The 
              Lion Messiah:  
              a word about Aslan 
                
              
             
              commentary by Emilie Griffin 
            C.S. 
              Lewis believed that certain kinds of religious decorum could get 
              in the way of genuine religious experience. That was a problem that 
              plagued him much of his life. Lewis wrote: 
            
               
                Why did one find it so hard to feel as one ought to feel about 
                God or about the sufferings of Christ? I thought the chief reason 
                was that one was told one ought to. An obligation to feel can 
                freeze feelings. And reverence itself did harm. 
             
            Lewis 
              thought the whole subject of religion had been spoilt for him early 
              in life by an exaggerated requirement to speak in lowered voices. 
              “Almost as if it were something medical,” he added, 
              reflecting the Victorian prudishness of his kind of upbringing. 
            His
                     was a problem that has plagued many who feel disaffected
                    by religious 
              expectations. Devotion can’t be demanded of us as a socially
               appropriate kind of behavior. It needs to be spontaneous and freely
              
              offered. A real love relationship must develop between God and
              us,  unforced and unfeigned, not just a show of piety to satisfy
              someone 
              else’s convictions. 
            Gradually, 
              over many years, Lewis worked his way through this problem. Partly 
              it was through his encounter with Norse mythology, what he and his 
              friend Arthur Greeves called “Northern-ness.” As boys 
              they had been carried up into exalted realms by the beauty of Norse 
              tales such as that about Balder. 
            Balder 
              the beautiful is dead, is dead  
            In 
              reading the story of Balder, the young Lewis had been deeply moved. 
              Later on he came to realize that the story of Balder is a clear 
              parallel to the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ. 
            At 
              first he was confused by resemblances to the Christ story in pagan 
              mythologies. But 
              under the influence of some very literary 
              friends, he came to think of Christianity 
              as the one true myth, the one that other myths were hinting at and 
              pointing to. 
            J.R.R. 
              Tolkien had worked through many of these issues already. He helped 
              Lewis through his labyrinth of difficulties. Other believing friends 
              in the Oxford crowd helped Lewis, too. Even a hard-boiled atheist 
              gave him a clue by saying he thought there was something to the 
              Jesus story. 
            Lewis 
              later resolved to write stories that would do for others what the 
              story of Balder had done for him: strip away false and mandatory 
              piety and leave the story of God’s sacrificial love in a wild 
              and persuasive new guise, galloping with real momentum through fields 
              of imagination. 
             
               
                But 
                  supposing that by casting all these things into an imaginary 
                  world, stripping them of their stained-glass and Sunday School 
                  associations, one could make them for the first time appear 
                  in their real potency? Could one not thus steal past those watchful 
                  dragons? I thought one could. 
               
             
            So 
              Lewis reveals his own back story of Narnia, and Aslan comes bounding 
              in. 
              Many people who read the Narnia stories never suspect that Aslan 
              is Christ incarnated as a talking lion. Yet they are moved by Aslan: 
              his goodness, his power, his compassion, his sacrificial love. 
            And 
              though Tolkien felt that Lewis’s Narnia was lacking in theological 
              subtlety, many readers would contradict him. They can’t follow 
              the Christian motifs in the Narnia stories until these are explained 
              to them. (Frankly, I think 
              Lewis would not be concerned about the readers who don’t get 
              the Christian message. His whole thrust in writing the stories is 
              toward myth-making rather than towards direct Christian teaching. 
              To argue the Christian message—as in Mere 
              Christianity— 
              Lewis took a very different tack.) 
             
              Let’s return for a moment to Balder, who seems to be the clue 
              that will unlock Lewis’s creative approach to Aslan’s 
              character. Why had this story—and 
              other stories of the Norse gods—been 
              so moving to Lewis? 
            Edith 
              Hamilton, in her classic work Mythology, points out that the Norse 
              gods are different from the Gods of Olympus because they suffer 
              and experience sadness. Also, they suffer for others, for the sake 
              of humanity. Hamilton says: “Balder was the most beloved of 
              the gods, on earth as in heaven. His death was the first of the 
              disasters that fell upon the gods. One night he was troubled with 
              dreams which seemed to foretell some great danger to him.” 
               
            His 
              mother, Frigga, the wife of Odin, attempted to prevent the disaster 
              by going through the world and securing promises from all creatures 
              that nothing would or could harm her son. But Frigga overlooked 
              the mistletoe. She also made the mistake of telling Loki, a wicked 
              character who hated Balder, that Balder was vulnerable to the mistletoe. 
              Loki managed to arrange for the mistletoe to be hurled at Balder; 
              it pierced Balder’s heart. Attempts were made to redeem Balder 
              from death...but without success. 
            In 
              Surprised by Joy Lewis explains how the Norse story deeply 
              affected him. 
              “I knew nothing about Balder; but instantly I was uplifted 
              into huge regions of northern sky, I desired with almost sickening 
              intensity something never to be described.” 
            However, 
              he doesn’t fully explain why Balder moved him. Was it because 
              the death of Balder was the first disaster that fell upon the gods? 
              I think it is more likely that Lewis was moved by the Balder story 
              because it was primitive, and because his emotions were free; he 
              wasn’t expected to care about Balder in the way he was expected 
              to care about Jesus.  
            This 
              wild character—and 
              the freedom to enjoy the story—is 
              what he wants to create for others when he writes about Aslan. No 
              doubt he likely believes that most who are moved by the Aslan story 
              will make the connection to Jesus in due course. Most probably will, 
              not only because Aslan is put to death but also because he returns 
              to life, and resurrects others as well. 
            Does 
              Aslan move us as deeply as Balder moved the young Lewis? Undoubtedly 
              some of us will be moved by Aslan’s fate: he is royal, he 
              is sinless, he is longsuffering. 
            In 
              publicity for the new film of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, 
              Aslan is referred to as a Lion Messiah. Lewis himself does not use 
              this designation. But Lewis’s Aslan does go through a “Passion 
              Story.” 
            Foreseeing 
              ominous events to come, Aslan becomes sad, and the children (his 
              disciples) ask if they can come with him or prevent what is to happen. 
              Aslan may be powerful, but still he is subject to the Law governing 
              Narnia. The Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea (no doubt Lewis means God the 
              Father) has set up the rules and Aslan will follow them to the death. 
               
            Aslan’s 
              mane is shorn; his ordinary cat-ness is revealed. Crowds mock and 
              jeer at Aslan. 
            The 
              Stone Table is where the sacrifice will occur. Grouped around the 
              Stone Table in a half-moon shape are centaurs, a unicorn, a bull 
              with the head of a man, a pelican, an eagle, a great dog, and two 
              leopards. Lewis is creating a parallel mythology with a pagan feel. 
            Aslan 
              is killed, and the children remain with his body. 
            The 
              Stone Table is struck in two. But Aslan is then brought back to 
              life, through what Lewis calls “a Deeper Magic from Before 
              the Dawn of Time.” This Deep Magic is the redemptive power 
              that the Emperor put into Narnia at the very beginning. 
            After 
              his own resurrection, Aslan revives the Witch’s collection 
              of stone figures. He brings them all back to life, including a Giant, 
              another Lion, and Mr. Tumnus. Aslan exercises his kingship in a 
              marvelous and compassionate way. 
              From this brief story outline, it is hard to see how Aslan’s 
              story may awaken religious awe in readers (and film viewers) who 
              have failed to see Christ in conventional ways. Story outlines rarely 
              have the same impact as stories themselves. The love of story—and 
              story as a means of revelation—is 
              part of what had fully engaged Lewis and inspired him to write. 
            I 
              am reminded of the biblical words that say, “There are many 
              other things that Jesus did; if one of them were written down, I 
              suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would 
              be written.” (John 21:25, NRSV) 
              Lewis tells the story of Christ in a way that touches us. Millions
              have already been moved by it. Perhaps, as  captured on film,
              Aslan’s story will touch millions more. 
               
            copyright 
              ©2005 Emilie Griffin 
              
               
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