Revisiting “Dune”
Following the release of “Dune 2” in theaters, and the echoes of the surrounding discourse, I started to wonder whether I missed something in my original readings of the Dune novel. The messianic aspects of the novel’s ending were described differently from what I remembered. I decided it’s time for a re-read with a focus on that theme. I came away with a better understanding of the novel, but a diminished view on the story of Dune.
A Questionable Ending
My previous understanding was that Paul managed through his use of prescience to avoid the galactic jihad in his name that he was so worried about throughout the book. The whole point of marrying the daughter of the Emperor was to allow transition of power without a full blown war. That was the elegant gambit, the narrow path he managed to take through the future possibilities of his visions. I was surprised when at the very end of the film, Paul, disappointed with the response of the Great Houses to his ascendancy, sends out his troops to conquer space, initiating the holy war.
I thought that mostly this was “Dune Messiah” leaking into the main story. To be clear, I don’t care for any of the Dune sequels. I never read them, nor do I intend to - the original novel was obviously written to be a complete work. I treat the extrapolations added to the Dune universe in the sequels as only marginally relevant to the reading of the original text. But was this plot point present in the “Dune” novel itself?
On re-reading, the book seems to match the interpretation of the film. This thread is central to the narrative yet it is resolved somewhat ambiguously, so I’m not surprised I missed it earlier. Before the climactic battle with Feyd Rautha, Paul muses:
And Paul saw how futile were any efforts of his to change any smallest bit of this. He had thought to oppose the jihad within himself, but the jihad would be. His legions would rage out from Arrakis even without him. They needed only the legend he already had become. He had shown them the way, given them mastery even over the Guild which must have the spice to exist. A sense of failure pervaded him [...] This is the climax, Paul thought. From here, the future will open, the clouds part onto a kind of glory. And if I die here, they’ll say I sacrificed myself that my spirit might lead them. And if I live, they’ll say nothing can oppose Muad’Dib.
Yet just after the battle, he says to Chani:
That woman over there will be my wife and you but a concubine because this is a political thing and we must weld peace out of this moment, enlist the Great Houses of the Landsraad.
I guess that last excerpt was a hope and the first was a prophecy.
However, this seems to leave us with a lesser book, a weaker story. What was the point if all the efforts were indeed futile? What do we learn if all the powers of Muad’dib don’t help him resolve his dilemma?
A True Messiah
Dune has Paul coded throughout as more than just a Hero. All the narrative hallmarks are there. Paul is a young prince of an ethically noble family avenging his father through the use of his unique genetics. He is physically and mentally top-of-the-line. He has Special Powers: The Voice, Mentat capabilities, Prescience. He intuitively wears his stillsuit perfectly; he calls up the biggest maker with his thumper; he can process the poison of the Water of Life; et cetera, et cetera. The novel goes out of its way to mark Paul as truly special. He is not an impostor who survives by tricking the local superstitious populace into crowning him - he is an honest-to-god miracle prophet. If Arrakis had water, the novel would find a way for Paul to walk on it. Lisan al-Gaib!
Why have him aware, almost from the get-go, of his “terrible purpose” and still have him eventually fail? Why set up a Messiah but end up with failure?
Perhaps the intent was to contrast the Hero-led Fremen with the eco-aware Fremen? Their long-term terraforming project abandoned in favor of universal conquest? Liet’s father explicitly mentions this (“No more terrible disaster could befall your people than for them to fall into the hands of a Hero”). If that was the point, why have Paul promise to have flowing water on Arrakis with his ascendancy? That would mean the Fremen rightly chose the faster path to achieve the same terraforming result.
Perhaps the intent was to show the damage that can be done by messianic figures? Yet Paul is not a messianic figure, he is an actual messiah. There is rich critique to be made of the madness of the crowds in the face of a false prophet; much less so in the face of a true one.
Perhaps the idea was to show that even the most justified revenge path leads even the most noble to universal murder? Yet Paul is not Hamlet, he is not mad with revenge, nor does it cause him to make tragic mistakes. Revenge is just one of several motivators. Paul seems more aligned with Fremen liberation and the prevention of the jihad than with kanly (with Gurney serving as contrast in that aspect).
Had the ending suggested that the jihad was averted, with Paul successfully threading the political and military needle to ascend to the throne, it would have made a simpler, but better novel. Its payoff would have matched its set-up. It would have made Paul’s powers meaningful and his sacrifices worth it - his dead firstborn, his brush with death in the Water of Life, his Chani who remains forever a concubine. After all, if War isn’t averted, why bother with the political marriage?
The Appeal
I want to make a digression and ask: why do we like Dune?
After all, most of the characters aren’t particularly likable (*cough* Paul *cough*). The high-level arc isn’t particularly exciting, both in the optimistic reading (white savior leads oriental warriors to avenge father) and in the pessimistic one (white savior leads oriental warriors to break colonial yoke and unleash jihad). And there’s all that awful poetry.
So why so loved? I think, in large part, due to the apparent complexity of “Dune” (the novel). The complexity is there to provide the reader with a satisfying feeling of touching a rich world. It is a hill to climb, a challenge to overcome, gradually figuring out what’s going on, rewarded with understanding through effort.
The apparent complexity is present on multiple levels, beginning with the very liberal seasoning of the text with neologisms, with words and terms on loan from other languages. It’s there in the heavy dosage of intrigue, of feints within feints within feints. It’s there in the annotated dialogues where every half said or unsaid word conveys deep meaning to all-insightful participants. It’s in the half-familiar half-alien symbolism and mysticism of the Bene Gesserit and the Fremen.
Just as the text itself is intentionally complex, the world it describes is intentionally simplified. The universe of Dune is rich but small. Yes, it spans tens of thousands of years and thousands of planets, but it feels like the Holy Roman Empire. The mere suggestion that desert people can become conquerors of the galaxy just because they’re used to fighting for moisture is an indicator of how simple this universe is. Of course the Empire is feudal and archaic. Of course the skies of Arrakis are empty. Of course the shields force them to use knives. Of course there are no computers. The in-universe reasons aren’t important; there would simply be no novel otherwise. It also looks much cooler this way.
Which is also my larger point: a lot of Dune’s complexity is only apparent. It’s complexity for spectacle’s sake much more than it is necessary. Using the Hebrew “Kwisatz Haderach” is a lot cooler for the English reader than the literal “shortening of the way” that it stands for. A complex intrigue where you give Leto Arrakis just to betray him and give it back to the Harkonnens sounds cool, but always puzzles when you think about it too much. The best example of something that is visually striking but doesn’t weigh much upon scrutiny is the Gom Jabbar test.
A Bigger Gom Jabbar
Really, impressive scene. The box, the needle, the pain, the Voice. Iconic. Is it a profound test though? Big dilemma you gave Paul here, Reverend Mother, either suffer pain or die. Is this insightful? It wasn’t even a “hidden” test where the subject was supposed to reject the false binary option given to him by the Reverend Mother. No. Pain or Die. You decided not to die? Human after all!
If you squint a little, you can see a similarity between the showy complexity of the essentially hollow Gom Jabbar, and Paul’s meandering resistance against the tide of the jihad. Something that is superficially both complex and cool, but on deeper inspection doesn’t bear much weight as a story. If Paul’s dilemma was to either perish in the desert or to manifest as the messiah and suffer the moral pain of a billion deaths in the universal jihad – well, not a big dilemma is it? On closer reading of the novel it turns out there wasn’t even a “hidden” option that rejects this false binary.
Was there? The open question I ask myself is - was there something that Paul could have done to avoid the jihad? Was there a choice? Some pivotal point where it’s clear that Paul made a mistake? If there was, it sure is hidden well. If there wasn't, then Dune is a lesser story. It’s a lot of cool prose, but it’s a lesser story than I thought.
