Spoiler alert: This post is part of an in-depth
discussion of Perelandra by C. S. Lewis, which will inevitably
reveal key plot points. Unless you're the sort of person who likes
skipping to the last page, go read the book first.
To prevent another Fall on Perelandra, Maleldil
instructed Ransom to kill the body of Weston, who became possessed by
an evil spiritual Force and attempted to introduce evil to the green
Queen of Perelandra. Maleldil put all the living creatures of
Perelandra into a deep sleep, and after his own night's sleep that
left him refreshed and spiritually renewed, Ransom confronted the
Un-Man, beginning hand-to-hand combat, presumably to the death,
between them. Ransom relied on his boxing skills while the feral
Un-Man preferred to claw at Ransom's skin. After a time Weston escaped
and rode out to the sea on one of the giant fish that the
Perelandrians use for transportation; Ransom mounted another fish and
pursued him.
In this chapter, the sea chase continues, with Ransom realizing
just how far his pursuit of the Un-Man has taken him from anything
like solid ground. He's out in the middle of the sea with no land or
floating islands in sight. He spies some mer-men and tries to eat some
of the seaweed they are eating, but the seaweed affects his mind,
making him feel disoriented and forgetful of his mission; he throws
the rest of it away. After a day and night of his fight with, and
pursuit of, Weston, he is beginning to have doubts about his mission
and the goodness of Maleldil.
In time he is approached by
Weston on his fish, and it indeed appears to be Weston, as if he has
regained control of his body from the Force. Weston is confused and
terrified: that he is trapped on Perelandra, and that Ransom might
abandon him. Having been possessed by a devil, he has had a foretaste
of death; that, too, terrifies him. As the darkness closes in on them,
Ransom tells Weston to stop talking nonsense and to pray to repent of
his sins. But he is lifted off his fish and dragged under the sea.
This chapter begins, "Darkness fell upon the waves as suddenly as
if it had been poured out of a bottle." It's a nice turn of phrase,
and it suggests either that Ransom is somewhere near Perelandra's
equator, or that it has a short day. As I noted earlier in the book,
Lewis's depiction of Venus reflects the best science of his day, apart
from the fantasy elements. There was still a question about the length
of the Venerean day, whether it was short or long. Lewis seems to
imply that the day is something like a terrestrial day, at least
insofar as Ransom seems to have no trouble adjusting to it. Of course,
today we know that Venus's solar day is very long, equivalent to 116
terrestrial days.
It's unclear to Ransom (and to us) whether the mer-men are
intelligent. They are like men, but also, in his perception, like
animals. Perhaps someday they will be intelligent but, for
now, Maleldil hasn't put the spark of rationality in them. Lewis
briefly introduces mer-men in the Chronicles of Narnia, though
in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, the Sea People are
both intelligent and civilized, and apparently fearful or hostile to
the Narnians, rather than indifferent.
The seaweed Ransom eats affects his perception and memory, which is
why he throws it away. Is it a psychotropic, like cannabis? Or is it
more "magical"? Under its influence he sees the ocean surface as the
top of the world, and the floating islands like clouds,
inaccessible. In other words, the seaweed gives him the mer-men's view
of the world. In Perelandra, as in Narnia, the world of mer-men has
nothing to do with the world of humans.
Sitting on his fish in the middle of the Perelandrian ocean, Ransom
has a crisis of faith. He realizes he is but a speck on a vast ocean
the size of a planet. How could this world have been made for the King
and Queen, when most of it was uninhabitable by them? The planet
itself was also but a speck in the vastness of space. And where, then,
was Maleldil?
This is what is known as the argument from scale: in the grand
vastness of the cosmos, humanity is an insignificant atom of no
importance. It's actually a very old argument that's been discussed
for centuries. Lewis himself frequently cited Ptolemy's second-century
astronomy text, Almagest, as proof that the ancients knew
Earth was infinitesimal compared to the whole of space. But he did not
understand why it only recently had become an atheistic
argument against Christianity.1 But the argument from scale
had been used by notable intellectuals such as H. G. Wells,
J. B. S. Haldane, and Arthur Stanley Eddington, the very people whose
philosophies Lewis was critiquing in the Space Trilogy.
Blaise Pascal famously said, "The eternal silence of these infinite
spaces fills me with dread."2 But Pascal saw man as
occupying the middle ground between Nothing and the Infinite. We are
an atom to the whole of the universe, but something very small—a
dust mite, say—is that in relation to us. We believe
ourselves more capable of comprehending the small things, being bigger
than them; but, in fact, "in either case it takes an infinite
capacity.… These extremes touch and join by going in opposite
directions, and they meet in God and God alone."3 The
vastness of space ought to drive us to contemplate God's greatness
rather than our own irrelevance. "I do not see how we could have come
to know the greatness of God," writes Lewis, "without that hint
furnished by the greatness of the material universe."4
Lewis writes, "the whole argument from size rests on the assumption
that differences of size ought to coincide with differences of
value."5 But he concludes that this is "an affair, not of
reason but of emotion—of that peculiar emotion which
superiorities in size produce only after a certain point of absolute
size has been reached.6 That is, a small man is not morally
insignificant compared to a large man, so we shouldn't assume that,
faced with the vastness of creation, we are of no significance,
either.
Ransom, too, has a sense of this, as we could guess:
Part of him still knew that the size of a thing
is its least important characteristic, that the material universe
derived from the comparing and mythopœc power within him that
very majesty before which he was now asked to debase himself.
The Anglican newspaper, the Guardian
(no relation to The
Guardian), published "Dogma and the Universe" in two parts
in March 1943, less than a month before Perelandra was
published. I think it's possible that Lewis was developing both works
at the same time, using the arguments of the one as plot points in the
other.
In
the first
chapter, the fictional narrator-Lewis was beset by some sort of
unease or fear that tempted him to turn back on his walk to Ransom's
cottage. It may have been due to the influence of some malevolent
spirits. Who is to say that Ransom's doubts, as he floats on the back
of a fish in the endless Venerian ocean, are not similarly influenced
now by the same bent eldila?
Weston, too, is terrified of the abyss. As a materialist scientist
he had had no use for an afterlife. As a pantheistic believer in
emergent evolution, he had an optimistic view of death in which one's
consciousness was absorbed into the Cosmic Force. But now he knows his
Force is a real evil spirit, who had pushed his own consciousness
aside it used his body. He has seen the real horror of death: a prison
in which the souls of the dead are packed, retaining a bare minimum of
consciousness to feel their own decay, miserable, isolated from God
and from all hope. He is horrified.
The thought of death puts Weston in a state of terror: terrified of
the darkness, of the waves, of the thought of being abandoned by
Ransom or marooned on Perelandra, even though right now he is
perfectly safe from danger. Meanwhile, on Earth, Ransom tells him,
hundreds of boys face death this very moment in the war. Weston sees
death as a horror to be avoided; Ransom sees it as an inevitability to
be prepared for. Weston needs perspective, and repentance.
Is this the real Weston? Lewis doesn't specifically say, and Ransom
seems to have his doubts. Perhaps it's another trick of the
Un-Man. Maybe it's the genuine personality of Weston, permitted to
resurface by the evil Force to give Ransom a false sense of
security. Either way, Weston drags Ransom into the water, and the
battle between them continues in chapter 14.
Footnotes
1. C. S. Lewis, "Dogma and the Universe," in God in the
Dock (1970, repr. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 39.
2. Blaise Pascal, Pensées,
trans. A. J. Krailsheimer (London: Penguin, 1995), no. 201
(Brunschvicg 206).
3. Pascal, Pensées, no. 199 (Brunschvicg 72).
4. Lewis, "Dogma and the Universe", 42.
5. Lewis, "Dogma and the Universe," 40.
6. Lewis, "Dogma and the Universe," 41.