Proctor is very weak willed at the start of the play, which highlights his vulnerabilities as a human being while making his change all the more pronounced. He lacks moral courage and strength: strength to do what is right and courage to act, despite the risks on his own reputation. In his actions toward Elizabeth, we see he is loyal and caring. Even though he strayed from his vows, he seeks forgiveness more than anything else and puts off Abigail’s advances, “I will cut off my hand before I reach for you again.” He is protective of his wife's feelings, and tries to spare them by deceiving through omission. This is demonstrated when Proctor leaves out that he was alone with Abigail for a moment. However, when Elizabeth finds out about it, she is hurt that he lied, and suspicious of his reasons for doing so. Through this deception, Proctor is inadvertently protecting his own insecurities which, while seemingly non existent to the outside world, he displays in private when with Elizabeth. Proctor lacks confidence in regard to his wife. He feels that he is trying hard to gain her trust but is not getting any response from her: “On Saturday let you come with me, and we’ll walk the farm together.” This is an obvious attempt to do something romantic with his wife, but Elizabeth is less than enthusiastic. Their inability to face up to their problems and the habit of tip toeing around sensitive subjects prevents the forgiveness that he so craves and keeps their relationship tense.
With regard to moral courage, Proctor's fear of humiliation makes him indecisive, as the only way to stop Abigail's lies is to hurt her. Here he shows his flaws. He doesn't want Abigail to reveal their affair. He doesn't want to hurt her because of his affection and while he knows what she is doing is false, his inaction allows the situation to deteriorate drastically over a short period of time- the start of his fall. Proctor also has a great fear of being judged by others, especially his wife. He says to Elizabeth: “I’ll not have your suspicion any more,” to which Elizabeth replies, “John, if it were not Abigail that you must go to hurt, would you falter now? I think not.” It is evident that what she says is true, but, because of this, Proctor immediately jumps to his own defence, “I confessed, confessed! Some dream I had must have mistaken you for God that day”. This reveals his resentment for being judged, and his belief that only God has the right to do so. Elizabeth also points out Proctor’s confliction and self doubt, “I do not judge you. The magistrate sits in your heart that judges you,” meaning Proctor is punishing himself for his sins, and channelling his guilt by blaming his wife. In this interaction with Elizabeth we truly see how insecure and weak Proctor is, a far cry from the strong outward appearance he shows to others. His inaction stems from his pride, fear and insecurity, and leads to dire consequences for him and Elizabeth.
However, as the play progresses, Proctor goes over a sudden and monumental change. Spurred by the arrest of his wife, the innate defiance in him surfaces and Proctor begins to gain moral courage, becoming committed to freeing his wife. Only in the absence of Elizabeth does John discover purpose and tenacity to do what he has to. He is not yet at the point where he can admit his affair openly to stop Abigail, but he begins to see the extent of the hysteria through Mary Warren and resolves to stop it with the aid of Mary Warren, “All our old pretence is ripped away-make your peace with it!” He must now contend with Mary’s weak nature, and it is ironic that at the moment of gaining new strength, he must help Mary overcome her weaknesses and fears. Proctor is still scared for his reputation, but the arrest of Elizabeth is the catalyst of his future development.
This now committed Proctor enters the courts to challenge Abigail, but when Mary Warren fails him he realises that the only chance to stop Abigail is to expose his sin. He is at a point where he has nothing else to topple her. With Parris accusing him of crimes against the court and his own servant turning on him, Proctor shouts his sin for all to hear, “I have known her!” This is a remarkable change from the Proctor in beginning of the play who feared humiliation above all else. Throughout the play, Proctor is riddled with self doubt and criticism. Now, in front of some of the most important men in Salem, he stands desperate and humble, revealing his darkest secrets. He is finally able to put his reputation behind for what is right, but it is too late. The judge’s refusal to listen tears down all his arguments and reveals the extent of Abigail’s ‘saintly’ reputation in the court. Proctor eventually accepts his fate: “I hear the boot of Lucifer, I see his filthy face! And it is my face, and yours Danforth! For them that quail to bring men out of ignorance as I have quailed, and as you quail now when you know in all your black hearts that this be fraud-God damns our kind especially, and we will burn, we will burn together!” In this desperate outburst, Proctor demonstrates his hatred of hypocrisy and his conviction in his principles. He accuses all of the judges of hypocrisy, knowing that the girls are lying but continuing because a change of face would mean admitting mistakes. He is also clearly anguished, for he admits now that through his weakness he has failed his own principles. Proctor believes that his inaction and that of the others are sinful and that God, who he deems the only true judge of a man, will punish them all for it.
By the end of the play, we see a very different man: “Bearded, filthy, his eyes misty as though webs had overgrown them”. While being urged to confess and live by Hale, Proctor doesn't deem himself worthy to hang with the others, “I cannot mount the gibbet like a saint,” and is convinced to confess, as he believes that he already has a black enough heart. In contrast to his relationship with Elizabeth before, Proctor accepts Elizabeth’s past judgements. There is none of the tenseness now, just understanding. Even Elizabeth admits that, “It takes a cold wife to prompt lechery,” and says, “I cannot judge you more.” Before, judgement and suspicion dominated her relationship with Proctor in the last seven months, but now both of them beg for each other’s forgiveness. Where as the couple blamed each other in the past, now they blame themselves, “You take my sins upon you, John,” to which he replies, “No, I take my own, my own!” He and Elizabeth reconcile, and it is one of the most poignant moments in the play, when, just before his death, Proctor finally gains the forgiveness of his wife. However, at the point of signing, he breaks. The judges not only want a confession, but they wish to humiliate him by putting it up in the church for all to see. This would also mitigate the public’s uncertainty: if someone as important as Proctor confesses, the other hangings and accusations would have been ‘proven’.
His refusal to sign is a pivotal point in the play and even to the end Proctor sticks by his principles. He tells them that they need no signature because he has admitted it before God, that God knows his sin is enough, “God does not need my name nailed upon the church!” The judges have stripped him of his essence and his pride; the only shred that Proctor has left is his name, and he refuses to give it to them when they will use it to dishonour him and his family, “You came to save my soul, did you not? Here! I have confessed myself; it is enough!” The refusal is motivated less by pride, but by love. Proctor knows that his children will never live past the shadow that their father was a sorcerer and they would be forever shamed. In the end Proctor accepts his death with dignity because he knows that he would have died honestly, which he feels in the eyes of God would be better than living a lie. That is the epitome of a tragic hero, consciously sacrificing himself for principles and gaining redemption after emotional and physical torment, but being humble at the end, “For now I do think I see some shred of goodness in John Proctor. Not enough to weave a banner with, but white enough to keep it from such dogs.” In the last moments of the play Proctor finally acknowledges his goodness and finds peace with himself: “He have his goodness now. God forbid I take it from him!”
Proctor fits the criteria for a tragic hero in most respects. He has a number of flaws that lead to his reversal of fortune: pride, fear of humiliation, weakness and self doubt. These flaws prevented him from acting soon enough and when he finally comes to realise his mistakes, it is too late. The actual reversal of fortune is evident in the play: the hysteria and witchcraft upending the relatively uneventful lives of the people of Salem. The physical and emotional suffering that Proctor goes through is also clear, losing his reputation, his wife and his life to the hysteria while, like all tragic heroes, learning from the past and growing (such as gaining forgiveness from Elizabeth), only to die.
The play also induces fear and pity in the audience. The pity is obvious enough to predict, as watching any man go through the trials that Proctor did would evoke pity. However, the fear stems from a source other than that of a 'classic tragedy'. It is not watching someone so great in position fall that induces fear, but the fact that he is just an ordinary man. While Proctor is well regarded, he is still just a farmer and someone the audience can understand. Proctor’s accessibility differentiates him from the classical view of tragic heroes. He is a hero for the more liberal and less deferential 20th Century audience and a character who is easier to relate to than a king.
After all, is it right that tragedy can only belong to the great? Tragedy, to modern audiences may occur in the everyday. “The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” may touch the lives of the ordinary, and while Proctor does resemble a ‘classic tragic hero,’ he simultaneously represents something more modern than Aristotle’s definition. Miller draws a disturbing parallel between events that seem ridiculous to modern views and recent history. The witch trials of the past, the hysteria, the paranoia and the innocence destroyed may be seen just as vividly within the McCarthy trials to detect communist subversion.
Aristotle's theory of tragedy is repeatedly being updated by writers. A man's worth is not measured by the eminence he holds. The loss is not only felt when we see a position to lose, we do not only pity the great who fall. Modern audiences admire integrity and personal sacrifice, so modern tragic heroes stand alone, unaided, and when the time comes, fall, not through personal flaws, but through the choice of doing what is hardest, but right.
