Harry Potter and the Theology of the Body

There, did that grab your attention?
That title’s worthy of an essay, isn’t it? Or at least a really long, well-thought out, annotated post. Alas, I won’t be serving one of those up; just some scattered thoughts. I wanted to write something short on Deathly Hallows, and then with Pansy’s post….
First, Pansy’s post. I’m not getting into the Harry = Evil Witchcraft!!!!! thing because there are plenty of other people who have responded to those concerns — for example, Nancy Brown.
I read the first three books back in 2000. I didn’t think they were The Greatest Thing Ever, but I thought they were clever and diverting and I could see why kids liked them. For myself, I enjoyed the funny stuff — the dog-Latin, the details of the Wizarding word, the outrageous names — and the satire. I was pleased to read a new book for kids in which evil was evil, good was good, and heroism was celebrated and not sneered at. And I enjoyed the mysteries, with the twists at the end.
My sister encouraged me to pick the series back up again, and I read Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix in 2005. This time, I was hooked by the increasing complexity of the story — and the increasing complexity of the characters.
And I think the characters are what I like best about the books. Good guys who act like bad guys; bad guys who act like good guys; bad guys who think they’re good guys; good guys who are loving and giving and brave and still have very serious faults. I think it would be so much fun to read the books with a pre-teen or a teen — what great discussions you could get into! “Was Harry being fair in that situation?” “Why do you think so-and-so’s acting this way?”
Rowling has also laid her clues carefully. I’m rereading the books now with an eye toward all the clues I’d missed, the little details that seemed insignificant the first time around but have new meaning now that the series is complete. Again, I think you could have a lot of fun reading these books with teenagers and teaching them to read closely, paying attention to recurring phrases and themes and allusions. (“What do you think Argus Filch’s name tells us about him? And the name of his cat?”)
And yes, I’m very happy to read books aimed at teens in which dating couples sleep in separate bedrooms, in which babies are blessings, in which being open to life is presented as a sign of generosity.
So that’s why I like the Potter books: clever puzzles, interesting characters, lots to talk about, and a world view that values duty, generosity, self-sacrifice.
Now for the other stuff, which will go in the extended entry because it’s full of Deathly Hallows spoilers:

The other day, I got together with my roommate from college. Our conversation turned to How The College Has Gone To Pot Since We Were There, which led us to general reflections on Why Our Civilization Is Going to Pot. Hatred of religion, of course, and hatred of the idea of duty, and hatred of the idea of evil because that implies a good that is knowable….
From there it was an easy jump to our culture’s rejection of the masculine genius. And that’s when I thought of Deathly Hallows — and specifically of Snape.
Every so often I like to surf the web looking for good Harry Potter fan commentary. It’s kind of like panning for gold: you can find some real treasures — if you’re patient enough to sift through the junk.
(Here come the spoilers.) As I’ve searched, I’ve come across quite a few diatribes written by Snape devotees, furious at Rowling at giving the character such an “unfair” ending. Snape should have lived! And gotten a big reconciliation scene with Harry Potter! And should not have loved Lily! At first I just rolled my eyes; perhaps they had forgotten that Rowling is not obliged to write the story to fit their pet theories (and that, after all, the story is about Harry Potter, not Snape.)
But as I talked with my friend, something struck me: They’re girls. They’re modern girls. Perhaps they just don’t get it, and maybe it’s because all their lives they’ve been taught to scoff at the ideas of duty, honor, and heroism. They’ve been taught to laugh at the idea of chivalry — nobody ever took it seriously, it was all an act. If they’ve been taught about martyrs at all, it’s that the stories of the martyrs were just propaganda. They don’t get the idea of undying devotion to anybody, much less loyalty to someone who has died, because they live in an era where the vow “till death do us part” means nothing.
They don’t get the nobility of a man who does his duty, day after day, with no reward but the knowledge that he’s doing the right thing. They don’t get the nobility of a man who falls in battle, doing his duty still.
This is the memorial to CIA agents who have been killed in the line of duty.

There is a star for each agent. And for 35 of these agents, the star alone is their only public memorial: even after their deaths, their identities are still secret. The fangirls don’t get that for some men, a silent star on a wall is reward enough.

[If you are a man] …You do it because it ought to be done. You do it because you sense that, in the present circumstances, you are not important. Indeed, you are dispensable…. You do it (and you are probably proud of it, and cannot resist showing it to some pretty young lady) because you acknowledge order and hierarchy: something greater than yourself, to which you pay honor. You kneel, and you hold your head high.
— Anthony Esolen