But children aren't the only ones absorbed by the adventures of Harry Potter. Adults have been enchanted as well. In some ways, Rowling tells a typical coming-of-age story, but in presenting Harry and his friends, she has measured the sensibilities of today's kids.  They see the constraints placed upon them but value their own decision making.   Perhaps it is this same formula that appeals to adults reading the books.  The works tap into a philosophy that offers comfort to readers – both children and adults – as they try to work their ways through the uncertainty of the world.

Recent events have only intensified the need for comfort.  The terrorist assaults of September 11 and subsequent attacks with anthrax spores have replaced vague feelings of insecurity with the promise of future threats.  Yet unease and fear are being met with calls for resolve, vigilance, patience, and justice – Stoic responses for governing the emotional reactions of anger, panic, rash behavior, and a desire for vengeance.   Harry Potter comes to face similarly intensified threats.  As his world becomes increasingly uncertain, he finds guidance but no easy way out of his predicament.

Although in interviews Rowling claims not to be writing for any particular audience, her brilliance shows most clearly in the authorial voice she adapts for each book, which matures along with Harry.  Rowling's voice speaks to children, rather than at them.   They thus encounter the chicken-blood-and-brandy diet of baby dragons, vomit-flavored candy, and (mildly) off-color jokes, along with occasional drunkenness and violence.  Life is not pristine.  The death of a likable, righteous character proves that acting morally is hard and that being good does not guarantee being rewarded.

The frankness in the Potter books liberates children.  Rather than smothering young readers, it presents an appealing ethic that they can both relate to and think through.  Harry and his friends are not above giving into temptation, breaking the rules, or even acting contrary to explicit instruction.  Yet their chief motives are empathy, compassion, and tolerance, virtues mostly absent, in contrast, from William J. Bennett's preachy The Children's Book of Virtues.  Despite occasional misbehavior, the characters remain steadfast in an ongoing battle between good and evil.

Harry senses that he has some frightful enemies and that he is the target of vengeance.   Despite some cheery optimism, he has a pronounced sense of fatalism.  It is easy to underestimate how appealing this is to young readers whose lives turn on the whims of others, and how satisfying it is to follow a character working his way through difficult circumstances.  (Even adults, ostensibly more in control of their own lives, have no difficulty identifying with those themes.)  Even though events are beyond Harry's control, he is governed ultimately by rules of his own making.  In precisely this way, Rowling introduces the Stoicism so central to the moral system at work in her series.

Harry Potter's morality is not unlike that on display in the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, or most recently Philip Pullman, where Stoic constancy is valued.  In fact, forms of Stoicism seem to be central to much modern children's literature.   Perhaps that is not surprising.  Our era has witnessed both extreme mass violence and the wearing away of objective epistemologies.  An updated Stoicism provides guidance, without advancing a new orthodoxy, in the midst of so much uncertainty – as Harry Potter's fans seem to recognize.  Here Rowling follows the same path as other authors of children's literature.  Tolkien, Lewis, and Pullman each show how self-control, in service of a larger good, is the only sure means of being true to the self and securing the victory.  In each of these authors' works, even though characters never offer up a universal distinction between good and evil, they know the difference when they see it.  That difference depends on the ability to imagine the suffering of others and to do something about it.  Withdrawal from empathy signals the advent of evil.

Again, the events of September 11 seem germane to assessing the appeal of Rowling's ethical system.  A common response to televised horror was shock – a shock prompted not only by the audacity of the attacks, but also by the terrorists' perceived inability to associate their acts with enormous suffering among both victims and survivors.  An outpouring of support – shared grief, volunteerism, and charitable contributions – alleviated the shock and restored an imaginative, empathetic connection to those harmed by the attacks.  In the minds of many, even such limited denial of the self became an opportunity for acting on behalf of an apparent greater good.

In the midst of violent political turmoil in 1584, as Spain sought to put down the revolt of the United Provinces in the Netherlands, the philosopher Justus Lipsius asked what was the proper response of the thinking person to adverse circumstances.  The result became his neo-Stoic classic, The Book of Constancy.  As his title suggests, Lipsius found the answer in "a right and immovable strength of mind, neither lifted up nor pressed down with external or casual accidents."  Such steadfastness was to stem from sound reason, found internally but corresponding to the true nature of things.  Thinking persons were to make their will correspond to what was right (understood by the Christian Lipsius as the will of God).  In adverse circumstances, they endured rather than seeking to flee.

Stoicism has a long history, beginning in the fourth century B.C.E.  An important school of thought since then, its most famous proponents are Seneca and Marcus Aurelius.   It affected the thought of Renaissance humanists and Christian reformers alike, spreading its influence well into the 20th century.  Today, both Christian thinkers and the more secular-minded make use of the basic elements of Stoic thinking.  The former invoke a transcendent God who is not only all-powerful but caring.  The latter (a more diverse group) emphasize the solidarity of all humans, the primacy of reason, the need for self-sacrifice, or the interconnectedness of things (particularly in relation to environmental matters).

In the aftermath of September 11, policy makers have sounded Stoic themes in their calls for patience, diligence, and sacrifice in the name of the greater good.  Though one might legitimately question their motives – are they meeting a challenge to U.S. hegemony, boosting a sagging economy, spinning events for political gain? – there can be little doubt that the rhetoric has its appeal.

According to the Stoics, living well means living in accord with the world, which divine reason has shaped.  Nature (or the divine within it) is thus the standard for the regulation of life; it not only dictates proper action but also dictates the outcome of events.  In practical terms, fate consists of things beyond a person's control.   Within this scheme, Stoics distinguish among good things (virtues, virtuous acts, good feelings), bad things (vices, vicious acts, bad feelings), and indifferent things – which are further divided into preferred things (e.g., life, beauty, health) or rejected things (e.g., death, ugliness, illness).  Stoics embrace what is good, deplore what is bad, and either value or discount what is indifferent.  Stoicism seeks to subject internal desires, feelings, and even judgments to restraints that cultivate the self in service of a greater good.  Virtue results only from conscious choice and attention to what is within one's control.

Although Rowling is careful not to present that version of Stoicism explicitly, she introduces the basic ideas in her first book.  Her characters may value life and material possessions, but they realize that many things are more important.   Professor Dumbledore explains the folly in Voldemort's search for the philosopher's stone:

"After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want!  The two things most human beings would choose above all – the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things which are worst for them."

Even Rowling's younger readers, who may be only dimly aware of violence, prejudice, and class antagonism in the real world, can respond to the books' Stoic appeal for responsibility.  Harry Potter becomes familiar with evil, and he learns how to cope with it – remaining true to what is right regardless of consequence.  He remains constant.  My local librarian tells me that children often point to a key passage in which Harry worries about who he is. When Dumbledore says "it's our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities," he knows intimately that Harry has already demonstrated as much.  The children reading the books do as well.   Drawn to his magical world and won over by his qualities, they want to emulate Harry Potter.

Walt Disney used to speak of the "four C's" as essential to realizing dreams: curiosity, confidence, courage, and constancy.  Wait a minute.  Constancy?   Yes.  Take a look at Harry Potter and find it anew.  The kids in your life already have.

I had originally planned to end my remarks there – with a glib observation linking Harry Potter's popularity to the Stoic themes manifest in his actions.  It's not an uncommon formula, after all.  But in the shadows cast by the events of September 11, it has taken on a new significance.  Simple Stoic fortitude may not be the answer to our current plight, but it is certainly one in which many have found solace.