When he was a precocious two-and-a-half-year-old, my second-born had an existential crisis. Among the questions that plagued him at bedtime for weeks on end: When will I die? When will you die, Mommy? When will Daddy die? What will I do if you die when I am still a kid?

Why did his little thoughts take such a dark turn at this tender age?

'The Lion King' is peerlessly accessible, pointed, and poignant in its countercultural argument that personal responsibility and self-sacrifice — not freedom from care or pursuit of pleasure — are what make living worthwhile.

He had recently watched the children’s adaptation of Shakespeare’s "Hamlet": Disney’s "The Lion King," which turns 30 this year.

In one of the movie’s most iconic scenes, the king of Pride Rock, Mufasa, is murdered by his brother, Scar. Next, Mufasa is found lifeless by his young son Simba, who did not see his uncle’s betrayal and thus blames himself for his father’s demise. This scene is harrowing and unsparing. It can be a tearjerker for adults, particularly parents. Of course, it can also be a terror beyond mere tears for a contemplative preschooler.

So how did my husband and I help our son through his nightly, Disney-induced spiral about death?

Eternal love

It turned out that the problem was also the solution: If you “look harder,” as the spiritual leader of Pride Rock, Rafiki, admonishes the grieving Simba, "The Lion King" makes tangible for children a belief in eternal life. When Simba has lost faith and despairs of his worth and destiny, Mufasa appears to his son in answer to what could be most aptly called a prayer. The dead king, it turns out, is still here in spirit. He “lives in [Simba].”

Thirty years ago, around the time "The Lion King" was released, I was six years old and worried about my own parents dying. My dad told me that he and my mom would always be there in my heart, whether I could see them or not, because God spans both earth and heaven.

In an animated interpretation of this spiritually supple comfort, "The Lion King" gives voice to the eternal love of God.

So before the decadent, backward-looking victimology that has animated the company’s recent features, from "Moana" to "Encanto" to "The Wish," Disney illuminated some truths worth imbibing in "The Lion King."

And not just about death. Also, and perhaps even more importantly, about life.

Rejecting 'Hakuna Matata'

"The Lion King" is peerlessly accessible, pointed, and poignant in its countercultural argument that personal responsibility and self-sacrifice — not freedom from care or pursuit of pleasure — are what make living worthwhile.

In the film, a catchy song explains that “Hakuna Matata” is a “problem-free philosophy” that “means ‘no worries’ for the rest of your days.” This nihilistic, pleasure-seeking attitude toward life is embodied and endorsed by the two friends who take Simba in after Scar orders him to leave Pride Rock.

“Hakuna Matata,” of course, is as good an encapsulation as any for the disposition of our post-1960’s mainstream culture toward young (and not so young) people. Ever more each decade, we treat the commitments of which adult life is made — marriage, parenthood, professional vocation, religious community — as morally inconsequential “take it or leave it” lifestyle choices.

Unsurprisingly, given that Simba is a young male without parental guidance exposed at length to the “Hakuna Matata” way of life, this philosophy also ensnares the future king for a time.

It is not endorsed, however, by the film.

Demanding better

"The Lion King" is best understood as an argument in favor of burdening oneself for the good of others. After a dual guilt trip (first from his prospective love interest and then from the spirit of his deceased father), Simba is compelled to return to Pride Rock, wrest control from his evil uncle, and bring the kingdom back to its former glory.

This fundamentally conservative call to restoration and responsibility employs the old trope of male maturation in pursuit of worthy female regard — an erstwhile societal reality that we have, if young men’s present malaise is any indication, discarded at our peril.

Nala, Simba’s childhood best friend and eventual love interest, is no shrinking violet. She leads the charge toward responsibility by example, running into Simba on her lone quest for help. Finding the rightful king in the midst of his “Hakuna Matata” phase, she upbraids him harshly and demands better. Because of her, he delivers. Together, Simba and Nala defend their home and restore its order and beauty.

Thus, the movie ends as it began: with a birth of the future king, a “circle of life” coming full circle, and an invocation toward responsible stewardship of an as yet unwritten future.

That is, with a wholesale rejection of “Hakuna Matata.”

If Disney would like to know how to make itself great again (as in, not just commercially successful but also counterculturally and positively formational for the nation’s children), the company need look no further than arguably its own best animated feature.

Thanks to "The Lion King" — and no thanks to the company’s most recent endeavors — my husband and I have found elementary versions of some essential life lessons close at hand.

And set to great music. The apparent catchiness of “Hakuna Matata” as more than a melody, notwithstanding.