May 30, 2025

# When Enough Is Enough

“As he let the empty gourd fall from his hand and was about to pluck a second one, it came into his head that he was now neither hungry nor thirsty. And yet to repeat a pleasure so intense and almost so spiritual seemed an obvious thing to do. His reason, or what we commonly take to be reason in our own world, was all in favor of tasting this miracle again; the childlike innocence of fruit, the labors he had undergone, the uncertainty of the future, all seemed to commend the action. Yet something seemed opposed to this 'reason.' It is difficult to suppose that this opposition came from desire, for what desire would turn from so much deliciousness? But for whatever cause, it appeared to him better not to taste again. Perhaps the experience had been so complete that repetition would be a vulgarity—like asking to hear the same symphony twice in a day.”
—C.S. Lewis, Perelandra

# The Quiet Battle for Innocence

This scene from Perelandra may seem small on the surface. A man eats a piece of fruit. He considers eating another. But in that moment, something bigger is happening.

It’s a battle—not against hunger or temptation in the usual sense—but a struggle between wonder and control. Between receiving and grasping.

C.S. Lewis is inviting us to pay attention to how easily we turn pure, innocent pleasure into something cheap by trying to repeat it, own it, or stretch it beyond what it was meant to be.

In that moment, the fruit had already done its work. The taste had filled him with joy. The experience was complete. And yet—how natural it is to say, “I want that again.”

But the second taste would be different. Not worse, maybe—but less clean. It would carry the hint of taking rather than receiving.

# Why This Moment Matters

Lewis sets this moment early in the book because it introduces one of Perelandra’s central questions:

What happens to innocence when we try to take control of pleasure?

On the floating islands of a new, unfallen world, the main character is constantly faced with choices like this. Not choices between good and evil in the usual sense, but between trust and self-grasping. Between surrender and management. Between letting life unfold and trying to shape it for our own security or indulgence.

The real test isn’t whether he can resist obvious temptation—it’s whether he can accept joy without demanding more of it. Whether he can let beauty be a gift, not a possession.^[1]

# Our Own Repeats

We face this same test every day.

• We scroll endlessly instead of enjoying one beautiful post or photo.
• We binge shows we liked instead of savoring an episode and sitting with it.
• We re-watch or re-taste or re-do things just to feel the buzz again.

None of this is “wrong” in a moral sense—but there’s a danger of dulling our own experience. The second bite is often less about delight and more about trying to control the feeling the first one gave us.

Lewis suggests there’s a kind of strength—and even holiness—in knowing when enough is enough.

# Letting the First Taste Stand

There’s something freeing in learning to receive a moment fully and then let it go.

It’s not about guilt. It’s about keeping wonder alive. About refusing to turn the sacred into something we consume on demand.

The more we try to own or repeat beauty, the more we risk losing the very innocence that made it beautiful in the first place.

# The Deeper Lesson

In Perelandra, that simple moment with the fruit becomes a pattern for the whole story. It points toward what will later become a cosmic conflict about obedience, trust, and the limits of desire.

But here, it begins with a quiet no. A no that protects something precious.

Maybe we need more of those small no’s in our own lives—not out of fear, but out of respect for what is good.

Not every joy is meant to be maximized. Some are meant to be received, fully, once.

And then let go.