J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone owes a debt to previous fantasy writers like Le Guin and Tolkien as evidenced by her use of magic, her secondary world, and the inclusion of fantasy creatures, but the result is something quite different, namely that Rowling’s work lacks the ‘numinous’— the spiritual, supernatural, and mysterious feeling of a world separate from reality. Le Guin and Tolkien’s books have a religious quality, a mythological depth which reinforces the otherworldly feeling of their secondary worlds, a sense of awe which arises from the comparison between two different spheres : One mystical and one material, neither which account for the full scope of reality (Brawley, 53). Rowling combines the mystical and the material such that the secondary and primary worlds weave in and out from each other; the magic, consequently, becomes commonplace, and the irrational mystery is lost.
The state of the numinous is described by Rudolph Otto in his book The Idea of the Holy as an otherworldly sense of awe evoked by “that which is hidden and esoteric, that which is beyond conception or understanding, [the] extraordinary and unfamiliar” (13); it is “the hushed, trembling, and speechless humility of [a] creature in the presence of that which is a Mystery inexpressible and above all creatures” (13). This inexpressible mystery presents humans with something without rational explanation, something absent a ‘problem’ to be solved, and, consequently, this mystery enters into something “beyond our apprehension and comprehension, not only because our knowledge has certain irremovable limits, but because in it we come upon something inherently ‘wholly other’, whose kind and character are incommensurable with our own, and before which we therefore recoil in a wonder that strikes us chill and numb” (28). Essentially, we lose our sense of control through logical incompatibility, which threatens our ego. Otto uses ghosts to illustrate this concept: Ghosts draw interest from humans because they entice the imagination towards something outside of reality, something that “doesn’t really exist at all, the ‘wholly other,’” of which fear or curiosity is aroused (29). Thus, we are emotionally invested in something we know is outside of reality, and this threatens our understanding of the real world.
The numinous reinforces the mystery of fantasy by further separating the secondary world from reality, creating a high stakes journey incompatible with material life. Ursula Le Guin argues that without the numinous, the fantasy world becomes a mere game or escape from reality, which represents “spontaneous play” or “escapism of the most admirable kind” (39). She sees authentic fantasy, rather, as “a journey into the subconscious mind, just as psychoanalysis is,” and “like psychoanalysis, it can be dangerous; and it will change you” (56). Therefore, it is not enough to include fantasy elements to create the numinous : “The general assumption is that, if there are dragons or hippogriffs in a book, or if it takes place in a vaguely Celtic or Near Eastern medieval setting, or if magic is done in it, then it’s a fantasy. This is a mistake” (56). The idea is that without a mythical world separate from concrete existence, fantasy is closer to reality with dragons, and not the spiritual change of heroes under duress of things beyond comprehension. “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” engages with fantasy in a similar fashion, a reality with magical elements rather than two separate worlds, and it is a significant difference between Rowling and her predecessors, despite her inclusion of magic and fantasy creatures.
Magic in Le Guin’s The Tombs of Atuan is a mysterious phenomenon, an otherworldly presence talked of and felt, but never seen. The tombs Arha explores have an air of mythology infused into them; legends of dead spirits who are ‘unborn,’ and forever doomed to the darkness of the tomb. These ‘nameless ones’ are talked of in hushed tones, as if they were present but unseen (227). Ged, for example, fights back against their influence by casting spells to ward them off : “I have filled these tunnels with an endless net of spells, spells of sleep, of stillness, of concealment, and yet still they are aware of me, half aware; half sleeping, half awake. And even so I am all but worn out, striving against them” (167). The spells he speaks of are non-descript, with no explanation in the coming pages. His use of magic is a metaphor for his own struggle against this dark place, but it also has a primary meaning of true magic, one which asks us to question if this is some form we can grasp with logic. Is this real magic? There is a sense of wonder caused by this logical incompatibility, much like the fear of ghosts comes from the idea that there is something out there which doesn’t exist but which we can fear.
Equally filled with mystery is sorcery, which Arha discusses with her mentor, Kossil : “If the tales be true even in part. The wizards of the West can raise and still the winds, and make them blow whither they will. On that, all agree, and tell the same tale. That is why they are great sailors; they can put the wind of magic in their sails, and go where they will, and hush the storms at sea. And it is said that they can make light at will, and darkness; and change rocks to diamonds, and lead to gold; that they can build a great palace or a whole city in one instant, at least in seeming; that they can turn themselves into bears, or fish, or dragons, just as they please” (81). The tale is mere legend, spoken as rumor, evidenced by Kossil’s rejection of it as “Tricks, deceptions, and jugglery;” and so the reader is posed to wonder if there is magic at play, and if there is, what its true limits are (81). Further, these wizards are absent, as Kossil has never seen them herself— although she describes them in depth— but rather the stories are meant to instill fear in Arha of those who wield their own light, and who associate with dragons and cast spells (81). The magic here builds a mythology, one which evokes wonder at an unknown force.
Similarly, magic in The Hobbit is an unknown force without rational explanation, and it appears to be intrinsic to Middle-Earth since it occurs rarely, a mystical force brought into existence not from training or incantations or destiny but the spiritual essence of the world. When the adventurers fight off a gang of trolls, for example, they find sacks of gold that they bury along the road along with a “great many spells” to find them again (69). Later, Gandalf releases a “terrific flash like lightning” from his staff in the goblin caves, killing several goblins (92). The incantation over the treasure acts as a means to foreshadow the return journey, and it hints at an unknown magic in Middle-Earth. Gandalf’s lightning reinforces his role as the spiritual helper, and as a powerful wizard with magic beyond comprehension. Other elements like Bilbo’s sword glowing when goblins are near, or the ring making him invisible, act as significant plot points to further his growth as a leader. Bilbo is evolving through the use of divine elements which are needed to further his journey. Middle-Earth is secondary to reality here, with the character growth of Bilbo happening through mystical aid; this magic has parallels to reality—courage, bravery, tenacity—that causes the reader to reflect on their own material world. But without magic, Bilbo is accomplishing what anyone could do in reality, without the help of the divine, and thus the numinous is broken.
Rowling includes magic in her story, but it is used with such frequency, and talked about so openly, that it seems commonplace and thus locked in reality rather than the mystical, essentially reducing its numinal impact. This lessens the mystery of the secondary world of Hogwarts since magic is a defined element, which only requires skill, practice, and knowledge to wield, much like anything in reality. In Snape’s class, for instance, Harry learns formulas for magic concoctions : “asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death” (156). This affects the importance of magic to the narrative since one could imagine it replaced with an everyday item—any schoolwork, really. Plus, Harry seems to use magic without much effort—a good example is his first lesson in quidditch where he earns a spot on the team by flying his broom better than anyone else at House Gryffindor : “The boy’s a natural,” says McGonagall (171). Conversely, Bilbo has no inherent skills other than his curiosity and tenacity, but he requires the ring to hone his skills as a thief and to build the courage to save his friends from danger. Magic helps Bilbo’s true self emerge—a leader—but without it he is lost, a fitting metaphor for his meek nature, an invisible creature. Harry, however, doesn’t need magic to move the plot forward—it’s his Mother’s love, for instance, that allows him to burn Quirrell with his touch (331); and so whether he fits into school, makes friends, or solves the mystery of the philosopher’s stone depends on his own real world qualities and ‘special’ nature, not magic.
The inclusion of fantasy creatures, much like magic, is ubiquitous, which further reduces the separation of Hogwarts from reality. These creatures appear at various points in the story, but they have little impact on the plot, and most lack detail. The goblin in the bank, for example, is described as “about a head shorter than Harry,” with “a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet” (86). He has little personality, too, with his sole plot function to guide Harry and Hagrid to Harry’s money. Another strange inclusion is the giant squid “basking in the shallows” who is having his feet tickled by the Weasley twins (292). This comes after they finish their exams, and it is the last mention of this creature. Plotwise, it stands as a flourish of magic to instill awe to Hogwarts, or perhaps to emphasize the imaginative, dream-like quality of Hogwarts. The painting that talks in House Gryffindor is similar, with its inclusion seeming to add magic into a scenario where one could imagine it without. In essence, there is a sense that these magic entities are seeping into reality, creating a feeling of playfulness opposite the gravitas of Le Guin and Tolkien.
Overall, Rowling creates an entertaining fantasy, but it lacks the mythbuilding of Tolkien and Le Guin, bringing it closer to reality with fantastic elements. Chris Brawley describes the latter writers as “mythopoeic” authors, that is : “They are attempting to recreate (mythos=“story”; poenin=“recreate”) a new mythology in order to infuse readers with the sense of the transcendent which is no longer accessible, for many people, in religion” (9). Rowling, on the other hand, places this power in the close association the imagination has to reality, using the imagination to enrich what already exists. Roni Natov illustrates that this association between imagination and reality is a strength of Rowling’s work: “In Rowling’s stories, the interpenetration of the two worlds suggests the way in which we live, not only in childhood, though especially so—on more than one plane, with the life of the imagination and daily life moving in and out of our consciousness” (314). The Muggle world, for example, permits magic to exist, as seen early in the story where the Dursleys encounter magic phenomena from Hogwarts creeping into their world, like the boa constrictor jumping out of its cage—the glass disappears—and speaking to Harry : “Brazil, here I come…Thanksss, amigo” (38). This is perhaps why her fantasy is so accessible : Reality and fantasy coexist, creating a light-hearted world where the lines between the ordinary and extraordinary are blurred and everything is permitted.
Works Cited
Brawley, Chris. Nature and the Numinous in Mythopoeic Fantasy Literature. E-Book, McFarland, 2014.
Le Guin, Ursula. The Tombs of Atuan. E-Book, Pocket Books, 2020.
Natov, Roni. “Harry Potter and the Extraordinariness of the Ordinary.” The Lion and the Unicorn, vol. 25, no. 2, 2001, p. 310-327. Project MUSE, https://doi.org/10.1353/uni.2001.0024.
Otto, Rudolph. The Idea of the Holy. 2nd ed., Oxford University Press, 1950. Internet Archive. Accessed 16 March 2024.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. E-Book, HarperCollinsPublishers, 2006.