The pace is quickening as the Unman reveals his true nature more and more to Ransom, while continuing to speak civilly and reasonably to the Lady. Chapter 9 begins with Ransom discovering and following the trail of mutilated frogs; they are to him an "obscenity" (94), completely out of place in this idyllic world. He contemplates the fact that there are two ways only to live in the universe--to move either toward the "Beatific or the Miserific Vision" (96). While this kind of language is found in numerous medieval thinkers, including Dante, it also makes me think of Charles Williams--and more reading I'll need to do.
The Unman tells the Lady his purpose in coming to Perelandra is to teach them Death; he couches this in nearly theatrical terms--as Ransom tells us. The Unman tempts the Lady to adopt the "role" of heroine for her race; he tempts her with her own beauty (Vanity) and with the idea of glorious self-sacrifice. Ransom feels he is losing the battle; it doesn't help when he loses his temper!
While the eldila do not interfere in Perelandra, Maleldil is present, and Ransom realizes that He has always been present--it's just that Ransom has managed to ignore Him while focusing on the battle of words and ideas. Three times Ransom thinks, "This can't go on." Finally he asks, "Why did no miracle come?" (119) At this point Ransom experiences the presence of Maleldil, which grows stronger until, Ransom says, it's almost a Voice, and eventually it speaks to him.
But first, Ransom feels himself divided into two arguing selves: one is clearly guided by Reason, the other is more holistic perhaps--the narrator later names it "intuition" (123). His reasonable, or as he says, his voluble self claims that he has done all he can, that all he has to do is his best and then "God would see to the final issue. . . . He must not be worried about the final result. Maleldil would see to that. . . . One must have faith" (120).
Immediately his other self recognizes the falseness of this way of thinking; if Maleldil's will is to be done on Perelandra, Ransom must DO it: "Ransom and the Lady were those hands" (121) which would accomplish the task. This made me think of a quote from St. Terese of Avila:
Christ has no body now on earth but yours,no hands but yours, no feet but yours,
yours are the eyes through which Christ's compassion is to look out to the earth,
yours are the feet by which He is to go about doing good
and yours are the hands by which He is to bless us now.
Ransom realizes he is the miracle Maleldil has sent to Perelandra, and he moves to the certainty that he can and will physically fight to destroy the body of Weston, thereby erasing Satan's footprint on Perelandra.
Lewis gives such a clear picture here of our task as members of Christ's body; he says,
"As the Lady had said, the same wave never came twice. When Eve fell, God was not Man. He had not yet made men members of His body: since then He had, and through them henceforward He would save and suffer." (123)
Ransom must do his part, but Maleldil has said that His name, also, is Ransom; if Ransom avoids his path and his responsibility, Perelandra will still be redeemed but at a terrible price. And Ransom is given grace to accept his role.
This whole concept is so encouraging to me--daunting but also energizing. God has work for us to do--real, physical work. Sometimes this means physically avoiding temptation or physically putting ourselves in the path of grace, but it means being active, doing what God commands, in faith that He is with us. It also means what Charles Williams call "Co-Inherence" and "Substitution"; we're not responsible only for our own journey but for the others we meet on the way. We are the bringers of redemption--though Christ is the Redeemer. Lewis says, after Ransom has thought all of this through and is prepared to do battle, that Ransom "had been delivered from the rhetoric of his passions and had escaped into unassailable freedom. . . . Predestination and freedom were apparently identical" (127). Now there's something for a Presbyterian to think about! It seems clear, also, that Faith and Works are one. Perhaps from the predestination comes the Faith and from the freedom the Works. I'll have to think about this more--this is just writing as the thoughts come to me. I'm enjoying blogging!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Perelandra, cont.
I read chapters 5 through 8 today; I have to speed up to get this done before Monday night class! Here we see the cosmic importance of the Incarnation on Thulcandra, when Maleldil took on human form; no longer will hnau be created in a variety of form; all will follow the same pattern. Though of course the Green Lady of Perelandra is quite different from her terrestrial counterparts, but most of the difference is in her experience of living on an unfallen planet--and her close communication with Maleldil. She tells Ransom she is the Mother of her children to come--and Ransom begins to get an idea of his mission though he doesn't know what his role will be in helping to prevent a catastrophic fall on Perelandra. At first he thinks the eldila will aid him as on Malacandria, but he later learns that the eldila are not communicate with the "new" worlds.
The Green Lady is already "growing older" from her conversations with Ransom; she says, "I thought that I was carried in the will of Him I love, but now I see that I walk with it" (60). The concept of free will is one that Weston/Unman will work to develop.
She and Ransom see a flash of light as something falls from Deep Heaven into the sea; Weston has arrived.
The Lady and Ransom spend the day on the Fixed Land, looking for the King; Ransom now thinks that the King will be the key to the preservation of Perelandra, but he's nowhere to be found. Instead they encounter Weston; this scene always makes me smile--he's traveled through space dressed as a 19th c. explorer complete with a pith hat! What was he thinking? Of course he has a gun and his old superiority complex--though now his thinking has "evolved" and he no longer believes in the mere continuation of the human race. Now his faith is grounded in "emergent evolution": "The forward movement of Life--the growing Spirituality--is everything" (78). His goal is "pure Spirit" (79); Ransom asks if this spirit is personal, and Weston's demeanor changes to give us a hint of what is going on. He makes some pretty creepy comments about being "guided" and a "force" rising up in him (80). He is completely overcome with his megalomania and calls the force into himself; "Then horrible things began happening" (82). We get one frantic plea for help from the "real" Weston and then that terrifying scene of the black Perelandrian night descending on Ransom and Weston's body.
In chapter 8, the true battle begins with the Unman's conversation with the Green Lady; he tells her about the women of our planet whose minds "run ahead of what Maleldil has told them"; they are like, he says, "little Maleldils" (91). The chapter ends with Ransom feeling something in the air--some airy suggestion of victory, and he concludes that he has come merely as a witness to the battle, which will end with victory for the Lady and her race. He's in for a rude awakening . . .
It's so convicting to listen to the Unman's arguments--to recognize the various elements of our sin and rebellion; it's so disheartening to realize that our nature is truly bent--even our understanding of and seeking after "good"; and it's so encouraging to realize the extent of God's love and mercy in re-establishing communication and communion with us.
The Green Lady is already "growing older" from her conversations with Ransom; she says, "I thought that I was carried in the will of Him I love, but now I see that I walk with it" (60). The concept of free will is one that Weston/Unman will work to develop.
She and Ransom see a flash of light as something falls from Deep Heaven into the sea; Weston has arrived.
The Lady and Ransom spend the day on the Fixed Land, looking for the King; Ransom now thinks that the King will be the key to the preservation of Perelandra, but he's nowhere to be found. Instead they encounter Weston; this scene always makes me smile--he's traveled through space dressed as a 19th c. explorer complete with a pith hat! What was he thinking? Of course he has a gun and his old superiority complex--though now his thinking has "evolved" and he no longer believes in the mere continuation of the human race. Now his faith is grounded in "emergent evolution": "The forward movement of Life--the growing Spirituality--is everything" (78). His goal is "pure Spirit" (79); Ransom asks if this spirit is personal, and Weston's demeanor changes to give us a hint of what is going on. He makes some pretty creepy comments about being "guided" and a "force" rising up in him (80). He is completely overcome with his megalomania and calls the force into himself; "Then horrible things began happening" (82). We get one frantic plea for help from the "real" Weston and then that terrifying scene of the black Perelandrian night descending on Ransom and Weston's body.
In chapter 8, the true battle begins with the Unman's conversation with the Green Lady; he tells her about the women of our planet whose minds "run ahead of what Maleldil has told them"; they are like, he says, "little Maleldils" (91). The chapter ends with Ransom feeling something in the air--some airy suggestion of victory, and he concludes that he has come merely as a witness to the battle, which will end with victory for the Lady and her race. He's in for a rude awakening . . .
It's so convicting to listen to the Unman's arguments--to recognize the various elements of our sin and rebellion; it's so disheartening to realize that our nature is truly bent--even our understanding of and seeking after "good"; and it's so encouraging to realize the extent of God's love and mercy in re-establishing communication and communion with us.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Perelandra, cont.
Chapters 3 and 4. Here we get the account of Ransom's arrival on Perelandra and first encountering its ultra-sensuous nature. The prevailing color, as he is nearing the surface, is "golden or coppery" (31); I think I remember reading that the metal copper (and probably gold as well) was associated with the goddess and the planet Venus, but I can't find that reference at the moment. I'm sure it's somewhere in Michael Ward's book--but that will have to wait for another day.
Lewis's narrative and descriptions in this book are full of allusions to the goddess; in ch 3 the planet itself is described as a "warm, maternal, delicately gorgeous world" (32), in which "excessive pleasure" is "communicated to [Ransom] through all his senses at once" (33). And yet it is all pleasure with no accompanying feelings of guilt.
Here we get the descriptions of the floating islands, the balloon fruit, and the bubble trees. The only fear Ransom has is that his reason may be in danger because of the overwhelming nature of his sensory experiences (37). Lewis sets up a dichotomy between reason/rationality and the senses/desire; when reason prompts Ransom to enjoy the balloon fruit a second time, he refrains from doing so: Lewis, the narrator, tells us ". . . something seemed opposed to this 'reason.' It is difficult to suppose that this opposition came from desire . . . " (38). It may be difficult to suppose . . . but it looks like this is exactly what Lewis is proposing. Does this have some connection to the fact that our reason is as "bent" as our other faculties? Do our senses and intuitions sometimes point us to the truth or toward integrity? What is the desire that directs Ransom's actions? A desire for moderation or to acknowledge satiety? Well, this chapter has given me plenty to think about.
In chapter 4 we begin to meet the inhabitants of Perelandra--the dragon, the dolphin-like fish--and we get our first glimpse of the Green Lady. And Lewis asks, "Were all the things that appear as mythology on earth scattered through other worlds as realities?" (40). After bathing under the bubble trees, Ransom "had a sensation not of following an adventure but of enacting a myth" (42).
Perhaps living as a Christian is both an adventure, which it frequently is, and an enactment of the True Myth, as Tolkien described the Gospel story of Christ's death and resurrection. And if Lewis is right here, it isn't reason--or at least not merely reason--that ought to guide our behavior. We need a cleansing and heightening of our perceptions and desires in order to respond with integrity to our surroundings and circumstances. Ransom got this from the bubble fruit; how do we access it?
Lewis's narrative and descriptions in this book are full of allusions to the goddess; in ch 3 the planet itself is described as a "warm, maternal, delicately gorgeous world" (32), in which "excessive pleasure" is "communicated to [Ransom] through all his senses at once" (33). And yet it is all pleasure with no accompanying feelings of guilt.
Here we get the descriptions of the floating islands, the balloon fruit, and the bubble trees. The only fear Ransom has is that his reason may be in danger because of the overwhelming nature of his sensory experiences (37). Lewis sets up a dichotomy between reason/rationality and the senses/desire; when reason prompts Ransom to enjoy the balloon fruit a second time, he refrains from doing so: Lewis, the narrator, tells us ". . . something seemed opposed to this 'reason.' It is difficult to suppose that this opposition came from desire . . . " (38). It may be difficult to suppose . . . but it looks like this is exactly what Lewis is proposing. Does this have some connection to the fact that our reason is as "bent" as our other faculties? Do our senses and intuitions sometimes point us to the truth or toward integrity? What is the desire that directs Ransom's actions? A desire for moderation or to acknowledge satiety? Well, this chapter has given me plenty to think about.
In chapter 4 we begin to meet the inhabitants of Perelandra--the dragon, the dolphin-like fish--and we get our first glimpse of the Green Lady. And Lewis asks, "Were all the things that appear as mythology on earth scattered through other worlds as realities?" (40). After bathing under the bubble trees, Ransom "had a sensation not of following an adventure but of enacting a myth" (42).
Perhaps living as a Christian is both an adventure, which it frequently is, and an enactment of the True Myth, as Tolkien described the Gospel story of Christ's death and resurrection. And if Lewis is right here, it isn't reason--or at least not merely reason--that ought to guide our behavior. We need a cleansing and heightening of our perceptions and desires in order to respond with integrity to our surroundings and circumstances. Ransom got this from the bubble fruit; how do we access it?
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Perelandra . . .
I've just read the first 2 chapters of Perelandra (actually I listened to them on my iPod--but I had the book with me to mark it up). I haven't read it in a year and a half; it's always such a delight to reenter these stories!
I love it that Lewis puts himself into the book as a character; it reminds me of very early novels where the author positions himself as an editor of a recently found manuscript or the letters of a recently deceased friend or something--in an effort to establish it as a factual work.
The first chapter recounts Lewis's approach to Ransom's cottage and his difficulty in continuing to go on. His account shows that his Reason compels him to go forward in opposition to his Emotions, but he intimates that it's a bit more than mere Reason; at one point he actually turns back, but then, he says, " . . . reason or conscience awoke and set me once more plodding forwards" (11). So his conscience is at work, which tells us it is a moral battle--not purely rational. And one emotion impels him forward as well--his friendship with Ransom; he doesn't want to let down his friend.
Ransom identifies the cause of Lewis's mental battles as the bent eldila of our planet; it has been, in fact, a spiritual battle all along. Lewis's strength of mind--his rationality--has really helped him do the right thing, but he hasn't recognized the true nature of the struggle. Ransom says,
"When the Bible used that very expression about fighting with principalities and powers and depraved hypersomatic beings at great heights . . . it meant that quite ordinary people were to do the fighting" (21).
And Lewis protests that surely this means a "moral conflict," by which I think he means a "mental" conflict which can be overcome through Reason. But Ransom thinks differently--there may be times when the moral conflict must be resolved through physical action--even physical combat as we see later in the story.
And this is setting the stage for my inquiries re: the physicality of faith. Maybe Ransom (or Lewis) will give me some language to use in describing this.
On another note, I did a little research and found out that the Schiaparelli Ransom mentions is Giovanni Schiaparelli, an Italian astronomer well known for creating the most detailed map of Mars of his time (1877)! And, while I didn't, in my very cursory investigation, find that he had theories about Venus, he did apparently have the very theory about planetary rotation that Ransom discounts--only about the planet Mercury.
I love it that Lewis puts himself into the book as a character; it reminds me of very early novels where the author positions himself as an editor of a recently found manuscript or the letters of a recently deceased friend or something--in an effort to establish it as a factual work.
The first chapter recounts Lewis's approach to Ransom's cottage and his difficulty in continuing to go on. His account shows that his Reason compels him to go forward in opposition to his Emotions, but he intimates that it's a bit more than mere Reason; at one point he actually turns back, but then, he says, " . . . reason or conscience awoke and set me once more plodding forwards" (11). So his conscience is at work, which tells us it is a moral battle--not purely rational. And one emotion impels him forward as well--his friendship with Ransom; he doesn't want to let down his friend.
Ransom identifies the cause of Lewis's mental battles as the bent eldila of our planet; it has been, in fact, a spiritual battle all along. Lewis's strength of mind--his rationality--has really helped him do the right thing, but he hasn't recognized the true nature of the struggle. Ransom says,
"When the Bible used that very expression about fighting with principalities and powers and depraved hypersomatic beings at great heights . . . it meant that quite ordinary people were to do the fighting" (21).
And Lewis protests that surely this means a "moral conflict," by which I think he means a "mental" conflict which can be overcome through Reason. But Ransom thinks differently--there may be times when the moral conflict must be resolved through physical action--even physical combat as we see later in the story.
And this is setting the stage for my inquiries re: the physicality of faith. Maybe Ransom (or Lewis) will give me some language to use in describing this.
On another note, I did a little research and found out that the Schiaparelli Ransom mentions is Giovanni Schiaparelli, an Italian astronomer well known for creating the most detailed map of Mars of his time (1877)! And, while I didn't, in my very cursory investigation, find that he had theories about Venus, he did apparently have the very theory about planetary rotation that Ransom discounts--only about the planet Mercury.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Out of the Silent Planet . . .
Well, I'll have to put Tolkien on the back burner for a few weeks while my class reads C S Lewis's "Cosmic" Trilogy. We met for the first time tonight, and most of the students haven't read the trilogy before; a couple of them have, which is good because they are noticing new things this read-through. But all of them are noticing themes and ideas in the novel. Our discussion made me realize how important it is to understand that Lewis was a medievalist--and that he uses medieval concepts throughout the trilogy. Then the problem is to figure out if Lewis believed this understanding leads to a better comprehension of "truth." It always makes me re-think our modern conceptions of democracy; how does this fit in to the way the universe really works? I believe in democracy, but I think it limits our perceptions of nobility--and perhaps of reality itself.
I'm going to be watching for Lewis's use of the medieval concept of hierarchy while I read the texts this time. I've noticed it before, but I want to really pay attention to it this time. And of course, in light of my larger project, I'll be noticing the character of Ransom--and maybe others, especially in THS--in relation to the ideas I'm developing related to the physicality of faith. How does Ransom illustrate the physical disciplines of faith? Can these be related to our lives? Is it possible to escape the (merely) cerebral conception of faith we seem to have inherited from our Enlightenment and post-Enlightenment ancestors? What kinds of "discipline" might be useful to 21st century Christians?
It's interesting to me that Divine is declared by Malacandra to be "broken" beyond repair; if he were one of the Malacandrian creatures, he would be "unmade." This leads me to question whether some Earth dwellers are truly beyond hope. Well, I guess I think there are some like this, but do we have the ability to tell who they are? Or do we follow the maxim, "While there's life, there's hope"? And it's also interesting that Weston is recognized as "bent" but still redeemable; what does this teach us about our response to people who promote ideas that are really "unChristian"? How might they be brought to an understanding of the truth? And does Lewis, in light of what happens on Perelandra, really believe these people are capable of redemption? One student asked about why Lewis chose the name "Divine." I'll have to think about this, especially in light of the development of this character in THS.
On the way to class, I saw a crescent moon with Venus underneath; it reminded me that Lewis sometimes remarked that this was Perelandra. I'm amazed at his creativity but am also reminded that this is just a reflection of the creativity of the Creator. What amazing places and stories are "out there" unknown to us?
I love the way Lewis's work leads us to think outside of the box. Out of the Silent Planet gives me new insights into what life might be like if our race had not fallen--and what we have to look forward to in the New Creation--and what we should be working toward in our efforts to redeem culture. It has nothing to do with our own comfort but with striving always for obedience and submission to God's plans for the world--or the cosmos!
I'm going to be watching for Lewis's use of the medieval concept of hierarchy while I read the texts this time. I've noticed it before, but I want to really pay attention to it this time. And of course, in light of my larger project, I'll be noticing the character of Ransom--and maybe others, especially in THS--in relation to the ideas I'm developing related to the physicality of faith. How does Ransom illustrate the physical disciplines of faith? Can these be related to our lives? Is it possible to escape the (merely) cerebral conception of faith we seem to have inherited from our Enlightenment and post-Enlightenment ancestors? What kinds of "discipline" might be useful to 21st century Christians?
It's interesting to me that Divine is declared by Malacandra to be "broken" beyond repair; if he were one of the Malacandrian creatures, he would be "unmade." This leads me to question whether some Earth dwellers are truly beyond hope. Well, I guess I think there are some like this, but do we have the ability to tell who they are? Or do we follow the maxim, "While there's life, there's hope"? And it's also interesting that Weston is recognized as "bent" but still redeemable; what does this teach us about our response to people who promote ideas that are really "unChristian"? How might they be brought to an understanding of the truth? And does Lewis, in light of what happens on Perelandra, really believe these people are capable of redemption? One student asked about why Lewis chose the name "Divine." I'll have to think about this, especially in light of the development of this character in THS.
On the way to class, I saw a crescent moon with Venus underneath; it reminded me that Lewis sometimes remarked that this was Perelandra. I'm amazed at his creativity but am also reminded that this is just a reflection of the creativity of the Creator. What amazing places and stories are "out there" unknown to us?
I love the way Lewis's work leads us to think outside of the box. Out of the Silent Planet gives me new insights into what life might be like if our race had not fallen--and what we have to look forward to in the New Creation--and what we should be working toward in our efforts to redeem culture. It has nothing to do with our own comfort but with striving always for obedience and submission to God's plans for the world--or the cosmos!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
"Strife" and an ending . . .
I've just read the last section (9) of The Lay of the Volsungs; it's entitled "Strife," and that's an understatement! It begins with the marriage of Brynhild to Gunnar, and all is well because she believes he was the one who rode through the fire to betroth her. But at the wedding feast, Sigurd's "confusion" leaves him and he remembers all that had passed between him and Brynhild--and knows that his impersonating of Gunnar has led to this breaking of vows. He remains silent, though, and determines to make the best of what fate has dealt him.
But Gudrun, who, while she's not a sorceress that I know of, has inherited some of her mother's spiteful and meddlesome nature, exposes the truth to Brynhild; I get the feeling she does this merely to wound Brynhild and gloat over the fact that she has the better husband. This pretty much unhinges Brynhild, who retires to her darkened room to plot vengeance.
She won't listen to Sigurd when he explains how he forgot his vows (the drugged potion he was given) and encourages her to accept her fate and appreciate what she has in Gunnar, a wealthy, powerful Burgundian king. Then she lies to Gunnar, telling him that Sigurd had slept with her when in the guise of Gunnar--and thus has broken his vows of kinship with Gunnar. The only thing that will give her "comfort" is to have Sigurd killed.
Gunnar can't kill him or he would break his vows! So he plots with a younger brother (or half-brother) who has not sworn vows with Sigurd, and he, after living on a diet of snake and wolf meat (!), kills Sigurd. Then Brynhild tells Gunnar the truth--that Sigurd had not broken his vows. And she asks for a sword--on which she falls.
The story ends with a funeral pyre for Sigurd and Brynhild, who arrive to a great welcome in Valhalla, while their spouses are left in life to mourn in shame. Sigurd looks forward to a great battle in which he, the one who has died and can not die, will be victorious; the poet tells us Brynhild will send him to battle, enacting the typical meadhall scene of the cup-bearer.
Christopher Tolkien's notes are helpful in understanding the confusions in the Old Norse texts and his father's choices in the crafting of his own poem. Included here are more of Tolkien's notes, which also shed light on the development of this Lay.
While Brynhild may be seen as a crazed, vengeful woman, Tolkien reminds us that she is really a Valkyrie humanized. She can not live with the knowledge that she has broken her vow to Sigurd or that she has been duped through sorcery into marrying Gunnar, and she can not remain married to Gunnar, having sworn to love only the "World's Chosen." Her actions are both the result of and the fulfillment of Fate.
But Gudrun, who, while she's not a sorceress that I know of, has inherited some of her mother's spiteful and meddlesome nature, exposes the truth to Brynhild; I get the feeling she does this merely to wound Brynhild and gloat over the fact that she has the better husband. This pretty much unhinges Brynhild, who retires to her darkened room to plot vengeance.
She won't listen to Sigurd when he explains how he forgot his vows (the drugged potion he was given) and encourages her to accept her fate and appreciate what she has in Gunnar, a wealthy, powerful Burgundian king. Then she lies to Gunnar, telling him that Sigurd had slept with her when in the guise of Gunnar--and thus has broken his vows of kinship with Gunnar. The only thing that will give her "comfort" is to have Sigurd killed.
Gunnar can't kill him or he would break his vows! So he plots with a younger brother (or half-brother) who has not sworn vows with Sigurd, and he, after living on a diet of snake and wolf meat (!), kills Sigurd. Then Brynhild tells Gunnar the truth--that Sigurd had not broken his vows. And she asks for a sword--on which she falls.
The story ends with a funeral pyre for Sigurd and Brynhild, who arrive to a great welcome in Valhalla, while their spouses are left in life to mourn in shame. Sigurd looks forward to a great battle in which he, the one who has died and can not die, will be victorious; the poet tells us Brynhild will send him to battle, enacting the typical meadhall scene of the cup-bearer.
Christopher Tolkien's notes are helpful in understanding the confusions in the Old Norse texts and his father's choices in the crafting of his own poem. Included here are more of Tolkien's notes, which also shed light on the development of this Lay.
While Brynhild may be seen as a crazed, vengeful woman, Tolkien reminds us that she is really a Valkyrie humanized. She can not live with the knowledge that she has broken her vow to Sigurd or that she has been duped through sorcery into marrying Gunnar, and she can not remain married to Gunnar, having sworn to love only the "World's Chosen." Her actions are both the result of and the fulfillment of Fate.
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