(f) If the refraction is still stronger, the edges of the opposite colors lap still more, and the green vanishes. The Newtonian theory cannot explain this, but it is to be expected according to Goethe’s theory.
(g) According to Goethe’s theory, if the object were a dark one instead of a light one, and were refracted on a light surface, the order of colors would be reversed on each edge of the image. This is the same experiment as one makes by looking through a prism at the bar of a window appearing against the sky. Where in the light image we had the yellow colors we should now expect the blue, for now it is dark over light where before it was light over dark. So, also, where we had blue we should now have yellow. This experiment may be so conducted that the current doctrine that violet is refracted the most, and red the least, shall be refuted.
(h) This constitutes the experimentum crucis. If the prism be a large water prism, and a black strip be pasted across the middle of it, parallel with its axis, so that in the midst of the image a dark shadow intervenes, the spectrum appears inverted in the middle, so that the red is seen where the green would otherwise appear, and those rays supposed to be the least refrangible are found refracted the most.
(i) When the two colored edges do not meet in this latter experiment, we have blue, indigo, violet, as the order on one side; and on the other, orange, yellow, saffron; the deeper colors being next to the dark image. If the two colored edges come together the union of the orange with the violet produces the perfect red (called by Goethe “purpur”).
(j) The best method of making experiments is not the one that Newton employed—that of a dark room and a pencil of light—but it is better to look at dark and bright stripes on grounds of the opposite hue, or at the bars of a window, the prism being held in the hand of the investigator. In the Newtonian form of the experiment one is apt to forget the importance of the dark edge where it meets the light.
[For further information on this interesting subject the English reader is referred to Eastlake’s translation of Goethe’s Philosophy of Colors, published in London.]
THE JOURNAL OF SPECULATIVE PHILOSOPHY.
Vol. I. 1867. No. 2.
SECOND PART OF GOETHE’S FAUST.
[Translated from Rosenkrantz’s “Deutsche Literatur,” by D. J. Snider.]
Goethe began nothing if the whole of the work did not hover before his mind. By this determinateness of plan he preserved a most persevering attachment to the materials of which he had once laid hold; they were elements of his existence, which for him were immortal, because they constituted his inmost being. He could put off their execution for years, and still be certain that his love for them would return, that his interest in them would animate him anew. Through this depth of conception he preserved fresh to the end his original purpose; he needed not to fear that the fire of the first enthusiasm would go out; at the most different times he could take up his work again with youthful zeal and strength. Thus in the circle of his poetical labors, two conceptions that are in internal opposition to one another, accompanied him through his whole life. The one portrays a talented but fickle man, who, in want of culture, attaches himself to this person, then to that one, in order to become spiritually independent. This struggle carries him into the breadth of life, into manifold relations whose spirit he longs to seize and appropriate; such is Wilhelm Meister. The other is the picture of an absolutely independent personality that has cultivated its lordly power in solitary loftiness, and aspires boldly to subject the world to itself; such is Faust. In the development of both subjects there is a decisive turning-point which is marked in the first by the “Travels;” in the second, by the Second Part of the Tragedy. Up to this point, both in Wilhelm Meister and in Faust, subjective conditions prevail, which gradually purify themselves to higher views and aims. For the one, the betrothal with Natalia closes the world of wild, youthful desire; for the other, the death of Margaret has the same effect. The one steps into civil society and its manifold activity, with the earnest endeavor to comprehend all its elements, to acquire, preserve, and beautify property, and to assist in illuminating and ennobling social relations; the other takes likewise a practical turn, but from the summit of Society, from the stand-point of the State itself. If, therefore, in the apprenticeship and First Part of the Tragedy, on account of the excess of subjective conditions, a closer connection of the character and a passionate pathos are necessary, there appears, on the contrary, in the Travels and Second part of the Tragedy a thoughtfulness which moderates everything—a cool designingness; the particular elements are sharply characterized, but the personages seem rather as supporters of universal aims, in the accomplishment of which their own personality is submerged; the Universal and its language is their pathos, and the interest in their history, that before was so remarkably fascinating, is blunted of its keenness.
We have seen Faust grow, fragment by fragment, before our eyes. So long as there existed only a First Part, two views arose. The one maintained that it was in this incompleteness what it should be, a wonderful Torso; that this magnificent poem only as a fragment could reflect the World in order to indicate that Man is able to grasp the Universe in a one-sided, incomplete manner only; that as the poet touched the mysteries of the World, but did not give a complete solution, so the Enigmatical, the Prophetic, is that which is truly poetic, infinitely charming, really mystic. This view was considered as genial, particularly because it left to every one free play—in fact, invited every one in his imagination to fill up the outlines; for it could not be defended from a philosophic nor from an artistic standpoint. Knowing seeks not half knowledge, Art aims not at halfness of execution. If Dante in his Divine Comedy had neglected any element of nature or of history, if he had not wrought out all with equal perseverance in corresponding proportion, could it be said that his poem would stand higher without this completion? Or conversely, shall we praise it as a merit that Novalis’ Ofterdingen has remained mere fragments and sketches? This would be the same as if we should admire the Cologne Cathedral less than we now do were it complete. Another view supposed that a Second Part was indeed possible, and the question arose, in what manner shall this possibility be thought? Here again two opposite opinions showed themselves. According to the one, Faust must perish; reconciliation with God would be unbecoming to the northern nature of this Titanic character; the teeth-gnashing defiance, the insatiate restlessness, the crushing doubt, the heaven-deriding fierceness, must send him to hell. In this the spirit of the old legend was expressed as it was at the time of the Reformation—for in the middle ages the redemption of the sinner through the intercession of the Virgin Mary first appeared—as the Volksbuch simply but strikingly narrates it, as the Englishman, Marlowe, has dramatized it so excellently in his Doctor Faustus. But all this was not applicable to the Faust of Goethe, for the poet had in his mind an alteration of the old legend, and so another party maintained that Faust must be saved. This party also asserted that the indication of the poet in the Prologue led to the same conclusion; that God could not lose his bet against the Devil; that the destruction of Faust would be blasphemous irony on Divine Providence. This assertion of the necessity of Faust’s reconciliation found much favor in a time, like ours, which has renounced not indeed the consciousness and recognition of Evil, but the belief in a separate extra-human Devil; which purposes not merely the punishment but also the improvement of the criminal; which seeks even to annul the death penalty, and transfer the atonement for murder to the inner conscience and to the effacing power of the Mind. But how was Poetry to exhibit such a transition from internal strife to celestial peace? Some supposed, as Hinrichs, that since Faust’s despair resulted originally from science, which did not furnish to him that which it had at first promised, and since his childish faith had been destroyed by scepticism, he must be saved through the scientific comprehension of Truth, of the Christian Religion; that speculative Philosophy must again reconcile him with God, with the World, and with himself. They confessed indeed that this process—study and speculation—cannot be represented in poetry, and therefore a Second Part of Faust was not to be expected. Others, especially poets, took Faust in a more general sense; he was to penetrate not only Science but Life in its entirety; the most manifold action was to move him, and the sweat of labor was to be the penance which should bring him peace and furnish the clearness promised by the Lord. Several sought to complete the work—all with indifferent success.