Beasts Are There for Slaying
Introduction
I recently decided to re-read a trilogy that is (arguably) the most underrated trilogy in the history of literature: CS Lewis’ “Ransom Trilogy”. It seems fitting to start this hot August week with a hot take.
The “Ransom Trilogy” (often referred to as the “Space Trilogy”) is one of Lewis’ lesser known fictional works. Largely filled with dense, philosophical dialogue and set within a literary context steeped in Medieval cosmology, it’s understandable (although lamentable) that these books didn’t fly off the shelves of the local 1940s bookshelves quite like Lewis’ more popular “Chronicles of Narnia”. Talking animals in a different dimension seems more digestible than talking aliens on a planet that exists in this dimension.
After finishing the first book in the trilogy, “Out of the Silent Planet”, I was struck once again by the depth in some of the conversations—with one in particular drawing my eye.
The Question
To give some context, Dr. Elwin Ransom—a Cambridge professor of philology (language)—finds himself, through a series of events, on the distant planet of Mars (Malcandra in the story), finding shelter with some of the inhabitants, and having learned their language, in discussion with one of them about the nature of the planet. Now, if you’re picturing a sandy desert Mars and little green martians, that would not be what is described in this book. Think more of a lush, exotic, Pandora-like planet. Work with me.
One of these local creatures (hrossa) is describing a rite of passage that all the male hrossa undertake where they paddle out into the open martian sea and seek to kill a terrifying sea creature (hnakra). Ransom, who understands the planet to be in some pre-Fall state, untouched by the same curse of sin as Earth and under the protection and guidance of the divine being, Maleldil (think Aslan), questions how such an evil and terrifying figure as the sea creature could exist.
Ransom and Hyoi—one of these local hrossa—are in the midst of discussing good and evil in their world, and Ransom is trying to make sense of the innocent nature of their world. He’s confused why there is no war or struggle over resources between the various planetary creatures, and that there was no promiscuity between the seemingly monogamous hrossa. So as he trying to find evidence of sin and evil in that world, he makes this throwaway comment:
Ransom: All the same, Maleldil has let in the hnakra.
Ransom thinks that he has found the one and obvious indicator that sin and evil are present in that world: an evil beast that kills innocent and unsuspecting people. But notice that his comment isn’t one of inquiry or curiosity (“Why did Maleldil let in the hnakra?”), but an accusation. To translate his question, what he is really saying is, “Wouldn’t it be better if there was no hnakra?”
That seems like a very human question. “Wouldn’t it be better if there was no suffering or evil in the world?” But like Ransom, the statement under that question is not an honest attempt to understand, but an allegation against whoever’s in charge that they made a mistake. It’s a question that doesn't expect an answer, because no answer would be good enough for we who sit on the throne of judgment, demanding evidence from the God of creation. That’s a pretty high horse to be on.
The Response
After Ransom makes this comment that he believes is self-evident, Hyoi gives a most revealing answer.
Hyoi: Oh, but that is so different. I long to kill this hnakra as he also longs to kill me. I hope that my ship will be the first and I first in my ship with my straight spear when the black jaws snap. And if he kills me, my people will mourn and my brothers will desire still more to kill him. But they will not wish that there were no hneraki; nor do I. How can I make you understand, when you do not understand the poets? The hnakra is our enemy, but he is also our beloved.
It takes a fictional martian to indict our lack of education—we really don’t understand the poets. If we did, we would recognize that without the danger of death, honor and glory is diminished. Think of the great legends of old, but remove the conflict. King Leonidas and the mighty 300—but no Persians. King David and his sling—but no Goliath. Frodo and the ring—but no Sauron. Without the real risk of loss, there can be no winning. Without the enemy of death, there can be no victory.
Think of Shakespeare’s famous monologue he gives to Henry V on the eve of the battle of Agincourt. After rebuking one of his lords for their lament of their numerical disadvantage to the enemy—The fewer men, the greater share of honor. God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.—he delivers this rousing speech:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember’d;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
his day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.—Henry V, Shakespeare
The Answer
Why did the beast exist on Malacandra? So that it could be slain. Why is there evil in the world? So that it can be defeated. Why did death enter the world through one man? So that death could be slain and conquered by the God-man, Jesus Christ.
We may never understand or receive an answer for the honest question, “Why is there evil in the world?” After all, the secret things belong to God (Deut 29:29). But we have been given an answer for the prosecuting question, “Wouldn’t it be better if there was no death?” And that answer was displayed on the cross of Christ and in his bodily resurrection, where the Son of God defeated death. And we few, we happy few, have been united to that glorious and victorious Christ and now receive with him all the spoils of war, described for us by Paul in Colossians 2:13–14:
And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him.
—Colossians 2:13–14