Moral Ambiguities in the Harry Potter Books. Part II.  Secrets and Lies/Guilt and Guilt-Tripping.  Voldemort, Dumbledore, Snape, Hagrid, and Harry.  Yearning to be able to live with oneself.

Moral Ambiguities in the Harry Potter Books. Part II. 

Secrets and Lies/Guilt and Guilt-Tripping. 

Voldemort, Dumbledore, Snape, Hagrid, and Harry. 

Yearning to be able to live with oneself.

“I knew my brother, Potter…Secrets and lies, that’s how we grew up, and Albus…he was a natural.”

Aberforth on his brother Albus Dumbledore.

What do you call a man who takes an infant boy and raises him for sixteen years so that the boy can be slaughtered as a sacrificial lamb for what the man considers to be the greater good?  A madman? A monster?  Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?

Leaving a Baby on a Doorstep: Guilt and Guilt-tripping in the world of Harry Potter.

As the first of the seven Harry Potter books opens, Professor Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, leaves baby Harry and a note on the doorstep of the home of Harry’s aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon Dursley.  The note contains the news that Harry’s parents, who are a wizard and witch, have been killed and that Petunia’s sister Lily had died trying to protect Harry.  The note leaves Harry to the protection of his aunt.

Petunia hates with a passion the magical world that her sister Lily had come to inhabit.  She had excised Lilly from her life as a result and has regularly pretended that she knows and cares nothing about her sister and her sister’s life.  We come in the course of the books to see that Petunia knows and cares a lot more about the magical world than she lets on to those around her.  And we find out in a later book that Petunia’s animosity stems largely from the fact that she had been rejected as being a muggle – a non-magical person – when she had tried to get into Hogwarts.  Envy of her sister and resentment against Hogwarts seemingly fuels her subsequent hostility toward Harry, whom she grudgingly accepts in her household but treats very badly.

Nonetheless, although Petunia routinely mistreats Harry and begrudges him the clothes on his back, she doesn’t send him off to an orphanage as her husband’s aunt recommends.  She seems to feel enough guilt about having rejected her sister, and would feel shame if she rejected Harry, that she takes Harry in and takes some care of him as he grows up.  Seemingly, she could not live with herself if she abandoned her nephew as she had previously rejected her sister. 

It was a strategic coup on Dumbledore’s part in leaving Harry on Petunia’s doorstep.  He has successfully taken advantage of her shame and taken her on a guilt-trip that ensures Harry will have a safe place to pass his early childhood.  But at what moral price?    

Opening with the emotional blackmail of Petunia Dursley, thereafter the books are powered largely by guilt, shame, and guilt-trips, with the actions of the main characters largely motivated thereby.  Voldemort, Dumbledore, Snape, Hagrid, Harry – each is motivated in large part by shame and guilt.  

Dumbledore is widely regarded as a white knight in the books.  But here at the start of the tale, we see him emotionally blackmailing Petunia.  And we see him placing Harry in a home where Harry is regularly mistreated for ten years with seemingly little intervention by the headmaster.  And, as we later find out, Dumbledore is the headmaster of a school that is run with slave labor. 

What does the author expect us to make of this?  What do we make of it?   Dumbledore is a hero to readers of the Potter books.  And he remains a hero to Harry despite placing Harry where he is mistreated by the Dursleys and despite grooming Harry to be murdered by Voldemort.  What kind of hero is this?   An imperfect one, as he himself insists.  And that’s the point.

I think we are supposed to see Dumbledore as a morally ambiguous hero, which is how he sees himself.  It is the reason he has repeatedly refused the position of Minister of Magic.  Universally regarded as the most powerfully magical wizard of his time, Dumbledore admits that he is afraid of what he might do with so much governmental power.  He might be able to do good with that power, but he also might be tempted to do evil in pursuit of what he thought was good.  It is a morally ambiguous situation.  Moral ambiguity is almost everywhere in the Potter books, and I think we are expected to see the necessity of dealing with it as a central message of the books.

Guilt and the Order of the Phoenix: Rising from the Ashes. A Tale of Two Orphans. 

Like Hogwarts, the coalition of anti-Voldemort forces seems at first glance to be ideal, a group of good-hearted people dedicated to doing good in the world and to each other.  But underneath this surface of good will are individuals with guilt complexes, all of whom are trying to live down their individual shame and guilt through efforts that coincide with the anti-Voldemort campaign. 

Animated by a mixture of motives, some idealistic, others darker, they use guilt-tripping, a form of moral blackmail, as much as good will to get each other to engage in their campaign.  Not a convocation of pristine do-gooders, they are good people, but most with bad consciences.  Idealists, but most with darker motives as well.  They warrant a closer examination and a more complex evaluation.  Like most real people.

The wizarding world of the Potter books is a guilty world full of guilty people.  Many wizards had supported Voldemort during his reign of terror.  Most of them claimed afterwards that they had been under a curse that made them do Voldemort’s bidding, but many of these were faking it.  And many of those who opposed Voldemort seem to suffer from survivor’s guilt.  Harry Potter wakes up one stormy night to find himself in a bright and shiny magical world, but with a good deal of darkness at its heart.

The wizards’ world is a traumatized community trying to live down the horrors of Voldemort’s ascendency.  As the first book opens, Voldemort’s attempt to kill Harry has rebounded and brought him down, but during the course of the next sixteen years as Harry grows up, people continue to cringe at Voldemort’s name and there is ongoing suspicion of wizards who supported him but who claim they were cursed into it.   As in post-World War II Germany, everyone claims that they really didn’t support the dictator or his murderous regime.  But that leaves almost everyone under a cloud.

Anxiety permeates the society.  From beginning to end, the Potter books are driven by characters suffering from feelings of guilt and shame.  The main characters, both good and bad, try to live down things from their pasts, things that are individual to each but that intersect with the social trauma of Voldemort’s reign of terror.  All of them trying to overcome their shame and live with themselves.  Significantly, most of them, including Voldemort, Dumbledore, Hagrid, Snape, and Sirius, among others, came from broken families and suffered from a lack of maternal love. 

Voldemort, originally named Tom Riddle, is an archvillain whose doings and undoing are at the center of the books’ plots and trigger most of the action.  A damaged boy from a muggle father and a squib witch mother, he became a semi-human specter that haunted the magical world.  Abandoned as an infant, his father returning to his muggle family and his mother dying in childbirth, he grew up in a desiccated orphanage.  He later gutted his own humanity by committing murders that enabled him to split his soul into multiple parts, ostensibly ensuring his immortality, but leaving only the least humane part of himself to interact with the world. 

Despite taking the grandiose name of Lord Voldemort, he is driven by shame.  Shame for his parents, shame for his orphaned childhood, and shame for his own mortality.  Feeling that no one cared for him, he cared for no one.  Feeling powerless as an orphan, he became obsessed with power, and obsessed with immortality as the ultimate power.  Psychologists report that children raised without love commonly have feelings of inadequacy and inferiority but at the same time develop aggressively narcissistic personalities.  They feel like failures but lash out at others out of envy and revenge. 

Voldemort’s response was to seek revenge against the world by becoming a super wizard capable of dominating other wizards and terrorizing muggles.  But he cared for no one, so he also hated himself.  He was a loser even if he won, which helps account for the vehemence with which he pursued his goals and punished those who doubted him or got in his way. 

Many other characters in the books, both good guys and bad, were trying to live down shame and guilt, and find a way to live with themselves.   Among the good guys were Dumbledore, Snape, Hagrid, Lupin, Sirius, Neville, and Harry.

Dumbledore was a good man who was also motivated by a bad conscience.  He had two guilty secrets.  First, he was trying to live down his youthful infatuation with the evil wizard Grindelwald and Grindelwald’s ideas of muggle suppression in the interests of the greater good.  These ideas included sacrificing innocent people if they got in the way, a variation of the ends justifying the means.  Dumbledore was so ashamed of his dalliance with Grindelwald and his interest in Grindelwald’s ideas that he kept these infatuations secret from everyone during his lifetime except for his brother Aberforth, who knew about them firsthand. 

Dumbledore subsequently rejected any ideas of wizards ruling over muggles, but he never completely abandoned the idea of sacrificing innocent people for the greater good.  We see this in his treatment of Harry: he repeatedly lied to Harry and set Harry up to be killed as a means of being able, in turn, to kill Voldemort in the interest of the greater good. 

Dumbledore had a second secret that he was also trying to live down, which was the responsibility he felt for his sister’s death.  Her death was a direct consequence of his relations with Grindelwald and haunted him up to his own death.  In sum, Dumbledore was good because he was a good man but also because he was trying to atone for his guilty secrets.

Snape was a particularly complex and ambivalent character.  He became a Death-Eater seemingly in order to live down the shame of his low-life parents, but then became a double-agent for Dumbledore as atonement for his failure to save Lily Potter from death.  He is morally torn, hating Harry out of resentment and envy toward Harry’s father, who goaded Snape at every turn and got Lily, the girl Snape worshipped, at the same time secretly committed to protecting Harry because Harry is her son.  His good side triumphed over his bad, but led to his death.

Hagrid was trying to live down the secret of his mother being a giant but also the shame of his being ejected as a student from Hogwarts because he had supposedly opened the Chamber of Secrets.  Lupin was living down the shame of being a werewolf, a curse for which he seemed to feel guilt as well as shame.  Sirius was living down the shame and guilt of his Death-Eater family.  Neville was living down what he felt as shame for the lunacy of his parents who had been tortured to near death by the Death-Eaters, a secret he kept from his school mates.  And more…..  Shame and guilt all around.

Finally, how to account for Harry?  Like Voldemort, Harry was orphaned in infancy and raised in a loveless environment.  But whereas Voldemort developed into a narcissistic monster, Harry became a humble and caring person.  In the first book, Harry was able to retrieve the sorcerer’s stone from the mirror, whereas Voldemort could not, because Harry did not want to use it.  This is one example of Harry’s selfless dedication to others.  At the end of the last book, Harry gets rid of the unbeatable Elder Wand that Voldemort had stolen from Dumbledore’s tomb because the wand posed too much of a temptation and threat to others.  This is another example of Harry’s selfless dedication to the greater good, but at a sacrifice to himself and not to others.  That’s the key.

How was it that Harry turned out to be so good while Voldemort turned out to be so bad?  A difference between their infancies might be a key.  Voldemort’s mother died in childbirth so that he had no love from the moment of his birth.  In contrast, Harry had a year of unconditional love from his parents before their deaths, seemingly enough to make a difference.  As Dumbledore repeatedly claims, love is the ultimate magic and Harry had enough of it to make a difference. 

Evolutionary psychologists claim that empathy is built into us as humans and then we either develop it during the course of our lives or it dies out. Infants exhibit empathy in their first year and can show concern for others’ pain and suffering.  Harry was seemingly formed as an empathetic and caring person in his first year with his caring parents.  It carried him through his childhood with uncaring relatives.  In Voldemort, empathy had no chance to develop.  To the contrary, antipathy towards himself and others thrived.

Harry also has a memory of his mother’s sacrifice even though he cannot consciously remember it until he is much older.  Her love has its impact and lasting effect.  It seems to humble him and help him to grow as a kind and caring person despite the neglect and emotional abuse he gets as a kid.  When Harry finds out that his parents died because Voldemort wanted to kill him, he was thereafter motivated to try to live down what he felt as his responsibility for his parents’ deaths.  He lived because his mother died.  His repentance was to be willing to die to save others, as he does in the last book, and for that reason, he is able to come back from the edge of death and defeat Voldemort.

Guilt-Tripping for the Greater Good: Two Wrongs Make a Right?

Where there are feelings of guilt, there are opportunities for guilt-tripping.  That’s both good and bad.  It’s good because if a person can be guilt-tripped, it implies that the person has a conscience or sense of shame which can be leveraged to get the person to do the right thing.  But it’s also bad because guilt-tripping is essentially an underhanded manipulation, a moralistic form of blackmail, a coercion for the greater good.  Guilt-tripping is an example of a second wrong trying to make the first wrong right.  And it implies a sense of superiority and an arrogance on the part of the moral blackmailer.

In the Potter books, almost everyone except for Harry uses guilt-tripping in trying to convince others to agree with them.  That is an essential difference between Harry and the others.  Dumbledore, for example, guilt-trips Snape into protecting Harry based on Snape’s love for Harry’s mother Lily and Snape’s failure to save her life when Voldemort went after Harry.  Dumbledore, Lupin, Mr. Weasley and Sirius repeatedly guilt-trip Harry into curbing his behavior, telling Harry that he should not take risks when his parents died trying to save him. 

Most dramatically, Voldemort guilt-trips Harry into allowing Voldemort to kill him by telling Harry that Harry’s colleagues are dying to save him and that no more of them need to die if he gives himself up to Voldemort.  Harry can’t live with himself with his friends dying in his place so he gives himself up to be killed. 

In contrast, when Harry tries to get an embarrassing memory from Slughorn, Harry appeals to Slughorn’s affection for Harry’s mother, Lily, and to Slughorn’s solidarity with the anti-Voldemort forces.  Harry was thereby essentially asking Slughorn to behave himself the way he would want others to behave, and appealing to his connection with them.  Likewise, when Harry asks the Gray Lady about her diadem, he appeals to her sense of solidarity with the occupants of Hogwarts and asks her to behave in the way that she would want them to behave.      

The first book opens with Lily Potter having sacrificed her life to save Harry.  She seems instinctively to know that she could not live with herself if she didn’t do that.  And her decency ended up living on in Harry.  The last book closes with Harry sacrificing his life so that his colleagues might not die.  He could not live with himself with them dying because of him.  And his decency ends up giving him new life and giving his colleagues immunity to the killing curses of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  Because Harry thinks well of others, he is able to think well of himself and do the right thing. 

An Ambiguous Ending: An Unwanted Beginning?

The Potter books are death defying, literally.  Ghosts of dead people wander around.  Pictures of dead people talk and move about.  Life-like images of dead people emerge from the wands that killed them.  Horcruxes of a person live on when the person dies.  A sorcerer’s stone makes an elixir that prolongs life indefinitely.  A resurrection stone brings the dead back to life. 

The series opens with Voldemort desperately seeking the Sorcerer’s Stone so as to return to full life and with Harry denying the stone to Voldemort but also eschewing the stone for himself, which is how he could retrieve it from the magic mirror.  For Voldemort, life itself is more important than anything in life.  He is a man without principles or loyalties or concern for anything but himself.  For Harry, life is for caring and for being honorable, even if it means death.  The last book closes with Harry eschewing the resurrection stone and seeking death for the sake of his comrades.  His so doing ironically brought life to himself and to them.  Love turns out to be the ultimate magic.    

The books have, however, an ambiguous ending that could portend more troubles in the future.  The ambiguity has to do with the unbeatable Elder Wand that has historically been connected with so much evil.  Has it or has it not been safely disposed of? 

In the complicated world of wands, the Elder Wand acknowledges loyalty to the person who last defeated its previous master.  Since it was Draco Malfoy who disarmed Dumbledore, mastery of the Elder Wand went from Dumbledore to Draco.  Then, when Harry disarmed Draco of Draco’s ordinary wand, Harry also became master of the Elder Wand even though it was still buried in Dumbledore’s tomb.  Although Voldemort subsequently took the Elder Wand from Dumbledore’s tomb, he was not the wand’s master.  First Draco was and then Harry was.

At the end of the last book, when Harry secretly confides to the picture of Dumbledore that he had secretly returned the Elder Wand to Dumbledore’s tomb, Harry claims that he has thereby safely disposed of the wand.  So long as Harry dies undefeated, no one else will ever be able to master the Elder Wand again and the all-powerful and all-too-dangerous weapon will never tempt or be used by anyone else.  Dumbledore approves of what Harry has done. 

But, wait a minute.  What if someone comes along and takes Harry’s regular wand from Harry?  The Elder Wand will belong to that person.  And what if that person discovers the secret that the wand is in Dumbledore’s tomb?  The cursed wand will be set loose on the world again.  Harry and Dumbledore are engaging in secrets and lies again.  And they are dangerous.  The only way to really get rid of the Elder Wand is for Harry to break it.  Which is what he does in the movie version of the books. 

That is a better ending if you really want to provide a definitive end to all the troubles.  But not if you want to leave open the ambiguous possibility that troubles could recur.  A main moral of the Potter stories is that secrets and lies open a Pandora’s box of troubles.  The first book opens with secrets and lies which lead to a host of troubles that are eventually resolved.  But the last book then closes with more secrets and lies.  Is there no end to this cycle?  Is the final message of the books that we are doomed to secrets and lies, a Pandora’s box of troubles forever?

Writing in April, 2025, we are living through a time in which secrets and lies are flourishing and in which a self-styled wizard and Voldemort wannabe has come to power.  It may be particularly pertinent at this time to be reminded that moral ambiguities need to be clarified so that they don’t pave the way for evildoers, and that truth must at all times be spoken to power.

Burton Weltman   4/25

Moral Ambiguities in the Harry Potter Books. Part I.  Utopian/Dystopian Aspects of the Magical World.  Magicians/Muggles and Their Discontents.

Moral Ambiguities in the Harry Potter Books. Part I.

Utopian/Dystopian Aspects of the Magical World.

Magicians/Muggles and Their Discontents.

“We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided.”

Albus Dumbledore.

What do you call a society that proclaims all beings are equal and should be free, but then practices slavery and secretly keeps the slaves in a basement?  A Dystopia?  The Confederate States of America?  Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?

Overview and Underview of the Harry Potter books: Looking for meaning and effect.

I love the Harry Potter books.  I have read each of them several times (They are addictive).  I have listened several times to the recorded reading of the books by Jim Dale (He does a really great job).  And I have watched the movies several times (Good productions albeit weak translation of the books into scripts).  The books connect wonderfully with young readers and are also appealing to adults.  A magical combination.  But still open to questioning.

Like many novels, the Potter books operate on a surface level of meaning but also have deeper meanings and effects on readers that are often overlooked.  In the case of the Potter books, these meanings point up a darker side of the main characters and the wizarding world.  The three institutional foci of the books – the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the anti-Voldemort Order of the Phoenix, and the wizarding world itself – look great from the outside but have morally ambiguous insides. 

These ambiguities are seemingly no accident.  I think that we readers are expected to ponder the dark sides of these characters and their institutions.  That is the point of this essay, Moral Ambiguities in the Harry Potter Books, Part I, that focuses on the institutions and a following essay, Moral Ambiguities in the Harry Potter Books, Part II, that focuses on the characters.  The essays ask some questions and examine some aspects of the Potter books that are often overlooked but that are a big part of their messaging.  Asking questions, recognizing ambiguities, trying to live with inconsistencies.  These make up a large part of the moral of the stories.   

A World of Guilt: A Guilty World.

Moral ambiguity in the Potter books starts with the wizarding world itself.  It is a world that is founded on a guilty secret and sustained by a packet of lies.  The secret is that there is a society of wizards and witches interspersed within the society of the muggles.  The wizarding world is in but not of the muggle world, with the result that muggles know nothing about the wizards.  And any accidental incursion of wizardry into muggle affairs is covered over by wizards with memory wiping and lies.  In turn, wizards know very little about muggles.  Wizards have deemed this separation and secrecy to be of dire importance to both wizards and muggles.  The rationale has seemingly been that if the existence of the wizarding world was widely known, it would be the ruination of both the magical and the muggle societies. 

The magical society would be ruined, wizards seem to think, because if muggles knew that there were wizards amongst them, muggles would be constantly demanding that wizards provide magical solutions to their problems.  Wizards would be overwhelmed by an impossible number of insistent demands for magical remedies.  And many of these would likely be problems that could not be magically solved anyway, much to the irritation of the muggles. 

Knowledge of wizardry would also, the wizards seem to think, ruin muggle society because muggles might conclude that work was not necessary since their magical neighbors could take care of everything with a little mumbo jumbo and the flick of a wand.  Muggle institutions, muggle morality, muggle civilization could not continue to exist under these circumstances.

Muggles also had little sense when it came to magic.  Whenever, for example, muggles suspected that there were witches around, they would raise a ruckus in their communities and go about murdering people who weren’t witches.  The fact was that any genuine witch could easily either avoid persecution with a charm to confound the persecutors or seem to accept the punishment of burning at the stake, pretending to be burned when they really couldn’t be harmed thereby.  It was a lot of hullaballoo and harm that did no one any good.  

In sum, the wizards have concluded, it was the better part of wisdom to keep their magical society a secret.  But it is a guilty secret.  Guilty because, as a result, wizards and witches live in a privileged world with benefits they don’t share with ordinary people.  They can, for example, use magic to solve their own life-and-death problems, but they cannot help their non-magical neighbors in the same situations.  Wizards and witches must stand by and watch their neighbors suffer and die from things they might be able to remedy in a minute. 

It would require a massive indifference to the suffering of others for wizards not to feel empathy for the muggles and feel guilty in turn.  To my surprise, we do not see much of this empathy and guilt among the wizards in the books, which makes, I think, for a morally ambiguous message.  What are we to think about being a privileged person?

The wizards’ situation is not unlike the privileged position of well-to-do members of first-world nations today as compared to poverty-stricken members of third-world countries.  Modern technology seems like magic to most of us in any case, first-worlder and third-worlder alike, and for well-off first-worlders to monopolize the medical and other technological wonders of our modern age seems similar to the monopoly of magic by wizards and witches in the Potter books.

The privileged position of both the wizarding community and wealthy first-worlders seems unfair and contrary to the ethical Golden Rule that we should treat others as essentially members of our own family.  It is a rule that is at the base of almost every human moral code and that otherwise underlies much of the messaging in the Potter books.  In theory, but not always in practice. 

Wizards and witches are expected to treat each other as equals on a one-for-all, all-for-one basis.  And they are taught at Hogwarts to be sympathetic towards muggles.  Sympathetic – feeling sorry for their problems and their inadequacy as muggles – but not empathetic.  Not as equals.  Magical people clearly feel superior to muggles and frequently make fun of the things that muggles have difficulty with that wizards and witches can do with the wave of a wand. 

In the last of the books, Ron Weasley, Harry’s best male friend, boasts to Harry that he passed a muggle driver’s test by confounding the tester, magically befuddling him so that he didn’t notice the mistakes Ron was making.  This is a potentially reckless arrogance as we know from an earlier book that Ron is a lousy driver.  It’s funny, but what is the message? 

This mocking attitude toward muggles’ problems and muggles’ struggles can be seen as a way of avoiding or disposing of guilt feelings that wizards and witches might have when they think about their magical advantages and privileged existence.  Do first-world people do the same?  Do we?

By the rules of the world that Rowling has established, the elitism of magical people and the secrecy about magical people’s abilities seem to be necessary outcomes of the situation she has created.  But there is something about this situation that she seemingly wants us to think about.  Because this is not the only way to envision magic and magicians as part of an otherwise ordinary world.  It can be done without setting up an elitist hierarchy of magicians, keeping them secret, and giving them a monopoly of the benefits of magic. 

Ursula Le Guinn has, for example, done this in several of her books, most particularly in her EarthSea series.  In these books, the hero Ged is a young boy who, like Harry Potter, discovers he is a magician and goes off to a school of magic to be trained in taking advantage of the uses and avoiding the abuses of his powers. 

Ged lived in what we might categorize as a low-technology medieval society of peasants, craftspeople, merchants, noblemen, and magicians.  Magicians were thoroughly integrated into EarthSea society, and were fitted into the social hierarchy based on their skills.  Most magicians were in the class of craftspeople and were part of what we might call the middle class.  Some low-level magicians were essentially peasants, living with and behaving like peasant farmers.  A few of the best magicians acted like nobility and were treated as such. 

Unlike the wizards and witches in the Potter books, the magicians in EarthSea had a socially constructive purpose to help ordinary people and ameliorate the problems of everyday life.  They enhanced the peasants’ crop yields, encouraged rain in times of drought, aided in the defense against invaders, and helped cure diseases and heal injuries.  In Le Guin’ s world, magicians are public servants.  Magic is to help others, not yourself. 

Although magic was no secret in EarthSea, magicians were expected to keep their methods secret from ordinary people in order to prevent the misuse and abuse of magic by untrained people.  Some magicians, nonetheless, went bad and sought to use their skills to gain power or to harm people, similar to Grindelwald and Voldemort in the Potter books.  Bad magicians had to be opposed by law-abiding magicians, like those at the EarthSea magicians’ school and like Ged as he grew up.

In different ways, Rowling and Le Guinn raise similar issues about whether and how specially gifted and powerful people can get along with ordinary people and their ordinary society.  Le Guinn sets up her magicians within an ordinary society.  Rowling sets up her wizards and witches outside of ordinary society.  Rowling’s method turns the magical people into a conspiratorial elite, and turns the struggle against Voldemort into a secret war between secret cabals. 

In so doing, Rowling implicitly raises questions about whether conspiratorial elitism is a good thing.  Muggles were the chief victims of the Death Eaters’ violence.  Aside from just informing the muggle Prime Minister about the situation, could and should the wizarding community have alerted and engaged the muggle community in the struggle against Voldemort?  Might that have been fairer and more effective? 

Warts on Hogwarts: Hostility in the Curriculum and Slaves in the Basement. 

One of the things that I like most about the books, and I think the same goes for most Potter fans, is Hogwarts.  On its face, Hogwarts looks like a wonderful place that every kid, and most adults, would love to attend.  But underneath, literally, it has serious problems.  There are house-elf slaves in the basement, bitter competition between students and academic houses, and an academic house, Slytherin, that has historically been the source of almost every bad wizard and is full of unscrupulous teenagers.  In sum, although Hogwarts may superficially appear idyllic, like most real institutions it calls for a closer examination and a more complex evaluation.

Hogwarts is a school for children who have been magically identified as having magical abilities.  The goal of the school is to train children in how to do magic but also, more importantly, when and how not to do magic.  The school is designed to support the primary goal of keeping the wizarding world a secret and ensuring that wizards don’t interfere with muggle society so that muggles, in turn, will have no cause to interfere with the wizarding society.

Hogwarts is on the surface a wonderfully warm and welcoming place for young witches and wizards.  The school is full of surprises, virtually alive, and effectively a central character in the books.  The place is in many ways an adolescent’s dream.  Every meal a feast.  Every mess automatically cleaned up.  Full of friendly ghosts.  Helpful people in pictures.  Rooms appearing when you need them.  The school is a homey place in which students don’t feel like out-of-place freaks as they often do in muggle society.    

But as an educational institution, Hogwarts has many flaws and failures.  That it produced Voldemort and the Death Eaters is a prime example of its failures.  That Voldemort, then known as Tom Riddle, could have become the Head Boy of the school, the highest position for a male student, is another.  Hogwarts is a secret and secretive school in a secret and secretive society in which people often hoard knowledge for their own purposes.  And that can be problematical.

Almost no one, for example, seems to know that the arch-villain Voldemort was originally Tom Riddle.  Dumbledore knew it but he didn’t tell people.  And to the end, Dumbledore swore Harry to secrecy about what they were finding out about Voldemort’s early life.  Dumbledore may have done this for strategic reasons that he thought were in pursuance of the greater good, but it was clearly a mistake and much to everyone’s harm in the long run.

The educational problems with Hogwarts begin with the academic organization of the school. Students are divided into four academic houses based on their intellectual orientations and social inclinations.  Organizing the school this way was a compromise among the school’s four founders who had different ideas about what kind of student should get a magical education. 

Gryffindors are chosen for courage and fortitude.  Ravenclaws for acuity and wisdom.  Hufflepuffs for caring and humility.  Slytherins for cleverness and ambition.  This sort of organization into houses was common among English schools from the Middle Ages when Hogwarts was supposedly founded.  But it results in a truncated official curriculum and a hidden curriculum of hostility.  And it is not considered good educational practice among muggles today. 

The official curriculum ends up reinforcing students’ existing inclinations and largely neglecting students’ shortcomings in other areas.  Each of the four inclinations can be a good thing if they are promoted together.  Promoted separately, however, they make for a one-sided person.  It is a truism in modern-day muggle pedagogy that cultivating each student’s multiple intelligences and inclinations is the best educational practice.  Maybe the wizards at Hogwarts could and should have learned something about education from the muggles around them?

Most disturbing was putting all of the aggressive, ambitious and often unscrupulous students in one house, Slytherin House.  It essentially created a prime breeding ground for dark wizards.  We are told that every wizard that ever went bad came from Slytherin House.  That should come as no surprise.  Slytherins are by nature devious and dominating.  Putting them together reinforced these inclinations, often to the point of pathology.  The Slytherin House emblem is symbolically a serpent, as in the serpent in the Garden of Eden. 

The situation was exacerbated by the encouragement given to academic and athletic competition between the houses.  Competition both promoted hostility among students and demeaned the educational goals of the school.  The implication was that education is a zero-sum game in which the goal is to do better than others rather than do better with them.  This may be good for sports but not for academics. 

Knowledge is an inherently cooperative enterprise.  And difference among students can enhance learning when it is encouraged as a fount of creativity, but not when it is the basis for hostility.  Education works best when it facilitates intra and inter-group cooperation   At Hogwarts, the grouping of students into houses exacerbated differences into hostilities.  It is an instance where intentions may have been good but the practice was bad.

The case is similar with regards to house-elves.  Dumbledore talks a good game about the dignity of all species, but Hogwarts is a haven of slavery and the school is cared for by enslaved house-elves.  House-elves are little humanoid creatures who live in the basement, make the feasts, make the beds, do the laundry, clean the rooms, and otherwise keep the school running.  When Harry and Hermione discover that house-elves are doing all the house work at Hogwarts and in many wizarding households as well, muggle-raised Hermione is outraged and begins to campaign for house-elf freedom.  Wizard-raised Ron, however, takes house-elf slavery for granted.  As does almost every other wizard and witch in the books.

House-elves haunt the background of life at Hogwarts and in the wizarding world.  They are supposed never to be seen or heard.  They are a secret that is sustained by a lie, i.e. the pretense that everything is magically done without any effort by anyone.  A wonderful society, the wizarding world, secretly built on slavery.  A guilty secret that is never discussed.  Almost all the house-elves are portrayed as being happy with their lot and as resisting being freed.  This makes for a morally ambiguous situation, to say the least.  While slavery has essentially been abolished in the modern-day muggle world, it still thrives among the wizards in the Potter books.  As with educational practice, maybe the wizards could and should have learned something from their muggle neighbors?

The Moral of the Story.

The Harry Potter books operate within fictional institutions full of moral ambiguities.  A purpose of portraying them in this way seems to be to encourage us readers to think about them and about our own society full of moral ambiguities.  Writing in April, 2025, we are living through a time full of moral and immoral ambiguities that until recently would have been considered a dystopian fantasy if it had been suggested as the setting for a novel.  It is a time most ripe for thinking about our institutions and about their moral aspirations and immoral practices.

Burton Weltman   4/25

Intimations of Evil/Models of Good. Teaching Young People How to Respond. Wizards and Witches in Popular Novels. J.R.R. Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings.” J.K. Rowling’s “Harry Potter” books. Ursula Leguin’s “Earthsea Trilogy.”

Intimations of Evil/Models of Good.

Teaching Young People How to Respond.

Wizards and Witches in Popular Novels.

J.R.R. Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings.”

J.K. Rowling’s “Harry Potter” books.

Ursula Leguin’s “Earthsea Trilogy.”

Burton Weltman

“Careful the tale you tell

That is the spell

Children will listen”

The Witch in Into the Woods.

The Question of Evil.  Coming of Age with Wickedness in the World.

The slaughter of the innocents.  Torture.  Plagues.  Famines.  Sadism.  Prejudice.  Evil in the world abounds and surrounds us.  Why?  It is a question that has plagued theologians, philosophers and everyday people since ancient times.  How, for example, can a supposedly all-powerful and all-good God allow so much evil in the world?  And how is it that evildoers prosper, doing unto others as they would not have others do unto them, while the virtuous suffer.  If, as some religionists say, things will even out in an afterlife, what’s the point in the first place? 

And what is the nature of evil?  Is it a principle inherent in the universe or merely a lack of good?  Is it a presence or an absence?  An inevitability or an unfortunate possibility?  A one-by-one occurrence or a mass infestation?  In the end, how can you explain, let alone justify, the suffering of little children?  And what, if anything, can we do about it?

Children, if they are fortunate, are oblivious to evil for much of their early childhood.  Especially if they live in First World countries in relatively safe and prosperous environments.  But there comes a time when evil invades even the sheltered worlds of advantaged children, and the existence of evil frequently, then, comes as a shock to these young people.  Thereafter, coping with evil becomes an ongoing part of their lives.

In my case, that time occurred at the relatively young age of five years old.  I am Jewish.  My best friend, who lived across the alley from me, was Catholic.  He and I were sharing holidays.  He had come to my house for Hannukah and I was having dinner at his house for Christmas.  His grandparents were there and his grandmother was bemoaning that black people (she used the “N” word) were moving into the neighborhood.  My parents were civil rights activists so I knew that what she was saying was not good and I wondered if I should say something.

But then she added to her bigotry by telling us that “There is only one thing worse than having a “N word” living next door to you and that is having a Jew.”  A very loud silence followed her words.  I looked down at my plate but could see my friend’s mother gesturing toward her mother.  I was crushed.  I did not know what to say or do.  So, I did nothing.  Stilted small talk ensued and I went home shortly thereafter. 

To this day, exactly seventy-five years later (I am typing this on Christmas day 2024), I am shocked at what my friend’s grandmother said and ashamed that I did not respond to her.  Just sat there silent and then left.  I never told my parents.  And the events of that day still haunt me, as you can see by the fact that I am still writing about them.  Thanks to my friend’s grandmother, I was confronted with a troubling new question, the question of evil, that I have been trying to answer ever since.  It is a question that eventually confronts and confounds most young people.  

Personal evil, social evil, natural evil, metaphysical evil – evil comes in many forms.  You can’t avoid it.  Dealing with evil is something young people are forced to learn about, and it is something they learn about from many sources.  Their parents, friends, school, stories they read, games they play, movies they see.  Some things they learn from these various sources are healthy and helpful, others destructive and harmful.  And that is itself one of the evils of the world.

It is important that young people know about and be able to choose productive ways of dealing with evil.  Literature plays an important part in teaching them ways of responding to evil, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse.  This essay deals with ways in which evil and responding to evil are portrayed in three popular series of books about wizards and wizardry: J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series, and Ursula LeGuin’s Earthsea trilogy.[1]

The books present three different models of dealing with evil.  To make a long story short, evil is addressed primarily through war in The Lord of the Rings, containment in the Harry Potter books, and reconstruction in the Earthsea trilogy.  The differences are significant as are the messages conveyed to readers.  How this is so is the subject of this essay.

Something wicked this way comes.  Living with witches and wizards.

The world can be a baffling place.  And scary.  Especially to young people who are just trying to figure things out.  And for whom those in control can seem like wizards doing magical things.   Inexplicable and bewildering things.  It is no surprise, then, that stories, movies and games that feature wizards and magical creatures, superpowers and superheroes, are very popular among young people.  The stories resonate with their hopes, fears and ambitions. 

Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, Rowling’s Harry Potter books and LeGuin’s Earthsea trilogy are three popular series of stories that feature wizards and wizardry.  Aimed primarily at young readers, each of these series deals with wizards and wizardry gone wrong, and with the heroic efforts of young people to make things come out right.    

The books share many similarities that help explain their popularity.  They are essentially bildungsroman featuring young people, or child-like hobbits, as heroes who mature and develop extraordinary powers through facing up to evil.  The books are action-packed, with the good guys struggling with their ignorance and immaturity but ultimately beating the bad guys. 

In each of the books, it is ego and lust for power that underpins the evil and that makes good people do evil.  Power corrupts and the hero of each story eschews power, Frodo the ring, Harry the philosopher’s stone and elder wand, Ged the power of the dark side. And each of the heroes learns that he needs the help of others, and gets that help.

Each of the heroes has a teacher who emphasizes caring for people and things as the key to a good life.  Gandalf correctly predicts that Frodo’s pity for the piteous Gollum would be critical for the success of Frodo’s task.  Dumbledore repeatedly preaches that love is the greatest magic.  And Ged’s teachers stress the importance of caring for people and the balance of the universe.  Each of the series of books lays claim to promoting a humane world view.

The heroes in all three are immigrants dealing with prejudice against outsiders.  Frodo an immigrant to the big peoples’ world from Hobbit land.  Harry an immigrant to the magic world from muggle land.  And Ged an immigrant to wizard world from an outland area.  Overcoming and undermining prejudice is a theme of all three of the series.

And, underlying the storm and stress of their plots, the books are moral and political treatises on good and evil, providing examples of what to do and not to do in dealing with wrongdoers.  It is in this that they differ.  The ways in which authors set up their fictional worlds and the ways in their heroes define and face evil invariably reflect the authors’ political orientations.  Tolkien was politically conservative and ardently Christian.  Rowling is politically liberal and ardently feminist.  LeGuin was politically radical and ardently anarchist. 

While none of their books is overtly political, they significantly diverge in how they portray the bad guys, the good guys, the problems faced by the good guys, and the ways they deal with wrongdoers.  War, a more conservative solution to the problem of evil, is the main way in The Lord of the Rings. Containment, a liberal response, is the main way in the Harry Potter books.  Reconstruction, a more radical reaction, is the main way in the Earthsea books.  Politics underlie the moral of each story.  

In sum, the books provide readers with different models of dealing with evil and, in turn, teach young people different ways of facing the world.  Whether you think their influence is for the better or for the worse depends on what you think of what they teach their readers. 

Evil in Three Worlds: Infested, Infected, Self-Inflicted.

The Lord of the Rings, the Harry Potter books, and the Earthsea trilogy are dense books, filled with many different kinds of characters, many of them other than human, and with many different approaches to good and evil.  Although each contains a variety of approaches to defining and dealing with evil, each emphasizes one way over the others which becomes the main message readers are likely to take from the books.

In The Lord of the Rings, evil is embedded in the world and the world is infested with orcs.  Orcs are ugly, vicious, cannibalistic, humanoid creatures with human intelligence but inhuman proclivities.  They serve their master Sauron, a supremely wicked wizard who seeks to wreck the world and enslave everyone in it.  Faced with such opponents, the good guys in the books – hobbits, humans, elves, dwarves, and ents – seem to have no choice but to fight, defeat, and exterminate their foes.  It is a world of war to the bitter end. 

Death to the wicked wizard Sauron and genocide of the orcs is the goal of the heroes.  The orcs are completely dehumanized in the books.  Although they have human-like intelligence and even feelings, the orcs are portrayed as vermin by the narrator and treated like vermin by the books’ heroes.  Two of them, Gimli the dwarf and Legolas the elf, even engage in a contest to see who can kill the most orcs.  Exterminating bad guys is the main method of dealing with evil in The Lord of the Rings

In the Harry Potter books, the world is infected with evil from a wicked wizard, Voldemort, whose contagion dangerously spreads.  Harry and the good wizards and witches must deal with Voldemort and his wicked wizardly colleagues, so-called Death Eaters, whom Voldemort controls through corrupt inducements, death threats, and imperius curses, a kind of hypnotism.  Voldemort’s goal is personal immortality and dictatorial control of the world.  Voldemort and his closest supporters relish torturing and killing muggles, their name for non-magical humans, and they murder wizards who oppose them. 

Faced with such opponents the good wizards fight back, albeit mostly with non-violent means.  They try to limit the general knowledge of evil curses, teach humility and self-control to young wizards, and incarcerate Death Eaters.  The Ministry of Magic, the wizards’ government, and Hogwarts, the wizarding school, have as their main goals limiting the unnecessary use of magic and keeping secret the existence of the magical community.  It is a serious crime to use magic in the presence of muggles.  And an underlying theme in all of the courses in magic at Hogwarts is the need to control the use of magic.  The goal of the magical community is seemingly, thus, to quarantine evil wizards in the wizards’ prison and contain evil wizardry through education. 

In the course of the books, it becomes clear that the most powerful antidote to evil wizardry is love and self-sacrifice for others.  Harry’s mother dies to try to save him from Voldemort and effectively makes Harry immune to Voldemort’s killing curse.  Harry later is willing to die to save his colleagues from Voldemort, and his willingness to die for them makes them immune to Voldemort’s killing curses. 

In the end, Voldemort is killed when one of his own killing curses rebounds away from Harry and hits him.  With Voldemort’s death, all of the holds that he had over people are ended and the world seemingly goes back to normal, albeit a normality that requires eternal vigilance to ensure that magic does not get misused.  Containing evil is a long-term, full-time business.

In the Earthsea books, wizards and wizardry are a normal part of everyday life, as they were in Lord of the Rings, only even more so.  There are commonplace witches and wizards who can perform mundane medical spells, mending spells and other low-level magic in their peasant villages.  There are also great mages who can control the weather and even deal with the dead.  The main purpose of the great mages is to help keep a proper balance of all things in the world, but to intervene only when it is absolutely necessary.   

Ged, the hero of the books, is an ambitious young wizard with great natural, or supernatural, abilities who comes from an undistinguished background.  He is anxious to overcome his lowly antecedents and become highly regarded.  His pride leads him to perform an overly difficult and dangerous spell and he unwittingly unleashes into the living world an evil spirit from the world of the dead.  Ged goes on a desperate and dangerous voyage tracking down the spirit and returning it to the realm of the dead.  And in the end, it turns out to be a reflection of himself.  It is Ged’s evil self that he must put back into its proper place to restore balance to the world.    

Thereafter, Ged rises in the wizarding community to be the head mage and be considered the greatest wizard of his time.  But there is another evil spirit extant in the world that is draining the magical powers of the good wizards.  Ged leaves home again in a desperate search for the source of this disaster.  He finds that it is a wizard whom he had previously defeated and defanged, but who had studied the dark magical arts and come back incredibly powerful.  After much trial and tribulation, Ged defeats this wizard but it takes all of his magical powers and he is left as a shell of his former self.  In the end, he retires to a quiet nonmagical life in a little village.    

The Lord of the Rings, the Harry Potter books and the Earthsea books portray the problem of evil and the solution in different ways.  In The Lord of the Rings, the wrongdoers are portrayed as evil incarnate and the main way in which that evil is thwarted is through a direct attack against the enemy. After the first book in the series, almost all of the action involves fighting and killing.

In the Harry Potter books, the wrongdoers are evil but also foolish.  Voldemort never understands the power and importance of love and this is a key to his downfall.  Each of the books also involves some sort of mystery and trickery that has to be uncovered, solved, and resolved.  The main way in which evil is thwarted in these books is through quarantining it – for example, putting the Death Eaters in prison – and overwhelming it with a wealth of good sense and humane caring.  Containing evil and educating for good are the main purposes, respectively, of the Ministry of Magic and the Hogwarts School. 

In the Earthsea books, unleashing the evil spirit in the first book of the series is a consequence of the overweening pride of the main character Ged.  Pride is also a main problem with other characters that runs through the books.  The primary way that evil is thwarted is through self-reflection and reconstruction, putting your own evil genie back into the bottle and taking the other’s evil with you. Destructive pride and constructive humility are the main themes. 

Attacking, quarantining, reconstructing are the three models of dealing with evil portrayed in the books.  These methods reflect, in turn, the modes in which their stories are told.

Modes of Storytelling: Melodrama, Comedy, Tragedy.

Authors create worlds and then, if the authors are meticulous, the events in their stories occur within the frameworks and the possibilities of those worlds.  And we readers follow along.  We get pulled into an author’s world and accept the events of the story and the choices and actions of the characters as logical within that world.  A violent world generates violent choices.  A chaotic world generates foolish choices.  A fallen world, a world noir, generates dark choices.   The setup of the world is, thereby, a key to the movement and message of a story.

The “In the beginning,” the backstory of a narrative, largely determines where it will go.  The backstory, in turn, generally reflects the dramatic form of the book.  Stories can take various shapes and forms.  Three of the most common forms are melodrama, comedy and tragedy.  Each of these dramatic forms conveys a different message as to how to deal with evil wrongdoers.[2]  And we can see this in The Lord of the Rings, the Harry Potter books and the Earthsea trilogy.

Melodrama can be defined as a story of battle between good people and evil people, with the forces of good confronting and attempting to eradicate the forces of evil.  Antipathy is generally a motivating force.  Melodrama is a narrative form that deals in extremes of emotion and action, and is based on an absolutist view of morality[3]  In a melodrama, the problem in the story is created by the evil actions of evil people.  These are people who cannot be trusted and have to be eliminated.  Since there can be no compromise with evil or evil people, melodrama portrays a world in which problems almost always must be settled by war or conflict of some sort.[4]

Melodrama is the predominant story form in our society and the form in which most people seem instinctively to react to adversity.  “Who is doing this to me and how can I defeat them” is the first reaction of most people to a problem.  This melodramatic reaction has been programmed into us by evolutionary processes.  It is “an aggression drive inherited [by man] from his anthropoid ancestors.”[5]  It leaves us “hardwired to distinguish between ‘us’ and ‘them,’ and to behave inhumanely toward ‘them’ at the slightest provocation.”[6]  

Melodrama is essentially the story form of the “fright, then fight or flight” reaction of our piglet-like precursors who had to make their way in a world of giant carnivores.  Although it was a successful survival strategy for helpless mini-mammals, a kneejerk reaction of “victory or death” can lead to unnecessary violence and disastrous wars when dealing with the complex problems of the complicated world of modern humans.[7]

Comedy can be defined as a story of wisdom versus folly, wise people versus foolish people.[8]  In comedy, the problem is created by “the intervention of fools,” that is, by someone acting badly out of stupidity or ignorance.[9]  It is a narrative form that promotes education as the solution to problems, as the wise try to teach the fools or at least restrain them from foolishness.[10]  Sympathy is an underlying motivation in comedy.  When we think people are acting foolishly, our reactions are typically either to correct them or to constrain them so that they can do no further harm.      

Comedy reflects a hierarchical world in which knowledgeable people are expected to control stupid and ignorant people, educating them in proper behavior and belief when that is possible, and tricking, controlling or excluding them when that is not.  Comedy involves conflicts and struggles but the action generally stays peaceful or is, at least, not fatal.  If, however, a fool refuses instruction and rejects containment, comedy can descend into violent struggle and metamorphose into melodrama.  A comedy may have a happy or unhappy ending depending on whether the fools learn their lesson. 

Tragedy can be defined as a story of too much of a good thing becoming bad.  Tragedy, in this definition, describes characters who pursue a too narrowly prescribed good too far until it turns on itself, becomes bad and precipitates a potential disaster.  The characters’ “tragic flaw” is pride in insisting on their own narrow perspectives and failing to see things in a broader context, for example failing to recognize that one person’s good may be someone else’s bad and that an individual’s good ultimately depends on the good of all.[11]

Tragedy is a story of hubris versus humility, the failure of the tragic characters “to recognize their personal limits,” and to reconcile contradictions within themselves, within their society and between themselves and their society.[12]  Tragedy deals with the good intentions that can pave the way to hell.[13]  The moral of the story is usually to seek negotiation and inclusion as the way to avoid the conflict and calamity that befall tragic figures.  Empathy is an underlying theme in tragedy, and the goal is for the tragic hero and the audience to recognize the narrowness of the hero’s perspective.  This recognition could enable a reconstruction of the situation so that all could peacefully co-exist.[14]

The Moral of Choosing a Mode of Storytelling: Melodrama, Comedy or Tragedy.

Different modes of storytelling convey different moral messages, and the differences between melodrama, comedy and tragedy are significant.  If people see the world primarily in melodramatic terms, they will tend to see social problems as the result of the evil actions of evil people, to see enemies all around, and to see war or coercion of some sort as the solution. 

If people see the world in comic terms, they will tend to see social problems as the result of foolish people and see education and/or containment as the solution.  If people see the world in tragic terms, they will tend to see social problems as the result of competing goods and competing good intentions, and to see negotiation as the solution.  In sum, the dramatic form in which people tell a story will largely determine their moral reactions and their corrective actions.

In deciding which dramatic form to use in dealing with a social problem and telling the story of that problem, my preference is to choose the tragic form whenever and to the greatest extent possible because it is the most peaceful approach and the one in which ordinary people can most actively engage.  The tragic mode asks you to put yourself in the shoes of other people, broaden your perspective to include theirs and negotiate a compromise solution to your differences.  That is my first choice.   

To the extent the facts of my situation or story do not fit into a tragic mold, my preference is to choose the comic form as a potentially peaceful way of resolving a problem.  In comedy, you see your side as wise and the other as foolish, and you set your side up to instruct the fools, contain them or constrain their foolishness.  This strategy can lead to conflict if the other side does not see itself as foolish, and resents and resists your efforts.  Properly done, however, the comic mode has the potential for a peaceful and mutually satisfactory resolution of differences.

Finally, to the extent the facts do not fit either the tragic or comic modes, I reluctantly approach a situation in melodramatic terms.  Melodrama is for me the form of last resort because it portrays a world in which differences can be settled only by fighting.  The more you tell stories using the melodramatic mode, the more you are telling your audience that conflicts can only be resolved through war.

Tragedy first, comedy as a fallback, melodrama as a last resort.  That is the way that I think we should approach telling our stories.  Unfortunately, most storytellers in our present-day society take an opposite approach.  Hence, for example, the overwhelming volume of literature, movies and video games that feature fighting, murder, and war, and that thereby promote a melodramatic view of the world.  The melodramatic reaction is programmed into us and is, thus, a very human reaction.  But it is most often not a helpful reaction.  It is important, therefore, to try to get past that kneejerk reaction.  Thinking more slowly and deliberately is usually a better way to go.   

Facing a Morally Challenging Situation: Third Time is a Charm.

We humans are a story-telling species and we are quick to turn even the slightest information into a narrative with a moral to the story.  Feelings of approval and disapproval run through almost all of our thinking.  Feelings of neutrality are pretty much possible only for things about which we don’t care.  The stream of consciousness that churns through our minds can be characterized as a stream of judgments as we gather information and construct stories that explain to us what we are experiencing. 

And we tend to be quick thinkers and quick to conclusions.  This was an advantage to our puny primate ancestors who were trying to survive in a world full of predators that wanted to eat them and of prey that they wanted to eat.  Quick reactions could be the difference between eating and being eaten.  Fright and then either fight or flight was, in particular, a saving reaction for our ancestors and a main reason we exist today.

But that was then and this is now.  After millions of years of development as primitive primates, humans as we know ourselves emerged around three hundred thousand years ago.  And we emerged with the reflex reactions of our predecessors still hard-wired in us.  That is not a good thing when we are faced with situations and problems more complex than those faced by our ancestors.  Confronted with a new situation, our first reaction is almost invariably a gut reaction of disapproval or approval.  “Yuck” or “Yay.”  But first reactions are almost invariably overreactions.  Whether it be love or hate at first sight, it is likely to be a one-sided misperception which, if acted upon, could lead to misadventure.  Second looks are almost always necessary and proper.[15]

If we resist acting on that first impulse and delve into the particulars of the situation, we will often revise our reaction, going from “Yuck” to “Yay” or “Yay” to “Yuck.”  On this second look, we are likely to begin to understand the rationale behind the problem and sympathize with the participants.  But that is also likely to be an underreaction so that a third look at the situation is generally in order. 

And when we delve into the reasons for our contradictory impulses, we will often come up with a mixed conclusion, partially “Yuck” and partially “Yay.”   If we are lazy, this mixed conclusion could be just a wishy-washy compromise.  But if we are intellectually rigorous, it could be a dialectical conclusion that points to a workable solution to our problem. 

This three-step method is akin to a maxim known to teachers that it takes at least three iterations of a lesson before it will register with most students.  If something is important for students to understand and remember, it should be covered at least three times, albeit in three different ways, coming at it from different angles so as to deal with different aspects of the problem and maintain students’ interest.  

The method will also lead students through their “Yuck” and “Yay” reactions to a problem, and help them to achieve a balanced view of the subject.  In this respect, the method is a way of working your way from a melodramatic kneejerk overreaction through a comic underreaction before settling on what could be considered a realistic tragic response to a problem.  It can also be a way of moving from antipathy though sympathy to empathy, the last being the most humane approach to almost anything.

Modes and Morals of Storytelling in Practice: Illegal Immigrants.

How you deal with a situation depends in large part on how you see its backstory.  You ask how did the situation arise, and how and why did it become a problem?   Likewise, the way you deal with a group of people depends on how you see their backstory.  Who are these people. and how and why did they become a problem?  

Take, for example, the present-day problem of undocumented immigrants coming to the United States from Central America.  A large number of Central Americans are leaving their homelands in search of work and a better life in the United States.  The number is so large that it has overwhelmed the immigration authorities.  It is a genuine problem.  But how you define the problem and envision a solution depends on how you see the immigrants.  And how you see the immigrants depends in large part on what you see as their backstory.  

To many Americans, the immigrants are an invading horde of rapists, killers, thieves and ne’re-do-wells?  To listen to Donald Trump and his MAGA supporters, you would think the immigrants are a sinister mob of orcs straight out of the The Lord of the Rings.  The situation is, in their minds, a melodrama and the immigrants pose a clear and present danger to decent people.  Trump has repeatedly called it “an invasion,” thereby invoking a war metaphor.  He proposes to deport all of the illegal immigrants, some eleven million or more, and send the military to the border to stop more from coming.  It is a war at all costs.  A war to the end.

To other, more pragmatic Americans, the immigrants are seen as poor people who are responding to the demand in the United States for farm workers, construction hands, care-givers and other low-wage workers.  Almost all of the immigrants – legal and illegal – find ready employment, and become hardworking, taxpaying inhabitants of the country.  They commit crimes at a lower rate than American citizens.  Sympathy, rather than antipathy, would seem an appropriate response in the best interests of all.  The immigrants are a necessity for our economy and it would seem foolish to reject them.  A wiser solution, and a resolution to what could be characterized as a dark comedy (not in the “Ha, ha” sense but as dealing with anti-immigrant foolishness), would be to develop better procedures for welcoming them.    

To other still more farsighted Americans, the underlying problem is that people are being pushed from their home countries by a lack of employment opportunities.  They want work and are a potential asset to either the United States or their country of origin if only there are jobs for them.  There is plenty of work that needs to be done in their homelands.  It is largely a matter of financing the work.   If people have work there, they won’t need to come here.

The problem, in this view, has arisen from the fact that American companies, backed by the American government, have been exploiting Central American countries and their workers for many decades.  This exploitation has produced big profits for the companies, which makes their shareholders happy, and cheap goods for consumers, which makes them happy.  Most Americans have never given the situation a second thought and have assumed that it could go on forever without any consequences.  The immigration problem, however, is one of the consequences. 

The best resolution to the situation, in this view, would seemingly be for Americans to take responsibility for the problem, and undertake responsibility for developing industry and creating decent jobs in Central America.  The only long-term way to solve the immigrant problem is to solve the immigrants’ problem, and that means building up their home countries so they won’t feel the need to come to the United States.

These are just three of the ways in which the immigrant problem can be seen as melodrama, comedy and tragedy.  The point is that the way you envision a solution to the immigration problem is largely a function of the way in which you envision the situation and the immigrants.  The mode in which you tell the story of the problem is a key to your proposed solution.  As we can see in The Lord of the Rings, the Harry Potter books,and the Earthsea trilogy.

The Moral of the Stories: Frodo, Harry Potter, Ged.  

Each of the three series of books –The Lord of the Rings, the Harry Potter books,and the Earthsea trilogy– incorporates various approaches to dealing with evil.  Each series includes elements of melodrama, comedy and tragedy, and attitudes of antipathy, sympathy and empathy.  Each describes heroes reacting sometimes reflexively, sometimes reflectively and sometimes dialectically, and each depicts problems being resolved through a mix of war, containment and reconstruction.  But each of the authors also puts greater emphasis on some approaches over others.  And, as a result, the moral of their stories is different.

The Lord of the Rings is essentially a melodrama about war and the impossibility of staying aloof from the conflict.  The setup and the characterizations make war look like the only solution to the problems in the story.  The story opens with a lovely and loving picture of the idyllic life of hobbits in their out-of-the-way shire.  Hobbits are a peaceful species of diminutive humanoids who live withdrawn from the larger world of big people and who are largely unknown outside their land.  Hobbits have almost no government or police force and no army.  They are a sedentary folk, and their community is essentially anarchistic and almost utopian.   

Hobbits want nothing more than to be left alone to eat, smoke and generally vegetate.  They are, nonetheless, despite themselves, drawn into a world war of good guys – including humans, elves, dwarves, and ents – against the evil wizard Sauron and his dominion of evil orcs, ghouls, trolls, wolves and other beastly creatures.  Hobbits are the least and least likely creatures to be involved in a world war. The message of the story is that nobody is immune or safe from the reach of evil.  You must join the fight or die. 

Hobbits are seemingly the least likely creatures to be the key to success in a war against Sauron.  But Frodo, the hobbit hero of the story, has come into possession of the ultimate ring of power.  It is a ring that would make Sauron all but unbeatable if he got it, but it would lead to his demise if it were destroyed.  Frodo, who is not a warrior, is, nonetheless, fated to be the one who must destroy the ring in a fiery pit in Sauron’s own back yard before Sauron can get it.

Most of other characters in The Lord of the Rings serve as side stories for readers and diversions for Sauron to keep him from focusing on Frodo in his journey to destroy the ring.  And most of the action of these other characters consists of fighting, one giant battle and slaughter of orcs after another.  But Frodo is the main actor as he suffers one cruel hardship after another en route to the fiery pit.  In end, the ring is destroyed and that results in the destruction of Sauron and his hosts of minions.

The Lord of the Rings is a melodrama in which kneejerk “yuck” reactions are portrayed as the right response to evil.  Intuition and sixth-sense sensitivity play a big role in the drama.  The good guys can sense the presence of bad guys.  There are magical crystal balls with which wizards can read each other’s thoughts.  And Sauron has a gigantic eye which enables him to see far and wide and into people’s minds.  The drama is largely a battle of intuitionists and intuitions.

Tolkien was politically and religiously conservative.  The idea of evil being all around and needing to battle it head on would fit with his ideological background.  Then, too, he was writing the books during World War II when evil was literally all around.  Sauron is a Hitler figure.  Orcs are like Nazi black shirts.  Other than Nazis and Nazi sympathizers, no one nowhere felt safe from World War II.  Everyone everywhere felt threatened by the war.   And complete victory in that war seemed the only answer to Nazism.  It is understandable that Tolkien would set his story in such a situation.  But what about its continuing effect on young people today?

Tellingly, after Sauron is defeated and the hobbits return to their shire, Frodo’s comrades go armed and in military attire to throw out bad guys who had taken over and were wrecking the place.  After brief battles, they succeed in routing the usurpers, but the impression is left that things will never again be as peaceful as before.  Even after Sauron’s fall, fighting was necessary to beat off new miscreants.  Evil had touched the whole world and would linger thereafter.

The Harry Potter books are essentially comic in their setup and action.  There is plenty of evil, but it is foolishness that sets it loose and that provides the problems which Harry and his comrades must solve.  Harry is, for example, mistaken in thinking until the end of the series that Professor Snape is on the side of evil, albeit he surely is nasty.  In each of the books, Harry has kneejerk reactions that turn out to be foolish.  That Snape wants to kill him and is trying to get the sorcerer’s stone.  That Tom Riddle will help him deal with the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.  That Voldemort was holding Sirius hostage in the Department of Mysteries.  Second thoughts are necessary to remedy the problems created by kneejerk first reactions.

A major piece of foolishness on the part of Dumbledore, who is otherwise almost omniscient and omnicompetent, underlies the backstory for the whole series.  He has known all along that Voldemort is Tom Riddle but seemingly tells no one, so that it is not until later in the books that most others learn this fact.  Things could have gone very differently if everyone had known this.  That piece of foolishness is compounded by Dumbledore’s trying on a cursed ring that he has found.  The effect of the curse is the operative cause of his death, which is almost a fatal blow to the anti-Voldemort movement.  Foolishness abounds and surrounds us in these books.

The books are also comedic in the sympathy which we are expected to have even for some of Voldemort’s supporters.  Those, like Stan Shunpike, who have been subject to an Imperius Curse, cannot be blamed for their actions.  Even Voldemort elicits some sympathy from Dumbledore, Harry and the reader for the way in which Tom Riddle was abandoned and stigmatized as a child.  As a descendent of Slytherin, Tom may have had some genetic predisposition toward evil, but not every one of Slytherin’s descendants became demonic as Tom did, so the predisposition could seemingly be contained, controlled and perhaps even overcome with good.  Tom Riddle need not have become Voldemort.  Which can be seen as the comedic moral of the story.

The Earthsea trilogy is essentially tragic at its core, a series of examples of pride going before a all.  Ged and the other good characters exemplify empathy for each other and for different peoples and species.  Ged even comes to understand dragons who are generally unfathomable and unintelligible to humans.  The goal espoused by the books is to foster connections among creatures and cooperation where possible, or at least peaceful coexistence.  This can be achieved through a concern for maintaining balance in the universe.  Balance requires humility toward things that can be shattered by egoism and pride.  A lesson that Ged learns the hard way. 

When Ged first realizes his powers as a wizard, he chafes at the restrictions that his mentors place on him.  He reasons that if he is a wizard, he should be able and allowed to do whatever he wants.  That whatever mistakes he might make, he could remedy.  But he is fatally wrong.  His pride leads him to perform actions that unleash evil from the land of the dead and his mentor loses his own life in defeating the shadow and restoring the balance of things.    

In the Earthsea trilogy, evil is the absence of good and not a feature of the universe, as it is in The Lord of the Rings.  If evil is a substantive thing, then almost inevitably you will have to attack it as was done in The Lord of the Rings.  And those who do bad things can become stereotyped as bad people and dehumanized, as they are in The Lord of the Rings.  Witness Tolkien’s orcs for example.  Diversity in Tolkien’s universe becomes questionable as many of the dangerous are different and, so, difference can come to seem dangerous.

But if evil is not substantive and is the absence of good, evil can be dealt with by overwhelming the bad with good.  And people who do bad things can be seen as having within themselves the potential for good.  We can be seen as all one people despite our differences and even because of our differences.  And we can achieve diversity that consists of differences among people who share a basic common humanity.  We can, thereby, promote tolerance for the tolerant along with intolerance for the intolerant.  Which is a key theme of the Earthsea books.

The Moral of this Essay: Give Peace a Chance.

In the present-day era of instant communication from all over the world, almost anything that happens anywhere can be immediately known almost everywhere.  And in an era of mass media sensationalism, in which bad news is almost the only news that gets broadcast, it can easily come to feel as though bad guys are doing bad things everywhere and all the time, as though we are surrounded by evil.  In that context, melodrama can seem the appropriate response to problems in the world.  Trust no one.  Shoot first and ask questions later.  Get them before they get us.  Especially in response to a terrorist attack. 

But the fact of the matter is that for every terrorist who does horrible things, there are tens of millions of people doing good things.  That is why I think that it is better whenever possible to get past the kneejerk fight-or-flight reaction to a problem, take a deep breath, and then give the problem a second and third thought.  Approach the situation first as tragedy, then as comedy if tragedy won’t work, and finally melodrama only as a last resort.  And our literature for young people should reflect that approach.  Evil is inevitable.  But modeling peaceful ways of dealing with evil can help teach young people not to overreact to problems and not to escalate into major conflicts problems that could be peacefully resolved.

As to the lessons that I learned from the Christmas dinner at my friend’s house, I came to the paradoxical conclusion that my best defense against bigotry was to lead with my chin.  It is essentially a comic strategy.  Not “Ha, ha” comedy, but an attempt to treat bigotry as foolishness rather than wickedness.  To try to make sure that people know who and what I am before they get a chance to insult me, so maybe they won’t.  I try to make sure, for example, that, depending on the situation, people know that I am Jewish, liberal, a fan of Dickens, a teetotaler, an old-time Brooklyn Dodger fan, and whatever else might be relevant.  

The premise of this policy is an assumption that people can be decent even if they are bigoted.  That most people won’t deliberately insult someone even if they are prejudiced against them.  It is a practice of preemptive openness and deliberate naivety.  I assume that people are decent unless and until they show me otherwise.  I am aware that most people are likely to be prejudiced against many of the things that I represent.  So, the idea is to give their good hearts a chance to preempt any bigoted comments they might be tempted to make if they did not know that I might be offended. 

In this case, I believe that my friend’s grandmother was generally a kind-hearted person.  I think if she had known beforehand that I was Jewish, she wouldn’t have said what she did.  Maybe if I had early on mentioned my friend’s having attended our Hannukah celebration, a hurtful and embarrassing situation could have been avoided.  And a step toward accepting diversity and peaceful coexistence might have been taken. 

That is probably too much to expect of a five-year-old.  It is, however, a strategy of preemptive disclosure and assumptive good will that I remember reading about in a story for young people sometime later.  I can’t remember much of the story but I remember the lesson.  It is an example of the way in which stories can influence a reader beyond the person’s memories, and it is a reason why it is important to understand the messages that stories convey to readers.  Despite not remembering much of whence it came to me, the strategy of leading with my chin is one that I have found useful and have tried to practice ever since.

                                                                                                                                    BW  1/25


[1] J.R.R. Tolkien. The Lord of the Rings. Houghton Mifflin, Boston. 1954-1955.

  J.K. Rowling. Harry Potter series. Scholastic, Inc., New York:  1997-2997.  

  Ursula LeGuin. Earthsea trilogy. Parnassus Press, Berkeley, CA. 1968.  Atheneum Books, NY. 1971-1972.

[2] Paul Goodman. The Structure of Literature. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1954.

[3] Goodman. 1954, Pp.127-149.

[4] Kenneth Burke. Attitudes Toward History. Boston: Beacon Press, 1961, P.34.

[5] Konrad Lorenz.  On Aggression. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World. 1966, P.49.

[6] David Sloane Wilson. Evolution of Everyone. New York: Delacorte Press. 2007, Pp. 285

[7] Jared Diamond. The Third Chimpanzee: The Evolution and Future of the Human Animal.  New York:

   Harper Perennial. 1993. Pp.220-221, 276-310; also Wilson 2007, Pp,51-57

[8] Aristotle. Aristotle’s Poetics. Hill and Wang. NY. 1961, P.59.

[9] Burke. 1961, 41.

[10] Goodman 1954, 82-100.

[11]  Goodman 1954, Pp. 35, 172.

[12]  Burke 1961, P.37.

[13]  Aristotle 1961, Pp.61, 81-83. Burke, 1961, P.39.

[14]  Aristotle 1961, Pp.84-86

[15] Daniel Kahneman. Thinking Fast and Slow. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2011.

Percival Everett’s “James.” A classic within a classic.  Literacy and Democracy: The Pygmalion Problem. Overreaching for irony/Undercutting the message?

Percival Everett’s James. A classic within a classic.

Literacy and Democracy: The Pygmalion Problem

Overreaching for irony/Undercutting the message?

Burton Weltman

“The children said together ‘And the better they feel, the safer we are.’

‘February, translate that.’ ‘Da mo’ betta dey feels, da mo’ safer we be’ ’Nice.’”

 James teaching a group of enslaved children how to act and speak black as

a means of survival when in the presence of white people.

Huck and Jim/James and Huck.

Percival Everett’s novel James is a brilliant book.  The reviews are in and it is being hailed as an instant classic, which may be going a bit far, but not by much.[1]  A retelling of Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from the point of view of Jim the enslaved companion of Huck, Everett’s novel makes Huck the companion of Jim, now self-renamed James.  In James, their joint adventures become James’ story, not merely because he is the narrator and fictionally the author of the book, but because he is the driving force and determining intelligence behind the adventures of the two companions.

In its basic outline, James follows the story in Huckleberry Finn, as the two protagonists escape from Widow Douglass’ farm in fictional St. Petersburg, Missouri, and make their way down the Mississippi River towards New Orleans.  There are some deviations in James from the plot of Huckleberry Finn, but nothing that detracts from Huck’s story or demeans Twain’s novel. The main difference between the books is that James in James is literate and can speak better English than any of the white people in his book.  It is a secret that James has kept from white people for many years, mumbling a bumbling version of slave-speak in the presence of whites, and that he keeps from Huck until late in the story.

Technically, James is a brilliant complement to Huckleberry Finn.  Thematically, it is an impelling supplement.  The plot of Everett’s book is for the most part inserted into the open spaces of Huck’s narrative in Twain’s book.  Initially, James’ story follows along behind Huckleberry Finn, with James’ narrative complementing Huck’s.  But eventually, James’ story takes the lead, with Huck’s story complementing his.  Everett has turned the drama around so that Huckleberry Finn becomes a complement to James.  James’ is the main story.  Huck’s becomes the background.

It is a remarkable turnaround.  Huck’s story in Huckleberry Finn is engrossing and we feel for him.  But James’ story in James is compelling and we hurt with him.  Huck’s problems are real but pale in comparison with those of James.  Huck is a free and fairly affluent white boy who is fleeing domestication.  If he is caught, he will have to go to school and church and eat with a fork.  James is fleeing enslavement and permanent separation from his family, and he faces torture and death if he is captured.  Given James’ predicament, Huck’s problems seem secondary. 

All kudos to Everett.  It is no mean feat to take a book that is often acclaimed as the “Great American Novel” and successfully make it into the background for your book.  Not to demean Huckleberry Finn, an all-time classic, but Everett’s novel is a remarkable achievement and a contender for classic status.   

For one thing, James is unforgettable.  It grips you while you are reading it and haunts you thereafter.  Its power stems in part from the description of events and characters in the book, but even more from the feelings that it leaves you with.  Everett is a black American.  His book is a chilling description of the pressure that blacks have historically been under in this country to behave in a submissive way toward whites, and often are to this day. 

The book is specifically about enslaved blacks in the ante-bellum South for whom any action that could be conceived by a white person as being uppity might lead to horrible consequences.  Unintendedly saying the wrong thing, glancing the wrong way, almost anything might offend a white person and result in humiliation and beating at the least, torture and lynching at the worst. 

The book makes you feel the chronic anxiety that enslaved people must have felt and that people of color must often feel today, especially in encounters with white police officers.  It did not, I must add, leave me with feelings of guilt or self-loathing as a white person.  It left me with horror, sorrow, anxiety and anger.  There should be no question of the book being banned from schools on account of guilt-tripping white kids.  It does not demean them and should energize them instead.

James is a political book, albeit not in any partisan way.  To the contrary, it is a reminder that the antebellum Republican Party was anti-slavery, the Democratic Party pro-slavery.  And that until the 1960’s, the segregationist South was solidly Democratic.  It is, however, political in the sense of the slogan that “The personal is political,” that treating people with respect is the goal of a humane politics, and that we should respect the respectful but disrespect the disrespectful.

The main thrust of the book is the way James is treated by different people in different contexts along the way downriver.  At one point, he has to put on blackface makeup to pretend he is a white person pretending to be a black person.  Which is something he can do because he can speak English better than any of the whites.  Poignant and hilarious.  One of the surprises in the book, and a source of laugh-out-loud humor, is that James and other blacks can speak perfect English and that they only feign a garbled slave-speak to fool while people.          

As brilliant as the book is, I think that it was a misstep to have James able to speak better English than any of the white people.  It was unnecessarily reaching too far for contrasts and comedy.  And it exemplifies the widespread attitude that the ability to speak textbook English is a prerequisite for high social standing.  That is an elitist attitude that I think is undemocratic and that works against the overall democratic message of James.

Cultural Literacy: Aristocracy, Meritocracy, and Democracy.

Lincoln famously described democracy as government of, by and for the people.  It is a wonderful description, but it begs the questions of who is to be considered part of the people.  Democracy depends on people being literate within their own culture, being able to understand what are the public issues, evaluate alternate options for dealing with those issues, and work with others to deal with the issues.  If the whole of the population of a society isn’t capable of that, then a democracy of all the populace might not work for that society.   

In the so-called democracies of the ancient Greeks, about one-third of the populace was considered citizens, about one-third was foreign non-citizens, and about one-third was enslaved persons.  It was the citizens for whom government was of, by and for.  And even among the citizens, there were class and status differences in the political rights, duties and powers of individuals.  An elite portion of the populace held the effective power.  Foreigners, slaves and women had no governmental power and had to be satisfied with whatever rights they were given. 

This state of affairs could be rationalized as being as democratic as was possible under the circumstances.  In ancient Greece, language skills were of primary importance.  Many cities were governed by an assembly of the whole citizenry.  Ability to participate in the assembly was largely based on oratorical skill.  One could, therefore, rationalize limiting the citizenry, “the people,” to a small enough number of persons able to meet all together, and to empower only those persons who had sufficient language skills to debate effectively in the assembly.

In Medieval Europe in which most people were serfs and were effectively owned by the neighborhood nobleman, many peasant villages were effectively democratic.  Except for the dues and duties that they owed to the lord, the peasants collectively managed their own affairs on an “of, by and for the people” basis. The villagers elected headmen and allocated tasks and lands based on collective agreements.  It was a democratic base within an aristocratic superstructure.

Being able to read, write and orate was not significant in the medieval village.  The peasants’ problems were unlikely to involve reading and writing, and the villagers’ discussions and negotiations were unlikely to require dramatic oratorical skills.  In sum, the skills required to function as a democracy depend upon the situation.  People who cannot read or write may have cultural literacy in dealing with plants, animals, people and other things that enable them to comprehend and contribute to the discussion of their society’s issues.

The idea of democracy in which “the people” meant everyone is essentially a late-eighteenth century development in Europe and among European Americans.  Previous theories of government, both liberal and conservative, assumed that only some of the people were capable of participating in the social and political system, and many theories still do. 

Conservatives have historically promoted aristocracy, even when the social and political system has been superficially democratic.  Aristocracy is based on the idea that the inheritance of genetic and/or social advantages qualifies a person to belong to the class of leaders and rulers in a society, and hold a status to which others should defer.  Liberals have generally countered with meritocracy.  Meritocracy is based on the idea that having developed and displayed certain abilities, especially high levels of language literacy, qualifies a person to belong to a class of the most competent people who should lead and rule society. 

Neither idea is genuinely democratic. Neither promotes government of and by all of the people even if it promotes government that is ostensibly for the people.  Both doctrines culminate in an elite class of special persons that rules over the mass of ordinary persons.  Slavery was an extreme version of these doctrines.  It rationalized a combination of aristocratic and meritocratic theories taken to an extreme at which point they rebounded on themselves and justified a slave society that was neither conservative nor liberal. 

The theory of racial slavery in this country held that white people were genetically superior to black people and that whites, thereby, justifiably inherited their dominance over blacks.  At the same time, the theory held that the culture of white people, and especially its foundation in English language skills, was superior to the culture of black Africans and their descendant slaves, so that whites were deemed capable of social and political participation whereas blacks were not.

Developments in genetics and in the history of African cultures have long since given the lie to these theories of white superiority.  Scientists have determined that there are no significant biological differences among the so-called races which, in any case, are social-constructions and not genetic distinctions.  In turn, anthropologists have explained that different cultures develop different ways and means in response to different situations, and that so long as different cultures deal adequately with their different circumstances, there is no basis for considering one culture superior to the others.  That goes for slave cultures like that of the enslaved African Americans.

One of the greatest achievements in human history is the culture of freedom developed in slavery by African Americans.  It was a culture that dealt with the fact of their enslavement and their need to protect themselves against brutality from white people.  As a result, blacks developed both a camouflage bumbling English to make themselves seem stupid in front of white people, and also an in-group slang lingo that enabled them to communicate with each other without being understood by their masters.  Enslaved blacks were effectively trilingual.  In this way, they developed behavioral defense mechanisms to keep white people from accusing them of insubordination while allowing them to exercise a degree of independence and insubordination.    

But black culture was not merely a defense mechanism.  It was also a way of living that tapped the energy and creativity of enslaved black people to produce a wealth of stories that became a keystone of American literature and a torrent of songs that became the foundation of American music – the Gospel, blues and jazz which are America’s major contribution to world music.[2]  And they did this despite being largely illiterate.  It has been estimated that some ten percent of enslaved blacks could read and write as compared with some eighty percent of ante-bellum whites.  But that did not stop blacks from developing a high level of their own cultural literacy.  A culture of freedom and free expression, albeit often disguised.      

Open rebellion by enslaved blacks was rare.  Although there were some heroic uprisings, there were very few attempted rebellions and they failed badly.  There was, in reality, almost no chance that a slave revolution could succeed in the United States given the relatively small number of enslaved blacks compared to white freemen.  Violent resistance would have been deadly to the blacks. 

At the same time, the relatively peaceful response of blacks to slavery should not be seen as a passive response and somehow a weakness in the enslaved people.  The paucity of slave uprisings should instead, I think, be seen as largely a result of the success of enslaved people in building their own cultures and communities within slavery.  This should not be seen as a failure but as a tremendous achievement.  It is for this reason that I think it was a misstep for Everett to have portrayed James and other blacks as being secretly more perfectly literate than their masters.  It isn’t plausible.  It isn’t democratic.  And it diminishes the actual achievements of the enslaved people.   

The Pygmalion Problem.

In George Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion, Professor Higgins believes that he is doing the flower girl Eliza a favor by teaching her to abandon her hackneyed lower class Cockney English and speak the King’s English, the idiom spoken by the upper classes.  But having taught her to speak and behave like a princess, he has essentially turned her into a fish out of water.  She is not recognized as a colleague by her lower-class former comrades and she is not actually a member of the upper classes that she now resembles.  She belongs nowhere and to no one.  It is a conundrum that Shaw does not actually resolve at the end of the play.  The same seems to go for James in James

Irony goes best when it is plausible.  James is clearly the most intelligent and resourceful person in the book, which is quite plausible.  The seemingly submissive slave who pretends to be dumb, but is really smarter than the fools to whom he bows, is plausible, ironic, and very funny.  James will occasionally forget himself and say something in correct English, sometimes even correcting a white person, rather than mumbling in slave-talk.  The white characters will do a double-take at what they just heard and James will have to double back to slave-talk in order to save the situation.  It is hilarious and it highlights the contrast between him and the white people. 

It is a brilliant stroke and it is plausible up to a point.  It is plausible that James could speak as well as the best-spoken whites in the book and better than most of the whites.  But it is not plausible that he could secretly speak English better than any of the whites.  From whom could James have learned this perfect English?  And given the frequent lapses he has in the course of the book, how is it plausible that he could have kept his language proficiency a secret for his whole life? 

I think Everett has unnecessarily gone too far in search of contrast and comedy.  The extent of this trope is not necessary to establish that the slaves are more intelligent and more knowledgeable about the world than their masters.  It is perfectly plausible that since the slaves do almost everything that needs doing, they would be more capable and competent, when they wanted to be, than their masters.  But inflating James’ knowledge of English seems to equate English language literacy with intelligence and competence, and this invites blowback from the fact that most slaves did not in reality have better language skills than their masters.  

In portraying enslaved people as conventionally literate, Everett seems to be implying that if a person was not conventionally literate, the person was inferior.  And since we know that most enslaved blacks were not literate, Everett, in equating language skills with intelligence and competence, seems, despite himself, to be implying that real-life enslaved blacks were inferior. 

The focus on conventional literacy undermines the point that enslaved blacks could be considered more knowledgeable than whites about things that were important in their society.  They did the work.  They were the ones who most deserved to be fully empowered members of the society.  They were the ones most capable of living in a democracy, unlike the autocratic and ignorant whites who reveled in ordering blacks around, cheating each other, and fighting duels.

Making the world safer for whites and blacks: An Irony.

I think that both the best of the book and what I think is a misstep by Everett are exemplified in the short dialogue from James that I have included above as the epilogue to this essay and that I repeat here below.  In this early scene in the book, James is conducting a class for enslaved black children in the neighborhood of Widow Douglass’ farm.  He is teaching them how to avoid antagonizing white people, including how to mumble in slave-speak.  The goal is to appear as stupid and unthreatening as possible.  For these kids, this lesson is not a game.  It is a lesson in survival strategies.  If a white person feels threatened or upstaged in any way by an enslaved person, even by a child, it can be a disaster for that enslaved person.  Safety through the appearance of subservience is the curriculum for this lesson.

The dialogue goes as follows: 

The children said together ‘And the better they feel, the safer we are.’

‘February, translate that.’

‘Da mo’ betta dey feels, da mo’ safer we be’

’Nice.’

There are at least two key aspects of this bit of dialogue.  First, it is heartbreakingly plausible that such classes would have existed then, and it is chilling to realize that parents of color often feel they have to teach similar things to their kids today.  “Having the Conversation” is what some people call it today.  The contrast is stark between what going to school means for Huck, a lot of useless book-learning, and the schooling in life and death tactics that these kids are getting from James.   

Second, it is not plausible that the children already seem to know how to speak correct English but don’t know slave-speak.  Their opening comment that “the better they feel, the safer we are” is perfect, even eloquent, English.  How could it be that they know how to speak correct English? They could have had only very limited opportunity for hearing people speak correct English. And how could it be that they did not already know slave-speak, which James was teaching them? These kids had to have grown up hearing slave-speak from their families and friends. 

There is a plausibility problem here.  But, also, a thematic issue.  Making English literacy a measure of merit undercuts the book’s overall point about the intelligence, knowledge and skills of blacks who aren’t language literate but who are culturally literate, that is, who can effectively cope, cooperate and communicate within the dominant culture. Cultural literacy means being able to understand the traditions, regular activities and history of a group of people from a given culture, and being able to engage with these traditions and in these activities.  Cultural literacy means having sufficient knowledge, judgment and skills to be able to understand and participate in the democratic governing of a society.  Language literacy may or may not be necessary, depending on the culture.

James would have been culturally literate, and would have seemed superior to his white masters, even if he was not English language literate.  And given that he was language literate, which is plausible, he need not have known perfect English in order to make a sharp and humorous contrast with the white characters in the book.  I think that in this case “less is more.”  Everett goes too far and, in doing so, makes a mistake that undermines his argument in favor of an inclusive and expansive democracy. 

Bigots often like to demean people based on their accents and modes of speech.  At times, James seems, despite the best intentions of the author, to be doing this, albeit doing it to bigoted whites. But the book’s underlying message is that if you are making sense with what you are saying, it doesn’t matter how correctly you say it, whether you are black or white.  And if what you are saying is pernicious nonsense and lies, it doesn’t matter how well you say it.      

The overall message of the book is that whether you are black or white, slave or free, farmer or factory worker, rural resident or city dweller, educated in schools or in the fields and on the streets, filled with book learning or practical experience, you can acquire the cultural literacy to be able to participate fully as an equal among equals in your society.

Everett and Empathy.

It has been said that the function of meaningful communication is to make the strange familiar and the familiar strange.  That is, to convey something new in conventional terms to the recipient of the message, thereby making it familiar, but also to question the conventional terms and, thereby, make them strange.  It is a process that opens things up to more communications that make things familiar, then strange, then familiar, ad infinitum.  Making familiar things strange and strange things familiar is a function of fiction but also the other arts, the humanities, and the social and physical sciences.  It is a dynamic that MAGA supporters, who want to bind us all permanently in some oppressive ideology, abhor and oppose.  It is a dynamic we can see in James which challenges our complacency and makes us feel like enslaved persons.

In a similar way, it is said that fiction at its best is an exercise in empathy, an expansion of our ability to see and feel the world as others do.  This is something that can, in turn, be said of all the arts, the humanities, and the social and physical sciences.  Trying to see the world as the world sees itself.  Empathy has, however, somehow become controversial among right-wing politicians and polemicists, willful ignoramuses who reject both the creative arts and the rational sciences.  These MAGA idiots deride empathy as “woke,” as though there is something wrong with awakening yourself and understanding others.  So be it.  If the best in fiction is “woke,” then James is a classic example of the best in fiction.

                                                                                                                        BW 5/24


[1]Huck Finn Is a Masterpiece.  This Retelling Just Might Be, Too.” Dwight Garner. New York Times. 3/29/24.   “James by Percival Everett review – A gripping reimagining of Huckelberry Finn.  Anthony Cummins. The Guardian. 4/8/24.  “James Review: Percival Everett’s Retelling of Twain.” Sam Sacks. Wall Street Journal. 3/13/24.

[2] Eugene Genovese. Roll, Jordan, Roll. The World the Slaves Made.  New York: Vintage Books, 1974.

Racism, Sexism, Antisemitism.  Dealing with Bigotry in Our Favorite Authors. Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist.  Anthony Trollope’s Phineas Redux.

Racism, Sexism, Antisemitism.

Dealing with Bigotry in Our Favorite Authors.

Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist.  Anthony Trollope’s Phineas Redux.

Burton Weltman

To read or not to read, that is the question.

Bigotry: An arbitrary prejudice against a person or people based on their membership in a particular group, most often a racial, gender, religious, or ethnic group.

Bigotry among the Literati.

Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

Charles Dickens.

Anthony Trollope.

Henry James.  

Agatha Christie. 

What do these five disparate authors have in common?  Racism, sexism, and antisemitism.  Their books are peopled with demeaning stereotypes of blacks, women, and Jews.  If you read much Anglo-American literature that was written during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, you cannot avoid coming across demeaning images of blacks, women and Jews, and overtly hostile sentiments toward blacks and Jews.  Bigotry of this sort was a common element in most literature of that time.  And, of course, it was not confined to blacks, women and Jews.  Prejudice against Catholics, Muslims, Asians, Native Americans, and minority groups of almost all sorts was almost pervasive.  It was a great age of bigotry in literature. 

Many factors fueled this explosion of literary bigotry in England and America.  Aggressive imperialism.  Massive migrations and immigrations.  Misconceptions of evolutionary theory.  Cynical political manipulation.  Increasing social class conflicts.  Declining traditional elites.  Declining traditional values.  Intractable social problems.  All of these and other factors contributed to social and cultural turmoil, and to ethnic resentments and scapegoating all around. 

Social movements of the left and the right contributed to bigotry during this period through personalizing social problems rather than systematizing them.  Social movements also tended to focus more on the negative than on the positive, on their enemies rather than their goals.  On the left, for example, social activists tended to focus on the evil of capitalists rather than the evils of capitalism.  On the right, they tended to be anti-liberals or anti-socialists rather than anti-liberalism or anti-socialism.  Focusing on their opponents, on who they were against instead of what they were against or what they were for, it was easy to slide into demonizing and scapegoating minority groups that they identified with their enemies.  Not unlike today.      

Bigotry among the literati was widespread, almost pervasive, but not entirely, and that is important.  There were successful authors who did not write bigotry into their works.  It was even possible for highly successful authors such as William Dean Howells, the dean of late nineteenth century American writers, to explicitly oppose bigotry.  It will not do, therefore, to excuse bigoted authors on the grounds that their prejudices were part of the culture of the times, and that everyone was similarly guilty, because not everyone was similarly guilty.  That makes it hard for those of us who love the literature of the period but hate the bigotry in it. 

I have been a lifelong fan of the novels of this period.  The nineteenth century was the great age of long social and sociological novels, as distinguished from the more introspective and psychological fiction that became popular during the twentieth century.  They are books in which you can reside in a society of some other time and place, and which you can wish would never end.  And they are books from which you can learn a lot about other people and about yourself.   Therefore, it galls and angers me when I find bigotry in books and in authors that I otherwise admire.  As a Jewish person, it also depresses and demoralizes me to find antisemitism in books and among writers where I hoped to find hope.  What is one to do?

Antisemitism in Late-Nineteenth and Early-Twentieth Century Novels.

Although antisemitism had been endemic in Europe for almost two thousand years, it was ironically heightened during the nineteenth century by the abolition of most of the ghettos in which Jews had been for the most part confined since the Middle Ages.  Jews were now free to go almost anywhere, and prejudice against them followed.  Also ironically, antisemitism fitted in with both left-wing antipathy to capitalists and right-wing antipathy toward socialists.  Jews were condemned as both greedy capitalists and sinister socialists.  Not unlike today.

While most of the leading novelists of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries wrote at least some antisemitism into their books, not all did.  In a rough survey of leading authors based on my reading and recollections over the years, Hawthorn, for example, did, but Melville did not.  Dickens and Trollope did, but George Eliot did not.  Henry James, Henry Adams and Hamlin Garland did, but William Dean Howells did not.  Frank Norris, Stephen Crane, Jack London, Theodore Dreiser, and Edith Wharton did, but Abraham Cahan did not (Of course, Cahan was Jewish).  John Dos Passos, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway and Willam Faulkner did, but James T. Farrell did not.  Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers did, but Rex Stout did not.

In the books of the bigoted authors, Jews were generally portrayed through conventional stereotypes.  These included the sinister big-time banker, the greedy small-time moneylender, the crooked petty peddler, and the fraudulent shyster.  In point of fact, these stereotypical Jews loomed much larger in the imaginary worlds of the novelists than they did in real life.  It has been estimated that less than one percent of the populations of England and the United States was Jewish during the nineteenth century.  Given their insignificant numbers, there was really no good reason to mention Jews at all in the novels of the period.    

Like most stereotypes, these Jewish stereotypes had a quarter-grain of truth to them.  Historically, Jews had generally been forbidden to own land in most European countries or practice any of what were considered the respectable professions, and they had frequently been expelled from wherever they were living.  As a result, Jews tended to take up occupations that they could carry with them.  This included banking, money lending and peddling.  But it also included medicine, various skilled crafts and, for most Jews, unskilled labor.    

As such, although Jews were somewhat disproportionately overrepresented among financiers, money lenders and peddlers, the overwhelming majority of Jews were not involved in high finance, money lending or peddling.  Very few were bankers.  Jews were also disproportionately overrepresented among doctors, artisans and craftspeople, a fact that was rarely represented in novels of that time.  In turn, the overwhelming majority of financiers, money lenders and peddlers were not Jewish.  You would not guess this from reading most novels of the time.

Dealing with bigotry: Forgiving and Forgetting? 

Novels of the time were mostly bigoted to a greater or lesser extent.  Bigotry is bad.  It is the common practice for teachers and commentators to excuse the bigotry in novels of this period on the grounds that the authors were merely reflecting their society.  I think this is very wrong.  Bigotry can be explained but it should not be excused both because it is bad in and of itself and because it was eminently avoidable.  Bigotry was a writer’s choice.  Not every late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century author was a bigot.  And there was enough evidence available for an intelligent person to see through the demeaning stereotypes that were commonly circulating.  As such, writing bigotry into their books was a choice that authors made, and an inexcusable choice.

Bigotry also went against the ethical ideals of the time.  Whatever their backgrounds, writers of that time were taught what we call the Golden Rule.  In its most common formulations, the Golden Rule enjoins us to “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” and to “Love thy neighbor as thyself.”  Bigotry violates the Golden Rule and, in so doing, it is harmful not only to its victims but to its perpetrators.  Because the Golden Rule is not just an ethical proposition, it is also a psychological principle.  It is a statement of fact and not merely an aspiration.  It teaches us that if you think well of yourself, you will likely treat others well.  If you treat others poorly, you will likely think poorly of yourself.  Bigots demean themselves even as they denigrate others.

Bigotry also went against the social ideals of the time, especially the democratic ideals that were predominant in the United States and were becoming prominent in England.  It has been said that the basic principle of democracy is majority rule with minority rights, the most important of which is the right of the minority to possibly become the majority.  From this statement flow all of the rights and duties prescribed in the United States Constitution and, especially, in the Bill of Rights.  A corollary of that democratic principle is the principle of tolerance which can be stated as tolerance for the tolerant, and intolerance for the intolerant.  This principle is the core of the freedoms guaranteed by the First Amendment.  Bigotry contravenes principles of democracy and tolerance and, as such, bigotry should not be excused.     

It is also commonplace for devotees of the bigoted writers and books to insist that even if we cannot excuse the bigotry, we should get over it.  Bigotry was wrong but, given the value of the works, we should forgive and forget the bigotry.  I think this is also very wrong.  Literary bigotry should not be forgiven or forgotten, and one should not expect the victims of bigotry to just get over it.  “Just get over it” has become a mantra for those who have done something wrong and want it to be forgiven and forgotten.  That is an unfair and unrealistic expectation, especially if you have been the victim of someone’s prejudice. 

As a Jewish person, there is no way I am going to get over the shock and embarrassment when I was six years old and the grandmother of my best friend who lived next door said to me “There is only one thing worse than having a (n-word) living next door to you and that is having a Jew.”  Or the anguish when I first read Oliver Twist as an assigned book at school and found it filled with antisemitism.  I am approaching seventy-seven years of age and those memories are as fresh as if the events happened yesterday.

Likewise, I don’t see how black people can be expected to get over the racism that permeates novels of the nineteenth and early twentieth century in which they were generally caricatured as stupid and shiftless, and in which the “N” word was commonplace.  Significantly, even in Huckleberry Finn, for which Mark Twain has been praised for portraying Jim the black slave as an intelligent, sensitive and caring person, the book opens with a caricature of Jim as a superstitious fool and closes with him reverting to that same character. 

And I don’t see how women can be expected to get over the overwhelmingly sexist portrayal of women in novels of the period, especially including those by Charles Dickens.  Even Anthony Trollope, who criticized the oppression of women, portrayed women as being less intelligent, having poorer executive skills, and being overly emotional compared to men. 

Getting over bigotry is not something that any ethical person should be able to do even if the person has not been the target of prejudice.  Getting over bigotry implies that your feelings against it will be neutralized and you will henceforth treat it with indifference.  The fact that an author has espoused bigotry will no longer matter to you.  That is not a position with which an ethical person should be comfortable.   

Bigoted books convey and encourage bigotry.  The fact that they are well-written, enjoyable and, in many cases, otherwise enlightened and enlightening makes their bigoted impact even more invidious.  That is not something one should be able to just dismiss.  But does that mean we must dismiss – or “cancel” in the currently popular term for shunning someone or something – most of the best novelists of the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries?  That is not an easy question, but in the case of most authors of the period, I think not. 

I think the question is not whether one should excuse bigoted authors or get over their bigotry, but whether one can get by the bigotry.  That is, can one acknowledge that an author is bigoted but still accept the author’s works as worthwhile?  Can one recognize that a book espouses bigotry but still accept the book as otherwise worthwhile?  Should bigotry in an author or a book be an insuperable obstacle to reading and appreciating that author or book?  Toward answering those questions, I think it is helpful to try to distinguish different types and degrees of bigotry.

Gradations of Bigotry: From Bad to Worse.

Given that any expression of bigotry is hurtful and harmful, I think one can identify different types and levels of prejudice, and can conceive of a range of bigotry with some forms worse than others.  For purposes of distinguishing between more and less objectionable prejudices, and determining whether I can get by the bigotry in a book, I try to make and apply three distinctions.

These distinctions or tests respectively focus on whether the prejudice is portrayed as a function of cultural differences or supposed racial differences, whether the prejudice is conveyed in the form of distaste and snobbery or fear and hatred, and whether the prejudice is extraneous to the main themes of the book or is integral to them.  Between each of the poles of these distinctions is a variety of possible prejudices, ranging from the relatively gentle and genteel to the outright vile and vicious. 

The first distinction is based on whether the prejudice is presented in terms of cultural differences between peoples or alleged racial differences between them.  Culture is learned and it can be unlearned, changed, and compromised.  As such, cultural differences can theoretically be amicably bridged.  Cultural prejudices usually take the form of snobbery, looking down on members of the demeaned group and avoiding them.  They are often seen as the core of gentility. 

Biological differences, in contrast, are generally portrayed as inherent and permanent.  They are seen as genetic and can seemingly not be overcome.  Biological prejudice, in turn, often takes the form of fearing members of the demeaned group, hating them, attacking them, and trying to eliminate them.  The opposite of genteel. 

There is a range of prejudice between these two poles of ostensibly genteel cultural antipathies and vicious racial hatreds.  Cultural prejudices are generally less noxious than racial prejudices.  It is one thing to portray one’s own culture as better than others.  It is another to portray a group of people as biologically inferior or genetically evil.  In my estimation, the closer the author or book is to the cultural snobbery pole, the less noxious the prejudice and the easier to otherwise accept that author or the author’s book.  The closer to the genetically evil pole, the viler the prejudice and the greater difficulty in accepting an author or a book.

A second distinction that follows from the first is whether the author’s prejudice consists solely of distaste for the disparaged people and calls merely for avoiding them, or whether it is based on fear and loathing of the disparaged people, possibly including conspiracy theories about the evils intended by the disparaged people, and concluding in calls for their elimination and possibly annihilation.  The closer an author is to the snobbish position, the less offensive.  Any resemblance or connection of a book to the genocide position makes that author and book unacceptable.

A third distinction is between prejudices that are incidental and distinguishable from a book’s main messages and prejudices that are integral to the book’s central purposes.  Whether, for example, the book is promoting the prejudices or merely reporting prejudices of the characters or society that the book is portraying.  And whether the bigotry is unintentionally hurtful or is deliberately hurtful and harmful.  The less integral and deliberate the prejudices, the easier to get past them.  If a book is deliberately promoting hurtful and harmful prejudices, it is unacceptable.

Antisemitism in Trollope and Dickens: Guilty and Guilty with an Explanation.

I will try to demonstrate the way in which my algorithm of bigotry works in considering the antisemitism in two popular mid-nineteenth century novels by two popular nineteenth century authors: Anthony Trollope’s Phineas Redux (1873) and Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist (1839).  Trollope’s book was clearly antisemitic.  So was Dickens’ but he supposedly didn’t mean it.    

Anthony Trollope.  Anthony Trollope was a prolific writer and popular novelist of the mid-to-late nineteenth century.  He wrote some forty-seven novels and dozens of short stories.  He is perhaps best known for two series of six novels each, the Barchester series that centers around the politics and policies of the Anglican Church and the Palliser series that centers around the politics and personalities of the English Parliament.

I have read the Barchester series over the years, several of the books more than once, and liked them very much.  They are not antisemitic in my view.  In the six Barchester books, there are some six references to Jews.  Two are inconsequential references to Jewish moneylenders and constitute what I would term genteel prejudice.  The other four are facetious references to Jewish religious practices that are inconsequential and that I would term genteel, and that pale in comparison with the large number of facetious references to Christian religious practices that go to the core of the books’ themes.

The Palliser novels tell a different story.  I have only recently come to read the Palliser books and was not prepared for what I found.  Most of the Palliser books were written after the Barchester novels – only one book overlaps.  There are dozens of references to Jews in the Palliser books and they are all derogatory.  The antisemitism builds through the first five books.

In the first two books, there are only a few disparaging references to Jews, more in the second than in the first, and they are mainly inconsequential and could be considered of the genteel type.  Then in the third book, The Eustace Diamonds, a villainous Jewish character plays a secondary but important role.  He reflects a turn toward a virulent racism.  This same villainous Jew then plays a primary role in Phineas Redux.  And in the book that follows Phineas Redux in the series, The Prime Minister, the main villainous character is also Jewish, though he denies it.  In the context of the Palliser series, that is just what a sneaky Jew would do

Phineas Redux is the fourth book in the Palliser series.  It is mainly about the ups and downs of the love-life and the political career of a young man named Phineas Finn.  The book is a wryly humorous send up of British politics and the British Parliament, a fictional mimicking and mocking of actual people and events of Trollope’s day.  It also takes off on the pretensions of the British aristocracy and the social climbing of the middle classes.  It is wonderfully facetious.

Trollope was relatively progressive when it came to women, and the book incorporates a critique of the oppression of women, especially married women trapped in a legal system that enforced the principle that a husband and wife are one and the husband is the one.  The book is one among a number of late-nineteenth and early twentieth century novels in which women were portrayed as struggling against traditional constraints, especially the stranglehold that husbands had over their wives.  Middlemarch by George, Eliot, Anna Karenina by Tolstoy, Portrait of a Lady by Henry James, The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton are other examples, just to name a few.

Phineas Redux is a well-written and engaging novel.  It is well-plotted, full of twists and turns, suspense and surprise, interesting character development, engaging descriptions of scenes and situations, and empathetic portraits of persons and personal relationships.  It is also interesting, informative and insightful about British politics. So far, so good. 

But then seemingly out of nowhere and for no good reason, the villain of the book turns out to be a Jew named Emilius.  And not just a Jew but a Jew pretending to be a Christian clergyman who succeeds in attracting a gullible following and marrying a rich and beautiful Christian woman.  It turns out, however, that Emilius is a practiced swindler, a bigamist who already has a Jewish wife, and a cold-blooded murderer who tries to pin the murder on the hero Phineas Finn. 

It is not clear what it means that Emilius is Jewish.  He neither says nor does anything that is in any way Jewish, and he is noted for his pious preaching as a Christian minister.  Nonetheless, he is constantly called “the Jew” or “that Jew” by the narrator and the characters in the book, and usually with some derogatory comment attached thereto.  His being Jewish has nothing to do with the plot and adds nothing to the story except a large gratuitous dollop of antisemitism.  There was no reason for Trollope to make Emilius Jewish other than either to express some prejudice that Trollope just had to vent or to play to the prejudices of his intended audience.  It was seemingly either a function of a vicious personality trait or a vile marketing ploy.  

Significantly, Emilius is frequently referred to as a “converted Jew,” as though his becoming a Christian does not make him any less of a Jew.  That is, Jewishness is seemingly a racial thing for Trollope and not a cultural or religious phenomena.  Once a dirty Jew, always a dirty Jew and, even worse in this case, a dirty Jew in the guise of a Christian.  Emilius is portrayed as a loathsome character and a dangerous imposter with his vile Jewishness at his core.

The antisemitism in the book is not confined to Emilius.  Jews as a group are described in demeaning terms throughout.  The general attitude of the author toward Jews is exemplified on the third page of the novel when one of the main characters with whom we readers are expected to identify as being a good person says to her friend “You would be worse than a Jew if you did not believe me.”  Jew is also repeatedly connected with loan sharking and money gouging.          

Applying my algorithm of bigotry to Phineas Redux, I conclude that Trollope fails the first test in that he seems to think of Jewishness as a genetic racial curse that even conversion to Christianity cannot erase.  Trollope also fails the second test because his objection to Jews is presented not merely as distaste but as loathing.  And not mere loathing but as a conspiratorial threat to British society.  Finally, Trollope fails the third test in that the actions of the Jew Emilius, and the reactions of other characters to him, permeate the book.  Although the novel is largely concerned with Parliamentary matters and Phineas’ ups and downs, it is the evil Jew Emilius who haunts the book.  To the charge of antisemitism in Phineas Redux, Trollope must be found guilty, and guilty of a particularly vicious kind.  

Charles Dickens.   With respect to antisemitism, Trollope was benign in his earlier books, then vile later.  Dickens went the other way.  He was vile early and aimed to be benign later.  Dickens wrote some fifteen novels, if you count The Pickwick Papers, which is actually a picaresque conglomeration of stories, and The Mystery of Edwin Drood, which was unfinished at his death.  Oliver Twist followed The Pickwick Papers and was Dickens’ first actual novel, that is, a lengthy complex and coherent story.  He was new at the game, ambitious to succeed as a novelist, and full of himself as a result of the success of The Pickwick Papers. Seemingly, when Dickens went looking for a villain for his novel, one that might command the attention of a wide audience, he decided that his best bet was to caricature a Jew and he created the evil Fagin.

The portrait of Fagin in Oliver Twist is a disgusting instance of antisemitism in an otherwise interesting book.  The character of Fagin and the way he is continually referred to as “the Jew,” usually with derogatory comments attached thereto, made the book disturbing to me when I was forced as a child to read it for school and has made it unreadable for me ever since.  And that’s even after Dickens excised some of the antisemitic language from the original version. 

The story is that sometime after the book was published, Dickens was confronted by some Jewish acquaintances who complained that the book was antisemitic.  At first, Dickens tried to deny that the portrayal of Fagin was antisemitic.  He claimed that Fagin was modeled after an actual Jewish criminal named Ikey Solomon who had run a gang of young thieves similar to that of Fagin.  In effect, pleading guilty to antisemitism with an explanation.

As a means of supporting this plea, Dickens excised some of the antisemitic rhetoric from later editions of the book.  There had been some 257 negative references to Fagin’s Jewishness in the original and Dickens removed 118 of them.  He also created some sympathetic Jewish characters in his later book Our Mutual Friend to try to prove that he wasn’t antisemitic.    

But Dickens did not excise all of the antisemitic rhetoric from Oliver Twist.  It is still incredibly offensive.  Having read the expurgated version, I find it hard to imagine how offensive the original must have been.  And Dickens still included casual antisemitic remarks made by characters in most of his other books, mostly connecting Jews with money lending and debt collecting. 

“We would make him as rich as a Jew if we knew how,” intones John Jarndyce, a main character in Bleak House.  Similar references to Jewish wealth and Jewish business practices appear once or twice in each of Dickens’ novels.  But they are infrequent and inconsequential, almost as though they were unthinking commonplaces in Dickens’ repertoire.  They are examples of what I would call genteel prejudice.  Despite himself, and maybe despite his good intentions, Dickens’ bigotry showed through in his later works.  If he had been more thoughtful, he might have avoided it.   

Applying my algorithm to Oliver Twist, I conclude that the character of Fagin has to be considered a racist caricature rather than a cultural prejudice.  There is nothing Jewish about what Fagin says or does, and the book focuses on his physical characteristics – especially his hooked nose – which echo the antisemitic stereotype of Jews.  I conclude that the book also portrays Fagin’s Jewishness as a threat to British society and as not merely distasteful.  The book implies that he and his ilk must be exterminated, as he is at the end of the book.  Finally, I conclude that antisemitism is integral to the main theme of the book, that is, that there are cunning Jews out there who are warping our children and turning them into criminals.  In sum, Dickens, despite his disclaimers, must be found guilty of antisemitism in Oliver Twist, and a particularly vicious form of the prejudice at that.          

Getting by Bigotry: What is to be done?

The conclusion that Trollope and Dickens are guilty of vicious antisemitism leaves me with a load of cognitive dissonance and emotional ambivalence.  And it’s not just the antisemitism in their works that as a Jewish person gets me down.  I am also bothered by the racism, sexism and prejudice against other ethnic groups that are written into their books and most of the novels of that time. I think that almost any decent person would experience cognitive dissonance and emotional ambivalence in reading Dickens, Trollope and the other bigoted authors.

In my case, I have read The Warden and Barchester Towers, the first two books of Trollope’s Barchester series, several times each, and enjoyed them each time.  I have read most of Dickens’ novels many times, albeit Oliver Twist only twice and part of a third time.  Over the last forty or so years, I have almost always been reading one of Dickens’ books in addition to whatever else I have been reading.  And the aforementioned Bleak House is one of my favorite novels. 

So, what is one to do?  Do I shun all of Trollope’s books, the earlier Barchester books along with the later Palliser books, because he was clearly and vilely antisemitic even if it showed only in the later books?   Or do I try to block out the fact that Trollope was antisemitic and ignore the antisemitism in his books while continuing to read them?  Or do I boycott some of his books, the clearly antisemitic Palliser novels, while continuing to read some of the others?  And the same questions arise as to Dickens. 

As I am writing this essay in October, 2021, we are living through another period of virulent racial, religious, ethnic and gender bigotry on the part of a significant and powerful segment of the American population.  The resurgent bigotry coincides with a surging human rights movement that aims to end that bigotry.  Both sides are targeting books and other cultural artifacts as symbols of their ideas.  That has created a lot of conflict between rightwing racists and liberal human rights activists, and between more and less militant supporters of the human rights movement. 

Even as right wingers, racists and misogynists are trying to eliminate books and curricula from our schools that promote racial, religious, gender, and ethnic equality, some liberal social activists are trying to eliminate books and historical figures who could be considered racist and misogynist.  While I am adamantly opposed to the efforts of the right wingers, I think that we on the liberal side need to draw some distinctions between authors and books that are just plain unacceptable and those that are acceptable with an explanation.  That is the purpose of my algorithm.  It is a guide to making these decisions.

It is in my opinion neither necessary nor proper to condemn and shun anyone who ever did anything wrong.  That would leave us with preciously few people we could accept.  If we accept only perfection, we will be left with “Only me and thee, and I am not so sure about thee,” as the saying goes.  We must be willing to appreciate the good in people who were in some respects and to some extent racist, sexist, antisemitic and prejudiced against other social groups. 

We must condemn their bigotry and neither forgive nor forget the bad they did.  But we should be able to appreciate the good in their works while critiquing the bad.  That is the function and goal of critical reading and critical thinking that we should be teaching our young people and practicing ourselves as adults.  Reading things that we conclude are wrong is a good way to help get things right.

At the same time, we should not hesitate to condemn and shun those authors and books that are beyond the Pale, as the saying goes, and that are thoroughly and viciously bigoted.  I think there is a difference between people who have done bad things and bad people. There is a point at which people have done so many bad things that they become bad people, but there are people who have done bad things without becoming bad people.  The same goes for books.  Some contain bad things but are still worth reading.  Others are too thoroughly bad and are not worth reading except either for historical purposes or for purposes of exposing and condemning them.   

That condemnation goes for Phineas Redux and Oliver Twist in my opinion.  They are antisemitic at their core and are not worth reading except as historical documents that exemplify nineteenth century bigotry.  I would shun them.  The condemnation does not go for Trollope’s Barchester novels or for Dickens’ other novels.  The prejudices in those books, which includes sexism, racism and ethnocentrism as well as antisemitism, fall within what I characterize as categories of cultural snobbery and personal distaste, genteel bigotry, and they are not integral to the main messages of those books.  With a critical and historical reading as to why and how prejudices could seem genteel to some people at some times and places, I think those are worthwhile novels.

So, how does one deal with the bigotry in our favorite authors and books?  It’s hard.  Because it is not something one can simply ignore or excuse.  The distinctions and explanations that I have offered herein do not provide a foolproof formula for deciding who and what to read and who and what to condemn.  They are an attempt to apply the principle of tolerance for the tolerant without rigidly enforcing the complementary principle of intolerance for the intolerant.  We cannot shun everyone who has done some bad things.  Within the framework of my algorithm, I think it is necessary to extend some extra level of tolerance to authors who exhibit a modest level of what might be deemed inadvertent intolerance, who are in essence genteel bigots, thereby turning the other cheek to them so long as it doesn’t then lead to a punch in the nose. 

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