C. S. Lewis’s classic seven-volume The Chronicles of Narnia series (1950-56) has become a beloved staple in the world of children’s literature. The stories aren’t just for kids, though.
What exactly was Lewis up to in these tales? In Live Like a Narnian: Christian Discipleship in Lewis’s Chronicles, Joe Rigney takes us into the heart of Lewis’s magical world and shows us how the stories function, with subtlety and potency, to awaken, expose, inspire, and even disciple. Rigney commends the saga as “a fruitful part of Christian discipleship, so that in reading the Narnian stories, breathing Narnian air, and seeking to live like Narnians, we are transformed into the image of Jesus Christ—the Great Lion and High King Above All Kings.”
I corresponded with Rigney, professor of Christian worldview at Bethlehem College and Seminary in Minneapolis, about the worldview-shaping significance of the Chronicles, what we learn about true manhood and facing tragedy, and more.
How would you respond to the charge that you’re reading too much into Narnia?
I argue that Lewis had a particular view of education (what we today might call “discipleship” or “spiritual formation”), one that laid a particular emphasis on the “givenness” of reality, on the necessity of proper spiritual and emotional responses to reality, and on the importance of modeling and imitation in shaping these right thoughts and affections. I also argue that Lewis regarded fiction in general and fairy tales in particular as useful tools in molding godly character. Stories are always doing something to us—forming us and instructing us in ways of being human—and Lewis wanted to harness that power in order to hopefully instill Christian virtue in his readers. Once you’ve established that Lewis did in fact think this way about discipleship and fairy stories, then it’s only a matter of putting the pieces together. No one disputes that the Narnian stories have layers and depths to them. Lewis himself said that they are in some sense “about Christ.” I simply try to extend this insight out, in some cases using his essays and non-fiction books as a kind of lamp to enlighten what he’s doing in Narnia. In the end, I’d have to say that the proof is in the pudding, and that readers can judge for themselves whether I draw out the right lessons.
Why take on adult questions through children’s fiction?
I think Lewis would challenge the notion that his stories are strictly “children’s fiction.” Both he and Tolkien believed that the association between fairy tales and children is a modern innovation, and a rather poor one at that. Lewis insisted that a children’s story that is only enjoyable by children is a lousy children’s story. So I have no doubt that Lewis would approve of the fact that so many adults continue to read and enjoy and learn from the Narnian stories.
Leaving that point aside, Lewis thought that fairy stories (or what Tolkien called “fantasy”) have a peculiar value in making things of this world appear in their true potency. In one essay, he commented on the fact that certain kinds of obligation kill desire. For example, we know that we should be moved by the death of Jesus on our behalf, but the very fact of the “should” makes it harder to actually be moved. Fairy stories, by taking us out of our own world, allow the beauty and desirability of the truth to shine forth in all its glory. As Aslan says to Lucy, “This was the very reason you were brought into Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you might know me better there.”
The last thing to say is that Lewis, I think, was particularly concerned about the trajectory of Western civilization. There were a number of “isms” that he thought should be resisted (and says as much in a number of essays): progressivism, evolutionism, scientism, egalitarianism (which for him is broader than merely the question of gender relations), and so forth. Children, of course, are generally unable to understand, let alone respond, to these “isms,” so Lewis weaves key aspects of them—as well as potent responses to them—into his stories.
Lewis once wrote that the important thing about the ideal of chivalry is the double demand it makes on human nature: to be fierce to the nth and to be meek to the nth. How is that ideal represented in the Narnia stories?
This ideal shows up in almost all of the kings and queens of Narnia, but it shines brightest in Peter, the High King, especially in Prince Caspian. Peter is a great fighter and military tactician, able to fight man-to-man with the much larger Miraz as well as strategize about the best way to engage Miraz’s army. At the same time, he’s a master of tact—ably navigating relational conflict with his siblings, skillfully managing the expectations and desires of Reepicheep and the Bulgy Bears, and showing appropriate honor and respect to Caspian and others. The recovery of this sort of fierce meekness ought to be a major goal of the church today.
How does King Lune of Archenland’s character in The Horse and His Boy show us what true manhood does—and doesn’t—look like?
Lune is my favorite character in the Narnia books, fundamentally because he’s the sort of man I want to be when I grow up. He’s an affectionate father with a twinkle in his eye and laughter in his gut. He doesn’t lose his cool when taunted, he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty cleaning kennels, and, when the battle rages, he’s the first out of the gate to fight. His words about kingship to Shasta are my favorite lines in the story, and around my house, if you ask what it means to be a man of God, you’ll hear: “It means to be first in, last out, and laughing loudest.”
Shasta and Digory are little boys who suffer great tragedy and are comforted and restored by a face-to-face encounter with the Great Lion. How does Lewis’s own childhood tragedy lurk in the background, and what can we learn from him about walking with God through pain and suffering?
Lewis lost his mother to cancer when he was about 9. The loss of his mother was compounded by the subsequent “loss” of his father to grief and instability. In his autobiography, he describes himself and his brother as “two frightened urchins huddled for warmth in a bleak world.” I think that’s a perfect description of Shasta and Digory. Shasta is an orphan raised by an abusive father, and Digory’s mother is on her deathbed. The similarities to Lewis’s own story are obvious.
Much could be said about the way Lewis perhaps works through his own childhood trauma in the stories, by reuniting Shasta with his father and restoring the health of Digory’s mother. But, as you note, the central element in the stories is that both Shasta and Digory (like Lewis himself) come face to face with the Great Lion, and after that encounter (which in both cases involves Aslan sorrowing with the boys), everything is different. I like to think that the restoration of the parents is Lewis’s way of displaying what Jesus meant when he said, “Truly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or wife or brothers or parents or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not receive many times more in this time, and in the age to come eternal life” (Luke 18:29-30)
Is there enough evidence for us to believe the Gospels?
In an age of faith deconstruction and skepticism about the Bible’s authority, it’s common to hear claims that the Gospels are unreliable propaganda. And if the Gospels are shown to be historically unreliable, the whole foundation of Christianity begins to crumble.
