Dune: Uncovering the Layers

**Warning: This article contains major spoilers**

The world of Literature is not the same as it was a century ago. While there are many momentous changes that could be highlighted, one of the major ones is the introduction of the genre of speculative fiction—usually divided into the three subcategories of fantasy, science fiction, and horror. While it is often held that J.R.R. Tolkien with his Lord of the Rings is the father of this genre—particularly the fantasy category—the first speculative stories were myths and legends about heroes and gods, ranging from the extensive pantheon of the Greeks to the folk tales of the Native Americans.

But really, speculative fiction is any story that utilizes elements beyond the natural, whether it be an ancient myth, a work of High Fantasy, or a story about superhumans living in everyday society (such as the popular Marvel movies). Even though the genre has now become massively widespread and varied, there were a few stories, made when speculative fiction was still taking off into pop culture, that laid the foundations for subsequent works. The Lord of the Rings is an example of this. Inspired by myths and legends, it wove its own, purely fictional (but not without connection to reality) world that appealed—and still appeals—to millions of readers.

That set the stage for the fantasy subgenre. Around the same time as Tolkien, other, very different writers were crafting another genre that seemingly had no relation to it: science fiction. Storytellers such as Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, and Philip K. Dick created stories that took a scientific idea—such as “Psychohistory” or “the Three Laws of Robotics”—and explored it within a fictional setting. These works were popular in their own way, but were often boring, laborious, or simply weird. Some storytellers (usually with little to no scientific background) such as Douglas Adams (The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy) and Madeleine L’Engle (A Wrinkle in Time) wrote more popular and accessible works, but they, too, came off as strange, lacking both the intellectual depth of Asimov and Clarke and the fantastical wonder of Tolkien and other High Fantasy authors.

When asked about when the genre of science fiction finally made a complete breakthrough into popular culture, most people would probably say the release of the first Star Wars movie. Lucas’ blockbuster film had shed the intellectual weight and weird aesthetic of its preceding science fiction and embraced the action, wonder, and complex worldbuilding of its sibling genre, fantasy. So was Star Wars, then, the foundational work of science fiction that opened the gates for the literature and cinema coming after it, like The Lord of the Rings did for fantasy?

The answer is no. Star Wars was not the first of its kind; in fact, it burrowed heavily from a work that came before it. Judging by the title of this post and the recent movie release, you probably know what I’m talking about. Dune, published in 1965—eleven years after the Lord of the Rings and six years before Star Wars—unquestionably takes the title as the first work of science fiction that was not laden with scientific boredom, taking notes from Tolkien on how to build a speculative world and construct an interesting story around it. Almost every popular science fiction work after it, from Star Wars to Star Trek to Firefly to Blade Runner, would follow the essential template that it presented.

But what is this Dune thing, anyway? Why is it so important, and why are the movie theaters playing it every other showing? Is it actually worth reading (or watching), or is it just meaningless—or weird—entertainment like so many other speculative works? And—more importantly, for Catholics—is this something that correctly portrays truths about religion and the human person?

Let’s take a look.

Dune is an approximately eight-hundred page novel, written (as I mentioned above) in the sixties by Frank Herbert, a jack-of-all trades who was everything from a reporter to an oyster diver to a jungle survival instructor. Originally, he had a hard time publishing Dune because of its length and unique approach; in fact, he sent it to over twenty publishers before it was finally accepted. Once it was, though, it became immensely popular and he turned it into a six-book series.

He planned a seventh one, but died in 1986 before he could publish it. His son, Brian Herbert, worked with popular science fiction and fantasy author Kevin J. Anderson (Wake the Dragon and Star Wars Extended Universe) to create a slew of prequels and two sequels, based on Frank Herbert’s notes, that completed the original series. In addition to this, David Lynch adapted it for cinema in 1985 and the Sci-Fi Channel streamed a miniseries in 2000. More recently, Warner Bros produced a major, high budget motion picture in 2021 featuring director Denis Villeneuve  (Blade Runner: 2049, Arrival), composer Hans Zimmer (Prince of Egypt, The Lion King, Gladiator), and various popular actors. The movie covered the first half of Frank Herbert’s book, and after its success, Villeneuve directed another movie that adapted the second half of the book, which came out March 1 and has (so far) enjoyed success.

The original book is divided into three sub-books, individually called Dune, Muad’Dib, and The Prophet. For the purposes of this article, I’ll refer to the entire book as Dune, the first sub-book as “Book One,” the next two books as “Books Two and Three,” the first new movie as Dune (2021), and the second new movie as Dune: Part Two.

Now that all the technical stuff is out of the way, we can dive into the actual story. Dune tells the narrative of Paul Atreides, a fifteen year old boy and son of the Duke Leto Atreides who rules over the lush ocean planet of Caladan. (I’m still unable to figure out why Herbert chose the mythological mother of Apollo and Artemis to share the name of his Duke.) Herbert is very explicit that he derived the name “Atreides” from “Atreus”: the surname of Agamemnon and Menelaus, the brother-kings from The Iliad who lead the Greeks in their battle against the Trojans. But instead of drawing on the Homeric aspect of “House Atreus,” Herbert chooses instead to play with the tragic aspect, which manifests itself later in the story.

From the first pages of the story, Dune very quickly introduces the problem that will drive the plot: the Emperor, the supreme ruler of the Galactic Imperium, has ordered House Atreides to move from their native planet (Caladan) to the harsh desert planet of Arrakis. The Duke and his family—obviously—have no desire to go, but their reasons aren’t only because they don’t want to leave their home. Their enemies, House Harkonnen, led by the malicious Baron, have hatched a plot with the Emperor to end their centuries-old rivalry and destroy the Atreides.

But Herbert gives us something else, separate from this, to chew on at the beginning. Paul’s mother—Jessica—is part of a secretive group known as the Bene Gesserit, and one of the leaders of the group comes to “test” Paul. In Dune (2021), this is dramatically portrayed with Paul (played by Timothée Chalamet) being woken up by Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) and, after she tells him to obey the “Reverend Mother,” shuts him a shadowy room with an old woman who forces him to put his hand into a box that she says contains “Pain” while holding a poisonous needle to his neck to stop him from taking his hand out. Dramatic music (by Hans Zimmer) plays, while Timothée Chalamet, with his facial expressions, makes us believe that he’s experiencing terrible pain.

This scene is rather confusing, but to the attentive Catholic reader (or viewer), some of the aspects it presents should be familiar. Simply the name “Reverend Mother” is reminiscent of the Mother Superior in a convent (and, at other points throughout the Dune literature, members of the Bene Gesserit are even referred to by the name). It’s no secret that Herbert borrowed from Catholic nuns or sisters: the “order” is interchangeably referred to as “the Sisterhood” (such is Brian Herbert’s prequel Sisterhood of Dune) instead of the Bene Gesserit, and the word “Gesserit” is somewhat reminiscent of “Jesuit.” They are a female-only order and their “motto” is “We exist only to serve.”

But there are also some blatant ways in which the Bene Gesserit are very unlike a Catholic convent. They aren’t cellibate (obvious when considering that Paul’s mother is one). They don’t devote their lives to the practice of any religion: they view themselves as “spiritual” and use organized religion as a political tool. Again in Dune: 2021, Chalamet’s Paul tells his mother that “you steer the politics of the Imperium from the shadows.” The purpose of their order, according to them, is to create the “Kwisatz Haderach” or “shortening of the way,” the perfect human who can see into the past and the future and bring humanity to their vision of a utopia. Their means to accomplish this is by a “breeding program” that stretches across thousands of years, trying to bring the correct genetic heritages together to produce their Kwisatz Haderach. This is the reason why the Reverend Mother comes to test Paul: because she thinks he might be “the one.”

Not only is this very un-sister-like, it’s also slightly strange, especially within the context of the later books in the Dune series (mostly Heretics of Dune and Chapterhouse: Dune, which I would not recommend reading). But, in the original book, it slides to the background, and the main message we get is that Paul might be someone very powerful with abilities he doesn’t yet know he has.

As the story continues beyond the first chapters, and House Atreides prepares to make the journey to Arrakis, another interesting element manifests itself. Most science fiction stories involve some sort of advanced technology, like the robots of Isaac Asimov or the starships of Lucas. And while Dune does have some of these aspects (giant space transporters known as “Heighliners”), the world as a whole is more Medieval in nature. The governmental system has a feudal taste, with the “Great Houses” each governing their own individual fiefs, under the authority of the Emperor, but also having their own say in the affairs of the Imperium through the “Landsraad Council.”

Herbert adds further rungs on his feudal ladder with the Houses Minor (less important and powerful than the Great Houses), the Great Schools (Mentats and Bene Gesserit, each giving support to the Emperor and the Houses), the Spacing Guild (a group of secretive “navigators” that have a total monopoly on interplanetary travel, carving paths between the stars using future-sight), and the CHOAM company (an organization that controls the flow of commerce between planets).

But the political system isn’t the only aspect that brings a Medieval feel to the Dune universe. Even before it was recently dramatized, it was famous for its use of sword and knife battles in a science fiction setting. In Dune (2021), one of the early scenes is a practice fight between Paul and one of his mentors, Gurney Halleck (Josh Brolin, same actor as Thanos in the Marvel movies). But it isn’t just a standard knife fight: they have protective “shields,” a full-body “field” that the movie’s Computer Imagery team portrays as a translucent blue glow around the actors that turns red whenever something penetrates it. The catch (and the reason why there aren’t many guns in Dune): if the penetrating object moves too quickly, the shield will repulse it. As Brolin (in his famous Thanos voice) says: “The slow blade penetrates the shield.”

But this de-emphasis on “sci-fi” technology goes deeper than a simple way to have cool fight scenes. In the very beginning of the Dune timeline, when humanity was still living on Earth, computers were advanced enough that humanity could enjoy lives of complete relaxation while the machines did all the labor. Eventually, however, a supercomputer known as Omnius enslaved humanity, using the advanced abilities that had been given to it to force the humans to work again. However, some people escaped and started the “Butlerian Jihad.” (This is the name it is referred to by in Dune; elsewhere it’s called the “Machine Crusade” or the “Great Revolt”.) Frank Herbert only ever made notes about this period in his fictional history, but Brian Herbert turned it into a trilogy called Legends of Dune that narrates the decades-long war that finally ends with humanity destroying the machines. (Omnious and robot-human wars surface again in the posthumously published “Dune 7.” Although the concept is interesting, I would not recommend reading either the sequel or Legends of Dune.)

The result: “thinking machines” are destroyed. In the words of the Reverend Mother, humanity passes the decree that “thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a human mind.” Instead of computers, Mentats—people who train their minds to emulate computers—handle complex computational tasks. Although we haven’t been enslaved by computers (yet) and no Crusade has been started (yet), the concept of machines that emulate human thought ruining the need for work—and then subsequently enslaving people—isn’t one that sounds too far off, with “Large Language Models” like Chat GPT now automating many tasks that were previously done by an actual person.

But the purpose of Herbert’s novel isn’t to preach against technology, and this aspect, too, takes backstage as the plot continues. The Atriedes come to Arrakis and begin to deal with the challenges of the desert planet. They have been placed in charge of Spice Harvesting: using machinery to harvest the drug Melange that can be found mixed in with the sand of the desert. Herbert portrays Melange as the ultimate beneficial drug: something like caffeine if it extended your life, allowed you to see into the future, and gave you the ability to tell if someone was lying. Not only that, the Spice also allows the Guild Navigators to operate their spaceships, opening up the paths of the future so they can “hyperjump” the Heighliners through space without ending up in the middle of a star or any other disastrous astronomical obstruction.

But Spice isn’t the only anomaly that Arrakis holds. The Fremen, the native people who live in the heart of the desert, past the protection of the cities, soon come into play as Duke Leto Atreides and his House seek to get onto firm ground on the foreign planet. And, of course, there are the Sandworms, the protectors of the Spice who consume the “Spice Harvesters” as soon as they can, something like a mythological dragon guarding its hoard of treasure.

This combination of Spice, Space Worms, and Fremen brings forth yet another layer that can be viewed as separate from the political, religious, and technological one. Dune is oftentimes viewed as containing a strong ecological message, and for good reason: the original idea for the work came into being when Herbert was reporting on the interplay of a desert ecosystem. On Arrakis, Melange is meant to represent something like oil or valuable metal, something that comes along naturally with an ecosystem, but that people exploit and harvest as much as they can, oftentimes at the expense of the living system.

The dream of the Fremen people is to turn Arrakis from a hostile planet into a paradise, and originally, this was the plan of the Imperium as well. Of course, once Spice and its unique properties were discovered, that enterprise was abandoned by the Imperium—but not by the Fremen. One of the characters in Dune, Dr. Liet Kynes, is an Imperial ecologist (or planetologist) who has allied himself with the Fremen and planted in them their dream of transforming Arrakis. (The story of how he and his father got started is told in the prequel series Dune: The House Trilogy by Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson. Also note that the role of Liet-Kynes is occupied by a female character in Dune: (2021), played by Sharon Duncan-Brewster, so don’t be thrown off when you notice the difference.) 

His plan, like that of the Bene Gesserit, stretches across centuries, gradually collecting the water already present on Arrakis and using naturally occurring plants to contain the sand. The implementation of this plan is shown in Dune: Part Two, where the Fremen leader Stilgar (Javier Bardem) shows Jessica the vast underground stores of water that they have accumulated.

But Herbert’s ecological message isn’t that all deserts should be turned into forests (even though this does end up happening to Arrakis in the future of the Dune universe). He was trying to show that all interaction with living systems (and he does a wonderful job of portraying the living system of Arrakis) should be in union with the system, not trying to bend it to your will or sap its resources. This is illustrated in lines Herbert drops throughout the narrative, such as “a process cannot be understood by stopping it. Understanding must move with the flow of the process” and “the mystery of Life is not a problem to be solved but a reality to be experienced.” Dune (2021) portrays this in some of Paul’s vision scenes, accompanied by shots of moving sand and the wise-sounding voice of one of the Fremen.

This also plays into the recent upheaval about Global Change—warming, cooling, or whatever it’s supposed to be. Earth, like Arrakis, is a living system that is being used for its resources, and it, too, has not come out unaffected. But the answer—as Herbert implies—isn’t to combat these changes with equally violent changes. It’s to “move with the flow of the process” of the living system, finding ways to unite the ecosystem and the way we use it, not to cut off all influences that we have on it.

But Paul and his father, Duke Leto, are still just beginning to discover this system, even watching—in one of the most epic scenes in both the book and the movie—a Sandworm consumes a Spice Harvester shortly after they rescue the Harvester’s workers. But the trap of the Harkonnens is closing around them. Herbert—through the findings of his main characters and in scenes through the eyes of the villains—reveals that the destruction will come through a traitor within the house, one of the people most loyal to the Atreides.

In this, the theme of Greek Tragedy comes to the surface again. Herbert’s characters are somewhat aware of what is coming for them, almost like the dramatic irony that the Greek playwrights would use. But the direct parallel is with the fate of House Atreus, in the violent death of Agamemnon by his treacherous wife Clytemnestra. (The first prequel that Brain Herbert wrote, Dune: House Atreides, even blatantly opens up with a performance of Aeschylus’ Agamemnon). Even though Jessica (Clytemnestra’s parallel) isn’t the traitor, Herbert shows her being suspected by the Duke and his Mentat, Thufir Hawat.

But disaster strikes before the Atreides can avoid it. The Harkonnens and their allied Imperial forces attack in the dark of night, cutting down the forces of the Atreides and murdering the Duke in his own palace (again like Agamemnon). While Herbert largely narrates the attacks without showing them, Dune (2021) gives a series of dramatic battle scenes in which the Atreides strive valiantly against all hope, accompanied—as always—by the moving soundtrack.

But Paul, not unlike Orestes, Agamemnon’s son, and Jessica manage to escape the destruction of their House and flee into the desert. After various subsequent scenes, including the death of another one of Paul’s mentors, Duncan Idaho (played by Jason Momoa in the movie) and an airborne chase through a raging sandstorm, Paul and Jessica eventually find the safety of the Fremen. This concludes the first sub-book (about the first half of Dune), and also serves as the cutoff of Dune (2021) and the beginning of Dune: Part Two.

But just before this subdivision ends, an important change happens in Paul’s character. The book portrays this in a scene where Paul and his mother are in a “stilltent” (a water conserving desert tent), shortly after fleeing the attacked city. The recent movie also contains this same scene, but Villeneuve and the scriptwriting team transferred the crucial character change to the final scene of Dune (2021), where Paul fights and kills a Fremen named Jamis. (Again, the book contains this scene, but doesn’t use it in the same way.) 

In the book’s tent scene, Paul experiences Spice-induced visions of the future, foreshadowed previously by prophetic dreams he underwent at the beginning of the book. It’s these visions that are proof of Paul being (or potentially being) the “Kwisatz Haderach” of the Bene Gesserit, who also have abilities that rely on Spice: accessing the memories of their ancestors instead of looking into the future. But in the visions, Paul sees himself rise as a powerful leader who causes a brutal religious war that sweeps across the galaxy under his direction. This serves as a type of transition between the old “Paul Atriedes,” born the son of a Duke on Caladan, to a different character, one who leads the Fremen and has become integrated into the culture of the desert.

This same transition happens in a later scene in Dune (2021)—but it’s more explicit. To set up the scene, Paul and his mother have just been discovered by the Fremen and barely avoided being killed by them. The Fremen leader Stilgar (played by Javier Bardem), realizes that Paul is the Atreides heir and allows him to live, but another Fremen, Jamis, challenges his decision and initiates a ritual combat with Paul. Paul is the better fighter and subdues him multiple times, but is unable to commit the act of killing him. Towards the end of the fight, the “vision-voices” that the motion picture utilizes actually say “Kwisatz Haderach, rise,” implying that the old Paul Atreides must die. The dramatic music grows louder, Timothée Chalamet’s expression changes, and Paul kills Jamis.

And, indeed, a change has occurred. Paul in sub-books two and three (which correspond to Dune: Part Two) is not the same Paul as in the first book. The superficial difference is that he has gone from a passive role (going to Arrakis with his family, surviving the attack of the Harkonnens) to an active role (seeking vengeance for his father and fighting for the liberation of the Fremen). The movies, too, can be viewed similarly: Part One sets up the world and the characters, whereas Part Two shows them taking action and changing the face of the world.

But Herbert is showing a deeper change. Paul’s role has become something like that of a Messiah as his growing power adopts a religious aspect as well as a military one. This process isn’t unlike the plot of Lawrence of Arabia (this parallel is more than accidental; Herbert is rather explicit with the connections). In both, someone from “outside” comes to an Eastern culture and leads them in a revolt against an oppressive power, and in both the leadership almost involuntarily adopts an element of religious fanaticism.

And viewing the Fremen as an Eastern (particularly Islam) -type culture isn’t exactly a unique approach: Herbert has them use terms such as Hajj (pilgrimage) and Jihad (crusade). The Fremen view themselves as a people in exile, set apart from the rest of the world and waiting to be restored to their proper place. (Their history of exile and oppression can also be seen in many of Brian Herbert’s prequels.) But this parallel extends past Muslim culture: there are also many connections between the Fremen and the Hebrews. Outside oppression (by Romans or Harkonnens) and exile (think Babylonian or Assyrian) are more characteristic of Hebrew culture than Islamic. And, of course, the Fremen are waiting for their Messiah, their Lisan al Gaib who will defeat their Harkonnen oppressors and restore them to freedom.

Does this mean that Dune‘s parallelism extends beyond Lawrance of Arabia to the Bible? To a certain degree. To uncover the complete message that Herbert was trying to make, a deeper look must be taken.

Even before Paul becomes a psuedo-religious leader, the story of Dune still has a religious undercurrent. This comes in the form of the “Missionaria Protectiva” of the Bene Gesserit, the seeds of religion planted on various planets in case the order ever needed a place of refuge. On Arrakis, this was integrated into the religion of the Fremen, creating a prophecy of the Lisan al Gaib, the Outworlder born of a Bene Gesserit. Although Herbert doesn’t emphasize it as strongly, in both movies (especially Dune: Part Two) Paul and his mother have several back-and-forth arguments about this, Paul holding that the Bene Gesserit have manipulated the Fremen with Jessica responding that they have been given hope and something to believe in.

This sets the stage for Paul’s character conflict in the second half of the narrative. Again, it’s present in the book, but the movie brings it to the forefront and makes the audience care about it more (probably because Timothée Chalamet is better at showing emotion than Herbert’s slightly stoic equivalent). Paul can see the role that he’s beginning to fill, but he isn’t so sure it’s a good one. As he says in an early scene in Dune: Part Two, he wants to fight beside the Fremen, not lead them.

This highlights the controversy of religion as a political tool used to control “the masses,” an idea presented by “Enlightenment” philosophers and carried into science fiction via works like Isaac Asimov’s Foundation, which shows a budding empire conquering the areas around it by spreading a made-up religion. The basis for this idea often comes from the belief that the Church used its power to dominate the Medieval world, which we, as Catholics, do not believe to be true. But using religion as a tool is certainly not something unheard of: in fact, the “religions” of relativism and transhumanism could very easily be seen as ideas that are spread for manipulative purposes. The Bene Gesserit, of course, are using more “traditional” (or “primitive,” as they would see it) religions that can more easily be related to Islam or Catholicism.

But regardless, Paul finds himself stuck in the middle of the religious net cast by the Bene Gesserit, and much of his inner conflict is over whether or not he should use it or reject it. In the end, he accepts his position as “prophet,” albeit reluctantly. He journeys to “the Southern desert” and drinks the “Water of Life” taken from a dying Sandworm, a Spice-concentrated solution used by the Bene Gesserit to access the memories of their ancestors. For most male people, the process is deadly (hence why the Sisterhood is all-female), but Paul survives, allowing him to see into the lives of the people who lived before him. This also solidifies his position as “the Messiah” of the Fremen, and—now embracing the position—he rallies them for war, increases the conflict with the Harkonnens, and ultimately challenges the Emperor, bringing him to Arrakis for a final battle.

Herbert is very clearly constructing a negative character arc—meaning that, as the story approaches its ending, Paul has become something of an antihero. Dune: Part Two does a wonderful job of portraying this, using the character of Chani (played by Zendaya), Paul’s love interest, to show that he—while essentially trying to do something good—is accomplishing it in the wrong way. He seems to become power-hungry, directly challenging the Emperor and demanding marriage with his daughter even while Chani (with subtle expressionism from Zendaya) looks on.

Why would Herbert take his main character and give him a major downward shift? He doesn’t make it any secret that he was warning against the danger of charismatic leaders (he and Brian Herbert often use President John F. Kennedy as an example), saying that someone who commands people at that level of totality is inherently dangerous. But his warning goes deeper. Herbert was also preaching against the junction of religion and politics, particularly when manifested in a single person. To continue the Islamic parallel, this could easily be seen in Muhammad and the destruction he caused, both during his life and with the religion he created. Similarly, the same situation can be seen with Joseph Smith and his Mormon religion, using his religious control over people to try and start a revolt against the American nation. As Herbert says in his appendix on the religions of the Dune universe: “When religion and politics ride the same cart, when the cart is driven by a living holy man, nothing can stand in their path.” These people—whether Muhammad, Smith, or Muad’Dib (the Fremen name Paul adopts)—command more power than any single person ever should.

In essence, Paul has become an anti-Messiah, a destroyer instead of a savior. This can be taken further by returning to the connection with Greek Tragedy. In Aeschylus’ The Libation Bearers, Orestes, in the name of vengeance, returns to his father’s palace and slaughters his mother Clytemnestra and the lover she previously conspired with, Aegisthus. Paul, too, has exacted vengeance on his father’s killers (in the book, his younger sister kills the Baron; in the movie, he does it himself). But, in both cases, it isn’t exactly righteous revenge. Aeschylus makes clear that Orestes’ actions are not unlike Clytemenestra’s in that they’re both committing brutal murder, and Herbert implies something similar for Paul. Dune: Part Two also makes the connection, using the same sets, lighting, and music for the battle where the Atreides are destroyed in Dune (2021) and the climactic scene where Paul and his Fremen army pay the Harkonnens back.

Now we can return to the Biblical parallel and view it in a clearer light. What Paul is to the Fremen is something like what the Jews were expecting from their Messiah, a military leader who would have both political and religious power. Of course, Jesus, the true Messiah, shows us that this external salvation is not the one we require, but rather a far more significant, interior one.

But Dune‘s connection to Jesus as Messiah extends beyond a simple contrast. If I had to choose a movie that’s the most similar to Dune (2021) and Dune: Part Two, I would say The Passion of the Christ directed by Mel Gibson. While this might seem improbable, the visual similarity is actually rather obvious. The character of Jessica is made to look strikingly like Mary, the both heavily use of foreign language and religious symbolism (mostly seen in Dune: Part Two, not its prequel), and—perhaps most disturbingly—all the Harkonnen characters are shown with shaved heads and eyebrows, like Satan in The Passion. (The portrayal of the Harkonnens in Dune—books and movies—is probably one of the biggest detracting elements. While it is true that they are accurately being portrayed as very, very evil, the detail into which the narrative goes might be a little too much. For example: Herbert makes the Baron homosexual (as a negative trait), which definitely adds to his villainous character but also is not something that readers might want to encounter.)

Why this similarity when Paul is obviously not supposed to represent Jesus? It might merely be because Denis Villeneuve wanted to imitate Gibson in creating a culturally integrated, messianic story, but it also says something about Paul’s role: he could’ve chosen the route of sacrifice, seeking the freedom of the Fremen instead of revenge and power, but instead he allowed his extraordinary abilities and circumstances to sweep him into a quest for complete dominance.

So what is the religious message of Dune? It’s fairly obvious the Frank Herbert wasn’t Catholic (his Irish aunts tried to “force” it on him and he resisted), but his narrative is strewn with connections to the Catholic faith, both obvious (like the Bene Gesserit or the “Orange Catholic Bible”) and implicit. One thing is clear: he thinks that, if improperly used, it can be an immensely powerful tool for directing the minds of a nation, more powerful than any other form of control. But there’s a deeper element, too, one that can only be understood by a careful reading of the book (it’s too subtle to be captured on screen). While Herbert isn’t necessarily an advocate for “rigid” religions, he does seem to think that the complexity and grandeur of the universe and the unique role that man plays in it leads us to desire something higher, a transcendental longing that is inherent in humanity. A sense of wonder permeates the pages of Dune, both in the religious, philosophical, ecological, and psychological elements.

But, nevertheless, it ends in disaster. Paul forcibly wrests the throne from the Emperor and begins his own “Jihad” that he worked so hard to avoid previously. As always, Dune: Part Two does not let us down in conveying this, using Chani’s flight into the desert and a sorrowful yet majestic track from Hans Zimmer to communicate the tragic ending. This Jihad that Paul foresaw causing desolation and despair is almost like a twisted version of the conquest of the Israelites into the Promised Land—but instead of bringing God’s justice to the worshippers of false gods, it seeks to bring the known galaxy to submission by fanatical crusade.

And so the story ends. It’s a conflicted ending, one that doesn’t give us much satisfaction: probably for sequel purposes in the movie, while Herbert had the more profound purpose of conveying his anti-charismatic message. The narrative leaves us with so many different things to process that it’s hard to completely take in (even after multiple re-reads and re-watches; trust me, I know). This article went into numerous aspects, but it didn’t even cover them all (physics, metaphysics, psychology, philosophy, economics) and it only scratched the surface of the ones it did manage to get to.

Like all the great works of Literature, Dune gives us a horde of ideas to think about and wrestle with. And, while still being the work that opened the way for the rest of science fiction, it brings a different view of even our Catholic faith, one that is at least worth contemplating. And, as the story grows more and more popular among our culture as a whole, and as people read it and re-read it and re-read it again, it will—hopefully—restore meaning to its potentially glorious genre of speculative fiction.