Photo by Xosé Castro Roig (Creative Commons)
As a culture, we love heroes. We love to have someone to cheer for, someone who embodies what is good and right. Sometimes, however, heroes are stupid. This seems to happen a lot in movies by the Coen brothers (although whether their protagonists are in any way heroic is another matter). This also happens a lot in tragedies, especially in classic tragedies. Every tragic hero has one shining moment of stupidity in all of their stupidity, and that moment is called their hamartia.
What Is Hamartia?
A tragic hero's hamartia is a point in the story where the hero makes a decision or critical mistake that seals his fate.
The term is first mentioned in Aristotle's Poetics, and it's very loosely defined, so modern definitions can include the point of decision, or a hero's tragic flaw. In its most faithful definition, it can be traced to a specific point in the hero's narrative where choosing an alternative would have avoided setting the disaster in motion.
Just to avoid confusion, the hamartia is not the inciting incident. The plot is well on its way by the time the hero makes the decision to seal his fate. It's just the point where there is no turning back for the hero, and he's definitely going to be dead, maimed, or in need of a serious amount of therapy by the time the story is over.
Examples of Hamartia in Literature
Oedipus Rex is the classic Greek tragedy, and Oedipus's hamartia is well known. Having been told by the Oracle of Delphi that he will kill his father and marry his mother, Oedipus decides to leave what he thinks is his home city, and on his route, he kills a chariot driver, who turns out to be his biological father, and solves the riddle of the Sphinx, killing it. In gratitude, the people of Thebes make him their king and he marries the queen, who (you guessed it) is his biological mother. Things end poorly.
However, all of this tragedy could have arguably been avoided if Oedipus had been able to keep his head and, you know, maybe not kill any unknown men in his path, just to be safe. Not getting married probably would have been a good idea too. But as soon as Oedipus slays his father, he's sealed his fate, and there is no coming back from the fact that he's fulfilling the prophecy.
Other examples of hamartia in literature and pop culture include Shakespeare's Hamlet and Macbeth, and Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. Remember, the plot is already well in motion by the time the hero makes his fateful decision, but after that point, there is no turning back.
What's your favorite hamartia moment in literature or film?
PRACTICE
Write about a character's hamartia, their stupidest of stupid moments.
Write for fifteen minutes. When you're finished, post your practice in the comments section. And if you post, be sure to leave feedback on a few practices by other writers.
Your post got me to thinking about the hamartia moments I create for my own characters. so far, they’ve been variations of “enough! Things must change,” and I realized how much I like those moments. 🙂
It did the same thing to me–got me thinking that perhaps I need to create more of these sort of moments, or more sharply define the ones that already exist.
We don’t see so many tragedies these days. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. But I don’t think the writer has been successful if we see her protagonist as having been “stupid.” I think, rather, that the character has been all too “human.” And that’s why we are devastated ourselves, as readers, when the tragic hero fails. I’ll try and post a personal example later. Good post!
You know, the novel I’ve been working on for a few years is a tragedy and I realized yesterday that my reluctance to write the harmartia moments that make for a tragic ending. I need to give this a lot more thought.
In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have insisted on the fire. It was intended to impress her, to show her what a warm, friendly place his barn-turned-home had finally become. But the extravagantly modern fire-pit, picked up at local home improvement store, had never been used, and had, in fact, only recently been hooked up to a barely functional chimney vent. His contractor had tried to impress upon him the idea that it was merely for effect, but those facts eluded his memory at the thought of having her over, of a romantic evening with the young woman he’d so long been enamored of. Hell, he’d built the place with Tanya in mind, anyway. She was his former high school sweetheart, and he’d labored over the barn day after day, for months at a time, planning for this moment. He still remembered the conversation in the sub shop the week he took out the permit and began renovations.
“You know, Dan, everyone says that old barn should have been torn down long ago,” she’d told him. “Do you really think it’s worth trying to fix up?” She’d been skeptical, like all the others.
“I’ll have you over for the first dinner, if you’ll join me,” he’d said grandly, and Tanya had smiled and accepted, probably more out of pity than an actual belief in him.
Now the moment had come. Dan touched a match to the compressed fire-log when he heard the doorbell ring, and crossed the hardwood floor with a smug grin on his face. As he swung the door wide, Tanya held out a champagne bottle. “You did it!” she yelled. The bottle was wrapped in a broad red ribbon, already chilled.
Dan tried to look humble. “Yeah, despite it all,” he said, then cocked one eyebrow at her. “Hey, weren’t you one of the nay-sayers?” he kidded, then stepped aside to allow her to enter.
Tanya laughed as she took two steps in, then stopped abruptly. “Uh, Dan…” she began. Her face, as she turned to him, wore a look of alarm that wiped the grin from his lips.
“Oh my god!”
The fire extinguisher the building inspector had mandated helped to quickly put the fire out, but the main part of the new house was uninhabitable due to the smoke. They spent the evening on the deck outside, cooking their meal on the propane grill and marveling at the scope of the stars afterward.
“I think this may have been your best move,” Tanya told him, “as long as you don’t insist on roasting marshmallows.”
Their laughter lasted until their lips met.
Love that something very romantic turned into harmartia, then was salvaged after all! Very nice work!
The school
dance was just days away. Steve and I had plans to out our arrangement.
Everyone knew but hid their feelings. We no longer wanted to hide ours and the
school dance was the perfect time to be out – us alone – at the dance with all
our friends.
Why couldn’t
Mama understand? Chores are merely menial tasks. There is nothing to be gained
from them. Gracie gets paid for them. I shouldn’t be punished for not doing
them. I should – and will – go to the dance.
All I can
hear is the music.
I watched the blade of light slash
across Mama’s arms. Just like always she has turned on her left side drifting
into her deepest sleep. No sounds. Soft breathing. No movement. Light rises of
her upper arm that leans across her breast. No movement but the blade of light.
All I can
hear is the music moving through my breast. My breath in rhythm. It’s as if
Mama can hear it too. Her arm rises and lowers across her to my music rhythm.
But Mama won’t
let me go to dance to the melodious sounds of my youth.
So I lay
the blade so close to her back. Her back is so close to me. The warmth of her
skin reaches my hand. It helps to slow the trembling.
Quickly as I
can shut my eyes and jab as hard as I can. It can’t go any further.
The soft
breathing ended with a gurgle.
Graceful rhythmic
steps even to the music. I only turn once I reach the door.
What dress
will Steve like me in the most? I turn and skip into my room. Stopping at the
white painted vanity. I nearly missed the envelope hidden in white against the
vanity top. Mama’s swirls around my printed name.
“Mama,” I scream,
“how can you let me go to the dance with these blood stained hands?”
Wow! I liked how the image of the ‘blade of light’ is replaced by the actual blade. This is disturbing and intriguing, all at the same time.
WOW. Like Word Smith, I loved the use of the words “blade of light” replacing the word knife. The physical composition of words gave the impression of dancing too. Very well done.
Elliott sat hidden in the undergrowth, swatting at wasps, until he was sure none of the kids from school might still be hanging around. When he finally headed to the secret trail, he was practicing some fresh insults to come back at Jeremy. Sorta a pre-pre-emptive strike.
“What took ya so long, dumb-ass?” Jeremy would say, like he’d already been there for hours. “Got in trouble with Miss Trentwell again for being late for, like, the bazillionth time this year?”
“NO-O-O-O-O, Mr. Smart-Ass, not for being late. For making fun of Alberta’s hair. Again.” They both laughed, thinking about that bright red hair.
“Well, she does look like Ronald McDonald, right? Right??” and about Miss Trentwell: “Awwwww, that ol’ battle-axe is always looking to nail me for stuff, even when I am snow-white I-N-N-O-C-E-N-T.” And then about Elliott himself, about him being a kiss-ass who never got in trouble, and that NO, he wasn’t late cos he, Elliott was in trouble, he was late cos…He was at the base of the tree now, checking over his shoulders one last time before climbing the slats of wood his father had nailed into the tree after they’d taken the rope away.
Elliott never liked the rope anyway; pulling his weight hand-over-hand to the treehouse had gotten harder for him since last summer, even with the huge knots they’d tied to give themselves footholds along the way. His mother called it a “growth-spurt” but kids at school called him “Lard-Ass”. Well, they did when Jeremy wasn’t around. Elliott vividly remembered the day Walter Gibbs had made the mistake of calling Elliott that in front of Jeremy. It wasn’t like anything anyone would’ve ever expected out of mild-mannered Jeremy! He went bat-shit crazy or something, plowing into Walter like some kinda Ninja warrior, bloodying his nose, ripping his shirt. Elliott had barely been able to pull him off the much bigger boy.
“Whooooooa now, Kimosabe!” Elliott had yelled, hands in front of his face when Jeremy, still glassy-eyed and panting with rage had nearly swung on HIM. “Calm down, already. Day-uuuuum!”
The other kids had stood staring at Jeremy, stunned and more than a little excited. It had been like watching a Transformer movie–like a seeing a VW bus turn into a monster truck. Anyone else would’ve been expelled. Or at least suspended for a month or something. But not Jeremy.
“It’s just so unlike him,” said Mr. Sanders, the school principal to Jeremy’s mother later that day. “I’m certain it’s not anything that will ever happen again or I’d have to take serious action, Mrs. Daubins.” Here, he’d paused to give stink-eye to a pale, shaken Jeremy. “However, I think only a two-day suspension is in order as long as I have Jeremy’s word that I can count on him to keep a better handle on his anger.” Another pause for stink-eye. “I can count on that, right Jeremy?”
Later, when Jeremy had told him about it, Elliott had given him a hard time.
“Well, Mr. Kiss-Ass, what d’ya expect? Mr. PERFECT Kiss-Ass.” They’d been in the treehouse when Jeremy had given him all the details of the meeting in Sander’s office. “Now, if it’d been ME who did that to Walter? They’d have hauled my ass down to Juvie or somethin’…they’d have strung me UP!”
Jeremy have given him the obligatory punch in the arm for the insult, and Elliott had returned it, grinning. They both knew it was Elliott’s way of hiding how impressed he’d been by his friend’s ferocity, by his loyalty.
When Elliott pushed back the trap door and hauled himself onto the platform, he kept his eyes closed. Maybe if this time, it would work. Maybe this time…
“You’re always late.” said Jeremy, laying flat on his back, one leg crossed over his bent knee, reading a comic book.
Elliott kept his eyes closed. “No, I’m not.” he argued, sliding off his backpack.
“Did anyone see you?” asked Jeremy, tossing the comic book back on the stack and sitting up to gaze through the branches at the trail.
“Of course not! You think I’d have let that happen?” protested Elliott, insulted. “It’s why it took longer–I hadda make sure.”
“Yeah, yeah, right!” Jeremy said, grinning. “Always an excuse.”
“You know, shit-for-brains, you’re my best friend and even you insult me? How sad is that?” Elliott asked, and waited to feel the punch on his arm And waited. When he finally opened his eyes, Jeremy wasn’t there.
Always late. Elliott knew it was true. He was always late. He’d been late that day. Maybe if he’d gotten there sooner, maybe things would be different. Maybe he could have protected Jeremy the way his friend had protected him. Maybe__
Jeremy rubbed his eyes, hard, then looked around. He was glad they’d taken away the rope. He never wanted to look at another piece of rope for the rest of his life.
Awesome! I was enjoying the repartee of schoolboy friends, and this snuck up on me like a thief – great ending!
Thank you! it ended up being a snippet that I can include into a WIP, but the scene just sort of dropped from my “bubble” onto the page yesterday. Most of the time my practice/prompt writing is as random as the color or flavor of a gumball, but this one can be useful! Glad you liked it.
Great food for thought. Poor Oedipus. Fate had sealed his fate. It’s not like he had free will or anything, lol. That whole family was doomed before it’s inception. (Let us not forget Antigone.)
I’m sure there are much more classic examples, but right now I’m remembering Julia Roberts VIVIAN in PRETTY WOMAN. She broke her own rule of “no kissing on the lips,” potentially messing with her own heart for the rest of her days (had EDWARD not come after her in that limo, of course).
Then there is Woody Woodpecker and that treasure hunt episode. His stupidity quoted throughout as the running theme: “If Woody had gone straight to the police, this would never have happened.”