A Time for Harry Potter
Hollywood sets to contribute to our post-September 11 culture.
By Thomas S. Hibbs, associate professor of philosophy at Boston College and the author, most recently, of Shows About Nothing.
October 27-28, 2001
n the wake of the atrocities of September 11, Hollywood has engaged in the sort of self-scrutiny typical of Hollywood: trivial self-absorption. Various studios have pulled or delayed projects now deemed too sensitive for the viewing public; there has even been talk of removing the Twin Towers from scenes shot in Manhattan, as if their absence would make it easier on viewers. Hollywood narcissism peaked with the director Robert Altman's insistence that the terrorist plots had to have been inspired by Hollywood films. Yet, almost in spite of itself, Hollywood may in the coming months make significant contributions to our post-September 11 culture. Hollywood will soon release two films, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and The Lord of the Rings, that, if they attain anything close to the dramatic excellence of the novels, will have much to say about good and evil and the necessity and nobility of fighting evil for the sake of justice.
Although there is a settled consensus about Tolkien's artistic and ethical success in depicting a cosmic battle between good and evil, some, notably Christians, have voiced severe reservations about J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, especially about the role of magic in the books. To my mind, these objections are absurdly wide of the mark and none of the critics that I have encountered gives evidence of having read the books with care. (A thoughtful response to these criticisms can be found in Alan Jacob's essay, "Harry Potter's Magic" in the January 2000 issue of First Things.) In fact, I would argue that Rowling's series is not only not part of the problem, its is part of the solution to what ails our popular culture, especially our youth culture. In the aftermath of September 11, the books are remarkably timely, offering precisely the sort of lessons and examples young persons need to prepare them for life in a nation at war with the evil of terrorism.
Over the past 20 years or so, our popular culture has been preoccupied with a) destructive evil as a form of entertainment, b) freedom as a form of adolescent self-expression, and c) narcissistic individualism as characteristic of ordinary American life. By contrast, Harry Potter insists a) on the clear distinction between good and evil and between both of these and mere entertainment, b) on the importance of the responsible or virtuous use of freedom, and c) on the nobility of sacrifice for the common good.
In a culture where demonic evil is reduced either to a pointy-headed comic-book figure (think Jon Lovitz as Satan on Saturday Night Live) or to a sinister but ultimately playful aesthete (think Hannibal Lecter), Harry Potter offers a credible figure of diabolical evil: Lord Voldemort, traitor, murderer of Harry's parents, and Harry's enduring nemesis. As is true in our world, so too in Harry's world, evil often seems more attractive and complex than goodness. As Quirrell, one of Voldemort's faithful followers, makes clear, the logical term of the pursuit of evil is a raw will to power. Quirrell recalls the first time he met Voldemort : "A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it."
But for all their ability to wreak havoc, to spread a culture of death (Voldemort's very name means "death wish"), evildoers in the Potter universe are either pathetic, weak sycophants or malevolent beings who rule through fear, hatred, and preying upon the innocent. Indeed, the very act of attempting to kill the infant Harry (an attack that left Harry with his trademark, lightning bolt scar) backfires on Voldemort, rendering him impotent, barely alive, forced to lead a vicarious, parasitic life, feeding off of and inhabiting the very bodies of others, hoping desperately to regain his power.
Although the books are always clear about the difference between good and evil, the contrast is never simplistic. There are a rich spectrum of character types, embodying a host of virtues and vices. Even those who are on the side of good can find themselves tempted by vice, momentarily uncertain whether their path is the right one. So struck is Harry by certain unsettling similarities between himself and Voldemort that he begins to doubt his destiny. As he often does in times of trouble, Harry turns to Dumbledore, the wise headmaster at Hogwarts, whose courage and force (he's repeatedly said to be the only wizard Voldemort fears) remains concealed behind his gentle, avuncular visage. Harry continues to be troubled by the fact that the Sorting Hat, a magical hat that in a public ritual assigns each student to a particular school within Hogwarts, at first wanted to put Harry into Slytherin, which produced Voldemort and many of his followers. Recalling this, Harry says to Dumbledore:
"So I should be in Slytherin," Harry said, looking desperately into Dumbledore's face. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and it--"
"Put you in Gryffindor," said Dumbledore calmly, "Listen to me Harry. You happen to have many qualities Salazar Slytherin Prized in his handpicked students. Resourcefulness … determination…a certain disregard for rules," he added, his moustache quivering again. "Yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Gryffindor. You know why that was. Think."
"It only put me in Gryffindor," said Harry in a defeated voice, "Because I asked not to go in Slytherin."
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, beaming once more. "Which makes you very different from [Voldemort]. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." Harry sat motionless in his chair, stunned.
The books affirm in multiple ways the complex interconnections among choice, habit, character, and destiny. Indeed, those who criticize the presence of magic in the books fail to see the way the stories underscore the inherent limitations to magic. The strongest limitation concerns truth, which Dumbledore calls a "beautiful and terrible thing" that must be treated with "great caution." At one point, Dumbledore informs an astonished Harry, who had expected Dumbledore to come up with a magical solution to a particularly vexing situation, that he has "no power to make others see the truth." Thus, those who stand with the truth will at times find themselves at a disadvantage in their battle against those who believe that the use of any means is justified so long as serves the end of their own aggrandizement and power. But this means that those who fight against dark forces must be ever vigilant in their exercise of the virtues of courage, loyalty, prudence, and justice. It also means that the virtuous must be willing to die in the service of the common good, especially to defend the innocent. In a marvelous passage at the end of the most recent entry in the series, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Dumbledore urges his students, "we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as are divided. Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust."
Is not this among the things that young readers find so attractive in the Harry Potter books, an invitation to participate in a series of quests, to find their proper place, their dramatic role, not alone but in friendship with others, in the battle between good and evil?