Knave or Fool?

[terri-testing.livejournal.com]

“Tell me honestly . . . do you think me most a knave or a fool ?’” asked John Willoughby of Miss Dashwood, and I think it’s time we addressed that question directly with regards to our friend and mentor Albus. 




Just because I love Jane Austen (and so, allegedly, does Rowling), here are two quotes in which a heroine is trying to figure out the true nature of a man of her acquaintance. 

First, Lizzie Bennett abour Willoughby:
“As to his real character, had information been in her power, she had never felt a wish of enquiring. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue. She tried to recollect some instance of goodness, some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence, that might rescue him from the attacks of Mr. Darcy; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for those casual errors, under which she would endeavour to class what Mr. Darcy had described as the idleness and vice of many years continuance. But no such recollection befriended her. She could see him instantly before her, in every charm of air and address; but she could remember no more substantial good than the general approbation of the neighbourhood, and the regard which his social powers had gained him in the mess. “ (Pride & Prejudice)

Second, Anne Elliott about her cousin:
“Though they had now been acquainted a month, she could not be satisfied that she really knew his character. That he … talked well, professed good opinions, seemed to judge properly and as a man of principle, this was all clear enough. He certainly knew what was right, nor could she fix on any one article of moral duty evidently transgressed; but yet she would have been afraid to answer for his conduct. She distrusted the past, if not the present…. The names which he occasionally dropt of former associates, the allusions to former practices and pursuits, suggested suspicions not favourable of what he had been. She saw that … that there had been a period of his life (and probably not a short one) when he had been, at least, careless in all serious matters; and, though he might now think very differently, who could answer for the true sentiments of a clever, cautious man, grown old enough to appreciate a fair character? How could it ever be ascertained that his mind was truly cleansed?

“Mr. Elliot was rational, discreet, polished, but he was not open….”  (Persuasion)

(“Not open” as an indictment!—chokes on tea….)


So.  Is our friend Albus in truth a heartless, even soulless villain like Tom, with the primary difference being that unlike Tom, Albus was “a clever, cautious man grown old enough to appreciate a fair character”? 

Or can we find "some distinguished trait of integrity or benevolence," that might rescue Albus from the attacks of marionros, oneandthetruth, the_bitter_word, and, er, me, among others; or at least, by the predominance of virtue, atone for those casual errors, under which we might endeavour to class what JKR has depicted as the idleness and vice of many years continuance?

I seriously don’t know the answer here.  I look forward to the discussion.

I’ll start the ball rolling by saying that I see two things (and two only) that I don’t see how to explain by the “knave” theory. 

One is Albus’s giving up both Gellert and the pursuit of world domination after his sister’s death.  Why, unless continuing to pursue that shared dream had become impossible to reconcile with his own image of himself as a decent (ish) man?  Even if he shook off Gellert only in disgust for Gellert's having abandoned him to the mess of hushing up their mutual murder, why abandon his grandiose dreams if he hadn’t had a change of heart—and therefore, a heart to change?

The second is the Birdbath of Doom.  What was Albus sniveling about after drinking Tom’s potion, if he wasn’t feeling remorse or something like it?

Can anyone else find any irreducible attestations to virtue in his behavior, or conversely, unarguable evidence of his villainy?

I look forward to your responses!

Comments

[sunnyskywalker]

Oh! Another thought. What is Dumbledore like when no one is watching?

We only see this once, in PS/SS chapter 1. He pops into a dark street, thinking he's unobserved. Voldemort is gone--though Dumbledore knows he isn't dead, just presently weakened and bodiless. He's on that street because he's planning to leave a baby--an orphan because his parents, Dumbledore's young followers, have just been murdered--on a doorstep to be raised in what he admits later he knows will be dark, difficult circumstances.

He's twinkling.

Now, sure, plenty of wizards are celebrating. Even a temporary reprieve from Voldemort is a huge relief. But even if he had lots of happy moments earlier in the day, surely being on Privet Drive waiting for Hagrid and Harry would turn his mind toward more somber thoughts, like "this poor kid, stuck with people who will fear and possibly hate him," or, "his poor parents so young so tragic :-( ." But the twinkle doesn't dim in the slightest until McGonagall starts acting all concerned and asking about the murders like she might possibly be a little upset.

I don't know. Maybe Dumbledore does have the capacity for empathy and truly feeling right and wrong, but it's just... er, severely hampered? Doesn't kick in automatically, it's something he has to think about before it activates? Is really easily suppressed if he thinks his feelings are getting in the way of doing what he has decided is a brilliant plan? That might give him enough for some impulse toward wanting to think of himself as Good and liking to be lauded as Good, without being very, well, good at being good.

[seductivedark.livejournal.com]

Maybe DD is better at theory than at practice. He and Gellert can rule the world, and no one, especially no one in his family, could possibly get hurt... until it happened. It looks good on paper but doesn't fly in real life. His naive dreams were knocked on their flabby buttocks and it hurt.

And, maybe that carries over to everything else. He compartmentalizes too well - he twinkles when it's inappropriate, because he didn't witness anything, so it's all theory, nothing concrete. He knows, intellectually, that the Potters are dead and their son is going to live with people who resent and fear his parents and their world, but it isn't proven, and besides, it's all for the greater good, so of course nothing can go wrong... until it does.

He refuses to, or is incapable of, seeing problems with his grandiose plans, until they happen. He's a master of self-delusion, and he never gets over it. He's constantly turning lemons into half-assed lemonade, scrambling to patch up messes of his own making, without admitting that he caused them in the first place. He will not see his own failings.

[sunnyskywalker]

That might work. He is capable of, say, feeling bad about someone dying--but not unless he really stops and thinks about what it means, that this person is really and truly dead. It isn't quite real otherwise. Likewise, hypothetical suffering doesn't trigger any emotional response; he has to actually see it right in front of his face and make the effort to imagine how he would feel in that situation too. And if he isn't making an effort to imagine how some action might affect people, he just plain forgets that it might hurt someone.

So he can act quite callously, because most of the time he doesn't register the possibility that anyone feels differently about things than he does. And probably if he decides that feeling sympathy in some particular situation is counter-productive to the Greater Good, he can squash any such feelings easily should he actually manage to feel them. But he has just enough scraps of empathy and conscience to be affected by the Birdbath, and to prefer thinking of himself as a Good Person.

Hm. Now I'm going to have to review and see how well that fits. I do kind of like the idea that Dumbledore had the potential to be different from Tom, who was apparently "funny" since birth, but utterly failed to develop the bit of potential he had and so ended up being a more charming, socially acceptable version. (Probably with some help from the scarily messed up wizarding world, which seems bent on crushing the decency out of its youth...) It's boring if all the villains were just born that way.