Introductions to Goethe's Scientific Writings
GA 1
Translated by Steiner Online Library
16. Goethe as a Thinker and Scholar
Goethe and Modern Natural Science
[ 1 ] Were it not for the duty to speak the truth unreservedly when one believes one has recognized it, the following remarks would likely have remained unwritten. I have no doubt as to the judgment they will receive from scholars within the prevailing school of thought in the natural sciences today. They will be seen as the amateurish attempt of a person to speak up for a cause that has long been settled among all “people of sound judgment.” When I consider the contempt of all those who today believe themselves to be the only ones qualified to speak on scientific matters, I must admit that there is certainly nothing alluring—in the conventional sense—about this endeavor. Yet I could not allow myself to be deterred by these foreseeable objections. For I can raise all these objections myself and therefore know how little merit they have. Thinking “scientifically” in the sense of modern natural science is not particularly difficult. After all, we experienced a remarkable case not too long ago. Eduard von Hartmann came forward with his *Philosophy of the Unconscious*. Today, the witty author of this book himself would be the last to deny its imperfections. But the school of thought we are dealing with here is a penetrating one that gets to the bottom of things. It therefore powerfully captivated all minds that had a need for deeper understanding. However, it ran counter to the approaches of natural scientists who were groping at the surface of things. They generally rebelled against it. After various attacks on their part proved largely ineffective, a treatise by an anonymous author appeared: “The Unconscious from the standpoint of Darwinism and the Theory of Descent” [1872], which, with every conceivable critical acuity, brought forth against the newly established philosophy everything that could be said against it from the standpoint of modern natural science. This treatise caused a sensation. The adherents of the prevailing school were highly satisfied with it. They publicly acknowledged that the author was one of their own and proclaimed his arguments as their own. What a disappointment they must have experienced! When the author finally revealed his identity, it turned out to be—Ed. von Hartmann. This, however, demonstrates with convincing force: it is not unfamiliarity with the findings of natural science, nor is it dilettantism, that makes it impossible for certain minds striving for deeper insight to align themselves with the school of thought that today seeks to establish itself as the dominant one. Rather, it is the realization that the paths of this school are not the right ones. It is not difficult for philosophy to adopt the standpoint of the current view of nature on a trial basis. Ed. v. Hartmann has irrefutably demonstrated this through his conduct to anyone who is willing to see it. This serves to reinforce my assertion made above that it is not difficult for me, either, to raise against myself the objections that might be raised against my arguments..
[ 2 ] It seems that nowadays anyone who takes philosophical reflection on the nature of things seriously is regarded as a dilettante. Among our contemporaries—whether those of the “mechanistic” or even the “positivist” school of thought—having a worldview is considered an idealistic quirk. This view becomes understandable, of course, when one sees the helpless ignorance in which these positivist thinkers find themselves when they express their views on the “nature of matter,” “the limits of knowledge,” “the nature of atoms,” or similar matters. These examples provide a valuable case study of the amateurish treatment of crucial scientific questions.*
[ 3 ] One must have the courage to admit all of this in the face of contemporary natural science, despite the tremendous, admirable achievements that this same natural science has made in the technical realm. For these achievements have nothing to do with the true need for knowledge of nature. We have seen this very clearly in our contemporaries, to whom we owe inventions whose significance for the future cannot even be surmised for a long time to come, yet who lack a deeper scientific need. It is one thing to observe the processes of nature in order to harness its forces for the service of technology, and quite another to seek, with the help of these processes, to look more deeply into the essence of natural science. True science exists only where the mind seeks satisfaction of its needs, without any external purpose.
[ 4 ] True science, in the higher sense of the word, deals only with ideal objects; it can only be idealism. For it has its ultimate basis in needs that arise from the mind. Nature awakens within us questions and problems that seek a solution. But it cannot provide this solution itself. It is only the fact that a higher world confronts nature through our cognitive faculties that gives rise to higher demands. A being that did not possess this higher nature would simply not be able to grasp these problems. Therefore, they can receive their answer from no other source than this higher nature itself. Scientific questions are therefore essentially a matter that the mind must resolve within itself. They do not lead it out of its own element. But the realm in which the mind lives and operates—as its very own—is the realm of ideas, the world of thought. Resolving intellectual questions through intellectual answers—that is scientific activity in the highest sense of the word. And all other scientific activities ultimately exist only to serve this highest purpose. Take scientific observation, for example. It is meant to lead us to the knowledge of a law of nature. The law itself is purely ideal. Even the need for a regularity governing the phenomena stems from the mind. A non-rational being would not have this need. Now let us turn to observation! What do we actually hope to achieve through it? Is something to be provided to us from the outside—through sensory observation—that could serve as an answer to the question generated in our mind? Never. For why should we feel more satisfied with a second observation than with the first? If the mind were at all satisfied with the observed object, it would have to be satisfied with it right from the start. But the real question is not at all about a second observation, but rather about the ideal foundation of observations. What kind of ideal explanation does this observation allow for? How must I conceive of it, so that it appears possible to me? These are the questions that confront us in relation to the sensory world. I must seek out from the depths of my own mind what I lack in relation to the sensory world. If I cannot create for myself the higher nature toward which my mind strives in contrast to the sensory world, then no power in the external world can create it for me. The results of science can therefore come only from the mind; they can thus be nothing but ideas . Nothing can be objected to this necessary consideration. With it, however, the idealistic character of all science is secured.
[ 5 ] Modern natural science, by its very nature, cannot believe in the ideal nature of knowledge. For it does not regard the idea as the first, most primordial, or creative principle, but rather as the final product of material processes. However, it is completely unaware of the fact that these material processes belong only to the world observable by the senses, which, when understood more deeply, dissolves entirely into the idea. The process in question presents itself to observation as follows: We perceive facts with our senses—facts that proceed entirely according to the laws of mechanics—then phenomena of heat, light, magnetism, electricity, and finally the process of life, etc. At the highest level of life, we find that it rises to the formation of concepts and ideas, the bearer of which is precisely the human brain. Emerging from such a sphere of thought, we find our own “I.” This “I” appears to be the ultimate product of a complex process mediated by a long series of physical, chemical, and organic processes. But if we examine the ideal world that constitutes the content of that “I,” we find in it essentially more than merely the end product of that process. We find that its individual parts are linked to one another in a completely different way than the parts of that merely observed process. When one thought arises within us, which then requires a second, we find that there is an ideal connection between these two objects of a completely different nature than when, for example, I observe the coloration of a substance as a result of a chemical agent. It goes without saying that the successive stages of the cerebral process have their source in organic metabolism, even though the cerebral process itself is the vehicle of those thought-forms. But why the second thought follows from the first —I find no reason for this in this metabolism , but rather in the logical connection of thoughts. In the world of thought, therefore, alongside organic necessity there prevails a higher, ideal necessity. But this necessity, which the mind finds within its world of ideas, it also seeks in the rest of the universe. For this necessity arises for us only because we not only observe, but also think. Or, in other words: Things no longer appear in a merely factual connection, but are linked by an inner, ideal necessity when we grasp them not merely through observation, but through thought.
[ 6 ] In contrast, one cannot say: What is the point of comprehending the entire phenomenal world in thought if the things of this world, by their very nature, may not even allow for such comprehension? Only someone who has not grasped the essence of the whole matter can ask this question. The world of thought comes to life within us; it stands opposite the objects observable by the senses and now asks: What is the relationship between this world that stands before me and myself? What is it to me? I am here with my ideal necessity, which hovers above all transience; I have the power within me to explain myself. But how do I explain what appears before me?
[ 7 ] It is here that we find the answer to a significant question that, for example, Friedrich Theodor Vascher has repeatedly raised and declared to be the linchpin of all philosophical reflection: the question of the relationship between mind and nature. What is the relationship between these two entities, which always seem to us to be separate from one another? If one poses this question properly , then answering it is not as difficult as it seems. What possible meaning can the question have? After all, it is not posed by a being who stands above nature and mind as a third entity and examines that connection from this vantage point, but by one of the two entities, by the mind, itself. The latter asks: What connection exists between me and nature? But this means nothing other than: How can I place myself in a relationship with the nature that stands opposite me? How can I express this relationship in accordance with the needs that live within me? I live in ideas; what kind of idea corresponds to nature, and how can I express what I perceive as nature as an idea ? It is as if we often block our own path to a satisfactory answer by asking the wrong question. But a correct question is already half the answer..*
[ 8 ] The mind seeks everywhere to go beyond the sequence of facts as presented by mere observation and to penetrate to the ideas of things . Science begins precisely where thought begins. In its findings lies, as an ideal necessity, what appears to the senses merely as a sequence of facts. These results are only seemingly the final product of the process described above; in truth, they are what we must regard as the foundation of everything in the entire universe. Where they appear to observation is irrelevant; for, as we have seen, their significance does not depend on that. They spread the net of their ideal necessity over the entire universe.
[ 9 ] No matter where we start, if we have enough intellectual power, we will ultimately arrive at the idea.
[ 10 ] Because modern physics completely fails to recognize this, it is led into a whole series of errors. I will point out just one such example here.
[ 11 ] Let us consider the definition of inertia, which in physics is usually listed among the “general properties of bodies.” This is usually defined as follows: No body can change the state of motion in which it finds itself without an external cause. This definition gives the impression that the concept of an inherently inert body has been abstracted from the phenomenal world. And Mill, who never addresses the matter itself but turns old ideas upside down for the sake of a forced theory, would not hesitate for a moment to explain the matter in this way. But this is entirely incorrect. The concept of an inert body arises purely through a conceptual construction. By calling that which is extended in space a “body,” I can conceive of bodies whose changes result from external influences and others in which they occur of their own accord. If I now find something in the external world that corresponds to my formed concept: “body that cannot change without an external impulse,” I call it inert or subject to the law of conservation of motion. My concepts are not abstracted from the sensory world, but freely constructed from the idea, and it is only with their help that I am able to orient myself in the sensory world. The above definition could only read: A body that cannot change its state of motion of its own accord is called an inert body. And once I have recognized it as such, I can apply everything related to an inert body to the body in question.
2. The “Primordial Phenomenon”
[ 12 ] If we could trace the entire series of processes that take place during any sensory perception—from the peripheral nerve endings in the sensory organ all the way to the brain—we would still never reach the point where the mechanical, chemical, and organic processes—in short, the spatiotemporal processes—cease, and that what we actually call sensory perception—for example, the sensation of heat, light, sound, etc.—occurs. There is no point at which the causative movement transitions into its effect, the perception. Can we, then, even speak of the two things as being in a cause-and-effect relationship?
[ 13 ] Let us examine the facts quite objectively. Let us assume that a certain sensation arises in our consciousness. It then arises in such a way that it refers us to some object from which it originates. If I have the sensation of red, then—by virtue of the content of this representation—I generally associate with it at the same time a specific spatial reference, that is, a location in space or the surface of an object to which I attribute what this sensation expresses. This is not the case, however, when, due to an external influence, the sense organ itself responds in its own characteristic way—as when I experience a sensation of light upon being struck in the eye. Let us set aside these cases, in which, incidentally, sensations never occur with their usual specificity. After all, as exceptional cases, they cannot teach us anything about the nature of things. If I have the sensation of red with a specific spatial location, I am first directed to some object in the external world as the bearer of this sensation. I can now well ask myself: What spatiotemporal processes are taking place in this object while it appears to me as endowed with the color red? It will then become clear to me that mechanical, chemical, or other processes present themselves as the answer to my question. Now I can go further and examine the processes that took place on the path from that object to my sensory organs in order to convey the sensation of the color red to me. Once again, nothing other than processes of motion, electrical currents, or chemical changes can present themselves to me as such mediators. I would arrive at the same result if I could investigate the further mediation from the sense organ to the central region of the brain. What is mediated along this entire path is the perception of red in question. How this perception manifests itself in a particular object that lies along the path from the stimulus to perception depends solely on the nature of that object. The sensation is present at every point along the way, from the stimulus to the brain, but not as such, not explicitly, rather in a form that corresponds to the nature of the object located at that point.
[ 14 ] This, however, yields a truth that is capable of shedding light on the entire theoretical foundation of physics and physiology. What do I learn from the examination of a thing that is affected by a process which appears in my consciousness as a sensation? I learn nothing more than the manner in which that thing responds to the action emanating from the sensation—or, in other words, how a sensation manifests itself in some object of the spatiotemporal world. Far from such a spatiotemporal process being the cause that triggers the sensation within me, the exact opposite is true: the spatiotemporal process is the effect of the sensation in a spatiotemporally extended object. I could insert any number of things along the path from the stimulus to the organ of perception: in each of them, only that which can occur by virtue of its nature will occur. Nevertheless, the sensation remains that which manifests itself in all these processes..
[ 15 ] Thus, in the longitudinal vibrations of the air during the transmission of sound, or in the hypothetical oscillations of the ether during the transmission of light, one must see nothing other than the manner in which the sensations in question can occur in a medium that, by its very nature, is capable only of rarefaction and compression, or of oscillatory motion. I cannot find sensation as such in this world, because it simply cannot exist there. However, in those processes I have by no means presented the objective reality of sensory processes, but rather a form of their manifestation.
[ 16 ] And let us now ask ourselves: What, then, is the nature of these mediating processes themselves? Do we examine them by any means other than through our senses? Indeed, can I examine my senses themselves by any means other than through these very same senses? Are the peripheral nerve endings and the convolutions of the brain given by anything other than sensory perception? All of this is equally subjective and equally objective, if this distinction could even be considered valid. Now we can grasp the matter even more precisely. By tracing perception from its stimulus to the sensory organ, we are examining nothing other than the continuous transition from one perception to another. “Red” presents itself to us as the very thing for which we are conducting this entire investigation in the first place. It points us to its stimulus. In this stimulus, we observe other sensations associated with that red. These are processes of movement. They then occur as further processes of movement between the stimulus and the sense organ, and so on. All of these, however, are likewise perceived sensations. And they represent nothing more than a metamorphosis of processes which, insofar as they are at all relevant to sensory observation, dissolve entirely into perceptions..
[ 17 ] The perceived world is therefore nothing more than a sum of transformed perceptions..
[ 18 ] For the sake of convenience, we had to use a mode of expression that cannot be fully reconciled with the present result. We said that every thing interposed in the space between the stimulus and the organ of perception expresses a sensation in a manner consistent with its nature. Strictly speaking, the thing is nothing more than the sum of those processes as which it appears.
[ 19 ] One might now object: with this line of reasoning, we do away with everything enduring in the ongoing process of the world; like Heraclitus, we make the flow of things—in which nothing remains the same—the sole principle of the world. There must be a “thing-in-itself” behind phenomena, a “permanent matter” behind the world of change. Let us therefore examine more closely what this “permanent matter,” this “permanence in change,” is actually all about...
[ 20 ] When I direct my gaze toward a red surface, the sensation of red arises in my consciousness. We must now distinguish between the beginning, duration, and end of this sensation. This transient sensation must now be contrasted with a lasting objective process, which as such is again objectively limited in time—that is, has a beginning, duration, and end. This process, however, is said to take place in a substance that is without beginning or end—that is, indestructible and eternal. This substance is said to be the truly enduring element amidst the succession of processes. The conclusion might perhaps have some justification if the concept of time were correctly applied to sensation in the manner described above. But must we not strictly distinguish between the content of sensation and its occurrence? In my perception, of course, both are one and the same; for the content of sensation must surely be present within it, otherwise it would not even come into consideration for me. But is it not entirely irrelevant to this content, taken purely as such, that it now enters my consciousness at this very moment in time and, after so many seconds, exits it again? That which constitutes the content of sensation—that is, that which alone is objectively relevant—is entirely independent of this. Now, however, the cannot be regarded as an essential condition for the existence of a thing, since it is entirely irrelevant to its content..
[ 21 ] But even for an objective process that has a beginning and an end, our use of the concept of time is not correct. If a new property appears in a particular thing, persists for some time in various stages of development, and then disappears again, we must regard the content of this property as the essential aspect. And this, as such, has absolutely nothing to do with the concepts of beginning, duration, and end. By “essential,” we mean here that which makes a thing actually be precisely what it appears to be. It is not that something appears at a specific moment in time, but what appears—that is what matters. The sum of all these determinations expressed by the “what” constitutes the content of the world. Now, however, this “what” manifests itself in the most manifold determinations, in the most diverse forms. All these forms are related to one another; they are mutually dependent. Through this, they enter into a relationship of separation in space and time. But the concept of matter owes its origin solely to a completely mistaken understanding of the concept of time. People believe they can reduce the world to an insubstantial illusion if they do not assume that underlying the ever-changing sum of events there is something that persists in time—something unchanging that remains while its manifestations change. But time is not, after all, a vessel in which changes take place; it does not exist before things and outside of them. Time is the sensory expression of the fact that events, in terms of their content, are dependent on one another in a sequence. Let us assume we are dealing with the perceptible complex of facts a1 b1 c1 d1 e1. The other complex, a2 b2 c2 d2 e2, depends on this one with internal necessity; I grasp the content of the latter when I allow it to emerge conceptually from the former. Now let us assume that both complexes appear in reality. For what we discussed earlier is the entirely timeless and spaceless nature of these complexes. If a2 b2 c2 d2 e2 is to appear in reality, then a1 b1 c1 d1 e1 must likewise be reality, and in such a way that a2 b2 c2 d2 e2 now also appears in its dependence on them. That is to say, the appearance a1 b1 c1 d1 e1 must be present to make way for the appearance a2 b2 c2 d2 e2, whereupon the latter appears. Here we see that time only comes into play when the essence of a thing enters into appearance . Time belongs to the world of phenomena. It has nothing to do with essence itself. This essence can be grasped only ideally. Only those who cannot make this transition from phenomenon to essence in their thought processes hypostasize time as something preceding the facts. But then they need an existence that outlasts changes. As such, they conceive of indestructible matter. In doing so, they have created for themselves a thing that time cannot affect—something that persists amid all change. In reality, however, they have merely demonstrated their inability to penetrate from the temporal appearance of facts to their essence, which has nothing to do with time. Can I, then, say of the essence of a fact that it comes into being or ceases to be? I can only say that its content conditions another, and that this condition then appears as a succession of time. The essence of a thing cannot be destroyed; for it is beyond all time and itself conditions the latter. In doing so, we have simultaneously shed light on two concepts for which little understanding is yet to be found: essence and appearance. Whoever correctly grasps the matter in our way need not seek proof of the indestructibility of a thing’s essence, because destruction implies the concept of time, which has nothing to do with essence.
[ 22 ] Based on these remarks, we can say: The sensory worldview is the sum of metamorphosing perceptual contents without any underlying matter..
[ 23 ] Our observations, however, have shown us something else as well. We have seen that we cannot speak of a subjective character of perceptions. When we have a perception, we can trace the processes from the stimulus all the way to our central organ: nowhere here will we find a point where the leap from the objectivity of the unperceived to the subjectivity of perception can be demonstrated. This refutes the subjective character of the world of perception. The world of perception stands as a self-grounded content that, for the time being, has nothing at all to do with subject or object.
[ 24 ] The above discussion, of course, applies only to that concept of matter on which physics bases its considerations and which it identifies with the old, equally incorrect concept of substance in metaphysics. Matter, as the truly real underlying phenomena, is one thing; matter as a phenomenon, as an appearance, is another. Our discussion focuses solely on the former concept. The latter is not addressed here. For when I call that which fills space “matter,” this is merely a word for a phenomenon to which no greater reality is ascribed than to other phenomena. I must simply keep this character of matter constantly in mind.
[ 25 ] The world of what presents itself to us as perceptions—that is, extension, motion, rest, force, light, heat, color, sound, electricity, etc.—is the object of all science..
[ 26 ] If the perceived worldview were such that, just as it appears before our senses, it fully manifested its essence without distortion—in other words, if everything that appears in phenomenon were a perfect, undisturbed reflection of the inner essence of things—then science would be the most unnecessary thing in the world. For the task of cognition would already be fully and completely fulfilled in perception. Indeed, we would then be unable to distinguish at all between essence and appearance. The two would coincide entirely as identical.
[ 27 ] However, that is not the case. Let us assume that element A, which is contained in the world of facts, is related in some way to element B. According to our discussion, both elements are, of course, nothing more than phenomena. This connection again appears as a phenomenon. Let us call this phenomenon C. What we can now observe within the world of facts is the relationship between A, B, and C. However, in addition to A, B, and C, there are an infinite number of such elements in the perceptible world. Let us take any fourth element, D; let it be added, and everything will immediately appear to be modified. Instead of A, in conjunction with B, being accompanied by C, the addition of D will give rise to a fundamentally different phenomenon, E..
[ 28 ] This is what matters. When we encounter a phenomenon, we see it as being conditioned in many ways. We must seek out all these relationships if we are to understand the phenomenon. Now, these relationships vary—some are closer, others more distant. The fact that I am confronted with a phenomenon E is caused by other phenomena that are in closer or more distant relationships to it. Some are absolutely necessary for such a phenomenon to arise at all; others, were they absent, would not prevent a phenomenon of this kind from arising, but they determine that it arise precisely in this way. From this we see that we must distinguish between necessary and contingent conditions of a phenomenon. Now, phenomena that arise in such a way that only the necessary conditions are involved can be called original, while the others can be called derived . If we understand the original phenomena from their conditions, then we can also understand the derived phenomena by adding new conditions.
[ 29 ] Here, the task of science becomes clear to us. It must penetrate the phenomenal world to such an extent that it seeks out phenomena that depend solely on necessary conditions. And the linguistic and conceptual expression for such necessary relationships is the laws of nature.
[ 30 ] When one encounters a sphere of phenomena, then—once one has moved beyond mere description and recording—one must first identify those elements that are necessarily interdependent and treat them as primary phenomena. To do this, one must then establish those conditions that stand in a more remote relation to those elements, in order to see how they modify those original phenomena.
[ 31 ] This is the relationship between science and the world of phenomena: in the latter, phenomena appear entirely as derived phenomena; they are therefore incomprehensible from the outset; in the former, the original phenomena take precedence and the derived phenomena follow, thereby making the entire context understandable. The system of science differs from the system of nature in that, in the former, the connection between phenomena is established by the intellect and thereby made intelligible. Science never has anything to add to the world of phenomena, but only to uncover its veiled connections. All use of reason must be limited to this latter task. By resorting to a non-phenomenal reality to explain phenomena, reason and all scientific activity overstep their authority..
[ 32 ] Only those who recognize the absolute correctness of our deductions can understand Goethe’s Theory of Colors. It was entirely foreign to Goethe to ponder what a perception—such as light or color—might be, apart from the essence as which it appears. For he was aware of the power of rational thought. Light was given to him as a sensation. When he sought to explain the connection between light and color, he could not do so through speculation, but only through a primordial phenomenon, by seeking out the necessary condition that must accompany light in order for color to arise. Newton, too, saw color arise in connection with light, but he then engaged in speculative reasoning: How does color arise from light? That was characteristic of his speculative way of thinking; it was not characteristic of Goethe’s concrete and self-consistent way of thinking. Therefore, Newton’s assumption—“Light is composed of colored lights”—must have appeared to him as the result of incorrect speculation. He considered himself justified in making statements only about the relationship between light and color under certain conditions, but not about light itself by invoking a speculative concept. Hence his statement: “Light is the simplest, most indivisible, and most homogeneous entity we know. It is not composite.” All statements about the composition of light are, after all, merely statements of the understanding regarding a phenomenon. The authority of the understanding, however, extends only to statements about the relationship between phenomena.
[ 33 ] This reveals the deeper reason why Goethe, when he looked through the prism, could not endorse Newton’s theory. The prism would have had to be the first condition for the production of color. However, another condition—the presence of darkness—proved to be more fundamental to its production; the prism was only the second condition.
[ 34 ] With these discussions, I believe I have removed all obstacles for readers of Goethe’s Theory of Colors that might stand in the way of engaging with this work..
[ 35 ] Had one not constantly sought this difference between the two theories of color in two contradictory interpretations—which one then simply wished to examine for their validity—Goethe’s theory of color would long ago have been recognized for its great scientific significance. Only someone who is completely imbued with such fundamentally false notions—such as the idea that one must, through rational reflection, trace perceptions back to their cause—can still pose the question in the manner that contemporary physics does. But anyone who has truly come to realize that explaining phenomena means nothing other than observing them in a context established by the intellect must accept Goethe’s theory of colors in principle . For it is the result of a correct perspective on the relationship between our thinking and nature. Newton did not possess this perspective. Of course, it would not occur to me to defend every detail of Goethe’s theory of colors. What I wish to uphold is only the principle. But even here, it cannot be my task to derive from his principle those phenomena of color theory that were still unknown in Goethe’s time. Should I one day have the good fortune to possess the leisure and resources to write a theory of color in the Goethean sense that is fully in line with the modern achievements of natural science, then the task I have outlined here would be solved in such a work alone. I would consider this to be one of the most beautiful tasks of my life. This introduction could only cover the scientifically rigorous justification of Goethe’s way of thinking in the theory of colors. In what follows, light will now also be shed on its internal structure.
3. The System of Natural Science
[ 36 ] It might easily seem as though, with our investigations—which attribute to thought only the capacity to synthesize perceptions—we are now calling into question the independent significance of the concepts and ideas for which we have so vigorously advocated.
[ 37 ] Only an inadequate interpretation of this study can lead to this view.
[ 38 ] What does thought accomplish when it establishes the connection between perceptions?
[ 39 ] Let us consider two perceptions, A and B. These are initially given to us as entities free of concepts. I cannot transform the qualities given to my sensory perception into anything else through conceptual reflection. Nor can I find any mental quality through which I could construct what is given in sensuous reality if I lacked the perception. I can never provide a person who is color-blind to red with a conception of the quality “red,” even if I were to describe it to them conceptually using every conceivable means. Sensory perception thus has a certain something that never enters into the concept; it must be perceived if it is to become the object of our knowledge at all. What, then, is the role of the concept that we associate with any given sensory perception? It must evidently introduce a completely independent element, something new that certainly belongs to sensory perception but does not come to light within it..
[ 40 ] It is, however, certain that this new “something” that the concept adds to sensory perception is precisely what satisfies our need for explanation. We are only able to understand any element in the sensory world once we have a concept of it. We can, of course, always point to what sensory reality offers us; and anyone who has the ability to perceive precisely this element in question knows what it is. Through the concept, we are able to say something about the sensory world that cannot be perceived..
[ 41 ] However, the following immediately follows from this. If the essence of sensory perception were exhausted in sensory quality, then something entirely new could not be added in the form of a concept. Sensory perception is therefore not a totality at all, but only one aspect of such a totality—namely, the aspect that can merely be observed. It is only through the concept that it becomes clear to us what we are observing.
[ 42 ] Now we can articulate the substantive meaning of what we methodically developed in the previous chapter: It is only through the conceptual grasp of what is given in the sensory world that the “what” of what is given in perception comes to light. We cannot articulate the content of what is perceived, because this content is exhausted in the how of what is perceived—that is, in the form of its presentation. Thus, in the concepts , we find the “what,” the other content of what is given in the sensory world in the form of perception..
[ 43 ] It is only in the concept, then, that the world acquires its full content. But we have now found that the concept points us beyond the individual phenomenon to the interconnection of things. Consequently, what appears in the sensory world as separate and isolated presents itself to the concept as a unified whole. Thus, our scientific methodology leads, as its ultimate goal, to monistic natural science; but it is not abstract monism, which presupposes unity and then forcibly subsumes the individual facts of concrete existence under it, but rather concrete monism, which demonstrates, step by step, that the apparent multiplicity of sensory existence ultimately proves to be nothing but an ideal unity. Multiplicity is merely a form through which the unified content of the world expresses itself. The senses, which are unable to grasp this unified content, cling to multiplicity; they are natural pluralists. Thinking, however, overcomes multiplicity and thus, through a long process of work, returns to the unified principle of the world..
[ 44 ] The way, then, in which the concept (the idea) manifests itself in the sensory world constitutes the distinction between the kingdoms of nature. If a sensibly real entity exists in such a way that it stands entirely outside the concept, governed in its changes solely by the concept as a law , then we call this entity inorganic. Everything that happens to such a being can be attributed to the influences of another being; and the way the two interact can be explained by a law external to them. In this sphere, we are dealing with phenomena and laws which, if they are primordial, can be called “primordial phenomena” . In this case, therefore, the conceptual that is to be perceived lies outside a perceived multiplicity.
[ 45 ] However, a sensually given unity can itself point beyond itself; if we wish to grasp it, it may compel us to proceed to determinations beyond those perceptible to us. Then what is conceptually graspable appears as a sensually given unity. Although the two—concept and perception—are not identical, the concept does not appear outside sensory multiplicity as a law, but rather within it as a principle. It underlies it as that which pervades it—no longer perceptible to the senses—which we call type . This is the subject of organic natural science.
[ 46 ] But even here, the concept does not yet appear in its proper form as a concept, but only as a type. Where it now appears no longer merely as such—as a pervasive principle—but in its conceptual form itself, there it appears as consciousness; there, at last, what is present on the lower levels only in essence comes to light. Here, the concept itself becomes perception. We are dealing with the self-conscious human being.
[ 47 ] Natural law, type, and concept are the three forms in which the ideal manifests itself. Natural law is abstract, standing above sensory diversity; it governs inorganic natural science. Here, idea and reality diverge completely. The type already unites both in a single being. The spiritual becomes an active being, but it does not yet act as such; it is not present as such, but must—if it is to be considered in terms of its existence—be perceived as a sensually perceptible entity. Such is the case in the realm of organic nature. The concept is present in a perceptible way. In human consciousness, the concept itself is what is perceptible. Intuition and idea coincide. It is precisely the ideal that is perceived. That is why, at this level, the ideal essences of the lower levels of nature can also come into appearance. Human consciousness makes it possible for that which, at the lower levels of existence, merely is but does not appear, to now also become an appearing reality..*
4. The System of Color Theory
[ 48 ] Goethe’s work falls within a period in which the pursuit of absolute knowledge—knowledge that finds its own fulfillment—powerfully inspired all minds. Once again, human understanding, with sacred zeal, ventures to examine all means of knowledge in order to draw closer to the solution of the highest questions. The era of Eastern theosophy, Plato and Aristotle, and later Descartes and Spinoza, represent a similar depth of inner reflection in the preceding epochs of world history. Goethe is inconceivable without Kant, Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel. While these minds were characterized above all by a gaze into the depths and an eye for the highest, their contemplation rested upon the things of immediate reality. Yet in this contemplation lies something of that depth itself. Goethe cultivated this gaze through his observation of nature. The spirit of that era is poured out like a fluid over his observations of nature. Hence their grandeur, which, even when considering the details, always preserves the overarching theme. Goethe’s scholarship always goes to the heart of the matter..
[ 49 ] More than anywhere else, we can see this in Goethe’s Theory of Colors. After all, it is the only work—alongside the *Essay on the Metamorphosis of Plants*—that has become a self-contained whole. And what a rigorously coherent system it represents—one demanded by the very nature of the subject itself!
[ 50 ] Let us now examine this building in terms of its internal structure.
[ 51 ] For anything rooted in the essence of nature to come into being, the necessary prerequisite is that there be an occasional cause—an organ—in which what has just been stated manifests itself. The eternal, immutable laws of nature would indeed prevail even if they never manifested themselves in the human mind; yet their manifestation as such would not be possible. They would exist merely in essence, not in appearance. The same would be true of the world of light and color if no perceiving eye were to encounter them. Color must not, in the Schopenhauerian manner, be derived from the eye in terms of its essence; rather, the possibility for color to appear must be demonstrated within the eye. The eye does not determine color, but it is the cause of its appearance.
[ 52 ] This is where the theory of colors must come into play. It must examine the eye and reveal its nature. That is why Goethe places the physiological theory of colors at the beginning. But even here, his approach differs significantly from what is usually understood by this branch of optics. He does not seek to explain the eye’s functions based on its structure, but rather to observe the eye under various conditions in order to gain insight into its capabilities and faculties. His method here, too, is essentially observational. What occurs when light and darkness act upon the eye; what happens when limited images come into relation with it, etc.? He does not initially ask what processes take place in the eye when this or that perception arises, but rather seeks to fathom what can come about through the eye in the living act of seeing. For his purpose, this is initially the only important question. Strictly speaking, the other question does not belong to the field of physiological color theory, but rather to the study of the human organism—that is, to general physiology. Goethe is concerned only with the eye insofar as it sees, and not with explaining vision based on those perceptions we can derive from the dead eye.
[ 53 ] From there, he then moves on to the objective processes that give rise to color phenomena. And here it is important to note that, by these objective processes, Goethe by no means means the hypothetical material or kinetic processes that are no longer perceptible, but rather that he remains entirely within the realm of the perceptible world. His physical theory of colors, which forms the second part, seeks the conditions that are independent of the eye and are related to the formation of colors. However, these conditions are still perceptions. Here he investigates how colors arise from light with the aid of a prism, a lens, etc. For the time being, however, he limits himself to tracing color as such in its becoming, observing how it arises in and of itself, separate from bodies.
[ 54 ] It is only in a separate chapter, Chemical Theory of Color, that he moves on to fixed colors that adhere to objects. While physiological color theory answers the question of how colors can come into being at all, and physical color theory addresses how colors arise under external conditions, here he addresses the problem of how the physical world appears as colored?
[ 55 ] Goethe thus moves from considering color as an attribute of the phenomenal world to the phenomenal world itself as appearing in that attribute. He does not stop there, but ultimately examines the higher relationship between the colored physical world and the soul in the chapter: “The Sensual-Moral Effect of Color...”
[ 56 ] This is the rigorous, self-contained path of a science: from the subject as a condition back to the subject as a being that finds fulfillment in and with its world.
[ 57 ] Who would not recognize here the impulse of the times—from subject to object and back again to the subject—that led Hegel to the architectural structure of his entire system...
[ 58 ] In this sense, Goethe’s “Outline of a Theory of Colors” appears to be his true magnum opus in the field of optics. The two works—“Contributions to Optics” and “Elements of the Theory of Colors”—must be regarded as preliminary studies. “Revelations of Newton’s Theory” is merely a polemical appendix to his work.
5. Goethe's Concept of Space
[ 59 ] Since a full understanding of his physical work is possible only with a conception of space that coincides entirely with Goethe’s, we shall develop that conception here. Anyone who wishes to arrive at this view must have gained the following conviction from our previous discussions: 1. The things that appear to us as separate entities in experience are intrinsically related to one another. In truth, they are held together by a unified cosmic bond. A common principle lives within them all . 2. When our mind approaches things and strives to encompass the separate through a spiritual bond, the conceptual unity it establishes is not external to the objects, but is drawn from the inner essence of nature itself. Human cognition is not a process that takes place outside of things, arising from mere subjective arbitrariness; rather, what appears in our mind as a law of nature, what plays out in our soul, is the heartbeat of the universe itself..
[ 60 ] For our present purpose, let us examine the most external relationship that our mind establishes between the objects of experience. Let us consider the simplest case in which experience calls for mental effort on our part. Let there be two simple elements of the phenomenal world. To avoid complicating our investigation, let us take the simplest possible examples, such as two luminous points. Let us completely disregard the fact that each of these luminous points may in itself already present us with something immensely complex that poses a challenge to our mind. Let us also disregard the quality of the concrete elements of the sensory world before us and consider solely the fact that we have before us two elements that are separate from one another—that is, that appear separate to the senses. Two factors, each of which is capable in and of itself of making an impression on our senses: that is all we assume. Let us further assume that the existence of one of these factors does not exclude that of the other. A organ of perception can perceive both.
[ 61 ] For if we assume that the existence of one element is in any way dependent on that of the other, we are faced with a problem different from our current one. If the existence of B is such that it excludes the existence of A and yet is, by its very nature, dependent on it, then A and B must stand in a temporal relationship . For the dependence of B on A implies—if we simultaneously assume that the existence of B excludes that of A—that the latter precedes the former. But that is a topic for another time...
[ 62 ] For our present purpose, let us not assume such a relationship. We assume that the things we are dealing with are not mutually exclusive in terms of their existence, but rather are entities that coexist with one another. If we set aside every relationship required by their intrinsic nature, all that remains is that there is, in general, a connection between their distinct qualities—that I can pass from one to the other. I can move from one element of experience to the next. No one can doubt what kind of relationship I establish between things without addressing their nature or their very essence. Anyone who asks what kind of transition from one thing to another can be found, while the thing itself remains irrelevant, must inevitably answer: space. Every other relationship must be based on the qualitative nature of what appears separately in the existence of the world. Only space takes into account nothing else but the fact that things are distinct . When I consider: A is above, B is below, it is completely irrelevant to me what A and B are. I associate no other concept with them than that they are simply separate factors of the world as I perceive it with my senses..
[ 63 ] What our mind seeks when it approaches experience is this: it seeks to overcome particularity; it seeks to show that the power of the whole can be seen in the individual. In spatial perception, it seeks to overcome nothing other than particularity as such. It seeks to establish the most universal relationship . Spatial perception tells us that A and B are not each a world unto themselves, but belong to a commonality. This is the meaning of coexistence. If every thing were an entity in and of itself, then there would be no coexistence. I could not establish any relationship whatsoever between the entities...
[ 64 ] We will now examine what else follows from this establishment of an external relationship between two particularities. I can conceive of two elements in such a relationship only in one way. I conceive of A alongside B. I can now do the same with two other elements of the sensory world, C and D. In doing so, I have established a concrete relation between A and B and another between C and D. I now wish to set aside the elements A, B, C, and D entirely and relate only these two concrete relations to one another. It is clear that I can relate these to one another as two distinct entities just as I did with A and B themselves. What I am relating to one another here are concrete relations. I can call them a and b. If I now take it one step further, I can relate a to b again. But now I have already lost all particularity. When I consider a, I no longer find any specific A and B that are related to one another; nor do I find this in b. In both, I find nothing other than the fact that a relation was established at all. This characteristic, however, is exactly the same in a and b. What made it possible for me to distinguish between a and b was that they referred to A, B, C, and D. If I set aside this remnant of particularities and relate only a and b to one another—that is, the fact that a relation was established at all (not that a specific relation was established)—then I have returned, in a completely general sense, to the spatial relation from which I started. I cannot go any further. I have achieved what I had previously sought: space itself stands before my soul...
[ 65 ] Herein lies the secret of the three dimensions. In the first dimension, I relate two concrete elements of the sensory world to one another; in the second dimension, I relate these spatial relationships to one another. I have established a relationship between relationships. I have stripped away the concrete phenomena; the concrete relationships remain. Now I relate these to one another spatially. That is to say: I completely disregard the fact that they are concrete relationships; but then I must find exactly the same thing, what I find in the first, in the second as well. I establish relationships between things that are the same. Now the possibility of relating ceases, because the difference ceases.
[ 66 ] What I had previously taken as the point of view for my consideration—the purely external relationship—I have now regained as a sensory perception; after performing the operation three times, I have returned from the spatial consideration to space, that is, to my starting point..
[ 67 ] Therefore, space can have only three dimensions. What we have done here with the concept of space is actually just a special case of the method we always use when we approach things from an observational standpoint. We examine concrete objects from a general perspective. In doing so, we derive concepts from the details; we then examine these concepts themselves from the same perspectives, so that we are left with only the concepts of concepts; if we combine these as well, they merge into that ideal unity that could be considered from a single perspective with nothing other than itself. Let’s take a specific example. I meet two people: A and B. I consider them from the perspective of friendship. In this case, I will arrive at a very specific concept a of the friendship between these two people. I now consider two other people, C and D, from the same perspective. I arrive at a different concept b of this friendship. Now I can go further and relate these two concepts of friendship to one another. What remains for me, when I set aside the concrete instances I have obtained, is the concept of friendship in general. However, I can also arrive at this concept in reality by considering the people E and F from the same perspective, and likewise G and H. In this case, as in countless others, I can arrive at the concept of friendship in general . All these concepts, however, are essentially identical to one another; and when I consider them from the same perspective, it turns out that I have found a unity. I have returned to where I started.
[ 68 ] Space is thus the view of things, a way in which our mind synthesizes them into a unity. The three dimensions relate to one another in the following way. The first dimension establishes a relationship between two sensory perceptions. 101Sensory perception here means the same thing that Kant calls sensation. It is thus a concrete representation. The second dimension relates two concrete representations to one another and thereby enters the realm of abstraction . Finally, the third dimension establishes only the ideal unity between the abstractions. It is therefore entirely incorrect to regard the three dimensions of space as completely synonymous. Which one is the first naturally depends on the perceived elements. But then the others have a very specific and different meaning from this first one. Kant was entirely mistaken in assuming that he conceived of space as a totum rather than as an entity that can be conceptually determined in and of itself.
[ 69 ] So far, we have spoken of space as a relationship, a connection. But the question now arises: Is there only this relationship of juxtaposition? Or does every thing have an absolute location? The latter, of course, is not at all addressed by our explanations above. Let us, however, examine whether such a spatial relation—a very specific “there”—actually exists. What am I really referring to when I speak of such a “there”? Nothing other than the fact that I am indicating an object to which the object in question is immediately adjacent. “There” means in the vicinity of an object designated by me. This, however, reduces the absolute indication of location to a spatial relationship . The suggested investigation is thus rendered unnecessary.
[ 70 ] Let us now explicitly pose the question: What, according to the preceding investigations, is space? Nothing other than a necessity inherent in things to overcome their particularity in a wholly external manner—without delving into their essence—and to unite them into a unity that is itself external. Space is thus a way of grasping the world as a unity. Space is an idea. Not, as Kant believed, an intuition.
6. Goethe, Newton, and the Physicists
[ 71 ] When Goethe set out to examine the nature of colors, it was essentially an artistic interest that drew him to this subject. His intuitive mind soon recognized that the use of color in painting was governed by a profound set of laws. Neither could he himself discover the nature of these laws as long as he remained confined to theoretical speculation within the realm of painting, nor were trained painters able to provide him with a satisfactory explanation. While they knew in practice how to mix and apply colors, they were unable to articulate these principles in conceptual terms. When Goethe found himself in Italy, confronted not only with the most sublime works of art of this kind but also with nature in all its colorful splendor, a particularly powerful urge arose within him to uncover the natural laws governing the nature of color.
[ 72 ] Goethe himself makes a detailed statement regarding the historical aspects in his *History of the Theory of Colors*. Here, we will focus only on the psychological and factual aspects.
[ 73 ] Goethe began his studies of color immediately upon his return from Italy. These studies became particularly intensive in 1790 and 1791, and continued to occupy the poet until the end of his life..
[ 74 ] We must bear in mind the state of Goethe’s worldview at that time, at the beginning of his studies of color. By then, he had already conceived his magnificent idea of the metamorphosis of organic beings. Through his discovery of the intermaxillary bone, the concept of the unity of all natural existence had already dawned on him. The individual appeared to him as a specific modification of the ideal principle that governs the whole of nature. He had already expressed in his letters from Italy that a plant is a plant only because it carries within itself the “idea of the plant.” He regarded this idea as something concrete, as a unity filled with spiritual content present in all particular plants. It could not be perceived with the eyes of the body, but certainly with the eye of the spirit. Whoever can see it sees it in every plant.
[ 75 ] Thus, the entire plant kingdom—and, as this view is further developed, the entire natural world—appears as a unity that can be grasped by the mind.
[ 76 ] No one, however, is able to construct, from the mere idea alone, the diversity that presents itself to the external senses. The intuitive mind is capable of recognizing the idea. The individual forms are accessible to it only when it directs its senses outward, when it observes and looks. As for why a modification of the idea appears precisely in this way and not otherwise as sensuous reality, the reason for this need not be contrived but must be sought in the realm of reality..
[ 77 ] This is Goethe’s unique perspective, which can best be characterized as empirical idealism . It can be summarized as follows: The things of a sensory diversity, insofar as they are of the same kind, are based on a spiritual unity that brings about that similarity and interconnectedness.
[ 78 ] Starting from this point, Goethe was led to ask: What spiritual unity underlies the diversity of color perceptions? What do I perceive in every color variation? And it soon became clear to him that light is the necessary foundation of every color. No color without light. But colors are the modifications of light. And now he had to seek in reality that element which modifies and specifies light. He found that this is lightless matter, active darkness—in short, the opposite of light. Thus, for him, every color was light modified by darkness. It is entirely incorrect to believe that Goethe meant by “light” the concrete sunlight commonly called “white light.” It is only the fact that one cannot free oneself from this notion—and regards sunlight, with its complex composition, as the representative of light in and of itself—that prevents an understanding of Goethe’s theory of colors. Light, as Goethe conceives it and as he contrasts it with darkness as its opposite, is a purely spiritual entity—simply that which is common to all color perceptions. Although Goethe never explicitly stated this anywhere, his entire theory of colors is structured in such a way that only this can be understood by it. When he experiments with sunlight to test his theory, the reason for this is simply that sunlight—despite being the result of such complex processes as those occurring within the sun itself—nevertheless appears to us as a unity that contains its parts only as sublated within itself. What we gain for color theory with the help of sunlight, however, is merely a proximate approximation to reality. Goethe’s theory should not be understood to mean that light and darkness are actually contained within every color. No, rather, what is real and appears to our eye is merely a specific shade of color. Only the mind is capable of breaking down this sensory fact into two mental entities: light and non-light.
[ 79 ] The external events through which this occurs—the material processes within matter—are not affected by this in the least. That is an entirely different matter. That a vibrational process takes place in the ether while “red” appears before me—that is not to be disputed. But what actually brings about a perception has, as we have already shown, absolutely nothing to do with the nature of the content .
[ 80 ] One might object: But it can be shown that everything about sensation is subjective, and that only the process of motion underlying it actually exists outside our brain. In that case, one could not speak of a physical theory of perceptions at all, but only of one concerning the underlying processes of motion. The situation with this proof is roughly as follows: If someone at a location A sends a telegram to me, who am located at B, then what I receive from the telegram originated entirely in B. It is the telegraph operator in B.; he writes on paper that was never in A., with ink that was never in A.; he himself does not even know A., and so on; in short, it can be proven that nothing from A. has found its way into what I have before me. Nevertheless, everything that originates from B. is entirely irrelevant to the content, the essence of the telegram; what matters to me is conveyed solely through B. If I wish to explain the essence of the telegram’s content, then I must completely disregard everything that originates from B.
[ 81 ] The same applies to the world of the eye. The theory must extend to what is perceptible to the eye and seek the connections within it. The material processes in space-time may well be quite important for the formation of perceptions; they have nothing to do with the nature of those perceptions..
[ 82 ] The same applies to the question that is widely discussed today: whether the various natural phenomena—light, heat, electricity, etc.—are not based on one and the same form of motion in the ether? Hertz has in fact recently shown that the propagation of electrical effects in space is subject to the same laws as the propagation of light effects. From this, one can conclude that waves, such as those that carry light, also underlie electricity. It has, after all, already been assumed that in the solar spectrum only one type of wave motion is at work, which, depending on whether it strikes heat-, light-, or chemically-sensitive reagents, produces thermal, light, or chemical effects..
[ 83 ] But this is clear from the outset. If one examines what is happening in the spatially extended realm while the entities in question are being mediated, one must conclude that there is a uniform motion. For a medium in which only motion is possible must react to everything through motion. It will also accomplish all the mediations it must undertake through motion. When I then examine the forms of this motion, I do not learn: what the mediated is, but rather in what way it is conveyed to me. It is simply absurd to say that heat or light are motion. Motion is merely the reaction of matter capable of motion to light.
[ 84 ] Goethe himself lived to see the wave theory emerge and saw nothing in it that could not be reconciled with his conviction regarding the nature of color.
[ 85 ] One need only free oneself from the notion that light and darkness are real entities in Goethe’s work, and instead regard them as mere principles, spiritual entities; then one will gain a completely different perspective on his theory of colors than one usually forms. If, like Newton, one understands light to be merely a mixture of all colors, then any concept of the concrete entity “light” disappears. It evaporates completely into an empty general concept that corresponds to nothing in reality. Such abstractions were foreign to Goethe’s worldview. For him, every concept had to have concrete content. Only, for him, the “concrete” did not end with the “physical.”
[ 86 ] Modern physics actually has no concept of “light” as such. It recognizes only specific types of light—colors—which, when mixed in certain ways, produce the impression of “white.” But even this “white” must not be identified with light itself. White is, in fact, nothing more than a mixed color. Modern physics does not recognize “light” in the Goethean sense, nor does it recognize “darkness.” Goethe’s theory of colors thus operates in a realm that does not overlap at all with the definitions used by physicists. Physics simply does not recognize any of the basic concepts of Goethe’s theory of colors. It is therefore unable to evaluate this theory from its own standpoint. Goethe begins precisely where physics ends.
[ 87 ] It is evidence of a very superficial understanding of the matter to speak constantly of Goethe’s relationship to Newton and to modern physics without even considering that this points to two entirely different ways of viewing the world.
[ 88 ] We are convinced that anyone who has properly grasped our discussions on the nature of sensory perceptions cannot form any other impression of Goethe’s theory of colors than the one described here. Of course, anyone who does not accept our fundamental theories remains at the level of physical optics and thus also rejects Goethe’s theory of colors..*