|
 Harry
Potter. Do you remember when he first came into
your life? Did you notice that kids whose attention
span formerly stopped at the end of a Pokemon
card could suddenly read for hours on end? Did
your children suddenly come home from school telling
exciting tales of wizards and witches?
Author
J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books have captured
the hearts of millions of children and adults.
They’re arguably the most quickly embraced children’s
books in history. You’d have to be tucked away
in the remotest of hermitages to have avoided
the books thus far, and you’d have to be just
about as isolated to have avoided the controversy
surrounding them.
Controversy does abound, and Harry Potter stirs
up strong emotions. Some parents are thrilled
that their children are reading enthusiastically
for the first time. They love the way the books
pit good against evil, and they use the books
to help their children learn the difference between
right and wrong. But other parents are deeply
disturbed about the subject matter in the Harry
Potter books. They’re concerned to see so many
children embracing a world of witchcraft and wizardry.
I’m a parent who falls within the latter category,
and I often find myself uncomfortably trying to
explain to the dearest of friends why I’m so disturbed
by the books. It’s not pleasant to say to someone,
“I know you love these books, but . . .”
When I do, I’m forced to share a bit of my pre-Catholic
background that I’d prefer to keep quiet. But
it’s become critical to open up about things I’ve
done, if only because those of us who share similar
experiences seem also to share a feeling of dread
about the popularity of Harry Potter. Despite
my discomfort with the Harry Potter books, I have
to admit that they helped me see how an old unconfessed
sin was troubling my life.
Astrology,
Hypnotism, Witchcraft
Baptized Catholic in a non-practicing home,
I spent my childhood in various Protestant churches.
I was taught to say my bedtime prayers. My parents
emphasized good morals. I had a deep, abiding
sense of God’s presence in my life.
I knew He loved me, and I always knew that I could
turn to Him. But as I recall, by the time my parents
divorced when I was fourteen, God wasn’t much
emphasized in my home. What I do recall is a heavy
emphasis on the importance of astrology in explaining
people’s personalities, a fascination with fortune
telling, and an incredible zodiac-themed party
that my mom and I threw, complete with black lights
for ambiance and levitation games for entertainment.
Not too much later, I went to see a stage hypnotist
whose shows I began to attend frequently, as it
gave a stage-hungry teen like me the opportunity
to sing in front of an audience. I considered
the hypnotism a sham until the evening that hypnotist
chose me for his show’s finale. Telling me that
my body was “stiff as a steel beam,” he laid me
across the back edges of two folding chairs and
then stood on top of me.
Having a 250-pound man stand upon my airborne
body taught me that something really does happen
to you when you’re hypnotized. Christian friends
tried to tell me this “something” was not healthy
for me spiritually, but I wouldn’t listen. I really
didn’t think it could affect me; it was all just
a lot of fun. But looking back over my life, I
can now tell you that the end of the two years
I spent attending that hypnotist’s show coincided
with my conscious decision to turn away from God.
Was it a direct result of being hypnotized? Probably
not. I can assure you, though, that regularly
allowing someone to take over my conscious choices
didn’t do my meager faith life any good.
The most frightening event of my life occurred
when I tried witchcraft. I had been a lonely child
who had grown into a lonely teen, always looking
for love. One day I picked up one of those ubiquitous
little books sold at the grocery store checkout,
and this one was about casting love spells. I
took it home, stood in my bedroom, and started
to cast a spell over my on-again, off-again boyfriend.
I don’t remember the words I spoke (thank you,
God), but I’ll never forget what happened.
I started to cast the spell. Wham! A huge black
door (picture the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey)
slammed shut as if traveling from my left hand
to my right.
“God doesn’t want you to do this,” said a deep
voice within me.
Wham! A door just as large slammed shut the other
direction, and a voice responded, “It doesn’t
matter. There is no God.” I was tempted to listen.
Wham! The door slammed back the original direction
and a voice stated firmly and slowly, “Yes . .
. there . . . is.”
I put the witchcraft book down, never to pick
it up again. I was deeply shaken, and I knew that
I had encountered something beyond this world.
Doubt had entered my life for the first time,
and I knew that I could have embraced a Godless
universe at the moment that second door slammed
shut. I knew that something out there had wanted
me to turn away from God forever, and that it
had its opportunity when I participated in the
world of witchcraft.
Were there consequences from this aborted act
of witchcraft? Most assuredly. Shortly thereafter,
when the movie The Exorcist came out, that boyfriend
became enamored with the Devil, both drawn to
him and desiring his power. Eventually he began
to cruise the streets of Hollywood looking for
homosexual sugar daddies, and I ended our friendship.
I too felt consequences, but they didn’t surface
until I’d left God, then returned to Him and become
a Catholic. At that point I found that I had a
remarkable sensitivity to the occult. Anything
even remotely associated with the occult — horoscopes,
palm readers, metaphysical bookstores, or crystal
healing — would disturb me deeply. I would feel
a dark whirlpool tugging at my soul, drawing me
towards the preternatural. I would fight this
whirlpool both by praying for the people involved
in such practices and by shielding myself from
exposure to anything occultic.
Along
Comes Harry
Then along came Harry Potter. I was introduced
to him when my dearest friend found that Harry
inspired her oldest son to enjoy reading for the
first time in his life. The next thing I knew,
Harry Potter was everywhere, and my eighteen-year-old
daughter was reading the books. But I felt that
whirlpool tugging, so I knew I had to find out
if my fears had any basis in reality.
Too scared to read the books at first, I instead
read what other people had to say about them.
I began to notice a pattern. Of the commentators
I read who loved the Harry Potter books, virtually
none of them had ever experienced the occult.
To them this was a delightful fantasy in the same
genre as J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. In
contrast, almost every commentator I read who
had experience with the occult found the books
disturbing, almost as if they were primers on
witchcraft.
Why the difference of opinions? I read the first
two books, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
and Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Scholastic
Press, 1997 and 1998), and came up with an answer.
Much of the Harry Potter books are in fact delightful
fantasy. The author, Joanne Rowling, tickles our
imaginations with tales of unicorns, Quidditch
games, and owls who deliver mail.
But among these charming depictions are much darker
sections, particularly in the early part of Harry’s
education. This combination — darker elements
introduced early and a delightful finish that
can only be considered imaginative — leaves many
readers with an overall good feeling about the
books.
So why did I feel such dread when I read Harry
Potter? Why do other people who’ve left the occult
feel such distaste for the books? John Gibson,
who converted out of neopaganism into Catholicism
and whose conversion story appears in Surprised
by Truth 2, wrote this to me: “First and foremost,
most people who have been involved in the occult
still have something like a fingerprint of it
on their soul. It gives us a kind of sensitivity
to the occult that others don’t have.”
“A fingerprint on the soul” — that was the difference
I was seeing between readers who loved Harry Potter
and those of us who didn’t. That “fingerprint”
was being touched again whenever we read Harry
Potter, and our souls were growing troubled. We
were recognizing things we’d known in the past
and had rejected for the love of God.
To clarify what I mean here, let me offer just
a few stories of people whose lives at some point
intertwined with the occult and who today voice
concerns about Harry Potter.
“There
Is Only One Kind of Magic”
Clare McGrath Merkle is a former New Age healer,
well educated in the occult, and a revert to Catholicism.
Her concern about the Potter books runs deep,
because she recognizes within its pages so many
of the arts she once practiced. She and her friends
in the occult, psychologists, physicists, and
other professionals (who were also wizards, warlocks,
and witches) defended their studies together “as
being of the white magic category, much like [Hogwarts,]
the wizardry school of Harry Potter.” But having
removed herself from the world of the occult back
into the loving fold of the Catholic Church, she
now recognizes that in reality there is only one
kind of magic, “variously known as black magic,
occultism, diabolism, or the dark arts.”1
Jacqui Komschlies provides a similar warning,
telling her readers “we need to remember that
witchcraft in real life can and does lead to death
— the forever and ever kind.” For over ten years
she was fascinated with the supernatural, an appetite
she says she developed from reading stories of
“wizards, magic, power and adventure.” (Sound
familiar?) Eventually she found that the supernatural
was taking over her thoughts.
One day the spirits, powers, and goddesses who
filled even her dreams began actually to speak
to her. Frightened, she cried out to God. He rescued
her, and the voices ceased.
Today she warns: “Our world is exploding with
interest in real witchcraft. Type ‘How can I become
a witch?’ in Google.com and you’ll get listings
for dozens of related sites. The same query in
AskJeeves.com brings up many articles — the main
one giving a simple eight-step process for becoming
a witch on your own.”2
Though Vivian Dudro has no background in the occult,
she shares Mrs. Komschlies’ concerns about children’s
increased fascination with the occult. Her own
research has shown that “in San Francisco, the
Potter stories already have inspired countless
children to seek other books about witches, wizards,
and spooks. The city’s libraries have stocked
their juvenile collections with this subject matter.
… The trend concerns me because, apart from serious
sin, occultism is the main way the diabolical
can enter a person’s life.”3
“Playing
With a Fire From Hell”
The editor of that same newsletter, Steve Wood,
weighed in with the revelation of his own background
in the occult. Many readers of this magazine will
recognize Mr. Wood as the soft-spoken host of
the St. Joseph’s Covenant Keepers radio show.
Having read the first three Harry Potter books,
he holds a strong opinion about them.
“Before my conversion to Christianity,” he recalls,
“I was involved in New Age and false religious
movements that actually practiced several of the
things casually described in the Harry Potter
novels. . . . I have led young people out of the
very world described in the Harry Potter novels
to a commitment to Christ. . . . I have personally
confronted and ministered to demonically possessed
individuals involved in Satanism and the occult.
In light of this experience, I warn fathers that
exposing your children to the enchanting world
of Harry Potter is playing with a fire from hell.”4
It’s not only laymen who worry about Harry Potter.
Fr. Phillip Scott is a priest who lives near a
community of “Gothics” in Florida. The young people
in this community practice Satanic “masses,” live
the occult, and engage in spiritual warfare, regularly
cursing Fr. Scott and his fellow priests.
Fr. Scott believes that the entry into this horrendous
lifestyle begins with curiosity, and he believes
that books like Harry Potter can stimulate such
curiosity. In an interview with Steve Wood, Fr.
Scott tells of having ministered to a young boy
whose mind was filled with the images in the Harry
Potter books. What is most frightening is that
the books had not been written at the time the
boy received ministry; Fr. Scott in retrospect
recognized within the pages of Harry Potter the
very images that had been tormenting the young
man.
What does Fr. Scott say about the Harry Potter
books? He calls them “poison.”5
Spells
and Brews
What are some of these images and their ensuing
dangers? In her 1991 book, Ungodly Rage, Donna
Steichen shared this insightful quote from a repentant
former practitioner of Wicca, Carmen Helen Guerra:
When
I was a witch, I performed rituals. I evoked
spirits. I called entities. I cast spells, burned
candles, concocted brews. The only thing I didn’t
do was fly on a broom, but I probably would
have figured it out if given time. But where
did it lead to? Into darkness, depression, and
the creation of an aura of gloom around me.
I was frequently under demon attack. The house
where I lived was alive with poltergeist activity
. . . due to residual “guests” from rituals.
My friends and family were afraid of me. I knew
I had no future; all I had was a dark present.
I was locked in by oaths and “destiny.” But
I had power, something I’d always wanted. It
wasn’t Satan’s fault. He didn’t exist — or so
I thought. I gave it all up, and came to Jesus
on my knees. . . . He freed me from the oppression
and gave me back my soul — the one I had so
foolishly given to evil in exchange for power.6
Does this have anything to do with Harry Potter?
You bet. Though it’s all dressed up as sweetness
and light, the first Harry Potter book has rituals
(for example, “the Sorting Ceremony,” pp. 117-122);
spells (Hermione casts the full Body-Bind spell
on Neville, p. 273); spirits and other non-human
entities (Voldemort inhabits Quirrell’s body,
pp. 293-295, and the myriad ghosts of Hogwarts);
candles (thousands floating above the tables at
Hogwarts, p. 116); and brews (Professor Snape’s
potions class, pp. 136-139).
It’s not pleasant to contemplate, but there really
are people out there who practice witchcraft,
who cast spells and perform rituals, and who see
results. J. K. Rowling writes as if their powers
can be channeled into good, and that is the great
danger of her books. Rituals and spells and brews
are used by witches in the real world, and they
work because of the power of evil spirits. As
such they can never lead to good. Portraying these
innately evil practices as if they can be harnessed
for good is a dangerous lie.
Rowling further confuses the issue by portraying
witchcraft not as a moral issue, but as an issue
of heredity. In Rowling’s world, the ability to
practice witchcraft is inherited. But in reality,
you don’t need to possess a particular bloodline
in order to make witchcraft work. All you have
to do is tap into evil spirits, turn over your
will, and leave Jesus Christ for the world of
the occult.
We thus have two falsehoods presented to the children
who read these books: first, that their status
as a witch is written in their genes; and second,
if they’re one of the “lucky” ones, they can use
their powers for good. These are harmful lies
to teach, because the reality is so different
and so dangerous. Just ask Carmen Helen Guerra.
The
Church’s Warning
The Catechism of the Catholic Church states
unequivocally: “All practices of magic or sorcery,
by which one attempts to tame occult powers, so
as to place them at one’s service and have a supernatural
power over others — even if this were for the
sake of restoring their health — are gravely contrary
to the virtue of religion. … The Church for her
part warns the faithful against it” (2117).
This is strong language in the catechism, the
same language used to condemn lust, fornication,
and abortion. Catholics cannot in good conscience
take such a warning lightly. If Harry were using
lust, fornication, or abortion to save his friends
at Hogwarts, would we still think these books
were acceptable children’s fare?
It’s important to note that the witchcraft about
which Rowling writes stands in stark contrast
to fantasy magic as it’s portrayed in Tolkien
and Lewis. The good characters in Middle Earth
and Narnia don’t cast spells on people, don’t
call up spirits and commune with them like beloved
neighbors, don’t perform rituals, and don’t mix
potions. The good characters at Hogwarts do.
In Narnia, a ring transports you to another world,
and in Middle Earth lightning flashes at a critical
time to perform some powerful feat. But at Hogwarts,
the evil Voldemort enchants a diary to take possession
of a girl’s soul. These are vast and substantial
differences, requiring us to view Rowling’s witchcraft
in a much different light from Tolkien’s and Lewis’s
magic.
Bad
Role Models
What about the argument that the Potter books
help to teach the difference between right and
wrong? Putting witchcraft aside, it’s true there
are definite “bad guys” in the books, and that
they are consistently fought by the “good guys.”
But I found those “good guys” to be less-than-stellar
role models.
At first glance, Harry Potter seems a noble little
boy, one who will put his own life at risk to
save his friends. He defends the weak, comforts
the sad, and fights evil. But I found he also
had a nasty propensity to flaunt school rules
and to lie.
In fact, at the end of the first book, Harry saves
the world from the evil Lord Voldemort by screwing
up his courage and telling a lie. Now, telling
a lie to save the world may at first seem to be
acceptable, but we have to remember that this
is a work of fiction, and the author could have
easily found a truthful way for Harry to save
the world. A close reading of the second book
shows that lying now comes much more easily to
Harry than it did in the first book, so we see
Harry’s character growing weaker rather than stronger.
I’m also concerned about the way Harry is allowed
to avoid proper discipline. He’s famous, he’s
talented, and he’s a celebrity. Time after time
in both the first two books, when Harry breaks
school rules, he is either clever enough to get
away with it or he’s a skillful-enough liar not
to be chastised.
Repeatedly threatened with expulsion, he is always
forgiven. In the worst case of all, he’s threatened
with expulsion from Hogwarts if he flies on his
broomstick. But when he in fact does, and does
so with great talent, he’s actually rewarded with
a prime spot on the school Quidditch team.
Much like some American college football heroes,
he receives not a lick of punishment precisely
because he’s such a great athlete. Even the points
that Harry and his friends lose for their schoolhouse
during the course of the first book are handed
back to them with bonuses at the end, and enough
so that their house wins the coveted school cup.
What’s the overall message? If you’re cute enough,
talented enough, strong enough, or clever enough,
you don’t have to worry about following the rules
in your little corner of the universe. This is
hardly teaching the difference between right and
wrong.
Disturbing
Religious Elements
I further noticed some disturbing religious
elements in the books — an apparent twisting of
Catholic terminology, symbolism, and even theology.
Whether or not all the instances of such twisting
were intentional, the dangerous confusion resulting
in the minds of young readers remains the same.
Picture this. In Harry Potter and the Chamber
of Secrets, pages 51-52, Harry is hidden in a
shop that sells paraphernalia of the Dark Arts.
He sees a customer express interest in a withered
hand sitting on a cushion. Turns out it’s called
the “Hand of Glory,” and it’s considered the “best
friend” of thieves and plunderers.
Wait a minute. “Glory” is a term of worship used
by angels and humans alike. Why is it being used
to describe the favorite tool of robbers?
Later, when attending a “deathday party” for ghosts,
Harry and his friends notice “a group of gloomy
nuns . . . and the fat friar” (p. 132). This was
a dark and dreary party of obviously tortured
souls, and the friar and the nuns could have easily
been left out. Did Rowling think this was cute
or did she mean to give insult?
Blink and you’d miss it, but in two short paragraphs
of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Rowling
twists and perverts the meaning of a word of tremendous
significance to Catholics. The word is “transfiguration,”
which should call to every Catholic child’s mind
the glorification of our Lord on the mountaintop
with Moses and Elijah. Instead, Rowling uses the
word to mean “some of the most complex and dangerous
magic you will learn”: that of changing one object
into another (p. 134).
Having thus assigned “transfiguration” a decidedly
un-Christian meaning in the first book, she peppers
the second book with numerous references to the
subject. My heart breaks when I think of how many
children will forever more listen to the Gospel
reading about the Transfiguration, and will find
their minds drawn to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft
and Wizardry.
The book of Revelation is arguably the least understood
book of the Bible, but the significance of one
element in it is generally agreed upon: The number
“666” is the diabolical number of the beast (see
Rev 13:18), and it’s not a good thing. Yet J.
K. Rowling has chosen to use this number as significant
for one of the most unselfish and noble of her
characters, Mr. Nicolas Flamel.
Always portrayed as a good character, at the end
of the first book he is raised to heights of actual
heroism when he decides to lose his life for the
sake of the world. We the readers are introduced
to Flamel when Harry and his friends read Flamel’s
biography on page 220. Figuring prominently in
this biography is the fact that last year Mr.
Flamel celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth
birthday. That means that the year in which his
biography was written, the year in which he is
immortalized for all of us, Mr. Flamel is in the
666th year of his life. The symbol of the beast
for Christians is the age of the savior of humanity
for Hogwarts.
Rowling then presents a perversion of Catholic
theology when a unicorn is killed just before
the climax of the first book. “The blood of a
unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an
inch from death, but at a terrible price,” writes
Rowling on page 258. Drinking blood will keep
us alive?
When I first read this, I wondered if we were
about to see a Catholic metaphor that might redeem
the entire book. The next phrase kept my hope
alive, “You have slain something pure and defenseless
to save yourself. . . .” Yes, I thought, we are
about to see a Eucharistic analogy, but then my
eyes traveled to the next line on the page: “You
will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from
the moment the blood touches your lips.”
I felt as if I’d been punched in the stomach.
It isn’t the crime of killing the pure and defenseless
unicorn that curses, but the act of drinking its
blood. What a horrendous twisting of the biblical
promise that drinking the blood of Jesus, who
is the purest of the pure, will bring us eternal
life. The antithetical notion that a pure creature’s
blood will bring us “a half-life, a cursed life”
is a slap in the face of Catholics.
An Agent of Conversion
There’s a lot I see wrong in the Potter books,
but I’ve left out an important way in which they’ve
changed my life for the better. Remember the love
spell I tried to cast as a teenager? Not having
been raised Catholic, it never occurred to me
that I needed to take that act into the confessional.
In my great distress over the books, feeling that
dark whirlpool tug at my soul just looking at
them, I finally realized that I needed the grace
of Reconciliation for having once tried to cast
a spell. I could have argued that I didn’t need
confession (I hadn’t quite met all the qualifications
for mortal sin), but I’m so glad I went.
Through my confession, God in His mercy gave me
a great gift: His forgiveness has blessed my life,
and I’ve experienced palpable benefits from the
sacrament I received that day. That whirlpool,
that dragging, dark force that used to draw me
back toward the occult, is gone. I still pray
for fortunetellers and witches when I come across
them, and I regularly pray for protection from
the occult, but I no longer have to protect myself
fearfully from its drag.
What blessed freedom! In that sense, I must view
Harry Potter as an agent of my conversion. It’s
in that sense that I hope you too will see him
as an agent of conversion in your children’s lives.
Not everyone who reads Harry Potter will be harmed
spiritually. While I do see danger in the books
stimulating an interest in the occult, I’m the
least worried about children who are protected
by the sacraments and well grounded in their faith.
If your children haven’t yet read Harry Potter,
I hope I’ve given you plenty of reasons why they
shouldn’t. But if they’ve already read the books,
as have so many American children, I hope you’ll
use this article to spur a discussion in your
family. Share with your kids the teaching of the
Catholic Church on witchcraft, and share with
them the destructive influences the occult has
on people.
If Harry Potter can become an inoculation against
the occult instead of a gateway into it, he will
have unwittingly done your children a great favor.
1
http://homepages.go.com/~crossveil/potter.html
2
http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2000/012/34.113.html
3
St. Joseph's Covenant Keepers Newsletter 6:4,7
4
St. Joseph's Covenant Keepers Newsletter 6:4,11
5
"Parental Concerns about 'Harry Potter,'
" Faith & Family Live Presents: #F186.Port
Charlotte, FL.
6
Carmen Helen Guerra, "The Practice of Witchcraft,"
letter to the editor, National Catholic Register,
May 18, 1986; quoted in Donna Steichen, Ungodly
Rage (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1991), 70-71
Contact
Toni Collins at ToniVCollins@aol.com.
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