“Great Lion” – Callum Quinn, © 2022
As much as Aslan expects us to learn from our mistakes, however, there are still consequences if we don’t. But far from being cast down to burn for eternity in Hell, punishments in Narnia always seem fitting to the crimes. Not only that, but their restrictions are fully dependent on the ones receiving them.
Take Prince Rabadash, for instance—the Calormene royal who sought to attack Narnia over his lustful desire for Queen Susan in The Horse and His Boy. After his defeat, Aslan turns him into a donkey in front of his men and his enemies. Not only does Aslan give him plenty of chances to reflect on his actions and make peace beforehand (which he doesn’t take, obviously), but afterward he offers him one last opportunity for redemption:
“Now hear me, Rabadash. Justice shall be mixed with mercy. You shall not always be an Ass. You have appealed to Tash, and in the temple of Tash, you shall be healed. You must stand before the altar in Tashbaan at the Great Autumn Feast this year. And there, in the sight of all Tashbaan, your ass’s shape will fall from you, and all men will know you for Prince Rabadash. But as long as you live, if ever you go but ten miles away from the great temple in Tashbaan, you shall instantly become again as you now are. And from that second change, there will be no return.”
Even the more severe punishments do not seem to bear the sense that they are completely out of the recipient’s hands. One such example would be the fate of a group of dwarves in The Last Battle. To put a long story short: those dwarves suck. Actually, that’s putting it kindly. Within the last few chapters of the book, they act nothing short of monstrous—in fact, you could say of all the bad men/animals/mythical creatures/gods in that book, the dwarves are the most beastly.
Much of this part of the story revolves around a dreaded stable and a terrible fate that supposedly falls on those who enter. But while the characters loyal to Aslan are pleasantly surprised to find themselves in a beautiful open meadow on the other side of the door, the dwarves find themselves forever trapped in… a stable. A dank, musty, and foul-smelling stable. And as Lucy tells them to look around at the open sky, as she thrusts flowers in their faces, confident they could at least smell the truth, it becomes apparent that everything they see/feel/hear/smell is limited by that illusion of the stable. Aslan even presents them with a fine banquet, and all they taste is moldy vegetables and trough water. As Lucy pleads with Aslan, asking if anything can be done to help them, he tells her:
“They will not let us help them… Their prison is only in their own minds, but they are in that prison, and so afraid of being taken in that they cannot be taken out.”
In this case, it is the dwarves who have punished themselves: their being trapped in that stable is even out of Aslan’s hands. They are getting out of life what they have put into it, and with their limited beliefs, even their afterlife is limited. It is, and always has been, completely up to them whether or not they will ever get out.
Another important trait to bear in mind about Aslan is his “humanness.” It might seem strange to call this a trait, seeing as Aslan is a lion, but something to note is how mortal he is for a supposed god. Obviously this is best demonstrated by the fact that he “dies” in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. But there’s more to it than that.
All throughout the series it is stated time and again that Aslan “is not a tame lion.” And in The Horse and His Boy, the character Bree (who lives in a time where Aslan has become more of a legend than a physical feature in Narnia), scoffs at the very mention of the animal form. He tells his friends:
“No doubt, when they speak of him as a Lion they only mean he’s as strong as a lion or (to our enemies, of course) as fierce as a lion. Or something of that kind… If he was a lion he’d have to be a Beast just like the rest of us. Why!” (and here Bree began to laugh) “If he was a lion he’d have four paws, and a tail, and whiskers!”
The truth behind this statement clarifies that connection between Aslan and his people. He, too, is just a Beast. Granted, he is a very special beast, but he never attempts to disguise the fact that he is on the same footing (or, rather, paws) as the rest of his creations. He laughs, as we’ve mentioned before; he plays, he celebrates, and he weeps. He weeps over King Caspian’s body at the end of The Silver Chair, and he weeps with Diggory (even after scolding him for setting the White Witch loose) in The Magician’s Nephew:
“My son. My son, I know. Grief is great. Only you and I in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another.”
Apart from this empathy, he also shows sadness for himself once his safety—his mortality—is compromised. Lucy and Susan experience this firsthand when they unknowingly walk with him to his execution in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. At one point on the journey the lion even stumbles and gives “a low moan.” When a distraught Lucy asks if there’s anything wrong he responds: “I am sad, and lonely. Lay your hands on my mane so that I can feel you are there, and let us walk like that.”
At this point, Aslan knows he is going to his death, and he is scared. He wants comfort. He needs it. Even though he knows everything will be all right in the end, the thought of being sacrificed by the White Witch is unbearable. It unnerves him. Why, unless he feels pain, or maybe even doubts that things will be okay?
These traits are very human, considering that they come from an all-powerful being. Aslan has created worlds, opened gateways, turned humans into donkeys and even, according to him, “swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms” (The Silver Chair). Yet he doesn’t just snap his claws and realign the skies every chance he gets.
This goes along with his insistence that people suffer and make up for the consequences of their own actions, but it also further demonstrates his “human” nature in that he follows his own rules. Like Lucy making him visible again in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, or even in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when Mr. Beaver scoffs at the Witch’s use of the title, “Queen of Narnia,” and Aslan reprimands him, stating:
“Peace, Beaver. All names will soon be restored to their proper owners. In the meantime, we will not dispute about them.”
The White Witch has basically waltzed into his world, taken over and tormented his subjects for the last hundred years, yet under some (weird, I’ll admit,) set of guidelines, he acknowledges her right to do so. Again, he could just destroy her then and there, or turn her into a fish with his breath, yet he lets events play out as they are meant to.
But perhaps the biggest difference between Aslan the Lion and how the traditional Christian god is frequently portrayed is this:
Aslan is not a jealous god.
In the case of Narnia, there are forest gods and river gods and there is even an opposite to Aslan’s loving and playful nature in the form of the Calormene god, Tash. As is clearly established in The Last Battle, Tash is all things vile and wicked in nature, appearing human in shape, but with the head of a bird of prey and carrying with it a “deathly smell.”
It is Tash that supposedly awaits in the stable during The Last Battle, and a loyal Calormene soldier volunteers to venture in, for he has “sought Tash” his entire life. Knowing—or thinking they know—that the young man is going in to face his doom, our heroes watching from a distance actually feel sorry for him, for he strikes them as a good man. Even Lucy, upon retelling the story of his entry into the “stable,” makes the comment: “I liked him.”
To make a long story short, this young man ends up among the blessed in Aslan’s country, instead of left to dwell in the darkness and ruin of Old Narnia once the stable door is closed.
But, why would Aslan allow a man who was loyal to another god into his country?
This is my favorite lesson from the Narnia series—the lesson of the Calormene soldier, Emeth, as he recounts his tale of meeting Aslan on the other side of the stable door:
“Then I fell at his feet and thought, Surely this is the hour of death, for the Lion (who is worthy of all honour) will know that I have served Tash all my days and not him…. But the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, Son, thou art welcome. But I said, Alas Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash. He answered, Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me…. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him. For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him. Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath’s sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he know it not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand, Child?”
The philosophy Aslan describes here is that he represents all things pure and good. Therefore, if one does things that are pure and good, they are following the path of Aslan, no matter what deity they swear by. This seems more fitting than a theology in which one is safe as long as they “believe,” no matter how twisted their thoughts and actions are in the meantime, or in which one is damned if they are an atheist, no matter how kind, gentle, or loving they may be.
Aslan the Great Lion may be a fictional character in a set of children’s tales, but his lessons of kindness and laughter and love can put a different perspective on spiritual upbringing through a mixture of pagan as well as Christian ideologies. He may be the most famous God/Jesus figure in children’s literature, but it is because of Aslan that many of us might dance beneath the moon, wander into forests in search of fairies and believe in the power of good. Whether you follow Christianity, paganism, or neither, Aslan the Lion is a powerful figure that is worth looking up to.
“I’m sorry, Aslan,” she said. “I’m ready now.”
“Now you are a lioness,” said Aslan. “And now all Narnia will be renewed.”
–Prince Caspian
~
— C.O.
Night Owls, what are your thoughts on Aslan the Lion? Did you get to read the Narnia series when you were a kid? Which book is your favorite?
