Goethe changes all that.  In the earlier Weltschmerz passages some traces of it still linger, where Faust renounces theology; but even there it is not theology alone that he renounces, but philosophy, medicine, and jurisprudence as well, so that his renunciation is entirely different from that of Marlowe’s Faustus.  In Goethe it is no longer one doctrine or one point of view against another doctrine or another point of view.  It is life, vitality in all its forms, against all mere doctrine whatsoever.

     “Grey, dearest friend, is every theory,
     But golden-green is the tree of life.”

Thus the times had passed into a sense of the limits of theology such as has been well expressed in Rossetti’s lines—­

     “Let lore of all theology
     Be to thee all it can be,
     But know,—­the power that fashions man
     Measured not out thy little span
     For thee to take the meting-rod
     In turn and so approve on God.”

So in Goethe we have the unsatisfied human spirit with its infinite cravings and longings for something more than earth can give—­something, however, which is not separated from the earth, and which is entirely different from theological dogma or anything of that sort.  In this, Goethe is expressing a constant yearning of his own, which illuminated all his writings like a gentle hidden fire within them, hardly seen in many passages and yet always somehow felt.  It is through the flesh that he will find the spirit, through this world that he will find the next.  The quest is ultimately the same as that of Marlowe, but the form of it is absolutely opposed to his.  Goethe is as far from Marlowe’s theological position as Peer Gynt is, and indeed there is a considerable similarity between Ibsen’s great play and Goethe’s.  As the drama develops, it is true that the love of Faust becomes sensual and his curiosity morbid; but the tragedy lies no longer in the belief that sense and curiosity are in themselves wrong, but in the fact that Faust fails to distinguish their high phases from their low.  We have already seen that the Erdgeist which first appeals to Faust is too great for him, and it is there that the tragedy really lies.  The earth is not an accursed place, and the Erdgeist may well find its home among the ideals; but Wagner is neither big enough nor clean enough to be man’s guide.

The contrast between the high and low ideals comes to its finest and most tragic in the story of Margaret.  Spiritual and sensual love alternate through the play.  Its tragedy and horror concentrate round the fact that love has followed the lower way.  Margaret has little to give to Faust of fellowship along intellectual or spiritual lines.  She is a village maiden, and he takes from her merely the obvious and lower kind of love.  It is a way which leads ultimately to the dance of the witches and the cellar of Auerbach, yet Faust can never be satisfied with these, and from