Aslan was a lion because lions are beautiful. And beauty is a gateway through which we learn. It captivates the heart and makes ready for instruction. Specifically, beauty teaches us about goodness and truth. However, in an age that is obsessed with utility, it is a category that seldom features in our daily lives.
Ours is a busy home. With six children, two cats, and a dog, activity levels are high and the noise continuous. Seldom does the busyness cease; rarely can we lay claim to silence. Except, that is, for one portion of the day when rest is guaranteed. All conversation stops, everyone is still, and we achieve something akin to quiet. Sadly, I am not talking about the midnight hours. Rather, it is when we read. More specifically, it is when my wife, Laura, reads a story aloud to my children. I’m grateful for how she has determined to make this a regular feature in our home, such that most days we are engaged in some narrative, and everything else stops. In fact, Laura will often joke that all she needs to do is start reading a book and one by one the children will come, like rats to the Pied Piper. As the story begins, their curiosity is reliably provoked. The narrative summons their hearts such that they put aside all other things and listen.
This practice has certain implications. We regularly need to make room in our budget for overdue library fines. The Amazon delivery man is a frequent visitor to our home. And we are often trying to figure out where we can fit another bookshelf. More significantly, it means certain stories shape our thoughts and conversations. This has proven to be particularly true with C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia. We have revisited the stories many times and enjoyed hypothetical wanderings through their imaginary lands. Which volume is your favorite? Why? Which character would you be? What would you have done in that situation? Do you like Turkish Delight? The list of questions to explore is endless, providing ready conversation for another car journey.
One question that I offered recently probed less the children’s likings, and more the philosophical underpinnings of Lewis’ magical universe. Specifically, why was Aslan a lion? Why was the central character in this imaginary world a carnivorous beast and not, for example, a duck? Why wasn’t Aslan a squirrel or a fish? To my knowledge, Lewis did not record an explanation for his choice of characters, so we must be cautious with our response. But knowing something of the man and, more importantly, of how good stories work, I believe there is an answer we can give with relative confidence.
Certainly, the answer has to do, in part, with the parallels Lewis sought to forge with the gospel. In Aslan we see something of Christ, the Lion of Judah. I will speak more of that later. For now, it is enough to note the association and to say that it forms part of the solution. But, from a more philosophical angle, we may say that Aslan’s being a lion speaks to the issue of beauty. I’m not referring here to the idea of aesthetic pleasure (though it is true that illustrations of Aslan are typically impressive to the eye). Instead, I’m speaking of that transcendental quality that is universally recognized and sounds a resonant frequency within our hearts. Aslan was a lion because in all of the animal kingdom it is there that we find the most prominent manifestation of beauty. His glory is self-evident. His majesty, difficulty to deny.
Why is this important? Because beauty never stands alone. It has friends who are always close at hand. Specifically, beauty forms a triad of transcendental qualities with truth and goodness. And this idea, originally proposed by Plato, subsequently affirmed throughout the history of philosophy, is important. The complementarity of the good, the beautiful, and the true is instructive. To acknowledge one quality is to affirm all three. Thus, when we see beauty, we should anticipate verity and virtue. By contrast, when true beauty is lacking, we find deceit and corruption. This principle becomes particularly important when considering children’s stories.
Narratives written for young people will often take place in the realm of make-believe. They do not claim to depict a world that is real. The fantastic nature of the story is clear. At the same time, they do intend to educate. Having captured the mind and the heart through an imaginary sphere of existence, they commend universal truths to the child that he or she will need in the real world. For this reason, it is a weighty responsibility to assume the role of children’s author. Your task is not to entertain. Rather, you are to captivate your readers with a world that appeals to their childish ways while at the same time instructing them concerning the nature of life and the principles by which they should eventually live.
Generally, the most successful children’s stories are those where the divide between good and evil is clear. The child is not confused. He is not second-guessing the behavior of certain characters. Rather, he is confident that he has made the correct assessment of key individuals. A simple means by which the author can achieve such clarity is to ensure that the countenance of each character befits his behavior. Words and actions should be complemented by appearance. Thus, in his demeanor the hero commends himself to us. In like manner, we are disquieted by the presentation of the villain.
On this point the brilliance of Lewis is clear. Aslan is the king of Narnia. More than that, he is a savior. This message is communicated not only by what he says and does but by how he appears: as a lion. Indeed, it is not merely that in Narnia the line between form and content is consistently straight but that the king inheres a transcendental dynamic. He is good, beautiful, and true. All that he does is right, everything he says is correct, and he is a lion. While other characters in the story invert these qualities, and some must learn them, the central character exudes all three. For this reason, it should not surprise us that Lewis’ story has stood the test of time. Since the 1950s, children have been journeying to Narnia. They go for pleasure. They receive instruction, especially with respect to the transcendentals.
The immediate significance of this observation is relatively minor. Most probably you will enjoy The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe more the next time you read it. Understanding why a story works invariably leads to a greater appreciation that it works. However, there is a less direct implication that is more important: one that reaches far beyond our consideration of Narnia.
