Goethe's Allegory for Intellectual Dogmatism: The Old Castle

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe developed a famous theory of optics to criticize the dominant theory of his day: That developed by Sir Isaac Newton over a century prior. The details of Goethe’s theory (and the metaphysical stakes of his dispute with Newton) are interesting in themselves. But below is an excerpt from Goethe’s Preface that makes a powerful, more general critique of dogmatic intellectual parochialism. We cling to old theories as we do to old castles, mistaking incoherence for sophistication. To save a failing theory, we introduce unprincipled epicycles and caveats. To save a falling castle, we build incongruous corridors and wings. These solutions might address local problems, but they fail to confront the deeper, systematic issues. The proper course in both cases is to tear the thing down. (One wonders how this imagery of the “old castle” relates to Goethe’s praise for Gothic architecture, most famously the Strasbourg Cathedral).

From Goethe’s Preface:

In the second part [the polemic part] we examine the Newtonian theory; a theory which by its ascendancy and consideration has hitherto impeded a free inquiry into the phenomena of colours. We combat the hypothesis, for although it is no longer valid, it retains a traditional authority in the world. Its real relations to its subject will require to be plainly pointed out; the old errors must be cleared away, if the theory of colours is not still to remain in the rear of so many other better investigated departments of natural science. Since, however, this second part of our work may appear somewhat dry as regards its matter, and perhaps too vehement and excited in its manner, we may here be permitted to introduce a sort of allegory in a lighter style, as a prelude to that graver portion, and as some excuse for the earnestness alluded to.

We compare the Newtonian theory of colour to an old castle, which was at first constructed by its architect with youthful precipitation; it was, however, gradually enlarged and equipped by him according to the exigencies of time and circumstances, and moreover was still further fortified and secured in consequence of feuds and hostile demonstrations.

The same system was pursued by his successors and heirs; their increased wants within, the harassing vigilance of their opponents without, and various accidents compelled them in some places to build near, in others in connection with the fabric, and thus to extend the original plan.

It became necessary to connect all these incongruous parts and additions by the strangest galleries, halls, and passages. All damages, whether inflected by the hand of the enemy or the power of time, were quickly made good. As occasion required, they deepened the moats, raised the walls, and took care there should be no lack of towers, battlements, and embrasures. This care and these exertions gave rise to a prejudice in favour of the great importance of the fortress, and still upheld that prejudice, although the arts of building and fortification were by this time very much advanced, and people had learnt to construct much better dwellings and defences in other cases. But the old castle was chiefly held in honour because it had never been taken, because it had repulsed so many assaults, had baffled so many hostile operations, and had always preserved its virgin renown. The renown, this influence lasts even now: it occurs to no one that the old castle has become uninhabitable. Its great duration, its costly construction, are still constantly spoken of. Pilgrims wend their way to it; hasty sketches of it are shown in all schools, and it is thus recommended to the reverence of susceptible youth. Meanwhile, the building itself is already abandoned; its only inmates are a few invalids, who in simple seriousness imagine that they are prepared for war.

Thus there is no question here respecting a tedious siege or a doubtful war; so far from it we find this Eighth Wonder of the World already nodding to its fall as a deserted piece of antiquity, and begin at once, without further ceremony, to dismantle it from gable and roof downwards; that the sun may at last shine into the old nest of rats and owls, and exhibit to the eye of the wondering traveler the labyrinthine, incongruous style of building, with its scanty, make-shift contrivances, the result of accident and emergency, its intentional artifice and clumsy repairs. Such an inspection will, however, only be possible when wall after wall, arch after arch, is demolished, the rubbish being at once cleared away as well as it can be.

To effect this, and to level the site where it is possible to do so, to arrange the materials thus acquired, so that they can be hereafter again employed for a new building, is the arduous duty we have undertaken in this second part. Should we succeed by a cheerful application of all possible ability and dexterity, in raising this Bastille, and in gaining a free space, it is thus by no means intended at once to cover the site again and to encumber it with a new structure; we propose rather to make use of this area for the purpose of passing in review a pleasing and varied series of illustrative figures.

The basic contention here—that apparent inconsistencies derive from ad hoc, sub-optimal additions, not deep wisdom—contrasts with the more conservative disposition often identified with “Chesterton’s Fence.” So-named for Chesterton’s example in The Thing:

In the matter of reforming things, as distinct from deforming them, there is one plain and simple principle; a principle which will probably be called a paradox. There exists in such a case a certain institution or law; let us say for the sake of simplicity, a fence or gate erected across a road. The more modern type of reformer goes gaily up to it and says, “I don’t see the use of this; let us clear it away.” To which the more intelligent type of reformer will do well to answer: “If you don’t see the use of it, I certainly won’t let you clear it away. Go away and think. Then, when you can come back and tell me that you do see the use of it, I may allow you to destroy it.

This paradox rests on the most elementary common sense. The gate or fence did not grow there. It was not set up by somnambulists who built it in their sleep. It is highly improbable that it was put there by escaped lunatics who were for some reason loose in the street. Some person had some reason for thinking it would be a good thing for somebody. And until we know what the reason was, we really cannot judge whether the reason was reasonable. It is extremely probable that we have overlooked some whole aspect of the question, if something set up by human beings like ourselves seems to be entirely meaningless and mysterious. There are reformers who get over this difficulty by assuming that all their fathers were fools; but if that be so, we can only say the folly appears to be a hereditary disease. But the truth is that nobody has any business to destroy a social institution until he has really seen it as an historical institution. If he knows how it arose, and what purposes it was supposed to serve, he may really be able to say that they were bad purposes, or that they have since become bad purposes, or that they are purposes which are no longer served. But if he simply stares at the thing as a senseless monstrosity that has somehow sprung up in his path, it is he and not the traditionalist who is suffering from an illusion.

Of course, there is no necessary contradiction between these two claims. Goethe would respond that in the case of the old castle, we know why these wings and corridors and moats were built, and we know how to better achieve the purposes they once served. One also might want to distinguish between practical and theoretical matters. We may favor a presumptive commitment to parsimony in theory building (we want our theories to be short, elegant, and powerful), while nonetheless acknowledging that apparently convoluted social systems embody truths our limited human reason doesn’t fully grasp at the moment.

Still, the contrast between the two dispositions is illuminating, I think.