In his Poetics, Aristotle defines tragedy as: “the imitation of an action that is serious and also, as having magnitude, complete in itself; in appropriate and pleasurable language;…in a dramatic rather than narrative form; with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish a catharsis of these emotions.” In other words, a tragedy is a somber or thought-provoking story, an entire story, one in which the audience understands the matter from beginning to end. Furthermore, a tragedy is beautifully presented—it’s linguistically satisfying and fitting to its grave mood. But a tragedy is not simply related through words; instead, it is demonstrated through action, its events pictured for its audience by its characters. Finally, a tragedy moves its audience to “pity and fear”—two emotional reactions based on the audience’s realization that what is portrayed in the tragedy is both understandable and applicable. It is not a stretch for the audience to realize that the horrors of the tragedy could happen to them as well. Yet the pity and fear do not remain within the audience, but are purified or purged from them (this is that hotly debated “catharsis” part of Aristotle’s definition). In short, watching someone else’s pain moves something within us to feel better about ourselves–a hero can suffer like us, we can survive when the hero does not, etc.

Bolstering this reaction of pity and fear is Aristotle’s claim about the hero of such a story. In his opinion, a tragic hero is “a [great] man who is neither a paragon of virtue and justice nor undergoes the change to misfortune through any real badness or wickedness but because of some mistake.” The tragic hero possesses a fatal flaw that makes him susceptible to whatever it is that causes his fall. So, the question is raised: Is Hamlet a tragic hero? A very strong argument can be made that he is. Second question: What is Hamlet’s fatal flaw? This is where it gets tricky.

Hamlet and Ophelia

Laurence Olivier argues in his film version of Hamlet (and many others would agree) that Hamlet’s flaw is his indecision. He cannot decide what is wrong with Denmark at the beginning of the play. He cannot determine if he should kill himself or not. He cannot adopt a solid position on whether women are good or evil. He cannot settle on whether the ghost of his father is telling the truth about his murder. He cannot resolve himself to kill the king his uncle. He cannot completely refrain from wanting to kill his mother. And so on and so forth.

I agree that Hamlet is too much in his own head. However, often what appears to be indecision is the result of a complicated rationalization that boils down to Hamlet’s struggle between doing what is right and acceptable within the religious and social norms of his culture and fulfilling what he sees as his destiny and filial obligation. Hamlet’s dilemma is presented to him when the ghost of his father reveals to him the previously unknown fact that he had been murdered by his brother (Hamlet’s uncle Claudius). As if this wasn’t enough to send Hamlet’s world spinning, Old Hamlet’s ghost then requires revenge of his son, calling for Hamlet to swear that he will kill Claudius but spare his mother Gertrude who has married the murderer. Now Hamlet has a big problem: he must choose between two sacred loyalties, his duty to avenge his deceased father and his duty to his sovereign (nevermind the fact that Hamlet probably should have been first in line to the throne when his father died…).

Hamlet before King Claudius and Queen Gertrude, his uncle and his mother respectively.

To me, Hamlet’s vacillation between his resolve to kill the king and his reluctance to actually see the bloody deed through are more a demonstration of his moral torment than a fatal flaw of indecisiveness. To kill a king was no minor offense. Kings were perceived as possessing a Divine Right, having been specifically chosen by God and given the honor and responsibility of kingship. To do away with God’s chosen leader was tantamount to an attack upon God Himself and, hence, was one of the most heinous crimes one could commit. So, regardless of the fact that Claudius himself is a king-killer, it is more than excusable that Hamlet would ponder long and hard about committing regicide himself. On the flip side, Hamlet owes loyalty to the true king, his father. It could be argued that Old Hamlet’s return in spectral form nullifies Claudius’ claim to the throne and transforms the ghost’s orders to Hamlet into royal commands that appeal to Hamlet’s religious and familial obligations to honor his father. We can boil down Hamlet’s crisis of indecision, then, to a question of whether family or kingdom requires the greater loyalty.

Such a demanding quandary leads Hamlet to doubt if the ghost is telling the truth—for certainly no loving parent would place his/her child in such a dilemma! Would Hamlet’s father really ask him to transgress everything he believes in and kill a king? This misgiving morphs Hamlet’s decision into a search for truth. Who actually has his best interest in mind? Whom can he trust? What really matters in life—Country? Family? Love? Loyalty? Revenge? Death? One’s destiny?

In the end (spoiler alert!), why does Hamlet finally kill Claudius? What is the tipping point for Hamlet in his quest to determine truth and find the appropriate way to right the wrongs of Denmark? Is it the treachery of Claudius in enlisting the mourning Laertes to diabolically murder Hamlet in what is supposed to be an “innocent” duel? Is it the accidental (or not so accidental in Olivier’s viewpoint) death of Gertrude, Hamlet’s mother? Is it pure rage at not being able to see his way out of the family vs. kingdom conundrum? Is it simply exhaustion and a longing to escape from the murderous oath he swore to the ghost of his father? Or, is it finally decisiveness after all of Hamlet’s wavering?

The morbid duel between Hamlet and Laertes.

For Me Then…

I think we most likely all agree that Claudius gets what he deserves. His death is satisfying in that it puts an end to his corruption and pays for the death of Old Hamlet. But does it really? Laertes and Hamlet both succumb to the king’s evil plan after his death (so Claudius’ evil continues post-mortem). And, can the death of a guilty man make up for the murder of an innocent one? Probably not.

Few if any of the other characters receive endings that are appropriate to how they have lived their lives. Why should we think Claudius is any different? In one scene, he even confesses his sins of covetousness, greed, and murder. But his first wrongs lead to more sins to cover up the first ones, and he cannot stop doing evil. In the play version of Hamlet, Hamlet himself is also a murderer, deceiving the King of England, which leads to the executions of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Hamlet’s killing of Claudius could be seen as an elimination of a witness to Hamlet’s crime. Plus, Hamlet’s rash stabbing of the eavesdropping Polonius is far from innocent. There are no winners in this play. All are vile in some way; all have sinned (except perhaps for Fortinbras, but he is not included in Olivier’s version).

There is no satisfactory solution to the conflict the play/film presents. It is a tragedy. As Aristotle explains, we the audience pity Hamlet’s predicament and the indecision it causes, and we fear that we could someday be asked to make a similar type of choice: family or country, revenge or forgiveness, evil or good. Hamlet’s tragic flaw, then, is that he is asked to do the impossible: make reparation for the sins of others, while being a sinner himself. His uncertainty of how to proceed stems from his knowing he is really choosing between an evil and an evil. The tragedy denies him an ethical solution.

One choice Hamlet could have made is to forgive. It is pretty wild to wonder what impact a sorrowful yet gracious and merciful Hamlet would have had on everything that is “rotten in Denmark.” But that would have potentially transformed Hamlet into a comedy instead of the brilliant tragedy that it is.