The contemporary philosopher William Hasker offers an analysis of freedom quite relevant to Merope’s predicament:All sorts of experiences and relationships acquire a special value because they involve love, trust, and affection that are freely bestowed. The love potions that appear in many fairy stories (and in the Harry Potter series) can become a trap; the one who has used the potion finds that he wants to be loved for his own sake and not because of the potion, yet fears the loss of the beloved’s affection if the potion is no longer used.10
Merope came to a crossroads in her short, tragic life: through magic she could continue to manipulate Riddle, or she could stop, though at great personal cost. Merope did the right thing. She gave up using her magical powers altogether after Riddle left her, refusing to use them even to save her own life. It might have been grief that led to the loss of her powers, but Dumbledore is virtually certain that instead, she no longer wanted to be a witch. Perhaps she saw its potential for abuse, especially within herself, and she refused to indulge it anymore. She may have recognized within herself the call to the dark side, as it were, and realized that the best way to avoid it was by renouncing magic altogether, never again subjecting another to the sort of tyranny that she herself had been subjected to by her family. She had experienced firsthand what that led to and no longer wanted any part of it.
Certain behavior can skip a generation. The child of an alcoholic not uncommonly sees the ugliness of the addiction and reacts against it, perhaps by becoming a rigid teetotaler, and then his children react against that, and the pattern recurs. Merope so reacted against magic and its abuses and retained such potential for love that she was willing to suffer and be vulnerable. Exhibiting what Voldemort could only think of as weakness, she was willing to fall prey to what he considered the worst thing of all: death. Merope chose the death of her body, rather than the death of her character and her own pain before the domination of another. Her love for Riddle had made her vulnerable to hurt and rejection, as all love does, and her aversion to hurting others the way she herself had been hurt contributed to her premature death. Not surprisingly, given her horrible upbringing, she lacked some of the good qualities that Harry’s mother had. But nonetheless, Merope did all that she could to battle the forces of unforgiving fate to break free from the pattern of magical manipulation and coercion.11
In this sense, Voldemort is radically unlike his mother, who, despite her tragic history, still retained tenderness of heart and the capacity for love, whereas Voldemort never loved another, never even had a genuine friend or wanted one. And this wasn’t because of his tragic beginnings and certainly not because of his mother’s moral failing but, among other reasons, because he rejected the pain, vulnerability, and weakness that caring for another as much as for himself inevitably involves. He wanted to be untouchable, and he got his wish, losing his very humanity in the process.
Remember that Dumbledore said that he wasn’t as concerned about the young Voldemort’s ability to speak to snakes as he was about his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination. Voldemort’s abilities didn’t define him; his choices did, and sowing his choices reaped a character and a destiny of darkness.12 He might have chosen not to love in order to avoid dependency or weakness, but his habitual unwillingness to open his heart to another led to the loss of his capacity to do it altogether.13 What we see in Voldemort is a picture of where the definitive choice of evil and the rejection of love lead: a character in love only with himself but who ends up harming and fragmenting himself in irremediable ways.
Tragically, Voldemort learned from the worst his mother did, rather than from the best, hating what he should have loved, and imitating with reckless abandon what she herself rejected. All of this, of course, only bolsters the contrast between Voldemort and Harry. So much of what distinguishes Harry from Voldemort is that Harry, despite his troubled past and tragic life, never loses his ability to love. He doesn’t harden his heart and start to care only about himself. He doesn’t cut himself off from others. Far more than Voldemort, he remains his mother’s son—the mother whose courage and sacrificial love keep Harry safe from the worst Voldemort can dish out.14 Her love unleashes a more ancient and powerful magic than any potion can hope to imitate or Voldemort can hope to defeat or even understand.15
NOTES
1 Half-Blood Prince, pp. 120-121.
2 Ibid., p. 185.
3 Ibid., p. 186. One wonders why, in Harry’s world, love potions remain legal if they’re so dangerous and potentially manipulative. They aren’t allowed at Hogwarts, but they can be lawfully bought, sold, and used, apparently even by the underaged. This is an example (one of many) of how dangerous things are permitted in the wizarding world that would never be allowed in our own. (Of course, wizards might well say the same about our dangerous firearms, automobiles, and nuclear weapons.)
4 Ibid., p. 213.
5 Ibid.
6 Ibid., p. 214.
7 Ibid.
8 In The Tales of Beedle the Bard (New York: Scholastic, 2008), pp. 56-57, Dumbledore’s commentary on “The Warlock’s Hairy Heart” includes this reference to love potions:[The tale] addresses one of the greatest, and least acknowledged, temptations of magic: the quest for invulnerability.... To hurt is as human as to breathe. Nevertheless, we wizards seem particularly prone to the idea that we can bend the nature of existence to our will.... Of course, the centuries-old trade in love potions shows that our fictional wizard is hardly alone in seeking to control the unpredictable course of love. The search for a true love potion continues to this day, but no such elixir has yet been created, and leading potioneers doubt that it is possible.
Dumbledore even adds this footnote: “Hector Dagworth-Granger, founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, explains: ‘Powerful infatuations can be induced by the skillful potioneer, but never yet has anyone managed to create the truly unbreakable, eternal, unconditional attachment that alone can be called Love.’”
9 Here’s an analogy: Sometimes people need medication to deal with psychological struggles. But imagine a case in which a depressed patient has a chance to become medicated to deal with the problem, when what he really needs is to work through issues of anger or resentment. How tempting it would be for such a patient simply to pop a pill, rather than to deal with the underlying causes. The pill would certainly be easier, but it wouldn’t offer the real solution required. It would deal only with the symptoms, not with the real cause. Pulling out weeds at their roots may be harder than simply spraying them to make them temporarily go away, but, ultimately, it’s more effective and enduring.
10 William Hasker, The Triumph of God over Evil: Theodicy for a World of Suffering (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2008), p. 156. Hasker continues, “For that matter, individuals without free will would not, in the true sense, be human beings at all; at least this is the case if, as seems highly plausible, the capacity for free choice is an essential characteristic of human beings as such. If so, then to say that free will should not exist is to say that we humans should not exist. It may be possible to say that, and perhaps even to mean it, but the cost of doing so is very high.” Ibid.
11 Merope, Dumbledore says, gave up, leaving her child behind. Surely, it would have been better had she not given up but rather persevered, at least for the child’s sake. Perhaps Voldemort wouldn’t have emerged if she had. Although this is true, Merope’s giving up was likely not enough in Rowling’s universe to ensure that Voldemort would emerge. Presumably, he had a choice in the matter and could have chosen a different path, despite the loss of his mother. So even if Merope’s death was a contributing factor, it was only one among others. The nature of how Merope gave up is also an interesting question. If she committed suicide, for example, then my speculative argument in this chapter for her redemption, admittedly a redemption only partial and imperfect, would be undermined. But she may have simply been tired, having lost the will to live; she may have done the best she could. And in contrast t
o Voldemort’s doing all in his power to avoid death, Merope’s willingness to accept it seems practically virtuous. She’s not responsible for doing more than the best she could, and it does good to remember that Dumbledore himself says not to judge her too harshly.
12 For more on this theme, see my chapter on abilities versus choices in this volume, “Choices vs. Abilities: Dumbledore on Self-Understanding.”
13 It’s a function of literature, the philosopher Noël Carroll reminds us, to magnify and thereby clarify the patterns that shape human affairs in order that we may discern such regularities when they appear less diagrammatically in the flesh. See Noël Carroll, “Vertigo and the Pathologies of Romantic Love,” in Hitchcock and Philosophy: Dial M for Metaphysics, edited by David Baggett and William Drumin (Chicago: Open Court, 2007), p. 112.
14 In the final book, Snape casts Harry in negative terms, concluding, “He is his father over again.” To which Dumbledore replies, “In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother’s,” Deathly Hallows, p. 684.
15 Thanks to Mark Foreman, Laura Jones, Noah Levin, and especially Dave Baggett for their insightful comments on an earlier draft.
6
HARRY POTTER, RADICAL FEMINISM, AND THE POWER OF LOVE
Anne Collins Smith
Love is a force in the Potter universe that crosses hierarchical boundaries and defeats the powerful. And, curiously, love is most efficacious in combating evil in J. K. Rowling’s world when it makes no attempt to compete at all. Self-sacrifice and kindness bring unexpected rewards; love and compassion overwhelm greed and ambition, overcoming them without attempting to defeat them. In other words, Rowling’s world resonates with the values of radical feminism. Perhaps that sounds strange. So, to demystify this claim, we’ll begin with a survey of contemporary feminist scholarship on Harry Potter en route to an understanding of radical feminism, culminating in an examination of the role of love in the Potter books.
The Feminist Debate So Far
Feminist commentators are divided on Rowling’s series. Two general schools of interpretation prevail: those who consider the series sexist, and those who consider it progressive.
Some writers, such as Christine Schoefer, Elizabeth Heilman, and Eliza Dresang, have argued that the Potter books perpetuate traditional gender stereotypes and reinforce negative gender portrayals in the minds of young readers. 1 Ximena Gallardo-C. and C. Jason Smith, in their joint article “Cinderfella,” offer a startling and exciting feminist interpretation of the motifs and symbolism in the series, but they, too, claim that the books are sexist, at least on the surface.2
Others writers, for example, Edmund Kern, Mimi Gladstein, and Sarah Zettel, have claimed that Rowling provides a balanced view of the sexes that includes strong female characters and an egalitarian magical society.3 They argue that the books are not sexist and indeed offer good role models for young readers.
Although these two schools of interpretation are generally opposed, they are not completely black-and-white. Dresang, for example, offers a highly nuanced perspective on Hermione Granger’s capacity for self-determination even within a society that Dresang considers patriarchal; Kern willingly admits that the books are slanted toward male characters, even as he disputes the fairness of some accusations of sexism.
This dispute between the two schools of interpretation primarily focuses on the portrayal of female characters in the series. In “Harry Potter’s Girl Trouble,” Christine Schoefer observes that there are no female characters in the series who approach the level of the male characters: “No girl is brilliantly heroic the way Harry is, no woman is experienced and wise like Professor Dumbledore.”4 Elizabeth Heilman argues that the books “replicate some of the most demeaning, yet familiar, culture stereotypes for both males and females.”5 Gallardo-C. and Smith claim that “the Harry Potter books resonate with gender stereotypes of the worst sort.”6
In response, Kern, Zettel, and Gladstein offer eloquent pleas for the importance of context. They acknowledge the existence of female characters who display negative traits traditionally associated with feminine stereotypes, but they also observe that there are numerous parallel depictions of male characters who display negative masculine traits. Kern observes, for example, that “the ‘silliness’ of Lavender and Parvati mirrors the juvenile antics of Dean and Seamus,” and that Hermione’s accident with the Polyjuice Potion should be read in parallel to Ron’s accident with the slug-eating spell.7 Zettel points out that “Madam Pince the librarian goes irrational when she thinks a student has written in a book. But then, Filch the caretaker wants the students whipped and chained for littering.”8 Gladstein juxtaposes “incompetent Trelawney” with “fake Gilderoy Lockhart.”9 Expanding on their point by referring to characters not available to some earlier commentators, these authors also point to villains such as Dolores Umbridge and Bellatrix Lestrange, who command as much fear and respect as any of the male Death Eaters.
Among the various negative feminine stereotypes, the act of giggling is a lightning rod for feminist commentary. Dresang comments that “[t]he pervasive description of girls as silly, giggling, and light-headed undermines [Rowling’s] more gender-balanced depiction of girls’ opportunities in the patriarchal hierarchy.”10 Heilman states that this giggling undermines the sportsmanship of the girls who play Quidditch: “Even as sports team members, the girls exhibit girlish behavior by giggling at the possibility of playing with the handsome new captain and seeker, Cedric Diggory. . . . Quidditch is not the only context for giggling. The second two books are littered with references to giggling girls.”11 Zettel acknowledges such criticisms and offers a pointed comeback:Critics deride the girls at Hogwarts because they are shown to giggle and shriek and generally make a lot of noise. Some real live girls do giggle and shriek. Some are quiet and serious. Some like pink and ruffles. Some like athletics and blue jeans. We see them all at Hogwarts. I reject the notion that we must tell girls that the only way to be valid human beings is to turn themselves into boys.12
Radical vs. Liberal Feminism
Although Zettel does not identify herself as a radical feminist, her response to these critics highlights a major point of disagreement between liberal and radical feminism. Liberal feminism, historically grounded in the writings of Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797), Harriet Taylor Mill (1807-1858), and John Stuart Mill (1806-1873), holds the once-controversial view that women are people—that is, intelligent, autonomous beings—and should be treated as such. Sometimes characterized as “first-wave feminism,” the feminism of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries drew inspiration from Enlightenment philosophers, emphasizing individual rights and responsibilities and arguing that these should be applied to women as well as to men.13
The liberal-feminist view that women are people may seem entirely reasonable but in actuality is surprisingly problematic. There’s an inherent assumption in liberal feminism that “people” is a gender-neutral term, but in fact our concept of what “people” means has been shaped by a society whose intellectual life has long been dominated by men. Moreover, while liberal feminism is optimistic in its belief that women, given equal opportunity, will achieve equal status with men socially, politically, and economically, it overlooks the possibility that women may have interests, strengths, and abilities different from those of men, which may lead women to prefer different measures of success.
There are examples of liberal feminism among both the supporters and the detractors of the Potter series. Gladstein, a supporter of the series, praises Professor McGonagall, who has succeeded in rising to a powerful position within the Hogwarts hierarchy; she also speaks in support of Hermione, whose logical acumen and love of learning fall into a traditionally masculine pattern of rationality and inquiry. These characters have succeeded on masculine terms, and their successes are rightly praised. Characters who have achieved different sorts of success, however, may not receive their full due within the context of liberal feminism. Gladstein, for exampl
e, highlights Molly Weasley’s “active and assertive” participation in the Order of the Phoenix in the later books but only briefly mentions her earlier role as a mother.14
The Ultimate Harry Potter and Philosophy: Hogwarts for Muggles Page 9
