, so, again, it could have worked. The problem, for me, is not so much the allegory itself, it’s the exposition of that allegory.
Because, in this version of cosmic history, the cataclysmic introduction of sin isn’t averted because this Adam and Eve simply make their own, freewill decision to obey God and ignore the devil. Nope, in this version, God sends an earthly human to this other planet to kill the tempter for this Adam and Eve.
And who might that chosen human be?
If you guessed our original protagonist, Elwin Ransom . . . you’re right.
Do you -- do you start to see my issue? I just . . . I don’t know, man. If you’re going to consider the possibility of a “second Eden” which never fell to darkness, you can approach it from multiple equally valid theological angles. So, on one hand, I have no real -- meaning, insurmountable -- issue with how Lewis wrote this novel. I can see how he came to the conclusions he came to, for this, and none of them are technically wrong. But part of that, of course, is because I don't know if it’s possible for any one perspective on such a premise to be “technically wrong”. On an issue so speculative, there’s plenty of room for nuance.
So, since just about anything “could,” in theory, “go” for such a story, the question is not so much what you can do with it, but what would be best for you to do with it. And, in my personal opinion, reproducing the biblical Eden situation on another planet, but bringing in a human man to act as God’s “hands” in giving this extra-terrestrial Adam and Eve some “additional help” in resisting Satan’s temptation -- making that human man, essentially, a kind of divinely designated, “substitute messiah” for this other race -- is perhaps not the best thing to do with it. You feel me, fam?
Additionally, there’s the issue of, um . . . gender . . . intrinsic to this premise. Because he’s writing a speculative, semi-allegorical Eden fantasy, Lewis is saddled -- or rather, saddles himself -- with the responsibility of describing his idea of what an Eveian woman would be like.
This . . . is . . . a delicate situation for any male author to put himself in, and I think it may be especially precarious for a male theologian. And I question the prudence of doing so at all -- or, at least, of doing so in such detail and for so long as Lewis does in this book.
Once again, there’s nothing (or not much) that is flatly wrong or unbiblical about his Eve figure. But, while revering her narratively, Lewis also emphasizes her naivete and her gullibility to an extent that is . . . dare I say, unnecessary? And troubling, considering the habits of sexism detectable in certain other of his works? It’s also . . . not great . . . that, while we only meet the Adam figure a few pages before the novel ends, Lewis takes the time to glorify him to the extent that he does.
I understand his interest in the magnificence of what a sinless Adam would be like, especially given the biblical comparison that names Jesus Christ our second Adam. I understand his interest in the magnificence of what a sinless image-bearer of God Almighty would be like. But . . . truly not trying to be petty, but . . . the Bible tells us that women are made in the image of God as well. So, without getting into a sticky biblical debate about gender, I think we can (and should) acknowledge that a sinless Eve would be just as great a marvel as a sinless Adam.
And Lewis does glory in the sinless Eve, as well -- he does dedicate quite a bit of time to her splendor, as well.
But he also explicitly states that, while this Eve figure is great, no one would think of paying her any attention if this Adam was in the same space, because he is so exponentially more radiant.
And that . . . that reads as a smidge icky, my friends. Just a smidge.
Remember, now, I absolutely loved this story when I first read it. I got really excited when I realized what Lewis was doing with the book -- how he was building it to this monolithic spiritual climax and infusing it with so much heady philosophical and theological speculation.
And that’s still cool, of course. I still love philosophical and theological speculation, and there are still bits of it in this book that I do enjoy and do find beneficial and compelling.
It’s just that, since I no longer appreciate all or even most of this speculation as much as I did at first -- since I no longer find this speculation very productive, or even very accurate -- I don’t get as excited about all the "trappings," for lack of a less depreciative term. (I’ve also realized that, on a purely recreational level, I enjoy the Malacandrian setting of Silent Planet more than I enjoy the Perelandrian setting of -- well, Perelandra.)
So, all in all, this book simply doesn’t do as much for me now as it did the first time I read it. And that is Perfectly Okay.
However, I will say:
“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, here goes -- I mean Amen,” is still one of the single most epic lines I have ever read in my entire life.