There is surfeit of ideas in this chapterto explore and in the questions and observations you made, Scott. First of all, I would observe that Aristotle's standard for an ideal tragic protagonist, a mixed bag of good and bad traits, one susceptible to hamartia -- what that term means is worthy of extensive discussion by itself --is more observed in the breach than in the observance by 2 of the 3 great Greek poets of the tragedy, Aeschylus and Euripides. And it can be argued that Sophocles breaches rather than observes in some of his plays, too. Which is why Walter Kaufman in "Tragedy and Philosophy" goes so far as to argue that "So unilluminating is Aristotle's doctrine of hamartia as far as Greek tragedy is concerned that it would not be the most celebrated term in literary criticism if it did not seem to work so well with Shakespeare." But it is genius' perogative to break the rules. " Nor, again, should the downfall of the utter villain be exhibited..." says Aristotle. Maybe no one could pull that off to Aristotle's satisfaction but Shakespeare pulled it off in "Richard III" and "Macbeth" to his audience's satisfaction -- and to our satisfaction today. (Not that Shakespeare read "The Poetics"; the general consensus is he probably did not have access to a translation of the text.) >>Why was Tragedy such a big deal to the Greeks? Because it was a central event in a religious celebration recounting and adapting the myths that formed the basis of the Greek religion. >>>How and why did ancient Greeks find Tragedies so entertaining? Because, first and foremost, it was a religious pageant, an opportunity to participate in a meaningful and communal religious experience. Which is not to say it wasn't entertaining, but it is was so much more than that . >>>I am looking at “Poetics” through the lens of screenwriting, what is its relevance to the craft in contemporary time. The techniques of reversal and recognition are as relevant as ever to contemporary drama. And in more ways than Aristotle conceived of because of our vastly expanded understanding of human psychology. Finally reading Aristotle's statement that the tragic hero "... must be one who is highly renowned and prosperous- a personage like Oedipus, Thyestes, or other illustrious men of such families" brought to mind a statement F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in one of his notebooks: "Show me a hero, and I will write you a tragedy."

It all boils down to taste. I think that from all story forms we know today, a tragedy has still the biggest emotional impact on the audience. It shows us the inescapability of life and every action has a consequence. What makes a character tragic is that despite all his strengths, he has one great weakness that leads to his downfall. The happy ending story has a totally different meaning. Its premise is that doing things in a specific way leads to success. Aristotle's "error" or "sin" seems to be meant in a moral sense. Since drama is all about externalized conflict you can easily show your hero hurting other people on a physical or an emotional level, because he just doesn't know how to behave properly. We know that not every story has to circle around a moral flaw though. A movie like GRAVITY is "just" about a psychological weakness, which is still an error (but not a sin), and it works pretty well.

This section seems to me to involve the idea of relatability - Aristotle seems to be delineating particular qualities of plot and character necessary to allow the audience not only to sympathize with the protagonist, but also to empathize with him - to move from merely feeling sorry for him in his travails to actually feeling what he's feeling, if only for the duration of the play, as if they could be him in similar circumstances. And the requirement that the protagonist be highly renowned and prosperous, a "personage" of illustrious family, seems to imply that tragedy, as opposed to a mere morality play, or a comedy, requires a hero - someone like us, only better. (I think the superheroes portrayed in some action movies today still exemplify and fulfill this requirement, in contrast to the protagonists to be found in dramas, romantic comedies and other feature films, who appear to be regular, "normal" people.)

I beg to differ about harmartia. I think that what Aristotle did NOT mean is that the character possesses a deep dark inner flaw and conflict, a gnawing subjective need, so dark, so well hidden that it takes 90 minutes of screen time and catastrophic REVERSAL of fortune for him to become aware of it -- RECOGNITION. And because it's tragedy, it's too late to redeem the character or salvage the situation. Aristotle worked off a different paradigm of human character and psychology than the ones writers have at their disposal today. The Greek work "harmartia' means "mistake" or "error" -- it literally means "to miss the mark" (as when throwing a spear or shooting an arrow). One way of applying the term to drama is that a character could act virtuously and nobly his whole life except for one "Doh!" moment -- and that one "Doh!" moment would spell his doom. For the purposes of tragedy, the error would be done in ignorance and/or with good intentions -- setting the stage for the Big Reveal later (recognition). (Or in the case of Oedipus, have two "Doh!" moments: he doesn't know that the guy he kills at the crossroads is his father, and the gal he later marries is his mother.) However, I also think that Aristotle's "harmartia" is nuanced in that, even though done in ignorance and good intentions, the "Doh!" moment does reflect an aspect of character. An aspect that in 99 other situations could represent a virtue, a strength -- result in a winning choice, a favorable outcome. But in the 100th situation, the same character trait leads to a choice that spells doom. In the wrong place at the wrong time, it becomes the tragic irony of a character that he is the victim of his virtue, the collateral damage of his excellence. I offer a case in point from a film: "Gladiator". What is Maximus's harmartia that leads to the death of his family and his downfall into slavery and the gladiator ring? The standard interpretation would be "pride"; Maximus refuses to give his loyalty to Commodus who has just assassinated the Emperor and usurped the throne. I think that would be a superficial rendering. First of all, if Maximus suffers from pride, he has every reason to. He is Rome's greatest general, a brave and cunning fighter, a natural born leader of men: he commands their respect and obedience. He has no interest in politics. He's just a family man, longing to go home to his wife and son. He's pious, loyal to his virtues and loyal to the Emperor -- and beloved by the Emperor. So, of course, he's the man the Emperor Marcus Aurelius asks to be his semi-successor -- protector of Rome -- to restore the Republic. But Maximus hesitates to accept the Emperor's charge. How can a man of such strength and virtue refuse such a noble call to action, to such a worthy objective goal? Because the Emperor is asking Maximus to thrust himself into the one theater of combat where all of his virtues and strengths are not adequate to the challenge: politics. It has been well established that Maximus doesn't like politics, doesn't want to get involved in politics. He's a general, not a politician. In politics, his moral integrity, his lack of political ambition are weaknesses. (He is no match for Commodus' immorality and ambition.) So he hesitates to become a politician, giving Commodus the window of opportunity he needs to gain the thrown. That, I offer, is his "Doh!" moment, the error that seals his fate, arising from the "character flaw" of not having the temperament nor ambition to be a politician. It's too late by the time Commodus asks for his loyalty. (And does he refuse to offer it out of pride -- or out of love and loyalty to Marcus Aurelius?) Finally, I think it's worth noting that Maximus has no character arc from becoming a winning military man to a winning politician. He remains what he always has been, what he's best at: a fighter. It is up to others, Lucilla and Gracchus, who know how to fight in the arena of politics to harness his fighting skill for their political combat against Commodus.

pgronk, now you're exaggerating. A moral flaw doesn't have to be dark or deep. A need doesn't have to be gnawing or subjective. Furthermore, it doesn't need to be hidden at all - only from the hero. When the audience connects with the character, they want to see him struggle, they want to see him succeed. Obviously the flaw can arise from a strength. Like pride & arrogance (namely hybris) or determination & stubbornness. For the latter, you should watch the movie RUSH. The flaw is obvious and even though I knew how the events turned out, I was completely engaged in the story. About the reversal of fortune and the catastrophe: I was always under the impression that the catastrophe comes after the character has his epiphany about his flaw and right way to treat others. But at this point it's already too late to do something about it. He already chose the wrong path and the consequences of the actions he took before now lead to his downfall.

An interesting cataloguing of main character types, isn’t it. To watch a virtuous man go from good fortune to adversity “shocks us” because of the wasted good intention it represents, a fulfillment of the old adage, “No good deed goes unpunished.” A bad man going from adversity to prosperity is unsatisfying for obvious reasons. There is no satisfaction to be gained from seeing bad behavior being rewarded. Thus, no feelings of pity or fear are evoked on that character’s behalf. To watch a villain go from good fortune to bad may be morally satisfying but there is no personal gain to the viewer since we are seeing that character as separate from ourselves. Again, no opportunity to feel pity or terror. What remains is the person who is not a perfect individual (just like we are not perfect) but is not inherently bad. This person makes a mistake that upsets the ideal order of things. And that mistake leads to his downfall. (The business about heroes needing to be of high renown and prosperous is simply a reflection of the belief in those days that audiences aren’t interested in the fortunes of “little people.”) The best explanation I have come across for why the Greeks were so invested in Tragedy was from a Classic Drama professor who defined Tragedy as “a dress rehearsal for despair.” In other words, you watch Oedipus or Hamlet or King Lear play out their dilemma in front of you and realize that, faced with the same circumstance, you would likely have handled it little better than they did. By the end of the play, the worst has happened and everyone is dead, but you’re alright and the people around you are still there and you are able to feel that, should such fate befall you, you will be okay and life will go on. If you can be rehearsed for that moment of despair and learn to embrace it, then you will be capable of achieving great things. The Greeks did not have our Christian-based aspiration toward a happy life (as in our inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness). They believed that life is inherently full of suffering. Our only choice is to aspire to be Great amidst the misery.

Sven: >>now you're exaggerating. I wish I were. Fwiw: I was specifically disagreeing with a rather popular book relating the Poetics to screenwriting that insists Maximus' flaw is "pride" -- which seems to be the all-purpose, fall back flaw when nothing else is available, when a character such as Maximus is front loaded with so many virtues, so many strengths. I see it as more complicated than that. And I think "arrogance" is too narrow a conceptualization of hybris (or hubris). I realize it has come to mean excessive pride or confidence (aka: arrogance), but the original concept was that of wantonness in general, excess of any character attribute. That which violated the deal of sophrosyne, "nothing to excess". Thus, too much of a particular virtue could lead to tragedy as well as too much of a vice. Of course, in modern screenwriting, we are not restricted to Aristotle's notion of harmartia. The Poetics is only a starting point, a first draft of the inventory of flaws, weaknesses, errors in judgement and action at the screenwriter's disposal.

>>>The Greeks did not have our Christian-based aspiration toward a happy life (as in our inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness) A very important point. They hoped the gods would toss them a few scraps of happiness in life, hoped even more they wouldn't meddle in human affairs just for their amusement. As usual, Shakespeare has the best line on that point: "As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods. They kill us for their sport." (King Lear, Act 4, Scene 1)

True. In the middle ages, pride was considered the prime cardinal sin and the source of all the other sins (lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy). While the concept might be simple, the execution isn't easy. In order to write a good story, you have to be very specific with the flaw. Hybris itself is way too conceptual. It can be expressed in so many different ways. What's the title of the book you're talking about?

But... the ancient Greeks also kept their sense of humor. Poets were required to submit a set of 4 plays for the theater competition in the Dionysian theater: 3 tragedies and a satyr play, a comedy. Three spectacles of pity and fear were followed by comic relief, "revels...licensed indulgences of fantasy, releases from Civilization and its Discontents, with all's well that end's well" as Erich Segal put it in his "The Death of Comedy". (Yes, that Erich Segal, the author or "Love Story" -- his day job was as a professor of classical literature.) .

Right. Three tragedies to one comedy. That tells you something right there about their frame of mind and world view. Can you imagine a film festival competition today making such a requirement? BTW, the "dress rehearsal for despair" theory about Greek Tragedy comes from Nietzsche's "The Birth of Tragedy," in which he identifies the dichotomy between the Apollonian and Dionysian perspectives and poses Tragedy as an attempt to reconcile the two and find a way to live with them. Google it. Pretty interesting stuff.

Once again, I find myself playing catch-up time-wise, but let me just poke into this thread to say WOW! Such amazing insight in this series of comments. And I TRULY appreciate you taking the time to provide all this background about the era, plays, tragedy, all of it. As these posts are being archived and will over time attract hundreds, maybe even thousands of readers, I hope you realize the value your words will have countless writers. So again, thank you. I shall hope to come back in the next few days to respond individually, but in the interim, my gratitude to you all!

Yes, "The Birth of Tragedy"! Nietzsche single-handedly subverted the obsessive compulsion of all previous scholarship to explain the nature and form of tragedy logically by pointing out the discomfiting obvious: tragedy has its roots in the worship of Dionysus -- the god of madness. How can you logically explain madness, reduce it to a pat formula, a neat scholastic theory? Nietzsche's scholarship in the book hasn't help up well over time. But if he didn't get all his facts right, he got the music, the passion of the dramatic experience (creating, performing,watching). The book remains a cornucopia of psychological insights for screenwriters.

P.S. I suppose this belongs in Scott's weekly dialogue topic of "therapy". Anyway, I view the therapy sessions in "Equus" between the psychiatrist Dr. Drysart and his patient Alan Strang as a powerful dramatization of Nietzsche's notion of a face-off between Apollo and Dionysus. (There are provocative echoes of Greek tragedy in the play/film, particularly to "The Bacchae" by Euripides.)

"Witnessing misfortunes befalling a “good guy” and left to think, “There but the grace of God go I”?" To this question, King Lear actually came to mind for me as well. For me, King Lear is one of the most emotionally charged plays of all time and my favorite work of Shakespeare's. Particularly, the last scene when Edgar runs off to save Lear and Cordelia. In the version with Sir Ian McKellen, the company left falls to their knees, hands raised in the air and beg, "The gods defend her! Bear him hence awhile." Watching that scene breaks my heart every time. I think when looking at the difference between Greek tragedy and the modern drama, the Greek tragedy was charged with the emotional core of helplessness. A worthy protagonist with an equally worthy goal was often subjected to the wills of the universe (gods, God, however the "universe" was presented). One event performed by the gods, often unravels the protagonist altogether. I think the modern drama emphasizes this less. The universe plays a role, of course, but I think this is limited compared to the Greek tragedy. I agree with Scott. Modern drama is propelled by empathy and hope. We want to see the protagonist accomplish his happy ending. Perhaps this is due to cultural differences, but perhaps this is because modern story telling has become more complex in certain manners (or our longing for a happy ending due to cultural differences has made story telling more complex). As far as I'm concerned, a well written story today has two goals: one physical, one emotional. Often we discuss the emotional goal as the protag's "need." Thus, to accomplish the physical goal, the protag must satisfy his emotional need. In the modern drama, the will of the gods doesn't necessarily determine whether the protag will accomplish his goal or not. Instead, the will of the gods is presented as obstacles to force the protag to confront his need so that, in the final conflict, the protag simultaneously accomplishes his two goals. The will of the gods is used as a tool to reveal that the protag must resolve his inner turmoil in order to accomplish his physical goal. If you look at most great modern dramas, this is the way "the will of the gods" is demonstrated by writers. Silence of the Lambs in particular comes to mind as a great example(especially since Scott posted that flashback scene a couple days ago). Most recently, Gravity. Sandra Bullock's character has to let go of her daughter's passing (the emotional need) in order to find her will to live and make it back to earth (physical goal). The will of the gods brings her emotional need to light and, because she responds, she accomplishes her physical goal.

Jordan, you think like I think. I'm going to do a 5-part analysis of Gravity (as part of my commitment in 2014 to analyze a movie per week on the blog) and one point I will make is what I call the "narrative imperative." From one perspective, the entire confluence of events in Gravity happens BECAUSE of Ryan's entering state of Disunity, as you suggest she MUST say goodbye to her daughter and move on with her grieving process. This speaks to one of the 7 questions I start with in the very first stage of prep-writing: What does THIS story HAVE to happen to THIS character at THIS time? These things are not random. Rather there is a symbiotic relationship between a Protagonist's Disunity to Unity arc (a positive metamorphosis in most movies) and what transpires in the plot. In my view, every character, every scene, every subplot, every beat is in some ways tied to the Protagonist's metamorphosis, an expression of their incremental evolution. So your point about "the will of the gods" is spot on. It derives from the characters, specifically the Protagonist, in the context of their unique story universe in concert with the understanding, creativity and skill exhibited by the writer in helping to shape the narrative. Thanks for that, Jordan. Always nice to see when people get this psychologically based approach to the story-crafting process.

While you're analyzing "Gravity", Scott, I would be interested in you comparing it to "All is Lost"; the situation is similar in that both protagonists are struggling to survive, but I don't recall any comparable epiphany, moment of subjective insightin the latter; I did not perceive any disunity to unity character arc.