The Circle of Life (Religion)
Tuesday, November 1, 2005 11:02
Jeremy points us to a neat article comparing the archetypes used in The Lion King to the Corn God and other tribal myths.
But the part I want to highlight discusses the fundamental difference between the linear nature of Christian mythology, versus the cyclical stories of what might vaguely be described as "Pagan" spiritualities. He compares and contrasts The Lion King (which works from the cyclical/Pagan viewpoint) with C.S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia (a firmly linear Christian allegory).
I see in Mufasa/Simba in The Lion King a theological counterpoint to another mythic children's fantasy, C.S. Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia. There we also see a Lion King, Aslan, who is a thinly veiled Christ analogue. He dies and rises, too, but there is no cycle; rather history ends in "the Last Battle." Here is a linear view of history: the old age ends and the new, transformed age replaces it. There is no less a death and resurrection theme here than in the cyclical Corn King myth on which The Lion King is based. It's just that it happens only once. And the renewal that comes is not the periodic return of earthly vitality and vigor; it is the replacement of that whole cycle by an imagined supernatural substitute.
Lewis tried (in his essay "Myth Became Fact") to say that all the Corn King legends were some kind of mythic expressions of the subconscious yearning of the human race for the coming of Christ once and for all. I guess the repeated, cyclical character of the thing was like the repetitiveness of the Old Testament sacrifices according to the Epistle to the Hebrews: had they been the real thing, they'd have done the trick the first time and needed no repetition. But when the real dying and rising god appeared, he did the thing once and for all. Accordingly, there will be one definitive turnabout, and one only, however long we must wait for it, when the Risen Christ returns to transform the corrupt and sinful earth into a spanking-new model. It's not going to keep happening the same way again and again, they say. All the sorrows of the world will one day be done away with and we will be sitting pretty in endless comfort, once Christ returns to dispense with the old Fallen Age.
To tell you the truth, I just can't buy this. I don't think it's even a good idea. Get real, folks. This is the world. It contains death because we are organic, mortal beings. We ought to make the best of it. There is ecstatic glory in this mortal life, though sooner or later we must fall under tragedy's scythe. [...] Why despise the Circle of Life, treat it as a mere charnel house to be escaped by a fantastic resurrection? It has death and doom, and it always will. But it also has life and joy, and it always will. The Circle turns.
The linear model of apocalyptic thinking, Harold Camping's notion that things as we now know them will be swept away to prepare for a Technicolor Oz of some kind, with a cross on top, is the cloth from which Christian triumphalism and manifest destiny have been sewn. Aslan does not really provide us a lesson about renewal. Instead he leads us to childishly deny the reality of death, while Mufasa/Simba bids us accept it as part of our assigned place in the scheme of things in which we may rejoice in the hour granted us.
I would contend that the very essence of being alive entails also death. One side of the coin cannot exist without the other. I'm also playing with the notion that the Judeo-Christian mindset that this life in the immediate present is not enough might be a cause of much suffering in the world. If one is taught to despise the nature of the world we live in, and put all their faith in the hope that one day it might magically be replaced with something ineffably better (or somehow "perfect"), then such a person would subconsciously attempt to separate themselves from direct experience of the here and now. Thus the measures by modern civilization to put ever more impregnable walls between us and the outside, or us and other people. This leads to a vicious cycle, because the discontent stemming from isolation (from nature, from other humans, from the basis of our sustenance) reinforces the notion that "this life" is inherently not enough, and we need to be "saved" from it.
I find that the more I am able to reconnect with the essence of life here, in all its beauty and tragedy, joy and misery, the less I feel the need for any form of "salvation". I suppose a devout Christian would say this is evidence that I am falling more and more under the influence of the devil, as I am being deceived into believing that I don't need their version of "God". In such a case, this would put us at an impasse, as I have no desire to even try refuting such logic, and my own mind is the unrepentant consciouness of Satan himself. (Thus I can understand the motivation among some ex-Christians who have not quite escaped the strangle-hold of Christian mythology to call themselves "Satanists.")
Oh well. To each their own. Just wanted to add that little thought.
by humblik (2005-11-02 11:56)
I am very much left wanting to reply to several points you make here, but find myself lacking time to write a proper comment at the moment. I've pondered much what salvation is to me and why I think I need it.
What makes you happy in life? What makes you sad? Is it really worth trying to do anything to "make" the world better? Can we and should we try? Do we have purpose? If so, what is it and why do we have it? I think these are things that many people question, and we all look at and answer the questions differently.
Yet that doesn't address what you say. Should I hope for something more, or should I accept fully what is currently before me? Maybe that is closer.
I'm still pondering... I might write more later, when I've thought about it better.