dis one

Few things are more tragic than the destruction of tremendous talent and potential. Dr. Faustus was a man who was “glutted...with learning's golden gifts,” a master of many forms of earthly knowledge, who could have used his ability and learning to any end (). Yet like many men blessed with almost inhuman giftedness, Faustus's potentiality, even his self-defined goals, terminates in an explosion of folly. Faustus's prideful lust for god-like power leads to the ultimate ruin of not only his intellect, but his life, making him a most pitiable tragic character (could I call him a tragic Hero?).

Faustus's first item of desire and downfall is a lust for power through knowledge, and the accompanying hubris of thinking he can master this omniscient omnipotence. Only someone in defiance of God could so singlemindedly pursue the sin of Babel; Faustus embraces magic, in which “ a world of profit and delight,/ Of power, of honour, of omnipotence,/ Is promised to the studious artisan”(). Despite his chances for later repentance, the doom of Dr. Faustus was determined when he decided that “ A sound magician is a mighty god:” He wishes to be greater than God, even to the point of selling his soul. His friends immediately recognize the tragedy of his case. “Were he a stranger, and not allied to me, yet should/I grieve for him” (). This marks the beginning of the deterioration of his intellet. The words of his tutor Cornelius ring true: “ The miracles that magic will perform/Will make thee vow to study nothing else”(). Faustus leaves behind all other courses of study, all noble knowledge, to garner enough power to feed his pride.

His dreams begin magnificent and proud, but his concept of what it means to be a god diminishes somewhat when it ...

... middle of paper ...

...law through the course of the story. His pride has swollen to such an extent that he has become his own god.

To God? he loves thee not;

The god thou serv'st is thine own appetite,

Wherein is fix'd the love of Belzebub:

To him I'll build an altar and a church,

And offer lukewarm blood of new-born babes. ()

As Faustus's death approaches, he responds by carousing and indulging even more while still in possession of his faculties, as he lays in a desperate panic on his deathbed, his intellect is no longer subject to reason. His power lust has overcome him, and has left him in a state of complete presumption. “Swoln with cunning, of a self-conceit,/ His waxen wings did mount above his reach,/And, melting, heavens conspir'd his overthrow” “For vain pleasure of twenty-four years hath Faustus lost eternal joy and felicity”. What could be more tragic.