Award-winning novelist, literary scholar and artist, Charles Johnson shares his take on the children’s classic The Emperor’s New Clothes in a Lion’s Roar article entitled The Dharma of Fiction. See Johnson’s excerpt below. For the full article, see http://www.lionsroar.com/the-dharma-of-fiction/

The Naked Truth

Charles Johnson on “The Emperor’s New Clothes.”

A truly great story like “The Emperor’s New Clothes” can be compared to an old, old coin. It has traversed continents and civilizations, picking up slight changes along the way, yet still bearing the palm oil and wisdom of the millions who’ve handled it.

We know the famous 1837 version by Hans Christian Andersen, but I was delighted to discover that there was a 1335 version in a collection titled El Conde Lucanor, by Don Juan Manuel, prince of Villena. According to Wikipedia, Andersen read this in a German translation from the Spanish. An even older Indian variant exists as well.

All versions of the story that I’m aware of have the same basic premise. A silly king and his royal entourage are tricked by cunning weavers who supposedly present him with finely wrought clothing—with an interesting catch. They claim, depending on the version, that anyone who was born “illegitimate” or not fathered by the man he or she thinks is their father, or who is unworthy of the official positions they hold, or is a fool, will not be able to see such finery.

‘What’s this?’ thought the Emperor. ‘I can see nothing at all! That is terrible. Am I stupid? Am I not fit to be Emperor?’—Hans Christian Andersen

Naturally, everyone fearing disapproval, shame, or social ostracism says, yes, they can see the invisible clothes!

While not intentionally influenced by Buddhism, this story speaks beautifully to our zeitgeist today, and to the power of collective illusions. We conform. We go along to get along socially. We act and talk as if we believe, for example, that there is something enduring and substantive called the “self,” because everyone speaks that way. And how often have we heard award-winning films, novels, and products praised to the skies, only to realize on inspection, like the child in Andersen’s version, that there is no “there” there? We act as if we believe. Even wrong speech can be powerful, especially if it appeals to our vanities and fears, seducing the mind to accept what it knows—by the evidence of its senses—is not true.

It is a child in Andersen’s version of the story who sees reality clearly. The child has a Zen-like beginner’s mind, one unconditioned by fears of personal loss or gain. It is the child innocently blurting out, “But he hasn’t got anything on,” that liberates the intimidated crowd watching the promenading, naked king to at last speak truth to power.

May we all one day have the courage of that child.