The Harry Potter books might seem an odd focal point for an article on classical education, but an examination of these amazingly popular novels will allow us to think about the classical definitions of good literature. 

These books first came to my attention in consultations with families enrolled in my homeschooling program. Suddenly, a standard question would arise during our two hour consultations: "What do you think about Harry Potter?"

I enjoy children's literature immensely, and further, I have a predilection for fantasy. I love The Narnian Chronicles, The Hobbit, The Fellowship of the Rings, and the E. Nesbit books.  I even like The Book of Three by Lloyd Alexander, A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula Le Guin, and the Redwall series by Brian Jacques. Though I am aware of the difficulties in the Star Wars stories (what is the Force? And where is God?), I did enjoy the first Star Wars movie and the Timothy Zahn books that carry on the action of the movies. Because of my pleasure in these books, I was looking forward to reading about Harry Potter.

Those books were described to me as full of magic, adventure, and a clear distinction between good and evil. That sounded like a great recipe for a pleasant afternoon. So I ordered the books and settled down to read. I was dismayed at what I found. 

There is magic, there is adventure, but the clear distinction between good and evil is lacking. And since that is lacking, the magic is distorted and the nature of the adventure unclear. 

First, Harry Potter regularly disobeys authority. All authority. One might make a case that he shouldn't obey the authority of his muggle (non-magic) aunt and uncle, who do not love him and do not make decisions based on his good. Perhaps, since they lock Harry up, and will not allow him to have the ordinary freedom that should be accorded to a human being, he ought to ignore their injunctions. 

However, Harry disregards even the authority that is presented in the stories as good and worthy of respect. Further, he does not suffer for doing so. In fact, he is rewarded. 

Early in the first book, Harry arrives at Hogwarts, the school for witches and wizards. He finds that many of his fellow students are from magic families and they know things he doesn't. He has made a few friends but he hasn't yet found an area where he feels competent. 

The freshman class assembles on the playing field for its first lesson in broom riding. One of the students is injured and has to be taken to the infirmary by the teacher. The last thing the teacher says as she walks off the field is "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the Hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' " 

As soon as the teacher is gone, the class bully hops on his broomstick, snatches a precious object from the weakest and most defenseless member of the class and takes off with it, intending to drop it from a great height. Harry gets angry, hops on his broomstick, and takes off after the bully. 

He realizes, as he flies on his broomstick, that he has at last found something he is really good at. The bully realizes it, too, and in an effort to distract Harry from his pursuit, drops the precious object. Harry makes a remarkable effort, nose dives to the ground and catches the object just before it hits the ground. 

As he settles back on earth, Harry feels the hand of another of his teachers on his shoulder, and his voice says, "Harry Potter, follow me, now." 

Harry follows him, and we follow Harry, as he thinks, "I am going to be expelled, I know it. Now I've done it, I haven't even lasted two weeks." 

The teacher marches into the school, stopping at one of the classrooms to call a senior student, Wood, out of class. He then marches both of them to his office. 

When they arrive at the office, Professor McGonagall turns to the senior student, and says, "I've found you a Seeker!" Wood is impressed and looks at Harry with respect. It turns out that the teacher's Quidditch team is badly in need of a central player, sort of a quarterback. Ordinarily a freshman student would not have this position, but Harry is so good on the broomstick that he is given the coveted position. 

Harry is not punished for his disobedience, nor is the bully. Harry, contrary to his initial expectation, is rewarded. And his reward is not explained as a consequence of a moral good, but because of his prowess. 

This sets a kind of theme for the books. Harry and his friends regularly break curfew, trespass in forbidden areas, lie and generally ignore the injunctions of their teachers. Out of this disrespect for authority comes great good for Harry, for the school, and even for the world. 

On one later occasion, the headmaster tells Harry and his friend that if they break another rule, no matter what, they are going to be expelled. They, of course, break more rules, and eventually a great evil is adverted. What does the headmaster do? He says, "I seem to remember telling you both that I would have to expel you if you broke any more school rules…Which goes to show you that the best of us must sometimes eat our words."  Then he rewards them with more points for their school team. 

Now, could it ever happen that one would have to break a rule that didn't adequately take into account certain particular circumstances? Certainly. One can trespass to save someone in a burning building, for example. But such an occasion clearly calls for immediate action and it is clear that the intention of the legislator would allow for such a situation. 

In Harry's case, it is often mere chance that his transgressions result in the good achieved. The overall message seems to be that the end achieved justifies the means used to achieve it. 

This disorder with regard to the overall understanding of right and wrong has effects in other areas. 

I like magic in stories. I have long thought that magic in stories prepares a child for the sacramental order. People like magic because they know that the material world is not all there is, and magic in stories acknowledges that fact. 

There are certain generally accepted conventions about magic in good children's stories. It is usually associated with white, or light colors. In the Wizard of Oz, Glinda, the good witch of the north, dresses in white, whereas the wicked witch of the west dresses in black. Gandalf, in The Fellowship of the Ring, is in gray at first, and later, after a transforming experience, in white. In "MacBeth" the three wicked hags stirring the cauldron are usually portrayed as dressed in black or dark clothing. In fact, it is generally true that good magic is associated with white and bad magic with black. Thus the term "Black Magic". 

Also, magic in well done children's literature is clean. The magic happens by speaking the right word, or holding a magic object. It's the villains who have to brew up disagreeable potions. 

But in Harry Potter books, the good guys not only lie and break rules, but also dress in long black robes as they ride on their broomsticks. The good guys brew up disgusting potions composed of newt's eyes and lace wings. The good guys converse with a spirit in a toilet in the girl's bathroom.  While there is certainly an intention to differentiate between good magic and bad magic in Harry Potter, the ordinarily accepted cultural signs of good and bad magic are ignored, or, often, reversed. 

This clouded understanding of morality has an even more sinister manifestation in the treatment of the mandrake root, which occurs in the second book. 

Some evil person has been turning people to stone. There is a magic potion that will restore the victims, but the potion requires mandrake roots, which are apparently hard to acquire. The school obtains some young mandrake roots, and it is decided that the students should profit by this acquisition. They are to learn how to transplant the root. 

The students gather under the direction of Professor Sprout. She instructs them in the fundamentals of transplanting the mandrake. They must wear earmuffs, for the mandrake cry can kill. They watch her as she demonstrates how to remove the mandrake from its pot, preparatory to repotting. Professor Sprout grasps the base of the plant, pulls hard, and, “(i)nstead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling and the top of his lungs.” (p.93) "They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot." (p.94) 

Throughout the rest of the book, there are references to the mandrake root, for the potion can't be made until the root matures. At various times references are made to the progress of the roots. "…Professor Sprout wanted to fit socks and scarves on the Mandrakes, a tricky operation she would entrust to no one else, now that it was so important for the Mandrakes to grow quickly…." (p.197) "..Madame Pomfrey was pleased to report that the Mandrakes were becoming moody and secretive, meaning they were fast leaving childhood." (p.234) "The moment their acne clears up, they'll be ready for repotting again." (p.234) "The moment they start trying to move into each other's pots, we'll know they're fully mature.." (p.251) Toward the end of the story, the roots are mature, Professor McGonagall says, "…the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified." Then they make the Mandrake juice from the Mandrakes. 

It is only because our society accepts abortion that such an image for the mandrake root can be used. In a culture that valued babies, it would never be acceptable to have the root have the form of a baby and then be cut up into a potion. 

Most people will recognize that these things are not good. But they might think it's not really a big deal. I do. 

What is Good Literature?

Long ago Aristotle defined a good story. He said that it is an imitation of action and life (Poetics 1450a16), and an imitation of the agent of the action for the sake of that action (ibid. 1450 b4).

Now, stories are not concerned with life the way history is. The difference between the two is like the difference between a photograph of a scene and a painting of the same scene. Both are likenesses, but in the painting the artist shows the viewer a particular aspect of, or an insight about, the object that he is imitating. By his rendering of the object he makes the viewer see what he sees. A photograph, by contrast, is simply a reproduction of the outward appearance of a thing.

"The historian differs from the poet [the storyteller] by speaking of what has actually occurred, whereas the poet speaks of the kinds of things which are likely to occur. In view of this, poetry is more philosophical and more serious than history; for poetry speaks rather of what is universally the case, whereas history speaks of particular events which actually occurred. (Poetics 1451b1-10) 

History is particular, literature is universal. G.K. Chesterton says it another way: a good poet, or storyteller, is able to give his readers "a glorious glimpse into the possibilities of existence". (Autobiography, The Collected Works of GKC) 

But those possibilities have to be possibilities, that is, they must be consistent with reality. "If you draw a giraffe, you must draw him with a long neck. If, in your bold creative way, you hold yourself free to draw him with a short neck, you will find you are not free to draw a giraffe." (Orthodoxy, by G. K. Chesterton, pp. 243-245)

The universal truths with which the storyteller concerns himself have to do, most of all, with the moral order. Since stories are about human actions, and human actions are either good or bad, then the stories are going to have to portray the characters' actions in such a context. 

In A Landscape with Dragons, Michael O'Brien says: "The sun may be green and the fish may fly through the air, but however fantastical the imagined world, there is retained in it a faithfulness to the moral order of our own universe." 

That is what is lacking in the Harry Potter books. In fact, telling lies and disobeying a rightful authority will have bad consequences. Harry is the hero of these stories, and he is trying to do good. But that makes it worse that he should lie and trespass and disobey. It clouds the moral order, and the moral order is most of all what good literature is about.

Some might object that the wicked prosper in this world, or that everyone is a mixture of good and evil, and a good story should take these things into account. That’s true, but a story, which is not a history, must mirror the ultimate reality, not the short term, shortsighted, inversion of the moral order. People may be a mixture of good and bad, but the bad has to be seen as bad, which in a story means that the consequences of bad actions have to be shown in an intelligible manner.

Now, I don't want you to think that I am in favor of "preachy" books. I'm not, partly because they are less effective in moving the reader to the good. 

Nor do I think that stories should only have good characters. The wicked are important in a story - but they need to be seen as wicked. If they are obviously immoral the evil is clear, and therefore half-conquered simply by being understood. The wicked suggest, and heighten by contrast, the very ideals they violate. 

What does good Literature do for you?

A good story moves the reader. One identifies with the protagonist and wants what he wants. One sees the good of the hero as one's own good, and feels the pain and pleasure of the central character as if it were his own. 

This enables the reader to learn from experience, but vicarious experience.  I have sometimes wished that all young women would read Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen. Both Marianne and Eleanor have to deal with betrayal by one they love. Marianne does it emotionally and self-centeredly, and nearly destroys herself in the process. Eleanor struggles against self-absorption, tries to subject her passions to reason and works on a charitable outlook of all concerned. She is a much happier woman, and all those around her are happier, too. 

The effect of the book is to make the reader see that Eleanor is right, and to wish that Marianne would learn from her, (which she does, eventually). Jane Austen does admirably what St. Thomas says is the poet's task, "...to lead us to something virtuous by some fitting representation." 

That is what the classical understanding of literature aims at, and that is the understanding with which we should help our children choose their literary food. What Harry Potter holds up for imitation is too often inappropriate to that diet.