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

Finding Faith, Hope and Charity in The Plague. Atheism, Absurdity, the Almighty and Albert Camus. Surviving MAGA: Creating Trump-Free Zones.

Finding Faith, Hope and Charity in The Plague.

Atheism, Absurdity, the Almighty and Albert Camus.

Surviving MAGA: Creating Trump-Free Zones.

Burton Weltman

“And now abideth faith, hope, charity,

these three, but the greatest of these is charity.”

Saint Paul. 1 Corinthians 13. King James Bible.

The plague of our day is Donald Trump and his MAGA Movement.  What is to be done?

I am writing this essay in late-February, 2025.  We have recently contracted a second bout of a plague called Donald Trump and his MAGA movement.  It is a serious illness.  Those of us who reject the poisonous politics and sickening policies of Trump and his minions need to find ways to combat that plague but also, and I think this is most important, find ways of creating Trump-free zones in our minds, lives and society in order to promote social, political and mental health. I think that Albert Camus’ novel The Plague can offer some support in this regard.[1]    

The Plague is about a fictional epidemic that has struck in the city of Oran in Algeria.  The main point of the book is the way people fight the disease but also struggle to maintain their ways of life.  The point of this essay is to aver that like the characters in Camus’ book, we should focus on ways and means of fighting the noxious infection in our body politic that Trump and his cohorts represent, but also focus on ways and means of creating and celebrating good in the midst of the evil that surrounds us.  Like Camus’ characters, we need to create healthy spaces – through bottom-up efforts – even in the midst of disaster.  It is one of the ways that people in Camus’ book mostly stayed together and survived.  It is important for us today, too. 

What I am suggesting is not new, but just needs to be remembered.  Historically, small-scale cooperative efforts have often been a way in which positive changes in America have developed, sometimes arising in the darkest days.  There were the utopian communities with which much European settlement began.  There were, and still are, artistic and ethnic communities, local reform and charitable societies, knitting groups and book clubs…  Small-scale cooperatives of all sorts have existed from the earliest days of this country and from which bigger things have developed. They were seeds of humane reform that often seemed absurd at the time but that grew into significance.  Often as a means of subduing and supplanting a biological or social plague.

Our present plague is Donald Trump.  There are a host of pejorative adjectives that I could use in describing him and his unfitness to be President.  Many of them were included in the original draft of this essay.  But I removed them, both because they are probably irrelevant and because I do not want to descend to the sort of derogatory tactics that he regularly uses.  Whatever the adjectives, Trump is personally and politically unfit to be President.  And as I am writing this essay, he is busy wrecking the American government and wreaking havoc on the world order. 

In doing all this, Trump is also grabbing everyone’s attention.  He is a tremendous showman for whom grandstanding seems to be a need but is also a strategy.  And this latter point is a key.  As long as everyone’s attention is on Trump, as long as his opponents focus solely on his awful and unlawful acts, people cannot develop positive projects of their own, projects which could counter the havoc he is wreaking and repair damage that he is doing.  It is therefore, I think, important that we oppose Trump but also that we create Trump-Free zones.  Zones of positive and creative thoughts and actions.  Building from the bottom up an alternative to the horror show that Trump and his MAGA mob are trying to foist on us.

Albert Camus’ novel The Plague can help us in thinking about this.  Camus’ absurdist message and the book’s effect on readers is to focus on the positive while fighting the negative.  And despite Camus’ atheism and absurdism, or perhaps because of them, it is in Saint Paul’s exhortation to live with faith, hope and charity that I think we can understand Camus’ message.

A Plague of Plagues Past and Present. 

This is an essay about plagues and how to survive their aftermath reasonably intact.  A plague is defined in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary as “A disastrous evil or affliction.”  Plagues come in many shapes and from many causes.  Bubonic Plagues. Locust Plagues.  Plagues of Pride, Prejudice, Sexism, Racism, Nativism, Crime, Corruption, Cruelty, Greed, Demagoguery, ad almost infinitum.  The world is plagued with hosts of bad things, and bad things in large numbers are often considered plagues. 

Plagues come and go, and interest in them waxes and wanes accordingly.  Interest in plagues has waxed in recent years as a result of the COVID pandemic.  It has also come from Trump’s labeling immigrants as a plague.  A consequence of calling something a plague is that all-out extreme measures are justified to battle the problem.  War against the plague is effectively declared and the heavy armor is brought to bear.  In recent years, cries have gone up from some quarters to eliminate COVID and from others to eliminate immigrants.  Liberals seek to reinforce the health services.  Trump seeks to send troops to the southern border.  Putting one’s money where one’s mouth is.       

Albert Camus was putting his mouth where his misery was when he published his novel The Plague in 1947, which came shortly after the elimination of the Nazi plague in Europe.  The story, about a fictional bubonic plague in the city of Oran, Algeria, illustrates the social, political and moral consequences of facing a disease similar to COVID, and the book has recently become popular for that reason. 

But the story also relates to the plagues of prejudice and demagoguery that Trump and his MAGA followers are spreading amongst us.  And it exemplifies the absurdist philosophy that Camus propounded as a challenge to the moral sensibilities of his time, and that remains as a challenge to our ability to face the plagues of ours.

The Plague: A Descent into Hell/ An Ascent into Absurdity.

The Plague dramatizes the descent of a city and its citizens into what could be called a heart of darkness. There is an outbreak of bubonic plague that seemingly comes out of nowhere and completely overwhelms the city.  The disease spreads rapidly and kills quickly.  It is evil incarnate.  The authorities initially respond with denial and only under considerable duress, bodies begin piling up in the streets, do they take significant action. 

Isolation ensues.  Sick people are quarantined against the rest of the population, and the town is quarantined against the rest of the country.  People who were just visiting the town are stuck there.  People who were visiting elsewhere are forbidden to return.  People are falling sick in the streets and sometimes dying within hours.  It is a seemingly hopeless situation. But not quite.

Camus wrote most of The Plague during World War II and finished it shortly thereafter.  It bears the imprint of his life in occupied France during the war.  As the plague spreads, the city in his book begins to resemble a Nazi-occupied territory.  Quarantines are established and public activities are limited and controlled.  Then, as the disease spreads further, deaths multiply exponentially.  Sick people are carted off to so-called health centers to die, and the town begins to seem more like a Nazi deathcamp.  But with an important caveat.     

Nazi deathcamps were designed to degrade and demoralize people before they were killed.  Despondency and despair among the inmates were deliberately cultivated.  The goal was to turn people into lifeless zombies so they would passively stumble off to execution.  Inmates were also encouraged to turn on each other.  The goal was to destroy the prisoners’ morale, induce them to give up their morality, and pit them against each other.  As socially and psychologically isolated individuals, they would give up hope, be unable to act together, and be more easily managed. 

The Nazi concentration and death camps were highly successful operations.  They were models of efficiency in their methods of dehumanizing and destroying inmates.  In the aftermath of World War II, the Nazis were widely credited with having demonstrated that people could be turned into zombies.  It was a lesson that reverberated throughout postwar Western society.  The dehumanization of people into masses of robot-like inmates of concentration camp-like societies became a main theme of mid-twentieth century academic literature and as well as fiction.  A host of studies and stories described ways in which this could occur. 

The psychiatrist Bruno Bettelheim, for example, himself a concentration camp survivor, reported that the Nazis had succeeded in reducing most inmates to a state of passivity and obedience.  The historian Stanley Elkins claimed that American slavery was essentially similar to a concentration camp and that slaves were reduced to an automaton-like state.  Sociologists David Reisman, Nathan Glazer and Reuel Denny claimed that modern society isolated people into a lonely crowd of automatons. 

Senator Barry Goldwater claimed that people in the Communist Soviet Union were living in a giant concentration camp and being brainwashed into zombies. The philosopher Herbert Marcuse claimed that capitalist society was essentially similar to a concentration camp and reduced people to one dimensionality.  The novelist George Orwell described a world in a permanent state of war that reduced people to a concentration camp mentality.  These are just a few examples of the thinking at that time.  The dangers of mass psychology and zombification were warned about everywhere.  The zombie theme even permeated popular culture and zombie movies were very popular.

Camus’ The Plague is an antidote to this mass psychology hysteria.  The plague-ridden city he describes in his book shares many of the characteristics of a concentration camp.  But, and this is the key, the citizens do not on the whole develop the concentration camp mentality that most people in the mid-twentieth century would have expected to result from such a situation.  Camus presents, instead, a plausible picture of how a society can be hit with a plague without losing its soul.

In Camus’ story, most people keep their cool, and do so in the most trying circumstances.  Normality is encouraged by the town officials and leading citizens, and is largely maintained.  Most people keep up with their regular employments and enjoyments as best they can.  “Every day, around eleven,” the narrator reports, “there’s a parade of young men and women down the principal arteries, where you can see the passion for life that grows in the heart of great suffering.”  Coming out on the other side of grief, people keep up the faith that things can and will go on. 

And for the most part, they do not become completely antisocial.  People come together in public spaces.  They gather together in restaurants and dance halls, and keep communal connections and community activities alive.  “At noon,” the narrator reports, “the restaurants fill in the blink of an eye” and people stand in lines to wait for a table.[2] 

It is not smooth sailing. People alternate short periods of ecstatic activity with longer periods of deepest depression.  But through it all, most people carry on with their work as usual and their lives as best they can, keeping up the hope that things will return to normalcy someday.  Most telling, there are seemingly no suicides, suicide being something you would expect if people feel hopeless. 

Instead of becoming completely self-absorbed, many people volunteer for a public service corps that helps the sick and others in need, even at great risk to themselves.  “Scourges are actually a communal thing,” the narrator says.  You can’t just focus on saving yourself.  You have to see yourself as part of larger community and act as such.[3]

And, significantly, their public spirit is not seen by their fellow citizens or treated as heroism.  It is just people helping out, being good neighbors.  Charity as a way of life.  Some people who are initially reluctant to help do so anyway on the grounds that they cannot not live with themselves otherwise.  Their social selves predominate over their selfish selves. 

Nor is this public spirit a function of any specific philosophy or religion.  At the beginning of the plague, the leading Catholic prelate in town preaches a sermon in which he claims the plague is God’s punishment for the people’s wickedness.  People are getting what they deserve.  But by the end of the book, the priest is volunteering to help sick people and promoting measures to end the plague.  One after another, characters who are highlighted in the book, but who are just ordinary people, come around to helping others and volunteering in their spare time to support the authorities.

The first character to be concerned about the plague, and the main character in the book, is Dr. Rieux.  He is one of the first to recognize the disease as a plague and to call for remedial actions.  He then persists through the whole plague year in trying to help the sick and find a cure or preventive vaccine for the disease.  The story is told from his point of view, ostensibly based on notes that he and a comrade took contemporaneously during the plague.  At the end of the book, it is revealed that Dr. Rieux is the narrator. 

The doctor tells a grim tale. This is understandable given his experience of being helpless as day after day and month after month all of his patients dies until eventually a vaccine is developed.  He tells with great pain how after a few months of the disease, people stop welcoming him as a healer into their houses and, instead, begin shunning him as a herald of death because a visit from him means that the plague has come to their homes, and that death for some and maybe all of the inhabitants is nigh. 

But Rieux persists in his calling, with faith for the day, hope for the morrow, and care for his fellow citizens.  He says of himself that he is “a man with a fondness for his fellow humans, weary of the world he is living in, and determined, for his part, to refuse injustice and concessions,” no matter the outcome.[4]

Although he never catches the disease, Rieux suffers from absence of his wife who has been visiting elsewhere and cannot return because of the plague.  At the end of the book, Rieux was told, and he tells us, that his wife had just died of something other than the plague.  It is absurd and ironic that he comes into contact with this highly infectious disease all day every day and survives.  His wife misses the plague, but still dies.

Rieux’ main sidekick in the book is Jean Tarou.  Tarou is in Oran on vacation and gets trapped by the plague.  He speaks most clearly as an apostle of absurdity who believes that life is a losing battle against death and suffering, but one that must, nonetheless, be waged cooperatively with others.  Never give up is his credo.  And he helps Rieux with anti-plague efforts.  Ironically, Tarou dies of the plague at the end of the book just as a vaccine has been developed and the plague is over.  It is absurd and tragic that he works with the diseased for many months without getting sick, but then gets sick and dies just when a preventive vaccine is finally available.

Another main character, Rambert, is a Parisian journalist who is trapped in Oran by the plague. He tries over and over again to escape from the city, but one after another his plans for escape fall apart or fail.  In the interim between efforts to escape, he volunteers with Rieux and Tarou in helping with plague victims.  Finally, toward the end of the book, when he can safely be smuggled out of the city, Rambert decides to stay and help with the anti-plague efforts.  He cannot live with himself if he escapes the disease but leaves his friends in a lurch.

Faith, hope and charity permeate Camus’ characterizations of Rieux, Tarou, Rambert and other citizens in The Plague.  It is ironic that sentiments of Saint Paul would predominate in a work of the atheist Camus, but not surprising.  Camus was what we might call a lapsed Catholic or what he himself called “an independent Catholic.”  Given his background and moral commitments, it makes sense that the moral of his story is a secular version of Saint Paul’s mantra.  Camus saw in people a life-affirming commitment that runs counter to the hopeless feeling promoted by the dismal facts of life.  It is a persistence of faith, hope and charity that is absurd but essential to our humanity.

Defining Absurdity?  An Absurdity?

Camus was a proselytizer of absurdity.  Life is absurd, he proclaimed, and it is the better part of wisdom to recognize that fact and work with it.  It is a proposition that Camus illustrated in all of his works, especially including The Plague.  Absurdity is, however, a slippery concept, more easily illustrated than explained and not always easily understood.  For one thing, one has to distinguish between absurdity in common colloquial parlance from absurdity as a philosophical concept.  Camus uses both meanings. 

Absurdity in the colloquial sense is defined in the Merrium-Webster Dictionary as “ridiculously unreasonable, unsound or incongruous.”  This definition essentially encompasses the failure of things to turn out the way we think they should.  If something has worked every time for many times and now doesn’t work, we think it is absurdly unreasonable or incongruous.  Absurdity in the philosophical sense is defined by Wikipedia as a “theory that the universe is irrational and meaningless” and that “trying to find meaning leads people into conflict with a seemingly meaningless world.”  The definitions relate to each other but also conflict.     

Looking at the colloquial definition of absurdity from the perspective of the philosophical definition, the colloquial definition could itself be considered absurd.  For something to be unreasonable in the colloquial definition, there must first be some idea of reasonable.  That, however, is just what the philosophical idea of absurdity denies.  There is no such thing as reasonable, so there can’t be any such thing as unreasonable.  Similarly, for something to be unsound or incongruous, there must be some generally accepted ideas of soundness and congruity, which the philosophical idea of absurdity denies.  So, what can we say about absurdity?  We can at least say we know it when we see it.  Donald Trump as President of the United States is an example of the colloquial definition of absurdity.

Absurdity in the colloquial sense is not necessarily fatal or forever.  Things that are absurd in the colloquial sense can generally be fixed so that they cease to be unreasonable and incongruous.  Trump, for example, could be impeached from office.  Most commentators think, however, that there isn’t any fix for philosophical absurdity.  There is no way, they say, to overcome the meaninglessness of things, and people just have to face up to that fact.  They even claim that it is a sign of maturity to be willing to accept absurdity as a condition of the universe and meaninglessness as a fact of life. 

Camus is often cited as a proponent of this dark definition of absurdity.  And in some of his bleaker statements, Camus sounds as though he is promoting this sort of fatalistic and nihilistic meaning of absurdity.  But he isn’t.  Camus is both darker and lighter in his ideas.  On the one hand, he contends you cannot say that the universe is meaningless because you don’t have the right to speak of either a universe or of meaning.   This is a definition that borders on nihilism. 

On the other hand, however, Camus propounds a lighter idea of absurdity as something that is inevitable – everything ultimately is meaningless – but is not acceptable.  It is one thing to acknowledge meaninglessness but another to accept it.  He acknowledges it, but still rejects it.  He insists on looking for meaning even as the knows it is not to be found.  It is a position that seems consistent with a reading of Saint Paul’s exhortation to faith. hope and charity.

An Atheistic God.  A Hopeless Hope.  A Careful Love. 

So, how does a self-styled atheist whose gospel is hopelessness and meaninglessness become an apostle of faith, hope and charity?  The answer, I think, lies in the difference between ideas and feelings.  Camus rejects the ideas of faith, hope and charity, especially as they are conventionally defined, but his novels reflect a sentiment of faith, hope and charity.  A belief is an idea.  To Camus, a belief in God was the death of the intellect.  Likewise, the idea of hope, meaning in traditional Christian terms a belief in an afterlife, was a debilitating opiate of the people.  And the conventional idea of charity, defined as giving things to those who have too little, was an insincere effort by those who have too much to assuage their bad consciences.

But faith, hope and charity can flourish with secular meanings.  Faith can be described as a response to the question of why the universe holds together and doesn’t disappear in the next moment.  Logically, there is no reason why it shouldn’t.  Just because the universe has been around for some five billion years is no logical reason to believe it should continue that way.  Such a belief is an example of the empirical fallacy in logic.  Religious believers avoid the empirical fallacy by assigning the task of holding the universe together to God.  For atheists like Camus, however, God won’t do.  

Leaving aside the improbability of God, for Camus the pain and suffering that exist in the universe render the idea of God obscene.  Dr. Rieux in The Plague is an avowed atheist.  He says that if he believed in God, he would just give up trying to do good because he would have to conclude with the Catholic priest that the plague is from God.  And if the plague is from God, then to hell with Him.  But since Dr. Rieux doesn’t believe in God, “he believed he was on the true path, fighting against creation, such as it was.”  He concludes ironically that “perhaps it’s better for God if we don’t believe in him and if we fight against death with all our might, without raising our eyes to the heavens where he keeps silent.”[5]   

But while a belief in God may be unacceptable, it is still hard not to feel that there is something or Something that holds things together, that makes disparate things into a universe and keeps it from falling apart or disappearing in the next moment.  The confidence which we all have – at least those of us who are relatively sane – that things will persist and won’t break up into pieces or disappear at any given moment is a form of faith.  It is an absurd faith.  But one which we can see in the main characters in The Plague.  You can call it God if you want, or Dog or Super Glue or Mustard, or whatever…

If people cannot live without faith in the universe, neither can they live without hope.  Not necessarily the religious hope of life eternal or a belief in an afterlife.  That is an idea of hope that we don’t see in The Plague.  Hope among the book’s characters is defined by the feeling that they will live for the next moment.  Anticipating the next moment is something that people do instinctively, feeling immortal even while recognizing their own mortality.  It is not logical to feel that one will be alive in the next moment, or the next, or the next, ad infinitum.  But it’s almost impossible not to feel that way.  It’s an absurd hope.  It was the hope of people in The Plague as they acknowledged death but refused to accept it either for themselves or for others.

Charity permeates The Plague as Camus’ characters try to save their fellow citizens.  Not charity in the conventional sense of looking down on your social inferiors and giving them some alms.  Nor is it sympathy for others, feeling bad for them.  Rather, it is empathy, sharing their troubles and feeling bad with them.  As we see it in The Plague, charity is sharing among equals.

It is a sharing that derives from the credo “I think, therefore we are,” which is the obverse of Descartes’ famous credo “I think, therefore I am.”  Descartes’ formula is, in fact, nonsense.  There can be no “I” without first there being “you.”  We only know ourselves through contact with others.  I can have no sense of myself without my first having a sense of others with whom I can compare myself and get a sense of “I.”   It is my relationship with others that defines me.

We see ourselves as mirror images of what we see of ourselves in the gaze of others.  Charity, then, is a way of defining myself favorably in your eyes so that I can, in turn, see myself favorably.  Charity is caring for others as yourself.  Not merely as though they are you but as though they are, in fact, a part of you.  Not feeling their pain but inhabiting their pain.  Not loving your neighbor as if your neighbor were yourself but as your neighbor is yourself.  Charity is a commitment to caring and a feeling of solidarity.

Making Meaning Out of Meaninglessness.  Making Trump-Free Zones Out of Absurdity.

Camus is an apostle of absurdity and the meaninglessness of the universe.  But for Camus, absurdity is not a dead end of meaninglessness.  Absurdity is a two-sided dialectic.  On the one hand, it is meaningless to claim that everything is meaningless because that would make that statement meaningless as well, and it would involve you in an infinite regress of meaningless statements about meaninglessness.  That doesn’t stop Camus from proclaiming that all is meaningless, but it leads him into an ironic antithesis. 

According to Camus, we cannot live without meaning, even if that meaning evaporates under closer scrutiny.  There is also no meaninglessness without first there being meaning.  You can’t have less meaning – meaning less -unless you first had more meaning.  And there is no meaninglessness without a renewed search for more meaning.  Absurdity starts with a stab at meaning and a sliver of hope which are then dashed against the reality of meaninglessness and hopelessness.  But then the cycle starts up again with another stab at meaning and sliver of hope.

Nihilists, who reject any search for meaning, confound acknowledging something with accepting it.  It is one thing to acknowledge meaninglessness, which is a key to absurdity, and another to accept meaninglessness, which is the opposite of absurdity.  The absurd person acknowledges absurdity but fights against it and never accepts it.

As The Plague came to an end, Dr. Rieux and his comrades were relieved and rejoiced.  They were also resigned to the likelihood that the plague could return.  The doctor warned his comrades not to become complacent.  “The plague bacillus never dies or disappears” and it can return at any time.  In Camus’ absurd universe, nothing is ever for certain and nothing is ever forever.  Which is no reason not to keep fighting, to rejoice at victories, and to hope that lasting progress has been made.[6]

But looking back on the plague year, the doctor is gratified at the public spirit most people had shown.  At what is in effect the faith, hope and charity of the populace.  He concludes that even “in the middle of scourges, there is more to admire in humanity than there is to scorn.”  During the plague, people came out of their shells and came to realize that “There were no longer any individual destinies, only a collective story of the plague and the feelings everyone shared.”  There were no great heroes, the doctor explains, “such as those you can find in the old tales.”  Just ordinary people doing what they saw as their duty.   And it is astonishing, the doctor says, that they never ran out of people willing to deal with the sick and the dead, that there were so many people who would risk getting the plague in order to do the public good.[7]

Rieux is also gratified and grateful that even in the midst of the plague, people did not completely give up their lives to the plague.  While fighting the disease, they continued to do the sorts of things that make life good.  Eat, drink and party.  Play music, dance and sing.  Whatever made them happy.  They “undertook to recapture their happiness and to deprive the plague of that part of themselves they would defend to the last.”  Developing what can be called Plague-Free Zones in themselves, among themselves, and in their city.[8]

And that is the moral of this essay.  That in the midst of the current plague of Trump and MAGA we should not let him deprive us of that part of ourselves that we would defend to the last.  That we don’t get so caught up in the negative of responding politically but also, most importantly, emotionally to Trump, that we are unable to act positively in our own lives.

Trump’s strategy is to throw out a constant stream of provocations with the aim of absorbing all of his opponents’ time and energy in responding to them.  His goal is to get his opponents so wrapped up in responding to him that we cannot promote our own programs and policies and, just as important, cannot demonstrate in our own lives what we value the most.  If we do that, if we focus all are attention on him, he wins. 

So, my proposition is that even as we work in opposition to the evils that Trump and his MAGA mates would inflict on us, we all of us try also to set up Trump-Free Zones in ourselves, among ourselves, and in our society.  To do like the populace in The Plague and live out our faith, hope and charity in the face of the plague around us.  To do whatever positive and creative things we can.  And, as Jesse Jackson has been wont to say: “Keep hope alive!”

                                                                                                                        BW  2/25


[1] Albert Camus.  The Plague.  Alfred A. Knopf.  New York: 2021.

[2] P. 82.

[3] P. 30.

[4] P. 14.

[5] Pp. 86-87.

[6] P. 207.

[7] P. 111.

[8] P. 94.

The Consequences: Individualism Triumphant.  Or not. The Utopian Impulse in American History. The Golden Age of Utopianism, 1820’s to 1850’s. In Pursuit of a More Perfect Union. Part III. Postscript Post Election 2024: What do we do now?

The Consequences: Individualism Triumphant.  Or not.

The Utopian Impulse in American History.

The Golden Age of Utopianism, 1820’s to 1850’s.

In Pursuit of a More Perfect Union. Part III.

Postscript Post Election 2024: What do we do now?

Burton Weltman

“You cannot buy the Revolution.  You cannot make the Revolution. 

You can only be the Revolution.  It is in your spirit, or it is nowhere.”

Ursula K. Le Guin.

Postscript Post Election 2024.  Ahab is taking over the ship.

I wrote this essay during October, 2024 in the midst of a bitter presidential campaign between a right-wing demagogue Donald Trump and a moderate liberal Kamala Harris.  The election occurred just as I finished the essay and the demagogue won.  I think that his victory exemplifies the moral of the story in this essay, which is the need for liberals to develop utopian thinking to counteract the dystopian theory and practice of demagogues like Trump.

As I discuss in the essay, when a political campaign is run on ideological grounds in this country, the right-wing usually wins.  When a campaign is based on competing programs, the liberal usually wins.  Liberals have programs that most people like.  But they don’t have an ideology or a vision that people can inhabit.  The right-wing has a vision.  It is based on an individualist ideology that has been inculcated into most Americans so that they respond in knee-jerk fashion to its evocation.  It’s a dystopian vision based on myths and lies, but it has power.

In the recent election, Trump and his allies promoted a false dystopian vision of America society, and then spewed endless lies and misinformation in support of their vision so that it was impossible for Harris or the media to keep up with correcting the falsehoods.  And even when the lies were exposed, the demagogue kept on repeating them.  In this way, he sold his vision. 

Harris ran a campaign based on a reasonable picture of American society while proposing specific programs to deal with social problems.  But she offered no ideal of what the United States should be.  No utopia.  Although most people agreed with her specific proposals, her programs did not cohere in a vision in which people could imaginatively see themselves.  Her proposals got lost in the persiflage of her demagogic adversary.  And, so she lost.  You can point to many reasons why Harris lost and, as I type this, the finger pointing is just getting under way.  But I think the absence of an overall vision was one of the reasons, and it is a problem that has dogged liberals for many years.    

Trump is at this point in control of the federal government for the next several years, and those of us who are politically interested will likely have to focus on local issues.  But that should not stop us from thinking in broader terms and developing a vision to go with our programs.  Thinking globally, acting locally, as the saying goes.  Although utopian thinking is frequently disparaged as a silly and even harmful exercise in futility, I think it is a necessity which is the point of this essay.                    

BW  11/24

A Fish Story and More. 

A couple of merchants outfit a ship, hire a crew to man it and a captain to manage it.  All of them – merchants, sailors and captain – have goals for the ship’s voyage.  The merchants hope to make a profit from the voyage, some of which they will share with the captain and the crew, and the rest they will invest in outfitting the ship for another in a hoped-for succession of voyages.  

The crewmen, as their goal, hope to survive what is expected to be a dangerous voyage, working together as a community to make it succeed, then collecting their shares of the profits and spending them before signing up for another voyage.  The goals of the merchants and the sailors are, thus, somewhat different in scope but congruent in content.  They all want a safe and profitable voyage. 

The captain, however, has a private goal for the voyage that does not fit with the goals of the merchants and the sailors, a personal goal that he never shares with the merchants and does not disclose to the crew until they are well on their way.  The captain’s pursuit of his personal goal results in the sinking of the ship and the deaths of himself and all but one member of the crew.      

It is a tragic story of a selfish person wreaking havoc on all those around him because he insists on having his own way come hell or high water, or both hell and high water in this case.  Self-centered people wrecking things for others is an all-too-common common theme in literature and history, which are full of such people right up to the present day.  I am, for example, writing this essay in late October, 2024.  We are currently coming to the end of a bitter presidential campaign in the United States in which one of the candidates is a selfish, self-centered, megalomaniacal demagogue who is threatening to wreck everything for everyone if he wins, or if he doesn’t.

The tragedy described above is an outline of Herman Melville’s classic novel Moby Dick.  First published in 1851, Moby Dick is often considered the greatest American novel.  It is a tale of deadly doings on the whaling ship Pequod.  On a voyage whose purpose is supposed to be the killing of whales, the tables are turned when the whale Moby Dick destroys the ship, killing all but one member of the crew.  It is a disaster precipitated by Captain Ahab’s megalomaniacal pursuit of vengeance against Moby Dick and his ability to mesmerize the crew into joining him in his mad pursuit.  In so doing, the crew abandon their duty to the ship’s owners to hunt whales and their duty to themselves to stay safe.

What to make of this story?  On one level, Moby Dick is a big fish story, a tale of daring-do like others Melville had previously written.  But, unlike the others, this one is intermixed with philosophical and scientific speculations, much deeper than a mere fish yarn.  It can be likened to a combination of Richard Henry Dana’s sea tales and Ralph Waldo Emerson’s philosophy, an adventure story joined with metaphysical musings.  And this is the way the novel is usually read.

But I think there is more to the story.  I think it also deals with ideological issues of importance in Melville’s day and in ours too.  Told in a first-person narrative by Ishmael, the survivor of the Pequod’s destruction, the book functions as a voyage of ethical and intellectual discovery for the narrator, and maybe for the author Melville as well, whose opinions of whalers and whales dramatically change in the course of the telling of his tale.

Ethical issues permeate the story and it can be seen as a moral allegory.  Questions of who and what is good and bad underlie the book’s various episodes and link what can be seen as the two main plotlines in the book.  One plotline focuses on the crew of the Pequod, the whalers.  The other focuses on the whales that they are hunting.  The two plotlines track the moral trajectories of the whalers and the whales, describing a moral ascent of the whales during the course of the book and a moral descent of the whalers.  

Beginning as a warm celebration of hearty sailors and adventurous whaling, the book’s characterization of the whalers becomes increasingly harsh and even bestial as they first slaughter whales and then assent to Ahab’s barbaric obsession with killing Moby Dick.   The whales, in turn, are at first rendered in coldly taxonomic and economic terms.  In what are often criticized as the boring whale chapters of the book, the whales are initially described as dumb fish-like creatures who make a fit crop for human harvesting.  Most of the opening whale sections are boring, maybe even intentionally so, but they play an important role in the story. 

Because as the story proceeds, the whales are depicted in increasingly sympathetic and humanized terms, while the whalers are at the same time being portrayed in increasingly unsympathetic and inhumane terms.  Instead of dumb beasts, the whale are portrayed as intelligent beings who peacefully cooperate with each other in organized communities, with parents even sacrificing themselves to protect their young from the whalers’ onslaught.  Almost like a utopian cooperative community. 

The two trajectories, whale and whaler, crisscross in the middle of the book, with the whales ethically ascending, the whalers morally descending.  The whales become sympathetic beings, more empathetic than the humans chasing and killing them.  And in the face of Ahab’s single-minded fury and the crew’s intoxication with his malevolence, readers may even come to root for the whales and have mixed feelings about the demise of the Pequod.  Mixed feelings that seem to be shared by Ishmael and the author Melville as Ishmael finally finishes his tale. 

What seemingly began as merely a big fish adventure story has become a moral allegory about the dangers of demagogues and the susceptibility of people en masse to demagoguery.  It is a demagoguery that tends to the inhumanity of humanity and the decivilizing of civilization.  Melville has challenged us with a moral allegory, and more.

The story is also a social allegory.  And it is a reflection of the debate in the first half of the nineteenth century between proponents of mercantilism, socialism and individualism.  Melville’s whaling ship is a miniature society, and the story of that society revolves around what can be characterized as the conflicting views of mercantilists, socialists and individualists.  The mercantilist view is represented by the ship’s owners.  They personify a propertied but paternalistic elite whose goal is for sailors and owners alike to make a profit on the voyage, and then keep their joint enterprise going in future voyages.

The second view is represented by the cooperative community of sailors on the Pequod whose goals are to work together, and keep the whaling ship afloat to the end of its voyage so that they can collect and spend their wages.  The third is the view of the individualistic Captain Ahab who thinks and acts as though he is a world unto himself and places the satisfaction of his personal desires above his duties to the ship’s owners and the community of sailors on the ship. 

The novel ends with the destruction of the society represented by the ship, a disaster that is brought about by the selfish, self-centered actions of the individualistic captain.  The story can be seen as a warning from Melville as to what he saw happening in the society around him.

Mercantilism, Socialism, Individualism: The Debate.

Nineteenth century social, economic and political debate in the United States revolved largely around three utopian ideals that evolved into political ideologies.  Mercantilism, socialism and individualism began as intellectual ideals, morphed into political arguments, succeeded and failed in part as social realities, and left us with a legacy with which we are still trying to cope.  

Mercantilism was the predominant form of government during the colonial period up through the 1820’s.  Mercantilist republicans promoted a paternalistic government that was controlled by a meritocratic elite whose ascendance was accepted by the general public.  It promised good government by qualified leaders who were well-educated and invariably from the upper classes, and who worked in the public interest. 

Mercantilism promoted government regulation of the economy toward creating a commonwealth, that is, a society in which wealth was generated for the common good.  The assumption of the mercantilist Founders of the United States was that if only the interference of the British government in American society could be ended, and especially the hamstringing of the American elite, virtue would be unleashed on all sides, the American people would willingly and happily follow their natural leaders, and all would be well in the land.  This was a utopian assumption that partly played out in practice, but only partly.

Utopian socialists promoted a cooperative society in which people would work together doing things for the community.  Division of labor would be based on people’s qualifications for specific tasks and leadership would democratically fall to those who were most knowledgeable and skillful in regard to a given issue.  What we might today call a participatory democracy. The assumption of utopian socialists was that the small communities in which Americans settled were inevitably cooperative, as no one could survive without help from others, and that it was just a small step from a community of cooperative citizens to a cooperative community.  This was a utopian assumption that partly played out in practice, but only partly.    

Laissez-faire individualists promoted a small-government society in which freedom was the operative term.  The assumption was that if everyone did what they wanted, the “hidden hand” of the law of supply and demand would ensure that everybody and everything would work out OK.  It would be a society in which the free market would control everything and government’s role was merely to keep the market free.  This was a utopian assumption that partly worked in economics but not in society more generally.

The debate between proponents of mercantilism socialism and individualism was vigorous.  Laissez-faire individualists won the debate and laissez-faire individualism became the predominant view of society and law in the United States over the course of the nineteenth century.  As the story is usually told in conventional histories, this was an inevitable development and the only logical way for the country to go. 

Most history books treat laissez-faire capitalism and individualism as the American Way and the way the country was destined to go from the start.  And, looking backward at the history of the nineteenth century, we can see a chain of seeming causation with one thing leading to another, so that we can easily conclude that since everything is connected, what happened had to happen.  But that just isn’t so.  Like much conventional history, it is an example of the post hoc ergo propter hoc fallacy that because event X followed event Y, event X must have caused event Y,     

History is not just a chain of causation.  It is a function of choice and chance as well as causation.  If you were to put yourself in the place of people in the nineteenth century, looking at what was most prominently happening around you, and surveying the options that you and others had, I think you would come to the conclusion that there was nothing inevitable about the development of laissez-faire capitalist individualism.  People’s choices, some wise and good, others stupid and wicked, combined with chance circumstances, some fortuitous, others unfortunate, played at least as much of a role in the rise of individualist as causation.        

The Decline of Mercantilism and Utopian Socialism.

Mercantilist theories had been fairly successfully practiced in most of colonial British America since the early 1600’s.  Following independence from Britain, mercantilism continued as the premise of most local, state and federal governments in the United States until the mid-1820’s.  So long as there was a supply of Revolutionary War leaders to fill the office of the Presidency and other important governmental positions, mercantilism was the basic theory and practice of American government.  And in presidential elections from that of George Washington in 1788 to that of John Quincy Adams in 1824, presidents were routinely chosen from among the elite. 

But by the 1820’s, the revolutionary generation of men who embodied the meritocratic ideal was passing.  And the next generation of elite leaders, such as Henry Clay and Daniel Webster, did not have the same charisma or clout.  The demise of mercantilism was presaged by the passing of the Revolutionary leaders who had largely ruled the country for a half-century and who were recognized as republican royalty.[1]

At the same time, the electorate was also changing.  At the time of the Revolution, the right to vote had generally been restricted to people with substantial amounts of property.  These were people who seemed willing to support the mercantilist policies and the elite ruling class being promoted by most of the Founders.  But by the 1820’s, the United States had become the first country in the world in which the franchise was held by all white men, propertied or not. 

This was an increasingly democratic electorate that was increasingly hostile to self-styled ruling elites.  Many people, mainly less educated and from less prosperous areas of the country, felt that they were being left out and left behind by an urban, educated elite.  They rallied around an anti-urban, anti-intellectual populism that was promoted as being more democratic.  It was a development that paved the way for demagogues like Andrew Jackson.

Conventional histories generally hail the Age of Jackson, which began upon Jackson’s election as President in 1828, as a major democratic turn in American history.  But I don’t agree.  Populist, yes.  Democratic, no.  Not if you define democracy, as I do, as majority rule with minority rights, the most important of which is the right of a minority to become the majority.  It is individual liberties and republican institutions, the Separation of Powers in the Constitution plus the Bill of Rights. 

Alex de Tocqueville, when he visited America during the Jacksonian era, worried that with little or no respect for established republican institutions, demagogues could transform a democracy into a mobocracy, a majority rule government and society with little room for differences and little regard for the rights of individuals.  That is what he feared Jackson represented. 

Jacksonianism in the 1820’s, much like Trumpism today, was more demagogic than democratic, filled with hostility to immigrants and suspicion of people’s differences.  It was a contradictory call for individualism without individuality.  And during the Jacksonian era, the triumph of individualism as a theory became an exercise of conformity in social practice.  It is a contradiction that we see today in the hypocrisy of Donald Trump and his MAGA movement. 

Andrew Jackson did not respect republican institutions.  He repeatedly disobeyed orders when he was in the army, killing at least one man for personal reasons, insisting against orders on the execution of at least two others, and unilaterally against orders invading and attacking supposed enemies.  As President he unconstitutionally refused to implement a Supreme Court ruling in favor of Native Americans, saying that “(Chief Justice) John Marshall has made his decision, now let him enforce it.”  Trump, who cites Jackson as his favorite former President, has done the same when he was President and promises more of the same if he is elected again.

Populism in the 1820’s was similar to the situation in America today in which many people, especially older white men, and especially white people from small towns and economically declining areas, resent the equality being asserted by women and people of color and feel that the country has been ruled and ruined by a self-styled highly-educated liberal elite.  This resentment opens the door to the sort of racist, sexist, nativist, anti-intellectual demagoguery being promoted by Donald Trump and his MAGA movement to remake America as manly and white.  Ostensibly democratic, actually demagogic.  Ostensibly utopian, actually dystopian.   

Utopian socialism went through a similar rise and decline as mercantilism.  Although mercantilism had been the ruling ideology in America since the 1600’s, cooperative communes also had a significant history.  Dozens of communes, both religious and secular, had gone into and out of existence, and peaked during the first half of the nineteenth century.  While not as successful in practice as mercantilism, the socialist ideal inspired many small experimental communities, such as Robert Owen’s New Harmony in Indiana during the 1820’s.  The communal ideal also had many influential supporters, such as the newspaper magnate Horace Greeley.  Socialist theory – the word socialism was coined by Robert Owen – was widely popular and quite successful, albeit as a moral force more than as a practical plan for society. 

Despite the popularity of socialism in theory and the success of mercantilism in practice, laissez-faire individualism became the controlling ideology in politics and law in the United States.  It was not, however, an intellectual victory in which better arguments prevailed over weaker ones.  It was an ideological victory that was facilitated by the rise of large-scale corporate businesses and large cities.  Mercantilism and utopian socialism were not compatible with big cities and big businesses, and that left the field to laissez-faire individualism.  Although conventional histories generally portray these developments as inevitable, they were not.  They were a function of choice and chance as well as causation.  Things could have been different.  And, very soon they were.  Because, ironically, the same developments that helped make laissez-faire individualism dominant in theory made it effectively impossible to implement in practice.

The Corporate Revolution: A Frankenstein’s Monster.

The nineteenth century was an age of unprecedented growth of gargantuan businesses and civic enterprises.  It produced large-scale farms, factories, and cities that dwarfed any previously in existence.  Conventional histories generally treat this development as inevitable, a law of nature that smallness quite naturally grows into largeness.  But that was not so.  Most of this development was a result of legal changes and, particularly, the enactment of what were called General Incorporation Laws.  There was nothing natural or inevitable about these laws.  And the resulting growth in the size of businesses and cities was widely regarded at the time as unnatural and even unwelcome.   

General Incorporation Laws were arbitrary changes in the law and a sharp break from the ways that business had traditionally been conducted since ancient times.  A corporation is an artificial being that in various ways is treated as a person, like a human being.  There is nothing natural about that.  The key point is that incorporation gives the owners of a business the benefit of limited liability for the debts of the business.  Limited liability means that the investors are not liable for the debts of the business beyond what they have invested in it.  If the corporation goes bankrupt, the investors are liable to lose only the amount of money they put into the business. 

In contrast, the owners of an unincorporated business can be completely liable for the debts of the business.  If the business goes bust, all of the owners’ other investments and their personal property can be confiscated to pay the debts of the business.  This was the risk that almost all businessmen faced from ancient times to the mid nineteenth century.  And it made people cautious about investing in risky businesses.  Limited liability dramatically changed that risk factor and it became an enormous advantage to entrepreneurs who wanted to convince people to invest in their businesses.    

Previously, going back to the Middle Ages, incorporation had been available only for public works and other projects in the public interest that could not otherwise attract investors.  Bridges, roads, canals, and other public works were the primary examples.  An owner who wanted to incorporate a business had to get a special charter from the legislature and had to demonstrate that the business served some public interest which was not otherwise being served.    

This limited liability afforded corporations was intended as an incentive for rich people to invest in businesses that served the public welfare.  Up until the mid-nineteenth century, these public welfare requirements were part of the mercantilist ideal of government control of the economy to serve the public interest.  With General Incorporation Laws, government approval and a public purpose were no longer required in order to incorporate and get the benefit of limited liability.  Incorporation went from being a very limited exception to being the general rule for businesses. And the General Incorporation Laws were a tremendous blow to the mercantilist regime. 

Since almost anyone could incorporate almost anything and get the benefit of limited liability, the laws were politically promoted as an example of economic democracy.  They were cited as an instance of laissez-faire individualism that was more democratic than mercantilist methods which ostensibly favored the rich and well-born.  An ordinary individual could incorporate his little business without having to get permission from a government bureaucrat who primarily served a well-to-do elite.  It was supposed to be a boon to small businessmen.  

But this change in the law had the opposite effect.  Its primary effect was to enable capitalists to attract rich investors who would put their money into big businesses that could then swamp their small competitors.  It was not the case that the big businesses were more efficient than the small businesses.  It was their money power that made them formidable.  The new incorporation laws, rather than being an encouragement to small businesses and individual enterprises, made possible the rise of corporate behemoths that squelched small enterprises.

The tables were also turned on the relationship between government and business.  Mercantilism had been a system of government regulation of business in the public interest, and this had been the purpose of the prior corporation laws.  With the rise of big corporations, government became dependent on business rather than vice versa.  In turn, with the influence that money can buy in politics, the General Incorporation Laws had the effect of undermining the democratic power of ordinary people.

General Incorporation Laws initiated a corporate revolution that was like Dr. Frankenstein’s monster.  They were enacted with utopian idealist expectations.  Everyman’s business would be a corporation, everyman would be a corporate owner.  But they generated dystopian results.  Everyman’s businesses were swallowed up by corporate monsters.  A revolution gone wrong.    

The Debate Derailed.

General Incorporation Laws were revolutionary in their effect on the debate between mercantilists, socialists, and individualists.  They took the ground from under the proposals of utopian socialists and mercantilists who assumed that businesses would be of a moderate size that could readily be converted into socialist communities or regulated by government.  The decline of mercantilist and socialist ideas was not primarily a result of their inefficacy in theory or in practice.  Their decline was largely an unforeseen consequence of the rise of corporations. 

Utopian socialism had been premised on the small farming and manufacturing communities which had been ubiquitous among European settlers in early America and in which neighborly cooperation had been necessary and natural.  Socialists had repeatedly said that it was a small step from a community of cooperative citizens to a cooperative community. Mercantilism had been similarly premised on small to medium scale enterprises that governments could control.    

The rise of corporations led to the development of large farms and large factories which, in turn, meant large cities.  Small cooperative participatory democratic communities were increasingly impracticable.  Likewise, mercantilist control over behemoth corporations seemed implausible. Mercantilists such as Henry Clay struggled to come up with programs that would deal with the new economic situation, especially in the face of the money power that the new corporations were able to wield. 

This turn of events was not inevitable.  It was not even logical.  Nor even economical.  It was politics and not economics that gave rise to big corporations and precipitated the decline of the mercantilist and utopian socialist movements.  It was political choices for political purposes, coupled with unforeseen and unintended consequences, that undercut mercantilism and utopian socialism.  Ironically, the same circumstances ultimately undermined laissez-faire individualism.  

The Golden Age of Free Enterprise Capitalist Individualism that Never Was.

Free enterprise individualism coupled with small government capitalism was a utopian ideal that never matched reality and that triumphed as an ideology in this country just at the moment when the conditions that made it plausible were passing away.

From the early 1600’s through the mid nineteenth century, European settlement in America was mainly on small farms and in small towns.  Most European Americans had their own farms and businesses.  The pervasiveness of small farms and towns made an ideal of small government free enterprise individualism seem plausible.  And there grew up a myth of America as a free enterprise Eden that took hold in the nineteenth century and persists in conventional histories and among political conservatives to the present day.  But although it was superficially plausible in theory, small government capitalist individualism was never actually the practice in America. 

The myth of a Golden Age of self-sufficient small farms was belied from the start by the pervasive cooperation among farmers and townspeople and by pervasive government actions in support of farmers and small towns.  The fact is that American farmers had never been self-sufficient individuals and had always been dependent on each other and on government.  Economic development in America had invariably been fostered by government interventions.  Farmers and small businessmen would not have survived without the licensing laws, tariffs, monetary subsidies, Homestead Land Acts and other direct supports provided by colonial, state and federal governments. 

In addition to these direct supports, state and federal governments built the infrastructure that connected farmers and businessmen to the national and international markets in which they sold their produce and from which they bought manufactured goods.  The extensive network of roads, canals, railroads, and ports that were built during the second and third quarters of the nineteenth century, and that tied farmers to their markets and enabled them to spread out across the interior of the continent, were all built with government money and other government support. 

In any case, by the late nineteenth century, small farms began to give way to giant corporate farms that were for the most part owned by absentee investors and that have dominated agriculture from that time to the present day.  Small manufacturing firms and commercial enterprises suffered a similar fate.  In general, the economic conditions that had made laissez-faire individualism plausible as an ideal in the early to mid-nineteenth century quickly disappeared in the late nineteenth century with the rise of large-scale corporations that came to dominate the economy and, increasingly, politics.[2] 

As a consequence of these developments, the United States turned a corner in the mid nineteenth century and moved toward a corporate capitalism in which individuals increasingly became cogs in a giant corporate system.  Although small businesses remained a large part of the economy, and still employ about fifty percent of American workers today, the utopian ideal of a society made up solely or even predominantly of self-employed, self-styled individualists became strictly speaking utopian in the sense of being implausible and even impossible. 

The Anti-Government Capitalism that Never Was.

The ideal of free enterprise individualism targeted government as a problem and something to be limited and eliminated as much as possible.  In a shameless act of irony, however, big business proponents of laissez-faire small-government capitalism routinely relied on government to boost the profits of their businesses through executive actions that repressed labor unions and farmer alliances, court rulings that overturned legislation that might assists workers and family farmers, and military intervention that was routinely undertaken against striking workers and farmers.  Corporate capitalists claimed that labor unions, farmers cooperatives and other organizations of farmers and workers undermined what they saw as their Constitutional right to do whatever they wanted with their property, which included their workers and tenants.  

The federal government and most state governments during the late nineteenth century agreed.  These governments essentially required laissez-faire competition for individual workers and small farmers while allowing corporations to grow into anti-competitive monopolies.[3]  And the ideology of laissez-faire individualism, which was initially developed as a means of combating entrenched mercantilist regulations and established business interests on behalf of striving entrepreneurs, was instead used in the late nineteenth century to promote the entrenched interests of large corporations against striving small farmers, small businessmen and workers. 

Led by the influential Justice Stephen Field, the United States Supreme Court made the Fourteenth Amendment of the Constitution into a vehicle for protecting the rich and powerful against what Field decried as the grasping designs of the weak and the envious, thereby reversing the intent of the Amendment’s authors to provide Constitutional protection for the powerless against the powerful.  Field and his colleagues read laissez-faire individualism into the Constitution, although not to promote the utopia of small-scale entrepreneurs promised by the original proponents of that ideology, but to protect the privileges of corporate wealth and power that those original individualists had opposed.[4]

Based on this laissez-faire reading of the Constitution, and particularly the Fourteenth Amendment, federal courts in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century increasingly struck down any government regulation of the economy that might restrict the freedom of corporations to operate at will including, for example, laws that helped small farmers by forbidding railroads from discriminating in favor of some farmers and against others. 

Federal courts also regularly struck down laws that provided minimum wages, maximum hours, health and safety standards, and other pro-labor regulations laws on the grounds that they infringed on the Constitutionally protected freedom of individual workers and farmers to compete against each other, compete freely against the giant corporations, and bargain individually for their own wages, hours, and health and safety protections.  In the same vein, courts routine ruled against labor unions as restricting workers’ individual rights, and prohibited labor union activities, such as strikes and boycotts, that might interfere with business interests.    

As a final ironic twist in the law and the ideology of individualism, conservative Supreme Court justices began in the 1870’s to refer to corporations as “individuals” which are entitled to the rights of “persons” under the Fifth and Fourteenth Amendments of the Constitution.  Although corporations are artificial creations of state governments, legal fictions that exist only with the support of state governments, the courts began giving corporations the rights of real people which they can use against real people and even against the governments that created them, rights that which they retain to the present day. 

The rights of corporate persons include freedom of speech, which has in recent years been interpreted to mean the right to contribute unlimited amounts of money to election campaigns, and freedom from many of the regulations imposed on corporations by the governments that created them.  The result has been that huge corporations — collectivist organizations ruled by unelected elites of owners and managers — are today arguably among the last remaining individualists in America.

In sum, the anti-government, laissez-faire ideology that had begun as an assertion of freedom for small farmers and small businessmen early in the nineteenth century became by the late nineteenth century a rationalization for the unbridled wealth and unconstrained power of big businessmen and giant corporations, and as a defense against any government restraints on their plundering of the country’s resources, fleecing of consumers and exploitation of workers.[5] 

The Persistence of Utopian Mercantilism.

Americans are almost alone in the world today in adhering to a laissez-faire individualist ideology, and the myth of a laissez-faire Eden has become part of the conventional historical narrative about the nineteenth century.  The persistence of this ideology is in sharp contrast with the history of other countries.  In England during the early nineteenth century, a group of self-styled liberals championed laissez-faire capitalism as an antidote to the mercantilism that they claimed was stifling social and economic progress. 

But laissez-faire ideas never became popular among the general public in England and willingness to acknowledge that the rise of big business and big cities had given the lie to the ideology led most of its advocates to abandon it.  John Stuart Mill, for example, one of the ideology’s most influential proponents in the early part of the century, came to reject it and he even became a socialist. 

Laissez-faire ideology also never took deep root among English conservatives.  They promoted a top-down big government paternalism, a variation of mercantilism, to compete with the liberals’ bottom-up big government social democracy, a remnant of utopian socialism.[6]  Other European capitalist countries went through patterns of political development similar to that of England.[7]  In these countries, mercantilist ideas have persisted as ideology and as well as practice as opposed to the United States where individualism has become the dominant theory even as mercantilism remains a dominant practice. 

Unlike Europe, laissez-faire individualism took root in the United States both among the general public as a bottom-up ideal of freedom for the common man and among wealthy conservatives as a top-down ideology of freedom for big businessmen.  This contradictory appeal of laissez-faire ideology has roiled American politics for a century and a half. 

For most Americans, there is an emotional charge to the individualist ideal — the idea of the self-made person and the independent individual — that resonates with an almost religious tone.  Many Americans even equate the hidden hand of laissez-faire economic theories, the mechanism whereby the law of supply and demand makes everything come out just right, with God or Providence.

What has come to be called liberalism in the United States is largely an uneasy combination of top-down mercantilist paternalism and bottom-up social democracy.  The former relies on the central government to make up for deficiencies of the hidden hand and to make capitalism work.  The latter relies on labor unions, local governments and other popular organizations to make up for the deficiencies of the central government and to make democracy work. 

The major reform movements of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries – the Progressive Movement of the early 1900’s, the New Deal of the 1930’s, the Great Society of the 1960’s, and the reforms of President Obama’s administration in the early 2000’s – have relied on bottom-up socialistic sentiment to power them but have in practice reflected a top-down mercantilist ethos.  It is a contradiction that generates conflicts among reformers and hampers the reform effort.

And the persistence of the laissez-faire individualist ideology has also been a drag on social and economic reforms.  Largely because of the persistence of antigovernment ideas, the United States has the least developed system of public social services, government economic regulations and communitarian institutions of any industrial democracy, and has the largest wealth gap and income gap between the rich and the rest of the population of any capitalist country. 

Remarkably, antigovernment sentiment in America is often strongest among people who have the greatest need for community assistance and who receive the most government aid.  People in small town and rural regions of the Midwest and South who are the most dependent on federal government services and funds, and who get back more in services and funds than they pay in taxes to the federal government, are generally the most fervently antigovernment, anti-taxation and the most fervent believers in the idea of self-sufficient individualism.  It is a contradiction that seems lost on most of them.

The Ambivalence in Americans’ Ideologies.

By the late nineteenth century, individualism was American’s predominant ideology but not completely.  Most Americans remained then, and remain now, ambivalent about the idea.  And both the mercantilist and utopian socialist impulses were still evident.  A mercantilist desire for top-down sympathy and assistance, regulation and security.  A bottom-up desire for empathy and mutual aid, cooperation and unity.  As a result, there developed a contradiction between the predominant theory of individualism and a predominant practice that includes mutualism. 

De Tocqueville noted this contradiction in his book Democracy in America on his visit to the United States during the 1830’s. That while Americans espoused an ideology that he called individualism – he coined the term – this ideology was largely contradicted by the communalism of their day-to-day lives and their underlying character. 

Even as Americans trumpeted an ideology of self-centered individualism and justified selfish business practices with a laissez-faire economic theory, they participated incessantly in mutual aid societies, political parties, churches, local governments, labor unions and all sorts of other communal organizations.  Much like Americans today. 

But de Tocqueville worried that Americans’ individualistic ideology hid from them the communalism they desired and practiced in their daily lives, and undermined their support for government and other communal institutions needed to foster the common good.[8]  Much like today.

It is a contradiction that can be seen in the differences between most Americans’ reactions to ideological questions and their responses to pragmatic questions.  When, for example, Americans are asked broad ideological questions about government by public opinion pollsters, such as “Do you believe in government welfare programs?” or “Do you believe in government control of the economy?”, large majorities of respondents say “No.” 

But when Americans are asked concrete, specific questions about public services, such as “Do you believe that hungry people should get government assistance?” or “Do you believe that the government should keep corporations from selling unsafe and unhealthy products?”, large majorities generally say “Yes.”  And these results have been quite consistent since polling of this sort began in the early part of the twentieth century.[9] 

Similarly, when national political campaigns are conducted on broad ideological themes, laissez-faire conservatives generally have the advantage but when they are conducted on pragmatic issues, pro-government liberals generally win.  An ambivalence is seemingly built into most Americans’ psyches.  Selfish self-centered individualism struggles with cooperative communalism.  It is an ambivalence that is even taught in American public schools where children are required to share and cooperate in the lower grades before they are encouraged in the higher grades to compete against each other for class ranking and college entrance.

Despite Americans’ knee-jerk individualist reactions to ideological questions, there is a persistence of mercantilist action coupled with socialist sentiment, what has been called “socialism of the heart,” that keeps the utopian impulse alive even in the midst of periods of depressing dystopian actuality.  

The Persistence of Utopian Socialism. 

Utopian socialism as a form of community experiment and experience has persisted through thick and thin to the present day.  It is a movement that generally flies below the radar of mass media attention.  Waves of utopian socialist cooperatives and communities have, however, peaked about every fifty years since the early nineteenth century, first and foremost during the 1830’s-1840’s, but then again during the 1870’s-1880’s, the 1920’s-1930’s, and the 1960’s-1970’s.  Each wave was a reaction against an era of dystopian despondency like that today.[10] 

Utopianism seems as American as apple pie.[11]  Robert Sutton, a historian of utopian communities, has noted that “the utopian tradition is an unbroken motif [in American history].  There was never any extended period of time when an important experiment, or experiments, was not underway.”[12]  That includes recent history.

Sutton estimates that there were over 700 utopian socialist communes in the United States in the year 2000, and many hundreds of cooperatives of one sort or another.[13]  This is a larger number of communes and cooperatives than during the nineteenth century.[14]  Utopian socialist ideals permeated the labor movement.  In taking refuge during the nineteenth century in labor unions and farmers’ alliances, workers and farmers were essentially building on remnants of the utopian socialist movement that had been promoted by Robert Owen and others. Owen, the founder of the New Harmony community in Indiana, was also influential in America as a founder of the labor union movement in England.  Nineteenth century labor unions and farmers cooperatives did not serve merely as bargaining agents for their members but also as communities of members and their families, providing social, economic and emotional support for them. 

Although one of the key premises of utopian socialism has been experimentation in small-scale communities, many utopians have attempted since the late nineteenth century to keep pace with changing social and economic realities by proposing urban industrial utopias.  The most famous of these proposals was Edward Bellamy’s novel Looking Backward, that was second only to the Bible as the best-selling book of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century

Published in 1888, Bellamy’s novel outlined an urban industrial socialist utopia and was one of the most influential books of the time.  Within two years of its publication, some one hundred and sixty-five “Bellamy Clubs” had been organized all over the country to promote its socialistic aims.[15]  Although these clubs lasted only a few years and never had any significant political influence, the book remained an inspiration to reformers for half a century. 

And Bellamy’s book was just one among a host of popular utopian socialist novels written at the turn of the twentieth century by prominent English and American authors.  These include novels by H.G. Wells, William Morris, and William Dean Howells.  Utopian socialism was a realistic topic of conversation and consideration in that era. 

In a more recent example, Ursula Le Guin’s novel The Dispossessed portrays a utopian socialist community in a modern, urban, technological society on the moon.  First published in 1974, it won multiple awards, was an inspiration to a generation of political thinkers.  As is Kim Stanley Robinson’s Mars Trilogy portraying the efforts to build a utopian society on Mars.  Published in 1994-1998, it has won multiple awards and has stirred ongoing interest in planning for utopia.      

The persistence of utopian thinking has seemingly been part of a reaction against the pervasiveness of laissez-faire individualism, both of which are unique.  This persistence of utopian socialism may also reflect the absence of a significant socialist political movement in the United States, which is an important difference in the political situation in the United States as compared to other industrial democracies in Europe and Asia. 

Socialist political parties are part of the mainstream of politics in most countries around the world, often the ruling party.  Socialists have never gained this sort of position in the United States, and the persistence of utopian socialism may reflect the weakness of practical socialism which, in turn, may reflect the continuing appeal of laissez-faire individualism. 

There has been a pattern in American history of utopian thinking alternating with dystopian thinking.  Depressing times breed depressed thinking.  But depressed thinking has heretofore been followed by optimistic thinking.  Utopian ideas have, in turn, generated progressive reforms, so that despite the ups and downs of American history, the overall trend has been up.  Three steps forward, one or two steps back but, overall, an upward movement.  It is important, therefore, that in the midst today of what most people seem to be experiencing as a dystopian era that we generate utopian ideas as a counterpoint.  We have done it before. 

                                                                                                                        BW 10/24 


[1]  Edward Pessen. Jacksonian America: Society, Personality, Politics. (Homewood, IL: Dorsey Press, 1969), 215.

[2]  Thomas Schlereth. Victorian America: Transformations in Everyday Life. (New York: Harper & Row, 1991), 35, 43-44.

[3]  James Willard Hurst. Law and the Conditions of Freedom in the Nineteenth-Century United States. (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1956), 7-8.

[4] Robert McCloskey. American Conservatism in the Age of Enterprise, 1865-1910. (New York: Harper & Row, 1951), 77, 81-82, 84.

[5]  James Willard Hurst. Law and the Conditions of Freedom in the Nineteenth-Century United States. (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1956), 32.

[6]  Richard Reeves. John Stuart Mill: Victorian Firebrand. (London: Atlantic Books, 2007), 221, 293.

[7]  Guido de Ruggiero. The History of European Liberalism. (Boston: Beacon Press, 1964), 136, 148-149.

[8]  “Democracy in America (excerpt)” American History Online. Facts on File, Inc., 2011.  Garrett Ward Sheldon. “Tocqueville, Alexis.” Encyclopedia of Political Thought. American History Online. Facts on File, Inc., 2011.  Hugh Brogan. Alexis de Tocqueville, A Life. (New Haven, CN: Yale University Press, 2007), 355-356.

[9]  Jerome Bruner. Mandate from the People. (New York: Duell, Sloan & Pearce, 1944), 80, 125, 163, 226.

[10]  Timothy Miller. The Quest for Utopia in the Twentieth Century, Vol. I, 1900-1960. (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1998), xi, 198.

[11]  William Goetzmann. Beyond the Revolution: A History of American Thought from Paine to Pragmatism. (New York: Basic Books, 2009),xi, xiv.

[12]   Robert Sutton. Communal Utopias and the American Experience: Religious Communities, 1732-2000. (Westport, CN: Praeger, 2003), ix.

[13]  Robert Sutton. Communal Utopias and the American Experience: Secular Communities, 1824-2000. (Westport, CN: Praeger, 2004), 132.

[14]  Robert Sutton. Communal Utopias and the American Experience: Secular Communities, 1824-2000. (Westport, CN: Praeger, 2004), 132.

[15]  Edward Bellamy. Looking Backward. (New York: Signet Classic, 1960).  See the Forward by Erich Fromm. Also see Bellamy’s dramatic description of capitalist society on pages 25 to 28.  Also, Ursula Le Guin. The Dispossessed. (New York: Harper & Row, 1974).  Kim Stanley Robinson. The Mars Trilogy. (New York: Random House, 1992, 1994, 1996).    

In the Beginning: The Choices and the Choice. The Utopian Impulse in American History. The Golden Age of Utopianism, 1820’s to 1850’s: In Pursuit of a More Perfect Union. Part II.

In the Beginning: The Choices and the Choice.

The Utopian Impulse in American History.

The Golden Age of Utopianism, 1820’s to 1850’s:

In Pursuit of a More Perfect Union. Part II.

Burton Weltman

“We have it in our power to begin the world over again.”

Tom Paine

The Utopian Origins of European Americans.

The utopian impulse in American history began with some of the first European immigrants to America.[1]  John Winthrop, in what can be considered his founding speech for the Puritan colony in Massachusetts in 1630, called upon his comrades to build a cooperative community that would reflect the glory of God and be “A modell of Christian charity” for all the world to follow.  He said that “we must be knitt together in this worke as one man” and “must entertain each other in brotherly affection.” 

Fleeing, the Puritans developed utopian proposals and sought to establish an ideal community in America. The Puritans were not socialists, but they were communitarians, that is, devotees of the common good over individual success.  Those, Winthrop said, who were fortunate enough to be rich must share their wealth with the poor and give up their luxuries “for the supply of others’ necessities.”  The rich must help the poor in their material need and, in turn, the poor must help the rich in their spiritual need.[2] 

Although Winthrop’s vision promoted the communitarian idea of one for all and all for one, there were inherent tensions within his ideal between the individual and the community that eventually undermined his goal.  In Puritan ideology, the goal of saving oneself in the eyes of the Lord was supposed to be consistent with the obligation of serving the Lord’s community, and the economic success of an individual was supposed to support the spiritual success of the community.  Theoretically and theologically, economic success would come to those individuals who were best serving the community and, in turn, an individual’s success would be a sign that the person was doing the Lord’s work. 

But things did not always work out that way.  The Puritan commonwealth was economically so successful that it attracted outsiders who did not share the community’s spiritual or collectivist goals.  When many of these outsiders became economically successful individuals, which was supposedly a sign they were doing the Lord’s work, the Puritans’ spiritual and communitarian ideals were undermined. 

Although the utopian goals with which the colony was founded were an essential ingredient in the success of the community — their ideals sustained colonists through hard times and provided them with the cooperative attitude that was essential in building the colony — the utopian spirit waned during the course of the seventeenth century.  In a sense, the community failed through success.[3]

The Utopian Origins of the American Revolutionaries.

The American revolutionaries who founded the United States during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries had utopian aspirations similar to those of the Puritans.  The historian Gordon Wood has called the American Revolution “one of the great utopian movements in American history”[4] and it was seen as such by the Founders themselves.  Expressing the sentiments of most revolutionaries following the Declaration of Independence, Tom Paine exclaimed in utopian terms that “The birthday of a new world is at hand” and that “We have it in our power to begin the world over again.”[5] 

According to Washington, Jefferson, Madison, Franklin and other Founders, the Revolution would unleash the virtue of the American people so that they could build a republican society that would be a model for the world.  Their republican vision of politics and government was to a large extent a secular version of Winthrop’s model of Christian charity.  It encompassed both a commitment to shared and sharing community institutions — the res publica or public thing — and an emphasis on the individual’s role in serving the community — the virtuous man as a public servant.  All for one and one for all would benefit one and all. 

But there were tensions within the Founders’ republicanism as there had been within the Puritans’ ideals, tensions exemplified by the motto that the Founders chose for their new country: E Pluribus Unum — out of many comes one and out of one comes many.  In the Founders’ view, communalism was supposed to foster individualism and individualism was supposed to foster communalism.  That, however, is easier to say than to do and almost from the founding of the republic, there developed an intense debate between those who would emphasize individualism over the community and those who would emphasize cooperation over individualism.         

The Founders were both utopians and self-styled realists who saw themselves as trying to establish the most perfect government they could imagine for what they believed was inevitably an imperfect society made up of imperfect people, including themselves.  Theirs was an open-ended utopia rather than a fixed and rigid plan for society.  This pragmatic utopianism is reflected in the Constitution, which allows for endless amendments and continually changing interpretations as society evolves.

Perfection was for the Founders not something that could ever be achieved in substance but could be approximated in the processes they had established in the Constitution.  Perfection was for them the subject of an endless quest, the eternal “pursuit of happiness” promised in the Declaration of Independence.  And it required a social theory and a social structure that “would forever remain free and open,” flexible and ecumenical.[6] 

Things did not turn out exactly as the Founders expected in the wake of winning the Revolution and establishing the Constitution.  Instead of cooperation and unity among citizens, there developed partisan politics and regional conflicts.  But the country expanded enormously in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, and this expansion encouraged and enabled the emergence of new utopian visions of America. 

American history during the second quarter of the nineteenth century can, in fact, be described as a battle between the proponents of three different utopian visions, that of a mercantilist commonwealth, a communal socialism, and a free enterprise capitalism.  It was the highpoint of utopian theory and practice in the United States, and the struggle among these visions left a permanent imprint on the country.  And the struggle between these three visions is the focus of this second part of “The Utopian Impulse in American History.”

Utopian Visions: Mercantilism, Socialism, Individualism.

Each of the three utopian visions – mercantilist, socialist and individualist – shared aspects of the Founders’ ideals but took them in different directions.

Mercantilist Republicanism.  The vision of a mercantilist commonwealth was based on the Founders’ traditional republican ideals, especially their pursuit of virtue.  This was a vision of a centrally controlled society with a government-controlled economy, governed by a natural aristocracy of the best and the brightest, and aiming toward the general welfare of one and all.  This was the view of both Hamiltonian and Jeffersonian republicans.  Their republican descendants, such as John Quincy Adams, emphasized the Founders’ belief that virtue was its own reward, and that a virtuous elite could and would rule in the interests of the common good.   

The key to this vision, and what made it utopian, was its dependence on the emergence of an elite leadership of the best and brightest Americans who would rule the country based on a consensus among themselves as to what was best for the country and a consensus of support from the populace.  This republican view of top-down social control and evolutionary social change derived in large part from the Whig tradition in England.  Like English Whigs, American Whigs such as John Quincy Adams and Henry Clay promoted a centrally controlled capitalist economy similar to the mercantilism that England had practiced during the eighteenth century.  Clay’s “American System” of national improvements and support for a national bank exemplified this program. 

Clay’s stated goal was “to secure the independence of the country, to augment its wealth, and to diffuse the comforts of civilization throughout the society” and to do this “by blending and connecting together all its parts in creating an interest with each in the prosperity of the whole.”[7]  Clay and other traditional republicans emphasized the responsibility of the central government to promote the public welfare and of the natural elite to care for the general populace.

Communal Socialism.  The vision of a communal socialism had as its foundation the fact that most Americans lived in small communities in which cooperation among citizens was essential for their survival.  This was a vision of a decentralized society of small cooperative communities in which members would share the work and the produce, and would engage in exchange with other similar communities to the mutual advantage of all.  Utopian socialists, such as Albert Brisbane, emphasized the Founders’ republican commitment to e pluribus unum and one for all, all for one.

Utopian socialism is a model of social change that seeks to combine an immediate revolution in the lives of people who join a cooperative community with a gradual evolution in the structure of society as more and more people voluntarily join such communities and these communities proliferate.  Utopian socialists generally hope to combine a cooperative economic system within each community with a market relationship between different communities.

Utopian socialism is ostensibly a means of peaceful revolution in the lives of community members and peaceful evolution of society.  Unlike militant revolutionaries, utopian socialists reject violence.  Unlike social reformers whose incremental changes only gradually improve people’s lives, utopian socialists immediately live the intended good life in their cooperative communities.  Whereas for revolutionaries the end justifies the means, and for reformers the means are everything and there is no end, for utopians the end is in the means.  The thrust of utopian socialism is to build model communities that others will emulate when they see how well these communities can work.[8]

The key to this vision and what makes it utopian is its dependence on people reigning in their egos and genuinely cooperating with each other.  And like the Puritan colony, most utopian communes in America have historically been plagued with conflicts between individualism and communalism, dictatorship and democracy, creativity and conformity, which have led to the demise of most of them.[9]  

Utopian socialist communities were, however, a highly visible part of colonial America and were considered a viable option in colonial society.  Most of the socialist communities founded during the colonial period were based on religion.  Prominent among them were the Bohemian Manor in Maryland that lasted from 1683 to 1727, the Ephrata Cloister in Pennsylvania that lasted from 1732 to 1814, and the various Shaker communities in the Northeast and Midwest that began in the 1770’s and lasted into the early 1900’s.  These were substantial communities that lasted for substantial periods of time. 

Religious communes continued to proliferate after the Revolution and throughout the nineteenth century — the Mormons, for example, began as a socialist community.[10]  Secular socialist communities proliferated as well, especially in the period from the 1820’s through the 1850’s.  The English industrialist Robert Owen and the French thinkers Joseph Fourier and Etienne Cabet were the most popular utopian theorists of that time.  The most famous of the secular socialist utopias were New Harmony established by Owen in Indiana, Brook Farm established by George Ripley in Massachusetts based on Fourier’s ideas, and Icaria established by Cabet in Texas.[11]   

Utopian socialism was not considered an outlandish or unrealistic option during the early nineteenth century, and it was taken seriously by elite leaders and ordinary people alike.  When Robert Owen visited the United States during 1824 and 1825 to promote his utopian socialist vision and establish the New Harmony community, he was well received personally by Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, James Monroe, John Quincy Adams and John Calhoun, and he twice delivered speeches outlining his plans to the House of Representatives. 

In a speech to Congress on February 25, 1825, Owen argued that “Man, through ignorance, has been, hitherto, the tormenter of man,” even in the relatively enlightened United States.  The cause of this evil, he claimed, was what he called “the trading system” of individualist competition in which everyone tries to get the better of everyone else.  Economic competition, Owen complained, breeds anger, hate, irrationality, ignorance and war.  And it brings “a surplus of wealth and power to the few, and poverty and subjection to the many.”  Cooperation, he claimed, brings greater liberty, equality, efficiency, harmony and happiness to all.  Owen concluded with the hope that his new community would be a model for the United States.[12] 

Utopian socialism had wide popular appeal and attracted considerable popular attention during this time.  The influence of utopian socialist thinking in America is exemplified by the more than one hundred utopian novels published in the United States during the nineteenth century, many of them best sellers.  Most of these novels portrayed societies that were not impossible to establish and some were the basis of utopian experiments.[13]  Horace Greeley, the influential editor of the New York Tribune, the preeminent newspaper in ante-bellum America, was a convert to the utopian socialist ideas of Fourier.  Greeley employed Albert Brisbane, Fourier’s most prominent American disciple, to write a regular front page column on Fourierism in the Tribune, and Greeley supported the founding by Brisbane of some thirty socialist communes around the United States.[14]

Fourierist communities, which made up the biggest number of secular utopian communes during the second quarter of the nineteenth century, were based on the general principle of from each according to his/her abilities, to each according to his/her needs.[15]  This principle meant that everyone would be treated with equal consideration but not exactly the same.  People with different abilities and skills would be given different tasks and different levels of responsibility.  Every person would play a dignified role in society of his/her own choice that fit with his/her interests and abilities and that contributed to the common good, but with some people having more decision-making power than others. 

In this respect, Fourier’s ideas were similar to the Founding Fathers’ ideal of a natural aristocracy or what we today might call a meritocracy.  For this reason, Brisbane claimed, Fourier’s ideas epitomized the American way of life and were “the culmination and expression of all those social ideals that had built the American Republic.”[16]  Properly implemented, according to Brisbane, Fourier’s plan would resolve the conflict between the individual and the community that had plagued the Puritans and American social reformers ever since.  But proper implementation required a large number of people with a variety of skills, more people and resources than the fledgling Fourierist communities could ever muster.          

 Brook Farm was a Fourierist community of intellectuals founded by George Ripley during the 1840’s “to ensure a more natural union between intellectual and manual labor than now exists; to combine the thinker and the worker as far as possible in the same individual.”  Ripley and his colleagues hoped that their experiment would be a model of how to do away with social class distinctions, “opening the benefits of education and the profits of labor to all,” so as  to “permit a more wholesome and simple life than can be led amidst the pressures of our competitive institutions.”[17] 

In The Blithedale Romance, Nathaniel Hawthorne reflected in fictional form on his experience as a member of Brook Farm, and complained that “The peril of our new way of life was not lest we should fail in becoming practical agriculturalists, but that we should probably cease to be anything else.”  Hawthorne claimed that mixing manual labor with mental labor worked to the detriment of intellectual life, and he concluded that farmers and intellectuals “are two distinct individuals, and can never be melted or welded into one substance.”[18] 

His was a common conclusion among intellectuals at the time, but it is called into question by the fact that the most successful projects at Brook Farm and at Owen’s New Harmony were their schools.  These utopian schools were models of progressive education for their time and provided creative alternatives to the common schooling model that was becoming the norm in American education during the middle of the nineteenth century.  With schools that stressed thinking and creating over drilling and memorizing, intellectual life was fostered in these and other communities.[19]

Some one hundred utopian socialist communes were established in all parts of the United States during the second quarter of the nineteenth century.  Many of these communities lasted for decades.  Some were economically so successful that, like the Puritans’ Massachusetts Bay colony, they lost their utopian purpose along the way.  The Amana Society, for example, was founded as a religious commune during the mid-1840’s and became very successful as a cooperative commercial enterprise. 

This commercial success eventually led to conflicts between old-time members and newly recruited members over whether all should share equally in the wealth of the community or whether old-timers should get extra financial credit for the efforts they had initially put into making the community a success.  Members of Amana were eventually given shares in the community proportionate to their input into the business, and the commune was thereby transformed into a manufacturing corporation that has been producing high quality appliances from the nineteenth century to the present day.[20]  In a similar vein, the Mormons started as a radical, abolitionist, communitarian sect but eventually became a conservative, pro-capitalist community.

Utopian socialism flourished during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in large part because it fitted in well with the way most Europeans settled in America.  Contrary to the impression that is usually created in conventional narratives, the decision to come to America during the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries was not typically made by an individual who wanted merely to better his or her own social and economic position, but by a group of people who wanted to build a new and better community for themselves and for posterity. 

From the Pilgrims and Puritans on through the early twentieth century, most immigrants came from Europe to America as groups of people who had lived in the same locality in their old country and then settled together in the new country.  They came as a community with the intention of maintaining their community.  Likewise, when European-Americans moved westward across the continent, they generally moved in groups, first setting up new towns and community institutions before attempting to attract more people.  It took cooperation among a village of people in order for anyone to survive in newly settled lands. 

So, the community came first, individual people came after.  Communalism and cooperation formed the primary pattern of immigration to the United States and migration within the country through the nineteenth century, and this provided plausibility and opportunity for the development of utopian socialist communities. 

 Capitalist Individualism.  The vision of an entrepreneurial capitalism was based on the prevalence and success of small farmers and manufacturers in America.  Entrepreneurial individualists, such as Andrew Jackson, envisioned a society of small farms and businesses that would compete with each other in a market place free of government interference.  The actions of entrepreneurs would be governed by the “hidden hand” of the free market to produce the best possible results for each individual and for the society as a whole. 

This vision picked up on the Founders’ republican ideal of the heroic individual but largely dismissed the Founders’ concerns for the community.  Laissez-faire individualism was a new development in early nineteenth century America.  While traditional histories, in an ex post facto line of reasoning, try to portray laissez-faire capitalist individualism as stemming from settlers in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, it wasn’t so.

Capitalist individualism developed in large part out of opposition by Jacksonian Democrats to the mercantilist economic policies being promoted by President John Quincy Adams, Senator Henry Clay, and Nicholas Biddle, who was the director of the Bank of the United States (BUS).  Jackson and his followers demonized the BUS as a “monster” and claimed that Biddle was using his influence over the country’s banking system to strangle small farmers and businessmen in favor of the rich.[21]  Its goal was what the historian James Willard Hurst has called “a release of energy,” that is, to unleash the latent entrepreneurial energies of ordinary Americans.[22]  

Utopian individualism is an anti-communitarian prescription for social development in which each person is responsible for making a revolution in his own life.  In its extreme form, it even denies the existence of society as a collective entity — what we call society is just a collection of individuals.  It is the ideal of the self-made man.  In this vision, society exists in a state of perpetual upheaval as individuals compete with each other and defeat one another, with the better man winning and thereby contributing to social progress. 

Utopian individualism is supported by a simplistic form of egalitarian theory which swept the country during the early nineteenth century, and which maintained that anyone could become anything he wanted — and this was a “he” ideology.  This moral theory was derived in large part from the philosophy of John Locke.  Locke taught that humans found happiness through exercising their talents in collecting property.  He claimed that society existed to further the “life, liberty and property” of individuals, goals which could be best obtained through a limited government that protected private property and encouraged competition among people.[23]

Utopian individualism is also bolstered by a simplistic laissez-faire economic theory which became popular during the mid nineteenth century.  This theory maintains that anyone should be able to do anything he wants and that it is every man for himself to succeed or fail on his own.  Utopian individualism promises that with everyone doing anything and everything he wants, a productive competition among people will ensue and this competition will be guided by an “invisible hand” (often equated with God) toward an ideal outcome.  A key to this vision was, and is, its dependence on the magic of the marketplace and the deus ex machina of competition. 

Economic individualism has historically been supported by a misreading of Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations that has interpreted Smith as favoring a weak government and a laissez-faire economy.  While Smith objected to mercantilism as a system that was inherently corrupt and that stifled both creativity and cooperation, he, in fact, supported a strong government and a cooperative community, something that many of his self-styled followers have missed in using his name to support their laissez-faire individualistic ideas.[24]  As the ideology of individualism developed during the nineteenth century, American individualists cited Smith in rejecting both the mercantilism and the communalism that had largely prevailed in America during the colonial period.  And what began as opposition to government controls that were considered oppressive to ordinary people developed into opposition to almost any government intervention in the economy.

The rise of laissez-faire individualism in the United States was aided by social, economic and demographic developments.  Enormous opportunities for individual advancement were made possible by the territorial expansion of the country during the first half of the nineteenth century (the Louisiana Purchase and the conquest and purchase of Florida during the first quarter, then the annexation of Texas and the conquest of Mexican territories during the second quarter), and by the economic expansion of the country that resulted from the beginnings of the industrial revolution.  Despite the institution of slavery and slave plantations in the South, the United States was overwhelmingly a country of small-scale farmers and businessmen who operated in large part on their own initiatives, and whose activities made an individualistic ideology plausible.[25]

Utopian individualism was also bolstered by the transformation of the typical American farm during the mid nineteenth century from a neighborly endeavor to an isolated enterprise.  During the colonial period, most farmers lived with other farmers in a close-knit village.  In the nineteenth century, as farmers spread into the vast spaces of the Midwest, many came to live on solitary farms at a considerable distance from their neighbors.[26]  This isolation gave support to the myth of the self-made, self-sufficient man that became a predominant ideal for Americans during the later nineteenth century, and continues as such with many people to the present day.[27] 

Utopian individualism became the political ideology of the Jacksonian Democrats who dominated American government for most of the second quarter of the nineteenth century and who used the ideal of the self-sufficient, freedom-loving individual to beat down their Whiggish opponents.[28]  President Martin Van Buren summarized this view when he defined the goal of Jacksonian Democrats as “a system founded on private interest, enterprise, and competition, without the aid of legislative grants or regulation by law.”[29] 

Utopian individualism was a self-contradictory vision that confuses freedom – a free-for-all in which everyone does whatever they want – with liberty – in which people make choices within limits that are set by the community and that are in the best interests of individuals and the community.  Liberty is the promise of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, not freedom which is a self-contradiction.  It is a contradiction that we are still struggling with today. 

This is the second of three parts to this essay on utopianism.  “Part I: Historical Cycles” was posted in 9/24.  “Part III: Individualism Triumphant” is intended to be posted in 11/24.                                                                                                                                              BW  10/24


[1] The gist of the essay is taken from a chapter of a book that I published some years ago called Was the American Revolution a Mistake, Reaching Students and Reinforcing Patriotism through Teaching History as Choice (2013).  The book looks at historical turning points in which people had to consider their feasible options, make what they decided were their best choices, and then evaluate the consequences of their actions.  

[2]  Primary Source: John Winthrop. “John Winthrop: “A Modell of Christian Charity (1630)” American History. ABC-CLIO, 2011.

[3]  Secondary Source: Perry Miller. Errand into the Wilderness. (New York: Harper & Row, 1956), 1-15.

[4]  Gordon Wood. The Creation of the American Republic, 1776-1787. (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1969), 54.

[5]  Quoted in William Goetzmann. Beyond the Revolution: A History of American Thought from Paine to Pragmatism. (New York: Basic Books, 2009), 3.

[6]  William Goetzmann.  Beyond the Revolution: A History of American Thought from Paine to Pragmatism. (New York: Basic Books, 2009), xi.

[7]  Quoted in William Appleman Williams. The Contours of American History. (Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1966), 264.

[8]  Arthur Bestor, Jr. Backwoods Utopias. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1950), 4, 10-16.

[9]  Robert Sutton. Communal Utopias and the American Experience: Religious Communities, 1732-2000. (Westport, CN: Praeger, 2003), x, 1-11, 17-31. 

[10]  Thomas O’Dea. The Mormons. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1957), 18, 186-197.

[11]  Robert Sutton. Communal Utopias and the American Experience: Secular Communities, 1824-2000. (Westport, CN: Praeger, 2004), 7-16, 37-44, 53-70.

[12]  Primary Document: Robert Owen. “Speech to Congress.” American History Online. Facts on File, Inc., 2011.

[13]  Ellene Ransom. Utopus Discovers America or Critical Realism in American Utopian Fiction, 1798-1900. (Nashville, TN: Joint Universities Libraries, 1947), 3-4.

[14]  Robert Sutton. Communal Utopias and the American Experience: Secular Communities, 1824-2000. (Westport, CN: Praeger, 2004), 5-6, 23-25.  William Goetzmann. Beyond the Revolution: A History of American Thought from Paine to Pragmatism. (New York: Basic Books, 2009), 365.

[15]  Brett Barney & Lisa Paddock. “Fourierism.” American History Online. Facts on File, Inc., 2011.

[16]  Arthur Bestor, Jr. “Albert Brisbane – Propagandist for Socialism in the 1840’s .” New York History, Vol. XXVIII. (April, 1947), 146.

[17]  Quoted in Alice Felt Tyler. Freedom’s Ferment. (New York: Harper & Row, 1944), 177.

[18]  Fiction: Nathaniel Hawthorne. The Blithedale Romance. (Garden City, NY: Doubleday & Co., 1961), 7. 81-82.

[19]  Arthur Bestor, Jr. Education and Reform at New Harmony. (Indianapolis, IN: Indiana Historical Society, 1948), 399.  Arthur Bestor, Jr. “American Phalanxes: A Study of Fourierist Socialism in the United States.” Doctoral Dissertation, Yale University. (University Microfilms No. 70-23, 045, 1938), 230.

[20]  Alice Felt Tyler. Freedom’s Ferment. (New York: Harper & Row, 1944), 131.

[21]  Secondary Source: Edward Pessen. Jacksonian America: Society, Personality, Politics. (Homewood, IL: Dorsey Press, 1969), 146-148.

[22]  James Willard Hurst. Law and the Conditions of Freedom in the Nineteenth-Century United States. (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1956), 32.

[23]  John Locke. The Second Treatise of Government. (New York: Liberal Arts Press, 1952), 48, 70-71.  C.B. MacPherson. The Political Theory of Possessive Individualism. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1964), 194-262.

[24]  James Buchan. The Authentic Adam Smith: His Life and Ideas. (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 2006).  Garry Wills. Inventing America: Jefferson’s Declaration of Independence. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2002), 232, 254.

[25]  James Willard Hurst. Law and the Conditions of Freedom in the Nineteenth-Century United States. (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1956), 8.

[26]  David Hawke. Everyday Life in Early America. (New York: Harper & Row, 1988), 153.

[27]  James Willard Hurst. Law and the Conditions of Freedom in the Nineteenth-Century United States. (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1956), 7.

[28]  Edward Pessen. Jacksonian America: Society, Personality, Politics. (Homewood, IL: Dorsey Press, 1969), 227, 296.

[29]  Quoted in William Appleman Williams. The Contours of American History. (Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1966), 246.

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

Secrets and Lies/Guilt and Guilt-Tripping.

Moral Ambiguities in the Harry Potter Books.

Voldemort, Dumbledore, Snape, Hagrid, and Harry.

Yearning to be able to live with oneself.

Burton Weltman

“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 Llly 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. 

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?    

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.

Overview and Underview: 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.  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, which makes for a morally ambiguous motivation.  Likewise, 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 – are in large part idealized, but each has its morally ambiguous underside. 

These ambiguities are seemingly no accident.  I think that we are expected to ponder the dark sides of these characters and their institutions.  That is the point of this essay.  The essay asks some questions and examines 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.  The wizarding world 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 them 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 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, she 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? 

The underside of Hogwarts: A Hidden Curriculum of Hostility. 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 – house-elf slaves in the basement, bitter competition between students and academic houses, an academic house, Slytherin, that has historically been the source of almost every bad wizard and is full of unscrupulous teenagers, and an educational curriculum that tends to reinforce students’ weaknesses.  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 is encouraged as a means of enhancing the project not generating hostility.  Grouping students can be most productive when the groups are seen as different but not antagonistic.  A main purpose of education is to smooth over the rough edges between groups, and to facilitate intra and inter-group cooperation.  Hogwarts gave lip service to this ideal but did not always put it into practice. 

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 somehow magically done.  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? 

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.  The 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 finds 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.  Pictures of dead people that talk and move about.  Life-like images of dead people that emerge from the wands that killed them.  Horcruxes of a person that live on when the person dies.  A sorcerer’s stone that makes an elixir that prolongs life indefinitely.  A resurrection stone that 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?           

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