One of my friends warned me Dune was a total snoozefest.
As much as I respect his opinion, I’m thrilled to say he was wrong. Dune is not a snoozefest.
It’s epic, well-paced, beautiful, subtle—and it’s movie-making for grown-ups.
Don’t get me wrong, I have fun consuming the Marvel-lous candy that’s churned out by production studios these days. The quippy dialogue, over-the-top heroes, good-vs-evil plots, and explosion-packed action is super fun. It’s just that it seems to be made mostly by and for teenagers. It has to be fast, flashy, sexy, and sassy in order to keep their attention.
But Dune was more mature. It took its time. It was subtle storytelling that moved at a patient pace without getting slow or boring. (It reminded me of Mad Men in that way.)
The characters of Dune weren’t trying to out-clever one another or impress the audience with snappy witticisms—they communicated.
I get how younger audiences raised on superhero movies might think it’s boring. But for someone who grew up loving the old Star Trek films—complete with their long meeting scenes full of dialogue and their patient exploration of philosophy—Dune was a breath of fresh air.
And Dune is philosophical. It resonates with wisdom that’s been with humanity down through history. Including Stoic philosophy.
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There’s an important scene in Dune—the book and movie—where the leader of an order of women priests tests the main character, Paul Atreides. (Don’t worry, I won’t get too spoilery here . . . probably)
She subjects him to intense pain by putting his hand in an Ouch Box. (Okay, I made up the name Ouch Box. But it’s an apt name.) The Ouch Box doesn’t actually cause Paul physical harm. It just makes his nerves scream like they’re on fire. If he takes his hand out of the box or screams, then she’ll jab him with a poisoned needle and it’s end game for Paul Atreides.
The old woman isn’t merely torturing Paul for no reason. She wants to see if he can control his reactions. If he’s human, or if he’s still at the level of development of a wild animal—a creature that just reacts to stimuli instead of choosing its responses.
Most people are still at that level.
Getting to the point of being human takes training.
In the context of the film, it’s about not letting circumstances, or your emotional rollercoaster, or other people tell you what’s true.
So your hand is in the Ouch Box and it feels like it’s on fire. You know the truth: it’s not burning off. You’re fine.
So are you going to let the fear and pain control you? Are you gonna cringe away into your comfort zone where nothing is possible? Because if you’re going to do that, your life will always be a series of knee-jerk reactions.
Being a real human is about creating yourself more intentionally. That’s the only way you’ll find your strength.
It’s a discipline.
This theme is echoed in the scene where Paul trains at fencing with his sword master. Paul’s not really in the mood to fight, but his master doesn’t give a shit. When the bad guys come, you don’t get to say you’re not in the mood. You’ll either fight—and fight well—or you’ll die. You have to be ready.
Again, it’s about disciplining your mind. Your body. Your very soul.
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It reminds me of a quote from our boy, Marcus Aurelius:
“What am I doing with my soul?
“Interrogate yourself to find out what inhabits your so-called mind and what kind of soul you have now. A child’s soul? An adolescent’s? A woman’s? A tyrant’s? The soul of a predator—or its prey?”
Do you have the soul of a human? Or of a wild animal?
If your interrogation shows you that you’ve got a soul you’d rather not have, then start creating a new one. You’re not prey unless you create yourself as prey, constantly generating feelings of victimization. You’re not a tyrant unless you create yourself as one, constantly looking for people to lord it over so you feel worthy.
But if you want the soul of a human, you’ll have to discipline yourself to cultivate it.
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Love,
L.