This distinction is illustrated nicely by the contrast between Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort. Both are intelligent, but of the two we could only say that Dumbledore really enjoys anything like happiness. Even in the worst of times, as when he is cornered by Ministry agents who wish to arrest him and take him off to the dread of Azkaban (OP, p. 620), and even when he is facing the Dark Lord himself (OP, p. 813), Dumbledore’s demeanor is even and pleasant. He smiles at his enemies as well as his friends, and shows no sign of hatred, malice, or even mild discontent when confronted by foes. Aristotle describes the virtuous person as having just this kind of cool and even-tempered character.82 Voldemort, by contrast, is probably the least happy person in the entire series of books. His joys are fleeting and temporary, and he is most often in a bad mood. This is because his joy lies not in the performance of good acts, but in the performance of bad acts. He lives only for the pain of others, and so seems himself to be in a near-constant state of agitation and anger. Now of course these traits are important parts of his character—he wouldn’t be much of a Dark Lord if he went around smiling at everyone—and we can say the same about Dumbledore’s happiness. From a literary point of view, we are supposed to like Dumbledore and dislike Voldemort, and so their characters are pleasant and unpleasant, respectively. To object on these grounds to the idea that their characters are good illustrations of how a person’s moral qualities may relate to the type of life he has is, nevertheless, to miss an important component of the reason why we are drawn to one and repelled by the other in the first place. It’s perhaps sensible to think that at least part of the reason why Dumbledore’s character is so appealing is that he does represent that kind of ideally wise person so sadly lacking in contemporary life. At least a part of the reason that Voldemort is so terrifying is because we see in his character the literary reflection of the worst evil that the real world has to offer—the evil that results when intelligence and ability are put into the service of malicious ends.
There is one last point we must note about Aristotle’s account of the virtues. Aristotle recognized that all of our important choices in life take place in emotional contexts. What we feel, emotionally, can have an effect on our choices, and good choices are those in which a person gives an appropriate weight to his emotions, neither denying them altogether, nor allowing them to subvert his process of reasoning. A reasonable person gives his emotions the appropriate weight, and chooses his actions in the way which best fits his capabilities and circumstances. Aristotle believed that to be virtuous was to observe what he called the Doctrine of the Mean.83 This just means that a virtuous action is one which represents a kind of middle course between what would be an excessive response (one in which too much weight is given to the emotions) and what would be a deficient response (one in which too little weight is given to the emotions). In either the excessive or deficient cases, a person’s acts will be out of step with his capabilities and circumstances because of his failing to deal with his emotions properly.
Once again, we can see this in the books. If we take Harry’s emotions into account when thinking of his actions, we may notice that his courage isn’t the absence of any feeling of fear. Rather, it is a type of response to the feeling of fear. As we see when Harry confronts Tom Riddle’s Basilisk (CS, pp. 318-320), when he duels the dementors to save his godfather (PA, pp. 383-85), and when he faces the resurrected Voldemort for the first time (GF, pp. 662-69), Harry feels fear. But he doesn’t allow his fear to master him. Neither does he ignore it and charge ahead as if he were an all-powerful wizard, heedless of any danger. Rather, remaining aware of his limitations and the disparity in power between himself and his foes, he does what he has to do to protect himself and his friends. In short, he displays the virtue of courage. With the account of virtue thus complete, we may now proceed to the question of just what Slytherin’s virtue might be.
The Virtue of Slytherin House
So what is Slytherin doing at Hogwarts? It may be that Slytherins exhibit a quality not traditionally thought to be a virtue, but which suits our own time quite well. We need only recall the words of the Sorting Hat to find out what it is: “Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends.” This suggests that Slytherins are ambitious. Ambition completes the quartet of moral qualities represented by the houses of Hogwarts. The suggestion that ambition is a virtue will at once strike some as doubtful. Nevertheless a little careful thought, with the help of the framework for understanding virtues that Aristotle gives us, will show that ambition is a virtue both in the wizarding world of Harry Potter and in our own world as well. I shall begin by illustrating the positive effects of this virtue in the actions of one very prominent Slytherin: Professor Severus Snape.
From the very first book we find out that Snape is ambitious. One of the first things we learn about him is that he covets the position of instructor in Defense Against the Dark Arts (SS, p. 126). Later we find out that he has earned Dumbledore’s trust in his capacity of double agent Death Eater (GF, p. 713)—and if that’s not using cunning to achieve one’s ends, it’s hard to imagine what could be! Snape’s persistent struggle to promote Slytherin’s efforts to win the house cup throughout all of the books also reveals an ambitious side to his character. In order really to appreciate Snape’s character it must be noted that Snape has other virtues as well, particularly loyalty to Dumbledore. We may not like Snape, but by the end of Order of the Phoenix, we have, if not a little sympathy, at least some grudging respect for this unlikely member of the Order. The lesson is an important one—people are not always what they seem, morally, to be, and sometimes people are unfairly judged by their demeanor rather than by their moral character.
Apart from Snape’s character there are other places in the novels where respect is granted, even if reluctantly, to the Slytherins’ achievements. Perhaps most obviously, Harry nearly finds himself sorted into Slytherin—the house which, according to the Sorting Hat, “can aid him on the way to greatness” (SS, p. 121). Indeed, Harry’s own ambitions—his desire to prove himself, and to live up to the memory of his parents—are some of the most intriguing aspects of his character and drive some of the key events in the books.
There are other instances as well where we see a respect shown for ambitious undertakings. In Harry’s first visit to the Wand Shop in Diagon Alley, Ollivander, the proprietor, tells Harry that Voldemort had done great things, “terrible, but great” (SS, p. 85). This grudging respect for the Dark Lord’s achievements, which finds an echo in none other than Dumbledore’s willingness to call Voldemort’s knowledge of magic “perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive” (OP, p. 835), suggests that we can appreciate the scope of people’s knowledge or achievements even if we think that they themselves fail to have a good character overall. And this seems right. After all, who but a Caesar could have crossed the Rubicon? Who but Bill Gates could have built the Microsoft empire? We do not always like ambitious people, but there is no denying that many great and historical things would not have come to be (and will not in the future come to be) without them. It is also worth pointing out that quite often our moral paradigms, our saints, are just as ambitious as our paradigm sinners. Was Gandhi not ambitious when he undertook to gain independence for India? Was King not ambitious when he organized and led the fight for racial equality in the 1960s? Ambition comes just as frequently in forms we admire as in forms we do not admire.
So we can see that the level of ambition a person has is only one part of his character, which we must weigh along with all the others. The thing to remember is that it isn’t one virtuous quality alone that makes a person morally good, it is a complex of moral qualities. This is implied by Aristotle’s notion of the virtuous person being wise in the conduct of life. For Aristotle, wisdom is a sort of master virtue, and those who have it have more than simple bravery or ambition alone. Those who have wisdom have the coordination of knowledge, action, and virtue that gives a person a truly good moral character. It is admirable to want to
do great things, but it is even more admirable to be wise (and hence virtuous) in the course of doing them.
Ambition as a Virtue
But why should we think that ambition is a virtue? This objection can be answered if it can be demonstrated that ambition fits perfectly well into the Aristotelian model of a virtue. Recall that a virtue is a midpoint between an excess and a deficiency in terms of taking account of one’s emotions, abilities, and circumstances. If this is the case, then we ought to be able to give an account of the excess and deficiency that might sit on either side of ambition. Let’s begin by specifying the emotion relevant to ambition. It is the desire to excel. This is an emotion that is common to those who achieve great things. In arenas as diverse as athletics, scientific research, and international business, those at the forefront of their fields are those who have the will to be there, to set the new record, to achieve the latest breakthrough, or to win the largest market share. In such competitive endeavors, it’s a truism that those without the will to persevere to the end seldom reach the top ranks. That drive is the desire to excel, and it is the emotional context for the virtue of ambition. Comparison with the cases of excess and deficiency with respect to this emotion will help to complete our picture of the virtue of ambition.
Consider first the deficiency. The person whose desire to excel is deficient would fit under the heading of that suggestive neologism of our time, “slacker.” We usually use this word to describe a person with no desire to do anything. It could just as well be applied to one who lets his desire for achievement be compromised by preferences for easiness and freedom from struggle. In order for slacking to be a vice, it has to be the case that the emotions of the person who is insufficiently desirous of excellence are out of step with what he could achieve in his circumstances. Consider, for example, a person who has a 4.0 GPA but who shuns college because he would rather stay at his parents’ house, watch daytime talk shows and professional wrestling, and drink beer. He knows he could do better, and in fact sometimes does want to do better, but he cannot shake himself free from the convenience of his life as it is. This sort of person might have other virtues, to be sure, but there is no doubt that he lacks the virtue of ambition, and would be described accordingly by those in a position to know.
The case of excess is likewise easy to describe, as it is typically what people have in mind when they think of ambition. This is the image of the ultimately self-seeking person who allows his desire for greatness to override all of his other virtues. Such a person is single minded in his desire for advancement, and doesn’t tolerate competition. He has no sense of his own limitations and will use others to get what he wants when he cannot achieve it himself. Friends, family, and colleagues are mere means to his ends, and he knows no loyalties beyond their usefulness to him. This person—let us call him the “climber”—is like the photographic negative of the slacker. The slacker will not act on his ambitions, the climber won’t act on anything but his ambitions. Both are defective, from the moral point of view. The virtuously ambitious person falls in between their extremes.
The virtuously ambitious person wants to do great things, and seeks to do them, but does not become mastered by his ambitions. He keeps things in perspective, as it were, and maintains his other moral qualities, never letting emotions overpower reason, but never shutting himself down to emotions either. He is reasonable, but emotionally aware. He chooses good goals for their own sake and pursues them diligently, all the while maintaining an awareness of his capabilities and context. His expectations are high, but not unreasonable, and barring tragedy, he can be happy in the broad sense of enjoying harmony with self and others. This is the picture of the virtuously ambitious person that Aristotle would paint.
Of all the characters in the Harry Potter novels, Hermione Granger perhaps best represents the qualities of virtuous ambition. Her desire to excel in her studies drives her to work harder than anyone else to master the arts of magic. Yet despite her drive for academic success, she remains loyal to her friends and supports them in the manner of a true friend. Harry and Ron couldn’t make it through Hogwarts without her.
What We Can Learn from Slytherin House
We’ve seen that the moral core of Slytherin House is ambition. Even if very few Slytherins actually seem to be capable of virtuous ambition, we may still see that Slytherin House belongs at Hogwarts, in a moral sense. If we pay careful attention to the moral characters of the Slytherins, we may learn a valuable lesson: a modicum of ambition is morally healthy, but when allowed to rule us, it can turn us into monsters like the Malfoys or Voldemort. This is something worth keeping in mind in a culture such as ours, where such a premium is put on achievement. The Harry Potter novels aren’t, strictly speaking, morality plays (and we may be glad of that—they would be nowhere near as entertaining as they are if they were!), but they can be morally instructive. Even Aristotle would have agreed.
10
A Skewed Reflection: The Nature of Evil
DAVID and CATHERINE DEAVEL
Why is there evil in the world? To answer that, we need to know what evil is. The Potter books’ dramatic portrayal of a fight between good and evil gives a general outline of what evil is, particularly moral evil. The books portray evil by using three main concepts: 1) evil is a privation, or a deformity parasitic on something good; 2) evil, due to this weakness, must accordingly mask itself by deceit; and 3) moral evil can only really exist as the result of free choice.
Evil Doesn’t Exist
The first thing we learn from the Potter books is that evil doesn’t really exist. Evil does not really exist in itself, but is a privation, a lacking in what something is supposed to be. It is a lacking of what is good.
Before we show how the books present this idea, let’s clarify what it means to say that an evil is a lack of something. People lack lots of things, but are these lacks really evils? What if Hermione were to say, “I don’t have wings, which are good things to have: that, Harry, is an evil”? Augustine of Hippo (354-430) knew someone might ask this and made the distinction between an absence and a privation.84 Hermione’s lack of wings is a lack of something good to be sure, but not a lack of a good that is part of the normal, healthy state of being human. A wingless human is a bit like a dog without a savings account; they both lack something, but not something part of the proper state of human-ness and dog-ness. Hermione’s winglessness is an absence of a particular good, but not a privation.
If, however, Harry’s friend Neville Longbottom were to accidentally use the spell Petrificus Totalus! on himself, we would be callous to say his paralysis is not an evil because un-charmed statues cannot move their limbs at all either. This is true, but beside the point since Neville is not a statue. When something that is part of being a healthy, flourishing human (or house-elf or whatever) is lacking to it, then we have not just an absence, but a privation.
Non-physical evils. Of course these examples have been mostly instances of physical evil, a lack of some physical trait or ability that is proper for a human being. But for humans (and for any other rational beings in the world of fantasy), to talk about evil is not just to comment on whether people’s bodies are working properly. It’s also to talk about whether people’s hearts and minds are working properly. To be fully human is to do the right things, love the right things, and care for the right things. To do evil or to be evil in a certain case is really not something definite, but is a failure to do, love, or care for the right things.
How do these books show that evil is a privation? Let’s talk about three ways in which the Potter books teach that evil is really a lack of something good: Boggarts, Dementors, and Voldemort.
Boggarts
Professor Lupin explains that boggarts like “dark, enclosed spaces… . Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks—I’ve even met one that had lodged itself into a grandfather clock” (PA, p. 133). Something like the bogeymen we feared under our own beds, boggarts appear as whatever they think wi
ll frighten a passerby the most. For Neville what is most fearful is Professor Snape, while for Ron Weasley it is an enormous spider. The shape-shifting boggart can look like almost anything.
No one knows what a boggart looks like when it is alone, or even whether it looks like anything at all. Professor Lupin says that a boggart sitting in the darkness “has not yet assumed a form” (PA, p. 133). Does this mean that the boggart doesn’t have a physical form at all? It would be mightily odd if it didn’t have a form since most everything we know in either our world or the world of Hogwarts has a form. Even ghosts like Nearly Headless Nick take a form that is visible (though a bit disgusting). If we were to surprise a boggart, we don’t know what we’d experience. We see and feel things that have shapes. Would we feel simply a presence in the dark, as people who claim to have encountered ghosts simply got a chilling feeling? Or would we feel nothing at all? Do two boggarts alone in a room know that another is present? And interesting as these questions are, what do they tell us about evil?
Well, they tell us that boggarts are parasites. Boggarts can’t seem to be “themselves” without something else. In order to move around and interact with the world they must “feed” off something else. What makes the boggart not a pleasant pet, but a pest and an evil for other creatures, is that it feeds from the fear of other living things. To say they feed off fear means boggarts don’t seem to be able to be anything without the fear and unhappiness of others. It’s not clear how a boggart determines one’s greatest fear and then benefits from it, but a boggart clearly thrives on the psychological turmoil that it taps into and exploits. Without the fear of others, it simply goes back to dark, enclosed spaces and sits alone.
Harry Potter and Philosophy: If Aristotle Ran Hogwarts Page 15