Like many real-life self-deceivers, Cornelius Fudge must tell both himself and others a multitude of absurd rationalizations in order to maintain his core pretense. Of course, each new deceit in this chain increases the risk of “detection and exposure by anyone with access to the facts.”11 However, unlike the mere deceiver of others, the self-deceiver cannot consciously and meticulously craft his additional self-deceptions—at least not while remaining blind to the truth. Consequently, the self-deceiver is largely powerless to prevent the destructive expansion of his original deception into new and ever more dangerous territory.
3. Self-deception easily becomes a habitual method of avoiding painful truths.
In arguing their case, the defenders of self-deception generally focus upon the immediate emotional relief provided by this or that self-deception. Denying painful truths is portrayed as little more than a convenient method of reducing anxiety, preserving hope, and saving face.12 This narrow focus unfortunately neglects the long-term effects of self-deception upon a person’s psychology and moral character. Perhaps the most noteworthy long-term danger is the gradual formation of habits of self-deception based upon even occasional self-deceptions about seemingly insignificant issues. As the chronic self-deceivers of everyday life demonstrate, lying to oneself can become a general strategy for whitewashing painful truths of all shapes and sizes, including those about critical and even life-threatening issues. But how might minor acts of self-deception now contribute to or encourage major acts of self-deception later? Once again, the Dursleys—this time Petunia in particular—can help us answer this question.
Although the source of Vernon’s hatred of magic is a mystery, Petunia’s pretenses clearly originate in her teenage years when her sister Lily attended Hogwarts. So when Harry first learns from Hagrid that he is a wizard, Petunia rages at him:
How could you not be [a wizard], my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that—that school—and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family… . Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you’d be just the same, just as strange, just as—as—abnormal—and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you! (SS, p. 53)
Although superficially a history of Harry, this story clearly betrays teenage Petunia’s agonizing feelings of jealousy and inadequacy in comparison to her magical sister. Based upon her adult deceptions about magic, young Petunia probably did not discuss the problem with her parents or friends, contemplate her own unique talents and accomplishments, question whether her self-worth ought to depend upon a favorable comparison to her sister, or face her feelings squarely by investigating their source and meaning. Instead, young Petunia sought to end her discomfort quickly by wholly committing to normality and conventionality as absolute moral duties, as the only right way for a person to be. This commitment transformed the strangeness and wonder of magic into abnormality and freakishness in her mind—and twisted her feelings of jealousy and inferiority into hatred and contempt.
Significantly, Petunia’s self-deceptions are not limited to issues of magic. Ever since our very first peek into her life, she has held fast to the belief that “there [is] no finer boy anywhere” than her increasingly fat, stupid, and cruel son, Dudley (SS, p. 1). Eleven-year-old Dudley punches Harry in the nose, throws tantrums, and cannot add 2 + 37—all without provoking anger or concern in Petunia (SS, pp. 20-21). Even though Dudley’s bottom “droop[s] over either side of the kitchen chair,” she fears that he is not getting enough to eat at school (CS, p. 2). She explains away his bad grades in school as misunderstanding by the teachers and denies his bullying on the grounds that he’s just “a boisterous little boy” (PA, pp. 26-27). Only “a few well-chosen comments from the school nurse” about Dudley’s body exceeding the maximum volume of the school uniforms penetrates Petunia’s defense that Dudley is just “big-boned” with some “puppy fat” and induces her to put him on a diet (GF, p. 27). The next year, Dudley spends evenings terrorizing the neighborhood, but Petunia contents herself with the thought that he’s having tea with one of his “many little friends” (OP, p. 3). Dudley is only too happy to exploit Petunia’s massive blind spots, although clearly her pride and joy is not developing into anything remotely resembling a decent person in the absence of any guidance or discipline.
Unlike Petunia’s self-deceptions about magic, those about Dudley do not seem to be motivated by any pressing emotional distress. Yet we might suspect that her emotion-driven deceptions about magic set the stage for her deceptions about Dudley. By the time Dudley was born, Petunia already had accepted the tacit principle that her emotions take precedence over the facts. Faced with Lily’s magical talents, Petunia ignored the fact that magic is simply a different way of interacting with the natural world in order to assuage her painful feelings of inferiority and jealousy. Dudley’s actual physical, mental, and moral qualities are similarly irrelevant in light of Petunia’s absolute devotion to him and desire for a picture-perfect family. So in keeping with the precedent set by her teenage deceptions about Lily, whenever Petunia faces a conflict between her head and her heart, it’s her head that is expendable.
Petunia’s teenage denials and rationalizations about magic made self-deception a comfortable and familiar strategy for avoiding unpleasant facts by the time Dudley was born. Her skills of denying obvious facts, explaining away contradictory evidence, constructing cover stories, and suppressing her natural curiosity had been honed to a sharp point. The virtues, skills, and resources she needs to navigate difficult situations honestly have either faded to nothingness or failed to develop at all. She lacks the fortitude necessary to investigate painful issues fully, the creative skills of problem-solving, a sense of humor to bring light to dark times, the self-confidence to withstand the disapproval of others, close friendships for support and advice, the courage to admit and learn from her mistakes, and so much more. In these ways, Petunia’s self-deceptions about magic make honesty about Dudley—and any other potentially unpleasant matter—far more difficult than necessary.
Petunia Dursley’s life of dishonesty illustrates many of the subtle and gradual ways in which self-deception becomes a habitual method for coping with troubles of all kinds. By permitting feelings to trump facts, seemingly innocuous self-deceptions set a precedent for further and more destructive lies. By developing skills of self-deception rather than practicing honesty, facing and resolving the hard problems of life becomes all the more difficult and painful. Such is how the power of habit renders even minor self-deceptions dangerous.
A Fourth Lesson
The three lessons from the Dursleys about self-deception—that it cannot insulate a person from disturbing reminders of the truth, that it often will spread beyond the original denial to related issues, and that it easily becomes a habitual method of avoiding painful truths—give us ample reason to reject the rosy picture of self-deception put forth by its philosophical defenders. The prospect of short-term relief from emotional distress simply cannot justify risking those long-term harms. Western philosophy has been right to emphasize the critical virtues of honesty and persistence in the pursuit of knowledge.
Although this rejection of the philosophical arguments for self-deception appeals to the negative examples of Vernon and Petunia Dursley, we ought not to overlook Rowling’s positive and inspiring exemplars of honesty. In the summer before the fifth year, for example, when Ron is chosen as a prefect rather than Harry, Harry frankly acknowledges to himself—in spite of his anger and disappointment—that Ron deserved the honor as much as he did (OP, pp. 162-67). Once at school, Hermione’s full recognition of the danger posed by Professor Umbridge’s refusal to teach practical Defense Against the Dark Arts (given
that she and her fellow students will soon leave the protection of Hogwarts for a world threatened by Voldemort and his Death Eaters) is shown by her use of Voldemort’s terrifying real name for the very first time (OP, pp. 324-28). And after the battle with Voldemort in the Ministry of Magic, Dumbledore risks Harry’s respect and affection by insisting upon taking the blame for Sirius’s death from him, for Dumbledore knew but kept secret Voldemort’s likely plan to lure Harry into the Department of Mysteries (OP, pp. 825-26). Hard and painful truths do not deter these characters from seeking and acting upon their knowledge—and without this fundamental honesty, all of their other virtues would be of little use.
The lessons learned from the positive and negative examples of honesty in Harry Potter show us the flaws of the recent philosophical defenses of self-deception. However, the psychological data on positive illusions, which claims that illusion is integral to a positive view of life and thus to well-being, remains for us to consider. Once again, characters from Harry Potter can help us clarify the issues.
Making Sense of Positive Illusions
On the whole, the psychological data indicates that normal people’s judgments about themselves, their degree of control over events, and their prospects for the future tend towards the positive—at times overreaching the evidence or conflicting with the facts. The concept of positive illusions attempts to explain these findings by appealing to “pervasive, enduring, and systematic” self-deceptions in which negative information is not actively denied or repressed, but instead interpreted through “best possible light” filters.13 Clearly, some people do rely upon illusions to maintain a positive self-image. Draco Malfoy, for example, artificially inflates his sense of self-worth by judging people on the basis of purity of wizard blood, a characteristic wholly irrelevant to either magical ability or moral character but which he conveniently possesses (CS, p. 222). He knows about Muggle-born Hermione Granger’s better grades, but explains them away as the result of favoritism by the teachers (CS, p. 52). Yet like real-life racism, this self-enhancing belief is not the “benign fiction” that positive illusions are claimed to be. 14
Despite the clear influence of self-deception in some such cases, the evidence for widespread positive illusion is scant. The empirical studies show that positive views are common—but cannot say whether they are self-deceptions, honest errors, or correct judgments. For example, pervasive illusion is supposed to be proven from the fact that “most individuals see themselves as better than the average person” since it is “logically impossible for most people to be better than the average person.”15 However, for any positive trait, half of all people are truly above average—and the errors of those who misjudge do not taint the accuracy of those who judge well. Hermione surely knows herself to be one of the best students at Hogwarts regardless of how many other students might wrongly think themselves equal to her. Moreover, even those who misjudge in a consistently positive direction are not necessarily self-deceived, as subtle asymmetries in information can quietly skew judgments in which a person compares himself to others. A mediocre student may not realize that other students tend to talk about their grades when anxious and worried but not when confident and secure—or that when studying in the common room, he would tend to notice those goofing off rather than those also quietly working. Reasonable differences in standards for positive qualities—such as whether a good student is one who earns top grades, is well-rounded, or works hard—may also generate the illusion of positive bias within groups. After all, students will not only judge themselves according to their own standards, but also develop their skills and talents in accordance with them. So the fact that more people see themselves as above average than is actually possible for the group as a whole does not prove self-deception in any given case, as other plausible explanations of the data remain unexplored.
Since the other evidence cited as proof of widespread positive illusions suffers from similar inadequacies, the psychological research does not demonstrate that self-deception is either widespread or beneficial.16 In fact, more recent studies suggest that illusory self-esteem is related to narcissism rather than mental health (as in Draco Malfoy) and that realistic self-assessment is coupled with high self-esteem in some people (as in Harry, Hermione, and Dumbledore).17
An Honest Life
The philosophical and psychological arguments defending self-deception claim that a healthy, happy, and meaningful life cannot be achieved honestly. As the characters from the Harry Potter novels have illustrated for us, these arguments are ultimately unpersuasive. They overlook fundamental harms of self-deception, such as painful reminders of the truth, pressures to protect the core deceit with layers of further lies, and habits of denial and rationalization nurtured by even small deceptions. Our brief review of the psychological data on “positive illusions” showed that positive views of life can be and likely often are fully honest.
The advantage of fundamental honesty suggests a positive principle, namely, that “the achievement of values is the norm” of human life for those who choose to “think, value, and act rationally.”18 Termed the “benevolent universe premise” by Ayn Rand, this principle reminds us that the world is fundamentally comprehensible to the human mind and hospitable to human life—but only for those committed to understanding its nature and acting accordingly. In many ways, Harry’s life exemplifies this benevolent-universe premise. Whisked away from the neglect and malice of the Dursleys’ home to the wonders of Hogwarts, Harry slowly develops the knowledge, skills, virtues, and maturity necessary for a successful and happy life as a wizard. He builds close and steady friendships with Ron and Hermione, becomes an exemplary Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and repeatedly thwarts Voldemort’s attempts to return to power. He does not relish the dangers he faces, whether fighting the troll with Ron to protect Hermione (SS, pp. 175-76), rescuing Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets (CS, pp. 306-322), discovering the true identity of the traitor who betrayed his parents (PA, pp. 338-377), dueling with the newly-embodied Voldemort in the cemetery (GF, pp. 659-669), or fighting off the dementors in the alley in Little Whinging (OP, pp. 15-19). Yet knowing that his own life and the lives of loved ones are at stake, he does not shrink from these dangers. Each success deepens his self-confidence and thereby helps him face future challenges. This virtuous cycle of success and confidence could not be sustained by the self-deception of false hope, blind wishes, and unearned honors. Without a genuine trust in the logic of his reasoning, the morality of his principles, the wisdom of his choices, and his skills in magic, Harry’s self-confidence would melt away as quickly as does Draco’s at the prospect of entering the Forbidden Forest at night (SS, pp. 249-250). Of course, Harry’s commitment to the facts does not preclude errors and missteps, but only helps him correct them in light of new information. So although he initially accepts Tom Riddle’s story that Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets years before, he soon realizes that Aragog’s account shows that Hagrid was falsely accused (CS, pp 246-48, 277-282). In essence, Harry’s basic honesty and other positive qualities create a “benevolent universe” for him in which success, self-confidence, and optimism are entirely just and natural.
The recent arguments for self-deception imply that people like Harry Potter are impossible in real life and thus that our respect and admiration for this young hero is misguided. We should be thankful they are wrong. In the end, the love of wisdom at the heart of philosophy reminds us that a commitment to the truth, wherever it may lead us, is indispensable to a happy and moral life.19
3
Voldemort’s Agents, Malfoy’s Cronies, and Hagrid’s Chums: Friendship in Harry Potter
HARALD THORSRUD
One of the surest signs of friendship is the willingness to help out in bad times. Those who stand by us through hardship, depression, and failure will certainly be there when things are good, too. Good friends are loyal and trusting and good friendships are admirable.
But it isn’t always wise to be loyal
and trusting. In Chamber of Secrets, Ron’s father offers some sage advice on this topic: “Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can’t see where it keeps its brain” (CS, p. 329). One way of interpreting this is that we should be cautious about trusting anyone (or anything) as long as we are unsure about his motivation. On the positive side, then, we should trust those who wish us well.
Harry Potter and Philosophy: If Aristotle Ran Hogwarts Page 5