Narcissism is like Voldemort.
You’re not supposed to talk about it! But wait, there’s another even bigger similarity. Click to find it out.
Spoilers ahead. If you’ve never read Harry Potter, and want to read it, skip this article for now.
So… I grew up with the Harry Potter series. 13-year-old Lucy was naive and thought this series was famous BECAUSE it was innovative and clever. Today, I know better, and in retrospect I can see how it rose to prominence because the author was very unthreatening to the ruling elites — and as a nice bonus, she had an easy-to-read style children enjoyed.
I dislike the symbolism in Harry Potter for the most part because it pretends to be esoteric when in fact it’s very Christian. For example, snakes = “traitors” (not a symbol of medicine? Of wisdom? Of mystery? Of Dionysus? I worship him, I’d be so happy to see that included! Anyway, so many other concepts that are way older than this Adam and Eve trope… *frustrated sigh*). Harry Potter spells are in Latin and not Elvish or some other fantasy language, because Latin was the language of the Roman Empire, which disseminated Christianity all over Europe, so this language came to be associated with religious stuff — but it’s specifically Church stuff. (Hence, the common trope that speaking Latin “summons demons”: demons as we know them are a Christian concept). And if you’re not fully convinced that Harry Potter repackages Christianity with a “fake witchcraft” mask, look no further than Mormons being okay with it. Anyway… The authors using fantasy languages for witchcraft are actually MORE accurate than JK Rowling! There’s a lot more, the examples of veiled Christianity in the series are endless… But I won’t dwell on it too much or this article will become a tangent.
As an ally to the LGBTQ+ cause, I also dislike JK Rowling, and this connects back to the reason why she is so Christian and so neoliberal in her politics (“the hero becomes a cop, because cops can only be good”, among other gems in the series) but again, this would derail today’s article a bit too much. All that said, I’ll talk about a metaphor I perceived in the series, which is coming in handy for me today.
The only thing in the Harry Potter universe I’m still to this day a big fan of is Voldemort. He’s super creative as a character when you look at him as a metaphor of narcissism. I don’t know and don’t have the will to speculate on whether JK Rowling even intended this metaphor, but I can like it whilst disliking her at the same time because I worship Apollo, and by extension, the Muses. I believe the Muses inspire us without our consent — and that’s, in fact, when we create our best works of art.
So, Voldemort is, by far, the BEST metaphor of narcissism I’ve ever seen in fiction. Let me explain how and why:
“He who shall not be named”
Narcissism is a unique kind of evil because it only thrives when it’s an elephant nobody is addressing in the room. The moment you point it out, the people who benefit from narcissism start despairing — they know their days of benefitting from it are counted. If you contrast narcissism to other evils, say, for example, Machiavellianism… You notice that Machiavellianism will keep going even if you point it out. It simply becomes overt. In order to defeat it, you need more than just giving it a name. However, with narcissism, giving it a name IS defeating it. The ego dislikes seeing its reflection on the mirror — that’s why it’s so quick to project.
Other evils can thrive beyond getting recognised because they are real. Narcissism struggles to thrive beyond being recognised because it’s an illusion. It was never real. It’s afraid of its accurate reflection.
(Oh, wait, there’s a magic mirror in Harry Potter as well, isn’t there? A mirror that never accurately reflects anyone, but just shows them what they want to see. And where is Voldemort first seen in the first book of the series? Looking at this mirror. That’s not a coincidence).
Not wanting to be named is a bigger deal for this villain character than it should be. The insistence borders on comical. His original name is Tom Riddle, for god’s sake! Although, to be fair, that’s sort of just Rowling being Rowling — she names her characters according to the most glaring (and lazy) stereotypes. This can be exciting for 13-year-old Lucy learning English with help from the Harry Potter series (since, ya know, languages are easier to memorise, the dumber you make your analogies), but probably a bit insulting in case you’re a native speaker reading it for the first time. I don’t know for sure, though, can’t relate. Let me know. Leave a comment.
Anyway, from lazy naming conventions based on stereotypes that make you wonder how the fuck you didn’t see Rowling’s old-fashioned conservatism that reeks of mould coming, to a massive amount of plot holes that would send anyone who started a drinking game into an alcoholic coma… Fatphobia galore, female characters hating each other unless they’re the motherly kind… And whatever the hell was the idea of house elves glorifying slavery (because of course it gets worse than just making amateurish writing mistakes…) That’s it, I’m choosing to credit the Muses, and not Rowling, for the single instance of brilliance in this series. Namely, Voldemort’s villain arc = a cautionary tale about narcissism.
Running away from death at all costs. Death, in Harry Potter, is a metaphor of shame.
That’s because [healthy] shame is death to the ego. Oh, you thought it was enlightenment? Nope. It’s shame. Enlightenment is a long way further down that same pipeline (maybe don’t whitewash Buddhism, and you’ll find this simple lesson too). I mean, this is why the Eastern masters of old weren’t shy with insults. “Why insult a new disciple so much”, you might ask? — it’s because the ability to handle shame is the first lesson. If you can withstand some shame, even finding the humour in it, you’re not letting your ego take control of your entire psyche.
When you look at the tale of the deathly hallows, which are objects that essentially defeat this “Death” character, they all point to escaping shame: the invincible wand won’t let you make mistakes, and therefore, you can feel no shame. The invisibility cloak allows you to hide from shame if it does get to you. The stone of resurrection doesn’t truly bring anyone back, but it brings back a pretty convincing image — akin to the fake self narcissists rely on. Are these deathly hallows ringing a bell to you now? Combined, they make up Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD).
Defeat by a mother’s love for her son, AKA, narcissism cannot thrive where real selves exist.
Something I have recently noticed revisiting this Harry Potter series is that there’s a metaphor about reality distortion embedded into the world-building. Specifically, a metaphor that points to the difference between a “real self” and a “false self”.
You see, Voldemort uses these artifices to keep himself immortal (actually, more on discussing horcruxes soon. Scroll down), and creating these horcruxes requires killing people. He goes as far as trying to kill a baby, but fails at that, because the mother protected him. She dies in the baby’s place. Now, let’s pay attention at HOW she protects her baby. This mother is a witch, she normally has tricks up her sleeve as well; but during this scene, she doesn’t use any magic. She reacts instinctively and saves the baby via this radical authenticity. In doing so, she exposes Voldemort. She forces him to confront his accurate reflection. Hence, when he tries to finally get to the baby, he perishes.
The mother, in this fateful scene, represents the real self. Voldemort (narcissism, using a false self) doesn’t just try to kill her; he does. He kills her.
There’s an obvious metaphor here, but there’s also something else under the surface: in order for Narcissistic Personality Disorder to take hold, one needs to kill a real self and replace it with a false self. Not just “think about” killing it; not just “consider” killing it; not just “entertaining fantasies of” killing it. ACTUALLY killing it. Going and doing it.
Do you see the dimension of this wisdom? It completely debunks a common fear victims of narcissists have: “am I a narcissist too?”, usually followed by “I suspect I might be because I have entertained fantasies of forever hiding who I am and wearing a social mask permanently” (or your chosen wording for the same thing). The answer is no, because (to use Harry Potter metaphor and keep with this article’s theme) you can’t kill Lily just by fantasising about killing Lily.
(Side note: I love that Harry Potter’s name is literally the commonest English boy name and surname stringed together. It’s basically saying, “look, any plain joe can defeat a narcissist. All you gotta do is stay authentic”).
The horcrux thing
According to wizard lore in Harry Potter, a horcrux is an object where you can place a fragment of your soul in order to preserve it for eternity (so you don’t die as long as the object is intact). The problem is… what survives? You? In your entirety? Well, no. What survives is a fragment of you; by which we can conclude, via this metaphor, that narcissists DO HAVE a real self. It’s not fully developed, it looks like a fragment, and it’s “trapped” in a place where it’s prevented from evolving and growing (that’s the price they agreed to pay in order to never feel shame. Remember that shame = death in the metaphor, and also, possibly, in NPD people’s understanding)… But it’s there. The real self exists. It just needs a way out if there’s any hope of healing.
(Keep in mind that that is how narcissism is treated in the Harry Potter series. It’s not necessarily all there is to it, because as far as I can tell, JK Rowling isn’t a Psychiatrist; but the metaphors are enlightening and definitely show SOME truth).
Let’s look a bit deeper into the incapacity for learning and growth. There’s a tangent incoming, but bear with me:
If we conceptualise life = learning and growing, then what ARE narcissists doing? Because they sure as hell aren’t living. One could say they’re barely surviving, and that’s probably true. Voldemort is a very unique, creative and fascinating villain because he attacks himself more than he attacks others. This theme of “being evil to yourself first” can be found in all villains in fiction, I’m sure — especially if you subscribe to Jungian theory regarding projection — but Voldemort makes that so much easier to notice and learn from. His whole character trope is centered around the concept of “preventing death at all costs” (well, preventing shame. Shame is death in the series). We’re led to believe that he is so afraid of death, he’s willing to do ANYTHING to avoid it — even self-defeating things. And that’s where his character progression gets entertaining.
For example, in the 6th book, we’re introduced to the idea that witches and wizards are capable of inventing brand new spells. This is an interesting plot twist because we’re subtly led to believe, throughout the series, that magic has a “stagnated” quality to it — judging by how it’s always in Latin (ya know, a dead language), and the same knowledge seems to be passed over through the generations without change since the Middle Ages. However, in the 6th book, Professor Snape invents a spell, notes it in a diary, and Harry gets his hands on it. This seems like a detail, but it’s VERY significant when you’re analysing Lord Voldemort as a character: he’s supposed to be this evil mastermind that everybody is afraid of and no-one has ever defeated… But he can’t make up his own spells? Whereas a much more “average” wizard (Snape) can? What the hell.
You see, if we ignore the plot holes that this creates (I won’t get into that here… But yes, this plot twist wasn’t very well executed), and if we focus solely on the fact Snape can but Voldemort can’t create new spells even though that’d certainly give a villain a new dangerous advantage in his duels… What does that imply?
In my understanding, it implies that (again! Quelle surprise) Voldemort is narcissistic, and Snape isn’t. Snape is just your average person, all things considered, because he accepts that we as human beings must go through a cycle: birth, growth, (optional) reproduction (sorry, Snape, I know you’re an incel lol), old age, and death. He accepts and fully embraces the idea that the only constant in life is change, and that growth and learning are necessary. That’s why he is capable of noticing that magic isn’t ACTUALLY stagnant; it’s alive and evolving. Is that a brilliant eureka moment for him? Well, no, he just notes it in a diary as if it was a normal Tuesday and starts focusing on other things. Indeed, the “realisation” that change and evolution are part of life doesn’t even need to happen for most people: it’s normal; it’s mundane; it’s unremarkable. We all know it, deep down. We only “forget” it if we develop NPD.
“Forgetting” that change is a natural part of life is a consequence of creating horcruxes (hence my tangent above), because when you split your soul, you aren’t just organising it in neat little boxes for eternal preservation; you’re also parting ways with the normal (even mundane…) intuitive “knowing” that allows us to navigate life efficiently. For example, the ability to know obvious things that everybody knows but nobody notes out loud (such as, “everything changes and evolves all the time”). A narcissist can’t grasp these simple ideas because when they “split their soul”, so to speak, they agreed to forego authenticity, and by extension, intuition. Of course, when you choose to replace your real self with a fake mask that exudes superficial perfection, you can’t relate to anyone or anything authentically. All that is left for you to grasp are surface-level understandings of the intricacies of life on this planet. Stereotypes, if you will.
This leads a narcissist to:
Addiction to permanence.
What is Voldemort’s obsession with immortality, if not an addiction to permanence? He wants to be permanently alive and safe from death. Whatever it takes. Even if it becomes a life that anyone in their right mind would think isn’t worth living.
Now… if we reword that using the metaphors:
Voldemort wants to be permanently praised (alive) and safe from shame (death). Whatever it takes. Even if it becomes a life that anyone in their right mind would think is stale and devoid of fulfilment (which can only come from learning, which only happens by making mistakes, which lead to shame every single time).
If only narcissists would learn to sit with shame and befriend it like any other emotion… They wouldn’t have become narcissists in the first place. That’s the logic behind the tale of the deathly hallows: Death isn’t an implacable force that takes everyone suddenly whether they love it or hate it (like we see in tales that literalise death, such as the myth of Hades taking Persephone). Instead, in the deathly hallows tale, Death is a person who talks to the characters and waits for them to notice and acknowledge it, without taking anyone by surprise.
Therefore, as I already said, this Death character personifies shame.
We can’t run away from death; But we can run away from shame. And shame is, indeed, something that keeps festering until we acknowledge it (or, in other words, keeps chasing us until we welcome and embrace it).
When you’re addicted to permanently “feeling okay and valuable”, and can’t handle even a split second of shame (ie, a feeling that makes you feel not okay and no longer valuable), you develop narcissistic tendencies. Ironically, this implies you don’t feel all-powerful at all, but instead, you’re at the mercy of avoiding shame. Forever and constantly. This trait explains Voldemort’s entire story and behaviour.
This can bring narcissists side-effects that look very puzzling when you’re unfamiliar with the disorder. For example, their habit of behaving like “time capsules” every now and then, repeating outdated things that literally nobody else believes anymore, and for no good reason. Contrary to your average conservative person (who has a clear agenda and a coherent reasoning behind wanting to “bring back the good old days”), a narcissist simply does that automatically, because they seem to be trapped in an object and incapable of learning or growth — just like the horcrux metaphor. So they act like time capsules in a very literal way, as if you had travelled back to Victorian times or Medieval or whatever, put the narcissist in the time machine, and brought them over here. That’s what it feels like to talk to them sometimes. If you’re a victim, you know. It’s uncanny; but it comes from their addiction to permanence.
In fact, I’ve been developing a theory that you can pinpoint with reasonable accuracy when exactly the “generational curse” of narcissism started in a family line just by observing which outdated values a narcissist talks about. Since they live in their own little bubbles of delusion and refuse to authentically relate to the outside world, they do in fact function like time capsules. Sometimes, even old slang or words that most people are no longer using can be learned from a narcissist. I might make a future article about that.
Anyway, this is all to say: Voldemort embodies NPD. That was likely the result of a lucky moment of inspiration for JK Rowling, now eternalised in the Harry Potter series.
Feel free to share your thoughts.
