James the Stag
What does it do to one’s psyche to spend a lot of time as an animal?
In LeGuin’s Earthsea books, one of the dangers of magically transforming into an animal is that the animal instincts might overwhelm one’s human mind-in some cases permanently. We see it happen to the young wizard Ged when he transforms into a hawk to escape his enemies-he loses himself in flight, and has to be returned to his humanity by his master. There’s a story of the mage who, as a bear, tore apart his own little son and had to be hunted and killed. We also are told that one can lose one’s humanity a little at a time, becoming engrossed with the satisfactions of being a beast, as with those who chose to become dolphins and lose themselves in the pleasures of the sea.
Rowling, in contrast, does not invite us to consider this as a problem. But Peter the man is consistently presented as ratlike (and as with an actual rat his true intelligence and the danger he can pose is often underrated), and Sirius is characterized by doglike devotion to those he loves and indifference or animosity to those outside his pack. (Unfortunately domestic dogs have been bred for dozens of different purposes, each with its own personality type, so one would need to know what breed Sirius is to determine how well his character matches.) A moggie with very young kittens coddles them; but she expects the fully weaned kits to be largely independent and to be working on perfecting their hunting skills. Which rather describes Minerva’s attitude towards her half-grown charges.
Most fans seem to infer that the Animagus transformation reveals one’s true inner beast. But might not spending time as one’s favored beast also reinforce the more bestial part of one’s nature?
Consider James.
The Stag traditionally symbolizes nobility, courage, honor, male sexuality, and protection. Certainly when Harry casts his Stag Patronus that’s the symbolism he’s invoking, and that’s his original image of his father. Indeed, for a short time Harry thought that the Stag Patronus WAS his father, Prongs, somehow returned to protect him.
When Harry saw, in SWM, James acting in a way utterly inconsistent with that image-behaving ignobly and dishonorably (for idle entertainment ambushing another student four on one), his male sexuality exhibitionism rather than paternalism, and assaulting rather than protecting the less privileged-Harry was devastated. It shattered the image of his father that he had treasured, the heraldic figure of The Stag.
Now, The Noble Stag did seem to be the image James liked to portray to others, and perhaps it even was the image James had of himself.
But what is a physical stag, a mammal with fur and scent glands, that cervid James regularly transformed himself into, really like?
Stags may symbolize the chivalric code, but in fact male deer play no role whatsoever in protecting either their own offspring or the herd as a whole. Nor do they, Disney fantasies aside, protect their mates-except against potential rivals, if you want to call that protection. Stags, except during rutting season, live mostly with other males. They use their horns almost exclusively in mating fights, and their primary social interaction is posturing for or sparring with other males. Fawns are raised and protected exclusively by the hinds.
Think of Severus’s dismissal of James as “arrogant and strutting.” Sev was hardly an impartial observer, but this is fully in accord with the actual behavior of stags.
James, in canon, put demonstrating his loyalty to his friends and showing off over protecting his wife and child (choosing a fellow Marauder as Secret-Keeper with a clever scheme to outsmart Voldemort over the infallible but stodgy choice of Dumbledore*). He was, according to Lily’s letter, frustrated when he had to stay home with Lily and the baby instead of running around with other (mostly male) members of the Order.
The books actually showed James using his magic only as stags use their horns: to posture and to attack rivals, never to protect anyone else. We actually SAW James use magic three times: to attack Severus in a Lily-directed mating display (SWM); to lure cops into a dangerous high-speed chase and then use their vehicle to kill-showily-the boys’ other, magical, pursuers (Prequel-and before someone objects that James and Sirius did protect those fat, stupid Muggles there: saving someone from a danger you lured them into doesn’t count.), and in Godric’s Hollow, to show off to the baby. (DH, “Bathilda’s Secret”)
Besides the magic canon actually shows James performing, readers are TOLD of James’s other feats of magic: repeatedly, that he was a Quidditch star (which is the epitome of using magic as display); in SWM, by Lily, that he was always “walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can;” that he used his Animagus abilities to explore off-limits areas and to endanger others by letting loose a werewolf; and that he, with others, made a Map which allowed him to evade authorities and ambush people. And of course, Harry’s post-Sectumsempra detentions in HBP gave Harry the opportunity to enjoy the “record of their [James and Sirius’s] great achievements….” Which comprised “an illegal hex” and “various petty misdeeds.”
We see James use magic for his own gratification, to show off, to attack potential rivals, to escape authority, to endanger others. We never once see him use it to benefit others or to protect someone.
James, in fact, was shown as acting very much like his Animagus animal. Not like the Symbol of Nobility and Valor, like the rank, irresponsible (in human terms), living-to-show-off-and-beat-rivals beast. And to the extent that he did, it was not to his credit. Nor was Sirius’s doglike devotion to, and only to, his pack mates, nor Peter’s combination of guile and cornered courage. If the Animagus transformation affects the personality, it’s not beneficially.
*See “Choosing a Secret-Keeper” for my reasoning why even if Peter had been fully trustworthy, the whole switched-Secret-Keeper scheme was a piece of cleverness that was arrogant, foolish, and doomed to failure.
I’d recently re-read Georgette Heyer’s Devil’s Cub, which contains the following exchange between the Duke of Avon and Miss Challoner:
“Do I understand that you carried out this remarkable plan?” he inquired.
“Oh, yes, sir. But it went sadly awry.”
“That was to have been expected,” he said gently.
“I suppose so,” she sighed. “It was a silly plan.”
The Duke’s comment pretty much sums up my opinion of James and Sirius’s remarkable plan.
In LeGuin’s Earthsea books, one of the dangers of magically transforming into an animal is that the animal instincts might overwhelm one’s human mind-in some cases permanently. We see it happen to the young wizard Ged when he transforms into a hawk to escape his enemies-he loses himself in flight, and has to be returned to his humanity by his master. There’s a story of the mage who, as a bear, tore apart his own little son and had to be hunted and killed. We also are told that one can lose one’s humanity a little at a time, becoming engrossed with the satisfactions of being a beast, as with those who chose to become dolphins and lose themselves in the pleasures of the sea.
Rowling, in contrast, does not invite us to consider this as a problem. But Peter the man is consistently presented as ratlike (and as with an actual rat his true intelligence and the danger he can pose is often underrated), and Sirius is characterized by doglike devotion to those he loves and indifference or animosity to those outside his pack. (Unfortunately domestic dogs have been bred for dozens of different purposes, each with its own personality type, so one would need to know what breed Sirius is to determine how well his character matches.) A moggie with very young kittens coddles them; but she expects the fully weaned kits to be largely independent and to be working on perfecting their hunting skills. Which rather describes Minerva’s attitude towards her half-grown charges.
Most fans seem to infer that the Animagus transformation reveals one’s true inner beast. But might not spending time as one’s favored beast also reinforce the more bestial part of one’s nature?
Consider James.
The Stag traditionally symbolizes nobility, courage, honor, male sexuality, and protection. Certainly when Harry casts his Stag Patronus that’s the symbolism he’s invoking, and that’s his original image of his father. Indeed, for a short time Harry thought that the Stag Patronus WAS his father, Prongs, somehow returned to protect him.
When Harry saw, in SWM, James acting in a way utterly inconsistent with that image-behaving ignobly and dishonorably (for idle entertainment ambushing another student four on one), his male sexuality exhibitionism rather than paternalism, and assaulting rather than protecting the less privileged-Harry was devastated. It shattered the image of his father that he had treasured, the heraldic figure of The Stag.
Now, The Noble Stag did seem to be the image James liked to portray to others, and perhaps it even was the image James had of himself.
But what is a physical stag, a mammal with fur and scent glands, that cervid James regularly transformed himself into, really like?
Stags may symbolize the chivalric code, but in fact male deer play no role whatsoever in protecting either their own offspring or the herd as a whole. Nor do they, Disney fantasies aside, protect their mates-except against potential rivals, if you want to call that protection. Stags, except during rutting season, live mostly with other males. They use their horns almost exclusively in mating fights, and their primary social interaction is posturing for or sparring with other males. Fawns are raised and protected exclusively by the hinds.
Think of Severus’s dismissal of James as “arrogant and strutting.” Sev was hardly an impartial observer, but this is fully in accord with the actual behavior of stags.
James, in canon, put demonstrating his loyalty to his friends and showing off over protecting his wife and child (choosing a fellow Marauder as Secret-Keeper with a clever scheme to outsmart Voldemort over the infallible but stodgy choice of Dumbledore*). He was, according to Lily’s letter, frustrated when he had to stay home with Lily and the baby instead of running around with other (mostly male) members of the Order.
The books actually showed James using his magic only as stags use their horns: to posture and to attack rivals, never to protect anyone else. We actually SAW James use magic three times: to attack Severus in a Lily-directed mating display (SWM); to lure cops into a dangerous high-speed chase and then use their vehicle to kill-showily-the boys’ other, magical, pursuers (Prequel-and before someone objects that James and Sirius did protect those fat, stupid Muggles there: saving someone from a danger you lured them into doesn’t count.), and in Godric’s Hollow, to show off to the baby. (DH, “Bathilda’s Secret”)
Besides the magic canon actually shows James performing, readers are TOLD of James’s other feats of magic: repeatedly, that he was a Quidditch star (which is the epitome of using magic as display); in SWM, by Lily, that he was always “walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can;” that he used his Animagus abilities to explore off-limits areas and to endanger others by letting loose a werewolf; and that he, with others, made a Map which allowed him to evade authorities and ambush people. And of course, Harry’s post-Sectumsempra detentions in HBP gave Harry the opportunity to enjoy the “record of their [James and Sirius’s] great achievements….” Which comprised “an illegal hex” and “various petty misdeeds.”
We see James use magic for his own gratification, to show off, to attack potential rivals, to escape authority, to endanger others. We never once see him use it to benefit others or to protect someone.
James, in fact, was shown as acting very much like his Animagus animal. Not like the Symbol of Nobility and Valor, like the rank, irresponsible (in human terms), living-to-show-off-and-beat-rivals beast. And to the extent that he did, it was not to his credit. Nor was Sirius’s doglike devotion to, and only to, his pack mates, nor Peter’s combination of guile and cornered courage. If the Animagus transformation affects the personality, it’s not beneficially.
*See “Choosing a Secret-Keeper” for my reasoning why even if Peter had been fully trustworthy, the whole switched-Secret-Keeper scheme was a piece of cleverness that was arrogant, foolish, and doomed to failure.
I’d recently re-read Georgette Heyer’s Devil’s Cub, which contains the following exchange between the Duke of Avon and Miss Challoner:
“Do I understand that you carried out this remarkable plan?” he inquired.
“Oh, yes, sir. But it went sadly awry.”
“That was to have been expected,” he said gently.
“I suppose so,” she sighed. “It was a silly plan.”
The Duke’s comment pretty much sums up my opinion of James and Sirius’s remarkable plan.