Language is a funny thing.

 And sometimes it gives us a bit of trouble—when translating something from one language to another, sometimes things get lost. Same with forgotten customs. That’s why we have Bibles with footnotes, after all.

Also, languages change and evolve over time. English is no exception—it has grown and changed and absorbed words and phrases and various elements from numerous other languages over the centuries, now with something close to a million words. At any given time, a billion people worldwide are learning English. And the language is in a constant state of flux—these days even Shakespeare needs footnotes to be fully understood (or to be translated in order to preserve the bawdy humor Shakespeare was known for).

But I digress.

One large problem with the English language is that it has only one word for “love.” This encompasses everything from familial affection to romance to a collective love of humanity.

Margaret Atwood once said, “The Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them: there ought to be as many for love.” I have to say I agree—love is too complicated to be described have one blanket word.

It’s a very, VERY big word.

But it's thrown around so much that it's lost quite a bit of its meaning.

Case in point—the definition that fandom in particular seems to focus on for “love” is “romance.” This may have something to do with the fact that fandoms in general tend to be made up of... well, let's face it... teenage girls.

And when it's said that “love” will be the deciding factor in something, they leap to what seems like the obvious conclusion.

They don't think of friendship. They don't think of family. They don't think of a greater, higher love for humankind in general. Their relationship-obsessed minds leap right to romance, sex, and babies.

But life isn't like that.

Me, I like friendship fics—reading and writing them. I like family fics. I like fics that highlight Harry's "saving-people thing" and treat it as a virtue. Because there’s more to love—more to life—than romance, sex, and babies.

To be fair, we all tend to focus on “love” as meaning “romantic relationships.” It’s why people have trouble with hearing love being described as “patient and kind” and “keeping no record of wrongs.” (as described in 1 Corinthians 13) They think that this is referring to romantic love or friendship, that it’s a standard no one can ever live up to. But there are different definitions of love. The Greek language, for example, has four definitions of “love.”

The Harry Potter fandom is no exception when it comes to the apparent belief that the only kind of love that matters is romantic.

When Dumbledore tells Harry that it is his ability to love that will be key to defeating Voldemort, indeed that it is the much vaunted “power the Dark Lord knows not”, Harry honestly wonders what the big deal about that—and, to be fair, so did I. Or at least at first.

There were—and still are—a lot of theories about what Dumbledore meant. The Harmonians—and other ship-centric portions of the fandom—interpreted this to believe that there would be some kind of OMGSPESHUL love-related or love-powered magic that only their avatar and her love Harry and Hermione could use that would be used to destroy Voldemort once and for all. And then they were upset after the canon showed that they were wrong.

I contend that they weren’t even close to the truth.

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One of my favorite authors is C.S. Lewis. Though he is perhaps best known for the Chronicles of Narnia, he was also something of a philosopher, who wrote and lectured extensively on Christianity and numerous topics related to it.

One of these topics is love. I mentioned that Greek has four words for love, each with differing definitions—Lewis touches on all of them in his book The Four Loves, which examines love from a Christian perspective. Apparently Lewis initially mistook John’s words in 1 John 4:8, “God is Love”. By distinguishing need-love (like that of, say, a child for his mother) from gift-love (epitomized by God’s love for humanity), Lewis came to the conclusion that the natures of even these basic characterizations of love are more complicated than they appear to be at first.

Based on the four Greek words for love, Lewis divides love into four categories: affection, friendship, romance, and charity.

I have noticed, in rereading the Harry Potter series, that all four of these “loves” come into play—and each and every one of them is instrumental in Harry’s life, and (I would argue) his quest to defeat Voldemort.

Love really is the “power the Dark Lord knows not”, just not in the way many of us expected.

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JKR almost certainly reads C.S. Lewis—there’s quite a bit of Narnia in her world (and not just use of a cabinet as a way to get from one place to another, either). She takes sources from British literature and other popular culture (Chocolate Frogs and Cockroach Clusters are definitely references to Monty Python’s Flying Circus, for example), and other mythologies.

But I realized she was reading Lewis’ nonfiction works as well after I read through “The Warlock’s Hairy Heart” from The Tales of Beedle the Bard. The titular warlock, like Voldemort, is described as seeing emotion as a weakness, and taking steps to ensure that he is immune to it—much like the steps Voldemort takes to ensure his own physical immortality. The language used to describe the warlock’s steps—and what results from them—is frankly quite effective. JKR has said that the process of actually creating a Horcrux is disgusting. I know that the titular “hairy heart” is probably supposed to be reminiscent of the soul-fragment in a Horcrux—she even says in DH that reintegrating one can be fatal—but I think there’s more to it.

There’s a passage from The Four Loves that may have directly inspired this story:

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket—safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell." (emphasis added)

 So it would not surprise me if she had read The Four Loves at some point.

(I have a point here, and I am getting to it.)

Because, again, all four kinds can be seen in Harry’s life, and come into play in defeating Voldemort.

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First is storgē (στοργή). The Greek word refers to natural affection, which applies to family love—for example, that of a parent toward a child. It may also be used as a general term to describe the love between exceptional friends, and the desire for them to care compassionately for one another. 

Lewis describes storgē as fondness through familiarity, between family members or people who have found themselves bound together by chance. Storgē is described as the most natural, emotive, and widely diffused of loves: natural because it is present without coercion; emotive because it is the result of fondness due to familiarity; and most widely diffused because it pays the least attention to those characteristics deemed “valuable” or “worthy” of love and, as a result, is able to transcend most discriminating factors. Ironically, its strength is what makes it vulnerable. Storgē has the appearance of being “built-in” or “ready-made”, and as a result people come to expect, even to demand, its presence—regardless of their behavior and its natural consequences.

Harry experiences storgē from and towards the people who have become his family. (Little side note: some of you may remember one of the possible titles passed around for Book 6—Harry Potter and the Pillar of Storgē, which is now quite humorous in hindsight. Hell, even JKR thought it was funny.)

The Weasleys are perhaps the most noticeable example, in that they love him for him—not for his fame or money or prestige. As I mentioned in my previous post, when we meet Ron for the first time, Harry has already met most of Ron’s immediate family; Molly helped him onto the platform, and the twins even helped him get his trunk onto the train and into a compartment—all before they realized who he was.

This says a great deal about the Weasleys—Molly Weasley, a textbook mother hen, sees a child alone without parents or other family members politely asking her for help, and offers it without hesitation. Her reaction to finding out it was Harry Potter? “No wonder he was alone.” Fred and George happily help what they think is just another little first-year get his trunk onto the train and squared away before either of them notices his scar. (Ron and Ginny's reactions are understandable, considering they're eleven and ten at the time, respectively.) Ron, Fred, and George came to rescue Harry after they figured out he needed rescuing. Ron even stood on a broken leg to stand up for his friends.

And on and on.

The Weasleys arguably took in Hermione as well, and after the Department of Mysteries I half-expected to see Neville and Luna hanging out around the Burrow—it’s been observed that love is the only thing in the world that gets bigger as you spread it around, and the Weasleys serve as an example.

You could also argue that Harry’s love for—and being loved by—Sirius falls into this category. No one had to convince either of them to care about each other; Sirius cared about Harry from the first, to hear Sirius tell it, and once Harry knew the truth about Sirius’ innocence it was almost like they’d been family all along. When Sirius dies, Harry’s reaction isn’t just that of one losing a close friend; it’s that of losing a family member. He’s losing a major connection to his parents, and a friend who’s been there for him whenever he could be. Granted, Sirius is mentally damaged by his stay in Azkaban—though not to the extent that the Marauder-loathers seem to wish think he was—but Harry was able to look past it. Proof that Harry doesn’t only judge on appearances—he isn’t as superficial as the Dursleys, folks!

Harry also loves other people this way—he feels an almost paternal protectiveness towards the people he cares for.

I would argue that Harry feels this way toward Ron and Hermione—he thinks of Hermione as a sister, and I would say that it’s not much of a stretch to say he thinks of Ron as his brother (though he definitely doesn’t think of Ginny that way). Ron and Hermione almost certainly feel the same way about him. They’re the ones he allows to come with him on the Long Campout, as I’ve come to call it, while Harry leaves Ginny behind.

Family is one’s support system. And I mean “support” in pretty much every sense of the word—emotional, psychological, spiritual, you name it. And Harry’s family is no exception. Even when Molly is being overprotective, they’re all there whenever he needs them, to the best of their ability. It’s why the loss of any of them is felt so keenly by Harry.

Voldemort does not understand this kind of love—one could argue that he took the path he did because he decided somewhere along the line, maybe even before Dumbledore came to the orphanage, that he neither needed nor wanted such a support system, vowing to become so strong and powerful that he would never need anyone’s protection. Like the aforementioned warlock in the Beedle the Bard story, he sees emotion as weakness.

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Second is philia (φιλíα). In Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, this is usually translated as “friendship”, though Aristotle’s use of the term is a bit broader than that—he includes young lovers, lifelong friends, political or business contacts, fellow soldiers, members of the same religious society or tribe, and numerous others. Aristotle describes philia as needing to be mutual (and thus excluding relationships with inanimate objects, though it may include pets). He defines the activity involved in philia in Rhetoric: “wanting for someone what one thinks good, for his sake and not for one's own, and being inclined, so far as one can, to do such things for him”. In other words, doing well by someone for his own sake, out of concern for him (and not merely for oneself), and seeking for them to do well by you. Aristotle even describes philia as necessary as a means to happiness.

Lewis, meanwhile, describes philia as a strong bond between people who share a common interest or activity—it doesn’t just mean companionship; in his sense, friendship only exists if there’s something for it to be “about.” It is the least “natural” of loves, according to Lewis, because it is not “built-in” or biologically necessary to progeny (as affection is to rearing a child, romance to creating a child, and charity to providing for a child).

The ancients believed (and Lewis agrees) that philia is the most admirable of loves because it does not look at the beloved—philia has the least association with impulse or emotion—but rather the “about”, the thing around which the relationship was formed.

I would argue that the Order of the Phoenix and the DA would fall under this heading to varying degrees (under the Aristotlean definition of “fellow soldiers” and “members of a society or fraternity”, as well as Lewis’ definition of having a common interest or activity—or, in this case, a common cause or purpose). Harry also feels this type of love toward people with whom he shares a common bond. He sees Neville as a friend (though maybe “comrade”—in the military sense—would be a more appropriate term), for example, because of the common bond of the prophecy. He sees Luna as a friend—or comrade—because they have the common bond of knowing what it’s like to be on the outside looking in, to be looked at differently because people who think they know everything about you actually know very little. Luna emphasizes that she is Harry's friend because she has so few of them.

One could argue that Harry's original bond with Ginny—which evolves into romantic love over time (friendships do that sometimes, and it's been said that if you love someone you should try to have them as a friend first)—is based on their own common bond, formed in the Chamber of Secrets, and the fact that they both either were or are connected to Voldemort, and have both had to face him at one time or another in their lives. He has also fought beside Neville and Luna, and that forms a bond of its own.

If Ginny qualifies, then so do Ron and Hermione—while Harry initially wants to leave them behind while he hunts Horcruxes, in the hopes of keeping them safe, they have the common bond forged by years of friendship. They were bonded together in the first place by a common experience—the troll—and this bond has only grown stronger since.

Harry’s friends and comrades play a major role in the war. Neville, Ginny, and Luna keep the DA going even after Harry has left the school, and the Order continues to fight Voldemort from behind the scenes wherever they can.

Voldemort does not understand this kind of love either—people, to him, are tools to be used, allies are to be cultivated than discarded the moment they cease to be useful. He is unable—or at least unwilling—to form real bonds with anyone.

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Third is érōs (ἔρως), which is romantic or passionate love—love in the sense of “being in love.” The modern Greek word erotas means “(romantic) love”. While the term “erotic” is also derived from eros, Lewis saw it as distinct from sexuality (he calls the latter Venus, and spends time discussing sexual activity and its spiritual significance in both a pagan and a Christian sense). Eros is indifferent—it promotes appreciation of the beloved regardless of any pleasure that can be derived from them. It is not superficial, not just hormones.

One of the main problems with Harmonianism—or any other ship-centered interpretation, for that matter, but Harmonianism in particular—is that it elevates romantic love to the point where it is considered superior to all others—and not just romantic love, but a certain specific kind of romantic love. They seem to believe that not only is their “brand” of romantic love superior to all other types of interpersonal relationships, but that all other interpersonal relationships should be forgotten and discarded once one has found their “true love”—because apparently that’s what life’s all about. Harmonians seem to believe—or at least they did before HBP—that once Harry and Hermione had discovered their true love for each other, all other relationships (particularly friendships, as well as acquaintances, or even family) were supposed to fall by the wayside, as none of them had the potential to develop into romantic love and were thus “inferior”. (One wonders how Harry is supposed to defeat Voldemort if he spends all his time schtupping his girlfriend, but the Harmonians seemed to believe before HBP that their love would be so epic and powerful that it could destroy Voldemort all by itself, or that Voldemort would cease to be a problem once Harry had his love life sorted—hmm… convenient.) They are emotionally invested in this idea—this idea of “true, meaningful love” being superior to all other kinds of interpersonal relationships—to a frankly troubling degree. While romantic love is not superficial, these people stretch the idea to the extent that apparently romantic love cannot begin with or even include mutual attraction or sexual tension. One cannot help but wonder how these people fare in actual interpersonal relationships, especially with people who disagree with their interpretations.

This centering on one type of love to the neglect of all others can be a problem. Lewis realizes it, and points it out: he admits that eros can be bad because it often leads to tragedy. You could argue that this is the main point of so many tales of “star-crossed lovers”—no matter what John and Paul tell you, love is not all you need.

Lewis warns against this mindset—the danger of elevating any kind of love to the point where it supplants everything else. Love can become corrupt by presuming itself to be what it is not (“love begins to be a demon the moment he begins to be a god”). Too much of anything can be bad for you.

While Harry does not experience this love in any real sense before Voldemort is defeated (neither he nor Ginny says “I love you”, and even at the end of HBP Ginny only says she “likes” Harry a great deal), the roots are there, and so is the promise. They definitely seem to feel at least the beginnings of this toward each other, and by the time of the epilogue, they seem to have come into it. While the Harmonians seem to think that romantic love means you're all over each other all the time, the truth is that that kind of thing doesn't last forever. If real love is there, it tends to settle down to a constant, abiding love. Sure, the fire may need to be re-lit every now and then, but you don't have to be all hot and heavy all the time.

Anyway.

The promise gives Harry something to look forward to, something to keep him going. The promise of a life with Ginny—something approaching “normality”—gets him through the Long Campout, but it doesn’t consume his every thought (nor should it, really).

Harry certainly witnesses this kind of love in action—I honestly enjoy Arthur and Molly’s relationship, for example. In a way it’s like watching what Ron and Hermione might turn into given enough time (in the sense that Molly is a bit high-strung and hot-tempered wile Arthur knows how to calm her down). One could argue that he sees it between Vernon and Petunia, despite the fact that their constant concern for how they are perceived by the neighbors even seems to affect how they interact in their own home. I can see Harry wanting that kind of relationship—more the Weasleys than the Dursleys, of course—for himself.

Voldemort, again, does not understand this kind of love—again, people are tools to be used and disposed of, and if he ever was in love with anybody, it probably ended badly enough to decide he neither wanted nor needed it.

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Last, but most definitely not least, is agápē (ἀγάπη, called caritas in Latin). The word has been used in different ways by a variety of contemporary and ancient sources, including Biblical authors. Many have thought that this word represents divine, unconditional, self-sacrificing, active, volitional, and thoughtful love. Lewis describes this as charitable love; unconditional love towards one’s fellow man, not dependent on any lovable qualities that the loved one possesses. This is the love that brings forth caring regardless of circumstance, and Lewis regards it as the greatest of loves, considering it to be a uniquely Christian virtue. Lewis’ chapter on the subject focuses on the need of subordinating the natural loves to the love of God, who is full of charitable love. Lewis states that "He is so full, in fact, that it overflows, and He can't help but love us." Lewis metaphorically compares love with a garden, charity with the gardening utensils, the lover as the gardener, and God as the elements of nature. God's love and guidance act on our natural love (that cannot remain what it is by itself) as the sun and rain act on a garden: without either, the object (metaphorically the garden; realistically love itself) would cease to be beautiful or worthy. This is the love that is the greatest of the theological virtues. This is what John meant when saying “God is love. (ὁ θεὸς ἀγάπη ἐστίν)” This is what 1 Corinthians 13 is talking about.

But I digress. As for Harry…

Well, three words (well, three and one hyphen) come to mind: “saving-people thing.”

We see this love from the beginning of the series to the end. This is the kind of love that motivated Lily Potter to give her life for her son, and then motivated Harry to (apparently) give his own life so Voldemort would be defeated. (John 15:13—“Greater love has no one than this; that he lay down his life for his friends.”) This is self-sacrificing love, and in the Potterverse this is a very powerful thing indeed. Harry is protected by his mother’s self-sacrificing love for most of his life, and Harry’s own self-sacrificing protects his friends and comrades after he allows Voldemort to kill him.

Harry’s self-sacrificing tendencies have been pointed out by essayist and author alike numerous times over the last few years, but not many of them realize that it’s not a personality flaw, but rather a virtue. (Least of all Hermione, who not only put a name to it but was the first in the series to be on the receiving end of it—if not for Harry’s “saving-people thing” she would be ded from troll. Seriously.) Many authors seem to think it’s a problem he should get past, which shows that they really are missing the point. Harry not caring about what happens to himself as long as those he cares for are okay—yes, he has a tendency to blame himself and think himself solely responsible for their safety, but if nothing else his heart is in the right place.

Voldemort does not understand this kind of love—he sees it as cowardly, as Harry letting people throw themselves between him and those who would do him harm; in his belief that nothing is worse than death, he is unable to understand why someone would give their life protecting someone else. To a certain extent he is unable even to understand the kind of devotion the more loyal and/or fanatical Death Eaters feel toward him—and it ends up biting him in the ass when he takes it for granted.

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In summation, when fanits screech about how it was supposed to be “love” that won the war, it proves they’re not reading between the lines. And this is because to them, there is only one definition for “love”—or at least only one that actually matters. 

Love is definitely involved—but, again, it’s not all about romance, sex, and babies. In the end, friendship, family, camaraderie, and charity won the day—the good guys won not because of some superior kind of magic or style of fighting, but because they care for one another—and there were people who were willing to put everything on the line for those they cared for.

It was one thing the OP movie got right—the good guys did indeed have something Voldemort didn’t: something worth fighting for.