The Soul Triptych: Harry Potter and Christian Literary Analysis
Monday, July 25, 2011 at 8:00AM | by Otter 
Cryptic triptych. Spirit, Mind, and Body.
I’m writing about things in Christianity Today a lot. That’s because of my mother’s illness, not because I read it much myself: my brother and sister and their families are much with us, in from out of town, and CT provides material for many discussions.
One of these discussions came from my excellent sister’s reading of John (“no relation to Hermione”) Granger’s analysis of the literary properties in Harry Potter.
She was excited about Granger’s appropriation of the idea of “the soul triptych,” which he describes thus:
[Potter author J.K. Rowling] puts a peculiar [….] twist on the schoolboy novel formula of three lead characters. Ron, Hermione, and Harry embody the three faculties of the soul. These faculties are described by Lewis in the essay “Men Without Chests” (from The Abolition of Man), what we call “body, mind, and spirit.” It’s a literary mechanism as old as the Legend of the Charioteer in Plato’s Phaedrus and the “soul triptych” in The Brothers Karamazov. We see it more recently in Frodo, Sam, and Gollum on Mount Doom; Han, Luke, and Leia in Star Wars; and Kirk, Spock, and McCoy in Star Trek.
This type of story works because, entering into fiction, we suspend disbelief. We shut down our critical faculties. Looking with this “eye of the heart” (instead of the mind), we see our reflection looking back at us from the hero—who represents the spirit in these triptychs—and identify with what he or she experiences [….]
Like Lewis, Williams, and other greats, Rowling has written a spiritual allegory of the soul’s transformation to perfection in Christ.
For those who do not read much, Lewis and Granger are talking about a tendency to focus the action around groups of three characters, and they are contending that the three characters represent the body (our physical instincts, our capacity for raw action); the mind (our capability for thought, memory, and reason); and the spirit. The hero is usually spirit, and respresents a sort of ability to self-consciously relate the self to others and to the universe. In Harry Potter’s case, it’s his ability to love.
My sister’s enthusiasm for the idea of the “soul triptych” cannot be overstated and is one of the wonders of the modern world. As she read to me from Granger’s article, she grew rapidly enthused.
But I’m the family curmudgeon. “What about Uhura?” I argued. “I mean, where does she fit in? And what about Scotty?” Some soul triptych if they exclude black women and Scotch men.
But She Who Enthuses enthused. “They’re body, mind, and spirit. Hermione’s the mind, and… I guess Ron is the body, and Harry’s the spirit.”
It’s best to agree where one can, and anyway, you can’t really reject an idea you’ve not worked out. “Yeah, and Ron has to develop as a body just as Harry develops as a spirit,” I said, helpful as always. I like to show I get it at least.
Not a Real Soul Triptych. Accept No Imitations.
“Right. When he has to learn he’s really a good Quidditch player.”
I had certain reservations about this idea, in spite of this love-feast.
We debated whether Han or Leia is The Body.
I held out for Leia. She Who Enthuses seemed equally adamant that it was Han.
“Leia’s the brains. She’s the mind,” she said. “Luke’s the spirit. Han’s the body.”
“No, no,” I argued. “In Star Wars: A New Hope, Han explicitly says, ‘He’s the brains, sweetheart,’ and he points at Luke.”
We almost came to blows over this, of course. There’s something almost religiously divisive about arguing whether Han or Leia represents the body in a soul triptych.
My sister was not to be dissuaded, so I eventually conceded for the sake of peace that Leia must be the brains.
The Brain. For years, men of my generation have fantasized about the pure intellect.Sometimes we literary types are apt to shoehorn characters into boxes that don’t fit. We like symmetry. We like the feeling that there’s a plan, that writing is revealing something through the writer, that creative urges have the characteristics of revelation.
C.S. Lewis and his friend Charles Williams, who were both literary mystics, believed in a sort of structure in the human soul, receptive to the Holy Spirit, that expressed itself in writing.
Harry Potter’s story is, as Granger says, loaded with Christian themes and imagery: death and resurrection; the debriefing in King’s Cross station; self-sacrificial love; making out in school during study breaks.
Now and then, however, I feel that Christian literary scholars co-opt themes as “Christian” when in fact they are simply human.
(Are those two things synonymous? What are the hazards of saying that they are? What are the benefits of saying that they are?)
To discuss sin and redemption, for example is (literarily anyway) the same as discussing crime and justice and restoration, something you can find in any human community. The only thing different is the scale, the ability to take a human restoration and take it as metaphorical of some cosmic drama.
That Harry Potter does take it at enormous scale is (I think) pretty clear. But it still makes me a little tired to read things like, “Rowling has written a spiritual allegory of the soul’s transformation to perfection in Christ.” I mean, are all characters who develop towards perfection “Christian,” or isn’t that just what people do?
And is Harry “tranformed to perfection in Christ,” or is he Christ himself? The allegory is there, definitely (particularly in King’s Cross Station after Harry dies). Unlike Christ, Harry is not without sins of his own. Unlike Christ (if you except all but one verse of the New Testament), Harry must be perfected. That is a “Christian” idea, I suppose, in the sense that the pattern of Harry’s sacrifice mimics that of Christ. His “perfection” reflects the Christian ideal, that the believer is finally perfected in self-sacrifice.
But is it “Christian” to suggest with Rowling that we must grow into our perfection? No: you can’t take Eucharist and say Christ was the best man that ever lived, perfected by suffering, and then stop there. You have to go on to step two, the divinization of Jesus to be “Christian.” So this literary appropriation of Harry-as-Christ works: it’s there, and it’s intentional. But it’s a lot more generous than Christian dogma.
Is the book Christian? I grudgingly admit that it is: but I can’t think of a really good book that I haven’t heard Christian scholars say is a Christian allegory of the soul.
Some of them are downright contradictory: Harry is perfected unto sacrifice. In Flannery O’Connor you get shot in the chest and die, and your last words are redemptive.
I mean, hey, okay, at its best, Christianity sees characters in literature as infinitely redeemable, infinitely capable of being seen as Christian allegory.
I wish they’d treat real humans that way.
Anyway, to discuss death and resurrection as a theme is as old as the dawning of the idea that spring came around once a year after winter. If Osiris and Attis underwent Resurrection, and if Nero could be anticipated as a returning god years after his death, it was hardly anticipating Christianity. Not as good as Christianity: but not a mere shadow of it.
One of these things is not like the others. One of these things doesn’t belong.
Where Christianity really gets interesting in literature is where it’s taken as a whole.
I mean that a theme here, a theme there, you can absorb that. But it’s the sum total of an unflinching look at evil and its fullthroated denunciation coming from Christian literature that makes it worth investigating.
If you take the fifteen best Roman Catholic novels of all time, the three best Orthodox poems of all time, the twenty best Protestant hymns, you really do get a beautifully full portrait of human life: our hopes, fears, and best aspirations colliding with the reality of who we are.
Is it metaphorized?
Do these sins and redemptions matter most in the social sense, as offenses against our fellow creatures?
You can read it that way.
When you do, sometimes you actually bridge the gap between the Christian and the pagan.
It’s worth thinking about.
But somewhere in the weird fabric of time, space, and mind, something really is stirring, and sometimes things that are disparate feel like one thing. Great writers, whatever their persuasion, tend to get that.
Maybe Williams and Lewis were dead right about that.
Reader Comments (13)
You wrote: "Now and then, however, I feel that Christian literary scholars co-opt themes as "Christian" when in fact they are simply human. (Are those two things synonymous?"
Here I can see what you are saying, for sure. For me, if man is made in the image of God to grow into His likeness...then these things are simply human in light of the fact that every human is created in His image. So, I would answer that I would see them as being synonymous.
You wrote: "I mean, hey, okay, at its best, Christianity sees characters in literature as infinitely redeemable, infinitely capable of being seen as Christian allegory. I wish they'd treat real humans that way."
I could not agree more. It is only Christianity (in it's truest and purist form) that has the mind of God who views all of creation infinitely redeemable. The problematic issue is the humanity in us all that has not yet grown fully into the virtues of God. And, we are all in that place (I certainly have much room to grow in many virtues). I wish, as the community in Christ, we would all act from the fullness of His virtues. That is the goal for us all. But we all share equally the unfortunate failing to do so though we should press onward with the help of the community.
But there is an equal call and virtue placed on the ones wounded by those with untimely lack of virtues in certain moments and seasons (and we have all been wounded by them). That equal call is to the virtue of forgiveness and the offering of mercy which stands to result in the salvation of both the one who caused pain and the one who endured it. There is no chance to escape pain and suffering dedicating one's life to the community of faith. I might add that there is no chance to escape it outside the body of Christ either.
One of the more meaningful moments in the listurgy is when I, as a deacon, am standing at the altar with the priest and say to him, "Forgive me my brother and concelebrant" and the priest extends the same plea to me at the same time. Why so meaningful? Because it keeps me mindful that I am both in need of forgiveness (of which I received from Christ even in that moment) and I am also in dire need to forgive (which I must do equally for own salvation). This liturgical act is also such a profound sign to all in the body of Christ (as my wife has expressed to me) of how the community must press on to live among one another and all towards our growth in God's virtues. God help us all, but that is why we are given God in the community.
Mark, thanks for your comments:
What's "Christianity in its truest and purist form"? I think when you write that, you've got something in mind, but all religions have their high ideals and fail to obtain them. It's not immediately clear to me why "Christianity in its purest form" should have any purchase on us unless we actually can see what that looks like.
You seem to imply that humanity is "in" us, but the truth is that we are human. Humanity isn't some distinct thing from "the image of God" (whatever that means). We do not "have" humanity: we are human.
I think that's important, because the virtues we lack are virtues we choose to lack, and it's no good pretending that there's a purer, more virtuous form of Christianity than the one that Christians choose.
But I personally get really worried when I hear people talking about a "purer form" of anything at all: I want to know what that's going to look like before I give it my savings. I'm really unclear on what this pure Christianity is going to look like. So far as I can see, a desire for "purity" has never gone well in human history, at least for those judged impure.
I don't mean these comments to seem hostile at all. But they do seem to me to be important questions. If we're all allowed to plead that our ideals work in their perfect form, then the obvious question is, "Okay... what form is that and where can I see it?"
Otter says:
Ooh—good stuff! I wish had infinite time to noodle around with these ideas.
In short: I am probably guilty of co-opting human themes and claiming them as Christian. But I can’t help it: this sort of greediness is rooted in my theology! If “the Christian God” created humanity and the universe the humans inhabit and if He involves Himself in human history, then as a Christian I get to scoop up all the really cool generically human stories and flaunt them as being cut from the same cloth (more or less, and sometimes more and sometime less) as the Gospel itself.
Now, I personally don’t go far out of my way to actually label specific stories as Christian or otherwise. I respond to stories, and when one “thwangs” my human soul-strings with particularly deep resonance, I almost always find that it’s because it’s vibrating at the same frequency as my Christian faith. Make of that what you will.
I think a "pure" form of Christianity would be pure love: Didn't Jesus say that the most important commandments were to love oneself, one's neighbor, and God (who is Love Itself)?
"So far as I can see, a desire for "purity" has never gone well in human history, at least for those judged impure." If we had love, pure love, for everyone, it would go well. We wouldn't be able to purposely harm anyone.
Not that humans generally get this sort of thing right.
But going back to Harry Potter: I had a religion class in high school that made little Harry Potter and Narnia light bulbs go off all over my brain. I can't remember if I've talked about this here before, so forgive me if I repeat myself.
We were talking about "sin" and what the word really meant. Ms. Polaniecki (one of the best religion teachers I've ever had -- and I say this coming from 13 years of Catholic school and one really good semester of Bible as Lit) quoted St. Augustine: "You made us for yourselves, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you." Her premise was that we were created to be with our Creator. God is Love and Truth and all that happy stuff. When we sin and do evil, we turn our backs on God and ruin our relationship with HIm -- the relationship that humans were created for. So as we sin, we become less human, less of ourselves, less of what we were meant to be. It tears at our souls.
Which made me think of Voldemort. He tore his soul into seven pieces by doing evil. He killed people to preserves his own life, and it made him less and less human, even in physical appearance. How is Harry able to stop him? He is protected by Love, which is stronger than magic.
The class discussion continued to heaven and hell. Poli introduced us to my favourite theory of heaven and hell. We start with the assumption that God is outside of space and time. When we die, our souls separate from our bodies and we go to be with Him (again, outside of space and time). We ALL go to be with HIm. If we led a good life, our relationship with Him is intact and it is Heaven. If we sinned and ruined our relationship with Him, it's like being stuck in a room with someone that you don't like who sees and pities all your imperfections and you are in Hell. This also sort of ties into the perception of Heaven and Hell in the Sandman comic books (those books are so full of Truth it's ridiculous), where it is frequently stated that Hell is a state of mind. The people there are only there because they think they've been condemned.
This triggered the Narnia light bulb. In The The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, Edmund betrays and, thereby, Aslan. As Edmund is sitting with his siblings in the Beavers' house, wondering how he's going to get them to the White Witch, Mr. Beaver mentions Aslan's name. None of the children know who Aslan is at this point, but Peter, Susan, and Lucy feel uplifted when they hear the name. Edmund, on the other hand, feels miserable and guilty without knowing why.
And while typing all of this, yet another light bulb has gone off. A few semesters ago I took a class on medieval film and literature. In the Beowulf part of the class, we read Beowulf and Grendel and watched Beowulf and Grendel and The Thirteenth Warrior. I wrote my paper on Grendel, trying to figure out exactly what he is, how human, how monster, both physically and mentally. In Beowulf, Grendel is a monster, but he is related to humans (he's the "kin of Cain") and the poet seems at least a little bit sympathetic to him. In Grendel, the story is retold from his point of view, and the author has made him a sympathetic but obnoxious representation of existentialism. In Beowulf and Grendel, he is a troll, but he is a pitiable, lonely character trying to avenge his father's death, ignoring those who have not wronged him. The Thirteenth Warrior, a movie based on a book based on Beowulf, doesn't involve Grendel at all, but instead has a tribe of mysterious, hostile creatures that turn out to be human, but due to their cannibalistic, destructive actions, Ahmed says, "I was wrong. These are not men."
What makes them not men? The destruction they cause toward other men. What makes Grendel human? His loneliness, his yearning for the company of men. "You made us for yourselves, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you." We are human because we seek Love. If we turn away from it, we become monsters.
Not taken at all as hostile and good points for a bit of clarification...
Sorry, I should have said the humanity of us all (not in us all) which was the intention. Glad you mentioned that. I do not separate at all humanity from being human. They are one in the same. I do not see humanity as a quality but a simply as a description of our created being.
As to "I think that's important, because the virtues we lack are virtues we choose to lack, and it's no good pretending that there's a purer, more virtuous form of Christianity than the one that Christians choose."
The purer form is exactly that which we choose and become, you are entirely correct. There is no dreamy sense of the Church in reality and I do not hold to it. The Church is full of humans who fail in virtue but are given the Spirit of God that, should they so choose, can become that which they current are not. So, please do not misunderstand when I use the term "purer form" as that which I believe currently exists in total somewhere. But when we love one another and choose to forgive one another living in the virtues of God, we ascend beyond our current state of chosen action to something that is purer than was before. It is that to which we are invited and graced to ascend and it shows up in the "nooks & crannies" of our very real life; It is seen and experienced in our homes, towards our families and friends, and in the community of faith as it serves, fellowships, and worships.
Interesting statement: "So far as I can see, a desire for "purity" has never gone well in human history, at least for those judged impure."
I see nothing wrong with a desire for purity. I say this even knowing I failed at it today. God has judged me impure much less anyone else. Sometimes it is harder than others to accept such a reality because of the hideousness I find in myself many times. But should that make us weary of pursuing that which is the better way resulting in the better treatment of others around us? I would think not.
Thanks for inviting the clarification with your good thoughts and questions. Peace
Victoria, great thoughts, as always. What role do you see Christianity playing in this quest for pure love? Does (for example) the Catholic Church's inflexible stand on homosexuality figure in "pure love" at all, either for it or against it, in your view?
Mark, thanks for the clarifications: same question sort of applies. Once one commits to the idea that one wants "purity," who gets to define that, and why? Most would agree that the greedy should become generous (it helps us all); the lecherous chaste (it protects us all); and the lazy diligent (it feeds us all). But in your "community of faith" must the gay become straight? Must the good skeptic become a good Christian? Why or why not?
Hmm..."What role do you see Christianity playing in this quest for pure love?" An important distinction here is that I would broaden Christianity's quest. Pure love? Sure that is part of such a quest. But the quest is truly becoming like God as intended from the beginning. Love is certainly one of those virtues. Perhaps quest is not exactly the proper description even though there is a pursuit. But the pursuit is moving towards God. In HIm and from Him alone can we grow in His virtues. To discuss Christianity's part in full is impossible anywhere in writing and certainly it is so here. I would gladly discuss many ideas on this as to how God dwells in and among His people gracing them to move in the above mentioned motion through converstation some time.
You ask a few interesting questions: "But in your "community of faith" must the gay become straight?"
To this specific question, I will not answer on this platform. I would discuss it anytime, again in conversation together. I would rather not open the door to any offense on your blog site to anyone that might read and disagree with my remarks on a deeply personal level regarding this particular issue.
However, at the core of that specific question is another question you asked: "Once one commits to the idea that one wants "purity," who gets to define that, and why?"
This I will address. How this is answered really comes down to two camps. On the one hand, you have those that whittle down all things to the point where every individual decides what is truth. Please notice I did not say that the individual believes what is truth, but decides what it truth. If you fall into this camp, then it answers the question you ask. The inidividual decides what is truth and there you have it.
Then there is the other camp. This would be the one I fall in. It is the camp that believes God filled a community with Himself and has continued to reveal Himself and teach that community about himself even today. In this camp one experiences God, yes very personally, but submits to the whole seeing that he/such submission take away the organic and ever developing nature of the community with God. This community knows much about God through union with Him but still embraces the truth that one can never fully know all things about Him. We are ever learning.
So, if one believes all is reduced to the individual deciding truth, then the answer to the "who decides" question is every individual dictates what is truth so to each his or her own.
If one believes that God speaks His truth through union with His created humanity, then one ought to find the answers to the questions you asked within the community of faith in far greater than modern and post-modern times, find out why (the truth, mind, and heart behind it), and then be about those truths so that one develops in vitue along with the whole community. (By the way, I liked your making the distinction between truth and fact in a different blog writing...dead on).
I don't mean to short circuit the talk or presume too much, but I've been around Christians long enough to know that when they won't directly say "Yes" or "No," they do mean "Yes, but we believe in love and don't want to crush people or single out any particular 'sin.'"
Pacing will vary, and I'd agree the nuances matter. But I just wanted to be clear on that, and I think in the absence of a clear statement (I don't see how you could be Orthodox and be okay with homosexuality: it's not biblical or traditional), I have to take that as a bottom line "Yes."
I think that saying it comes down to two camps is not quite right: your choice to give authority to a community is itself a choice you make yourself. The choice of the self is itself terribly strongly informed by a community. "Authority" in that sense is a paradox, never wholly free from the self, never wholly the self as king.And your idea of developing alongside your community is a good one: I think that's always how it goes. But you at some point made up your mind that the virtues of your community (Christian Orthodoxy) were the right ones. That was your choice to grow alongside them. Fair enough: but once having embraced them, to say that "Christian" (as you and your community understand it) and "human" are coextensive in any sense is to say that the rest of us ought to share those values. So a straight answer on things like homosexuality are important for some among us.
I would like to say "Thank you" for the conversation on this. It makes the whole post open up in interesting directions, and literature should always do that.
Soozin:
It's good to be right, isn't it? ;)Yeah, but I can’t be sure I’m right until after I’m dead, which rubs a lot of the shine off the smug . . ..
[To this specific question [whether gays must become straight], I will not answer on this platform.
I take it that means "Yes, in the end."]
Of course for me it is yes in the end. I am not intending to hide that at all. But to say yes demands the second part of your question...why? This is what I don't feel the platform you have here is adequate to fully flesh out. To much can be written that is perceived wrongly or not understood fully on a blog site. I have this same trouble with Facebook and even e-mail at times. So, please understand and recognize my not writing on this explanation a bit deeper than hiding or ducking an issue.
[I think that saying it comes down to two camps is not quite right: your choice to give authority to a community is itself a choice you make yourself. The choice of the self is itself terribly strongly informed by a community. "Authority" in that sense is a paradox, never wholly free from the self, never wholly the self as king.]
I understand your disagreement here and there is some validity to what you say. I am sure in reality "never wholly free from self, never wholly the self as king" is true. However, I see many living as though they believe they have truly detatched from any perceived authority and, quite frankly, live as though they are king. To me, this is self-deception and a warping of reality.
[And your idea of developing alongside your community is a good one: I think that's always how it goes. But you at some point made up your mind that the virtues of your community (Christian Orthodoxy) were the right ones. That was your choice to grow alongside them.]
This is very true. Even my submission to the community was my own choice. That is never taken away (the will never has been). But I have noticed a change in my self particularly in the last 4-6 years. There was a subtle difference in the way I approached and defended what I believed was truth for much of my life and the way I am beginning to see that I am approaching it now. For most of my life, I decided what was truth and then attached myself to others that thought as I did. This is very common for us if we are honest. But now that has changed a bit and continues to do so. I see Christianity as a faith far greater than any one individual. In truth, it tends to free us from some the dangers and trappings that taking individualism taken to its extreme tends to result in. It is not that I lose my individuality, just that perhaps I am learning to give it away a bit by considering the whole to be greater than the one. Perhaps this is what Paul meant intended when he said:
...Therefore, my dear friends, flee from idolatry...Because there is one loaf , we, who are many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf...
We who are man have been made one loaf...flee from idolatry. Perhaps considering the whole as greater than the one by living in humility and submission in love to others protects of from idolizing ourselves as individuals. Just a thought.
And thus the teacher in you comes out and forces me to write an essay to figure out what I'm talking about.
Well, Christianity done right [in my opinion] IS the quest for pure love. But as usually happens with humanity, we don't meet the ideal. Lots of "Christians" are too obsessed with what everyone does wrong to try to strive for how to do things right.
Example: http://thedevilspanties.com/archives/315
As far as the Catholic Church's stand on homosexuality: I feel the need to clarify their position before I either confirm or deny it. The Catholic Church says that homosexual tendencies are not sinful; acting on them is. If you think you're gay, just stay single and you're good.
I think that they think that this stand does protect love: the love of a sanctified, Catholic union between man and woman, which is both economically and socially useful and a sacrament (which, by definition, is a grace-bringing visible sign of God's loving presence). Marriage mirrors the Trinity and God's relationship to the Church: The man gives of himself, the woman receives him and gives of herself, and new life is formed; God gives HImself to the Church, we receive Him and give ourselves to Him, and new life is formed for us; the Father gives Himself to the Son (begetting the Son), the Son receives the Father and gives Himself (on the cross), and new life is formed in the Holy Spirit. Same-sex relationships screw up the pretty metaphor. Sex is supposed to be both unitive and procreative (hence the Church's ban on premarital sex, contraception, artificial insemination, ect.). Gay couples physically can't have kids on their own; nor are they equipped to be united they way a heterosexual couple is.
That being said, I understand where they're coming from, but I don't necessarily agree with them. It's a nice theory, but I don't think it works in practice. Human nature just isn't that simple, as I keep learning the more anthropology classes I take. When I was a younger ('cause, y'know, I'm so old now) I agreed with it, but then I went through that age where everyone's starting to date and starting to figure out who they want to date, and several of my friends made their life "choices", putting faces and personalities and lives into the theory. As the Catholic Church says, you can't always choose who you're attracted to; but to tell these people that they have to ignore the ones they love and stay alone for their entire lives is wrong. And I'm sure we could say something about "You're never alone when you're with God," but face it, we were made to search for love in all its forms, not just theoretical theological love.
But even if the Catholic higher-ups were to change their minds, they could never tell the world at large. The Catholic Church is supposed to be "infallible but not impeccable", a neat little way of admitting to human error without admitting to being wrong, without being able to admit ever being wrong. But I also think that that's something the Church needs to do. If they don't claim to be right all the time, how could the world at large accept their authority? And humans need authority when gathered in such large groups. Otherwise there would be heretics left and right and the Church would have no power to argue against them.
But then, the Church does also teach that you can't do evil in order to accomplish good.
One thing I do know for sure: those people that say that God hates gays go against everything Christianity stands for, even assuming that homosexuality isn't right.
Victoria (and Mark), my response is here.