Aristotle’s definition of tragedy is the most astute, I think. Paraphrased, it’s when you’re working as hard as you can in one direction (presumably the direction of happiness and satisfaction), and all your efforts turn against you and the opposite occurs. By this definition, Oedipus Rex is a tragedy–Oedipus was doing everything in his power to negate the prophecy, and in so doing, he fulfilled it. By this definition, Romeo and Juliet is not a tragedy, just a sad story. There’s a small tragic part at the end where Romeo kills himself because he thinks Juliet is dead and wants to join her in death, but it turns out she’s not, so he’s actually working against himself (sorry I blew the ending for those of you who were waiting to see the movie). Mostly, though, Romeo and Juliet is terribly sad, but not tragic.

Of course, Shakespeare had his own definition of tragedy, and many people subscribe to that, but I prefer Aristotle’s. I think it’s more specific and poignant.

A true Aristotelian tragedy recently occurred for some friendly acquaintances of mine. Out of respect for their privacy, I won’t go into details here, but it’s been on my mind a lot. There’s not much in the world more devastating than the death of a child, but the most tragic thing in this case is that the parents had worked so hard and done so, so much to improve this little boy’s life. Everything was looking up until a senseless, random accident ruined everything.

I’ll try to post something perkier later.