'Dune'-an Unfinished Tetralogy
Dune Messiah should be considered not as a sequel to the massive Dune novel, but as the penultimate section of an as-yet-incomplete work—whether trilogy, tetralogy or five-act epic matters not.
The objection to criticizing Dune Messiah as a simple sequel to the earlier novel is that almost invariably it has been seen as some sort of "repeat performance," and as such judged in terms of what the critic thought were the important themes of its predecessor. Considering it merely as a further installment, on the other hand, allows the critic the possibility that the important themes may only now be becoming apparent. (p. 16)
I suspect that in a large part the admiration Dune has commanded has come from the scope and the detail of its author's creation…. But the true scope of science fiction is not as an exhibition of the author's fertile and untrammeled imagination, but as a place to examine important human themes under radically altered circumstances.
Now in depth of background-detail, Dune Messiah does not significantly advance the reader's knowledge of the planet Arrakis, nor (as might have been expected of a sequel) does it tell of the wider universe in which this planet exists. There are one or two new wonders … but these were not entirely absent in the earlier novel, and they are not integrated into a vast interlocking ecology in the way that the parts of Arrakis were in Dune. This, however, seems of minor importance. If we are to judge Dune on its wealth of physical and social creation, then we should look at its flaws also—in its politics, to give one example, which far from being the sophisticated creation of a distant future are an almost straight "lift" from the later Turkish Empire.
But Arrakis is, after all, only a planet. What Dune Messiah does do is to continue the unfolding story and the philosophical problems begun in Dune. Among other things it converts a straight adventure "success story" into high tragedy.
What is Dune about, anyway?
Let me ask another question, which may give us a clue to the first. Why does Paul Atreides fear so much the consequences of following his vision? And if he does fear it so much, why does he never step aside from it?
This is the first obvious continuing theme of both books…. By looking at this theme, it becomes possible to see that most of the ecological interactions of the first book are simply characteristics of that part of the work, and not what the total work is about. Not as they stand.
Ecology does have a large part to play in the Dune novels…. And Kynes, the ecologist of the book, commends the young Paul for having understood a fundamental law of ecology: that "… the struggle between life elements is the struggle for the free energy of a system."
But it is a simplistic view of ecology. In particular it is a simplistic view when applied to human political systems as ecology. If an ecology is seen as a closed and dynamically balanced system, then one of the implicit lessons of the Dune novels … is that ultimately a political system which sees itself in these terms cannot achieve this balance. (pp. 16-17)
It is possible that Herbert's axiom only really holds for closed and collapsing societies, and even then a "superhuman" figure like Paul Atreides may disturb the system sufficiently to destroy its balance.
Just as, by his political actions, he probably destroys the delicately evolving artificial ecology of Arrakis. (pp. 17-18)
The struggle in Dune is obvious enough. Paul Atreides (and there is more than a trace of symbolism in that name; indeed, one could put a deal of orthodox Freudian interpretation into the book) comes from the wet world of Caladan to the desert world of Arrakis (and the parallel with human birth is explicitly underwritten …), and is immediately threatened by his hereditary enemies, the Harkonnens. He is therefore pitchforked into a situation where he must learn to survive both in the hostile environment of Arrakis and under the attack of the Harkonnens. As might be expected, Herbert is a good enough storyteller to make sure that the solution to the one problem—how to survive on Arrakis—is the solution to the other….
Indeed, even the ecological themes parallel one another. The secret of Arrakis is that it has water, and that its ecology is being deliberately disturbed to the point at which a wet-cycle ecology can be self-sustaining. And in the wider universe, Paul Atreides has found that the political ecology which would squeeze him out must be altered to the point at which it is self-sustaining for him. It is no longer sufficient that he should no longer be hunted; at the end he must be emperor.
Dune Messiah apparently repeats the cycle, showing how Paul—now Muad'dib, emperor and prophet—having achieved success, is threatened again, this time by elements of the ecology that he has displaced—the Bene Gesserit, the Guild, the Tleilaxu. But this time the solution to the problem ends in his own death….
Dying and life are what the Dune novels are about. Consider the opening. Right at the beginning Paul learns about melange—the geriatric spice…. (p. 18)
[Possibly] melange is no more than a senility-inhibitor. But it is obviously addictive, and it appears to be addictive in the manner of Herbert's "residual poisons" in that it offers life up to the point at which it is withdrawn….
[It] seems to me that [the] emphasis on the value of and greed for melange serves only to keep the action of the story going; it is subsidiary to the theme.
In particular, melange is addictive to Paul in its capacity to induce prescient visions. Significantly this prescient role is always referred to as a secondary characteristic. But for Paul melange is not important as a rejuvenator, but as a religion-substitute. (p. 19)
[Religious] mysticism permeates the pages of the Dune novels. Herbert has contained within his novel the cynical view ("religion is the opium of the masses" …) and the miraculous view …; but he also has managed to show that he understands the essence that lies much closer to the heart of the religious impulse—that which gives the individual's life significance.
This is why Paul becomes the Fremen prophet—because he gives their existence significance. But it is something that Paul himself cannot share. Paul must seek his own significance in becoming immortal. His instrument to achieving that end is his oracular vision. (pp. 19-20)
It is in that addiction to the oracular vision that the clue lies as to why Paul never once steps aside from the path of his vision.
His whole course is set towards minimizing the risk that he suffers. (p. 20)
So the chaos of the jihad rages through the universe and he does not step aside—because to do so would increase his own personal area of risk. In the first books, in Dune, Paul Atreides appears as a sympathetic character—a youngster having to defend himself against hopeless odds. In Dune Messiah Paul Muad'dib is more distant, but the reader still tends to identify him as a "good" character. This is the author's art winning out over the reader's objectivity. That the essential sympathy is retained at least to the end of Dune Messiah is essential if the story is to have its full impact, although it will be necessary to see Paul in the perspective of the final part before the full extent of his tragedy becomes apparent. The essential fact is that at the end of Dune Messiah Paul Muad'dib, corrupted by his own power, has become evil without wishing to be. (p. 21)
The need for a knowledge of the future drives right through Herbert's books, right from the first page of Dune. But by the beginning of Dune Messiah, he is prepared to state flatly—prophecy is lethal.
I began by saying that the Dune novels were a tetralogy. It is now possible to interpret them as a growth series.
It begins with birth, the threat that thrusts Paul Atreides out of the warm damp of Caladan into the hostile "real world." It continues through his growth, in the rest of Dune, to his maturity in Dune Messiah. Ultimately in that mature phase his death is a consequence of the fact that he has stopped growing. At the end of Dune Messiah the growth cycle has achieved its ultimate objective—death. But because it is a human growth cycle, and because religion is a major theme of the composite novel, that death proves not unexpectedly a doorway to immortality. To continue living at the end of Dune Messiah, Paul would have to make an adaption so radical that he would no longer be Paul—even though it is an adaptation that he has toyed with ever since his destiny became apparent:
'A creature who has spent his life creating one particular representation of his selfdom will die rather than become the antithesis of that representation,' Scytale said.
The novels are about the temptation of life. Notice that the temptation offered by the Tleilaxu, the temptation which Paul comes closest to succumbing to, is—life! He resists it through the knowledge of a greater prize—his own immortality.
It is this fear that he will not achieve his immortality that gives him his real concern, not the casualties of the jihad with which he deceives himself and others. Even at the last possible moment, when his enemies are destroyed and he cannot avoid his own death any longer, he can turn destiny aside by stepping down, by showing his mortality. Physically at this moment he has nothing to lose or gain. The right action would be to step down. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." But Paul lays down his for his own immortality.
Let us look for a moment at the nature of this immortality. It is a state in which he still exercises control over the galaxy at large: over the thoughts, actions and loyalties of his people…. But at the same time it is an unchanging state. He seeks to maintain what he has. He imagines that he can fix it through his own death. In many ways this immortality is that offered by the traditional religions—heaven, nirvana, paradise. The whole concept of eternity is something "out of time," and failing to hold onto life with its change, Paul opts for this.
Now we can hazard a guess at the nature of the final book. (pp. 21-2)
If Herbert can bring it off, can marry together all the leftover elements of the first books—Muad'dib's immortality, Alia, the children—to complete the sequence and revise the reader's opinions of all that has gone before with the insight and skill shown in the first works, then the final tetralogy, five-act-epic, or what you will, will surely be a tour de force of science fiction. By putting the appropriate anchor points into Dune Messiah, Herbert has made a small announcement that he is prepared to gamble his skill (and probably the very best of his skill, for while he is technically competent, other of his novels are not up to the standard of the Dune novels) on producing that tour de force, with the alternative that he may spoil what was, after all, a rather good work of science fiction. (pp. 23-4)
Robert C. Parkinson, "'Dune'-an Unfinished Tetralogy," in Extrapolation (copyright 1971 by Thomas D. and Alice S. Clareson), December, 1971, pp. 16-24.
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