The Rudolf Steiner Archive

5. Guided Tour of the Goetheanum Building

[ 1 ] I would like to say a few words to you about the architectural concept, supported by a direct view of the building. One might initially assume that if it is necessary to speak about such a building at all, this indicates that, as a work of art, it fails to make the impression required of art; and in many cases, what is thought about the Dornach building—the Goetheanum—around the world is based on a mistaken perspective influenced by sensory perception. For example, the opinion has been spread that the building in Dornach is intended to symbolize all sorts of things—that it is a symbolic structure. In reality, when you look at this building, you will not find a single symbol of the kind popular in mystical and theosophical societies. The building is meant to be experienced entirely through artistic sensibility, and it was indeed created from these artistic sensibilities in its forms and in all its details. Therefore, it must speak for itself through what it is. Explanations have, of course, become popular, and people’s desire for such explanations is often accommodated; but in mentioning this here before you, I am also saying that such an explanation of something artistic always strikes me as not merely half, but almost entirely unartistic, and that I will now give a sort of lecture before you in the presence of the building—a lecture that, deep down, I find unsympathetic, if only because I must speak to you in abstract terms about what emerged to me as details during the design of the building, the models, and so on—details that have emerged to me—and which were created from life. I would rather speak to you as little as possible about the building.

[ 2 ] It is simply a fact that, in the present day, a new stylistic form—a new artistic mode of expression—is viewed with a certain degree of suspicion. A phrase I heard many decades ago, when I was studying at the Technical University where Ferstel gave his lectures, still echoes in my ears. In one of them, he says: “Architectural styles are not invented; an architectural style grows out of the national character.”—Hence, in Ferstel’s view, there is a rejection of any deliberate invention of a new architectural style or a new type of building. What is true about this idea is that the style, which is meant to stylize the distinctive characteristics of a people, must emerge not from something abstract, but from a living worldview that is at the same time an experience of the world and, from this perspective, comprehensively encompasses the chaotic spiritual life of the present for contemporary humanity. Based on this entirely accurate idea, it becomes necessary to transform what has been characteristic of previous architectural styles—such as the incorporation of symmetry, geometric-static elements, and so on—into organic architectural forms.

[ 3 ] I am well aware of the arguments that can be raised—and, from a certain point of view, justifiably so—by those who have become emotionally attached to previous architectural styles, against what has been attempted here in Dornach as an architectural style: the transformation of geometric, symmetrical, and static forms into organic forms. But an attempt was made. And so you can see in these architectural forms that this building here is still a flawed first attempt to transform these geometric architectural forms into organic ones. It is certain, after all, that the development of humanity is pushing toward these architectural forms, and when the impulses of clairvoyant experience return, these architectural forms will, I believe, play the primary, leading role. This building should be understood in the same sense—through its kinship with the organizing forces of nature—as previous buildings have been understood through their kinship with the geometric, static, and symmetrizing forces of nature. This building must be viewed from this perspective, and from this perspective you will see how every detail within the architectural concept for Dornach must be fully individualized here. Just think for a moment of your earlobe: it is a very small part of the human organism, but you cannot easily imagine that an organic form such as the earlobe would be suited to growing on the big toe. This organ is absolutely bound to its specific location within the organism. Just as you find that, within the entire organism, a supporting organ is always shaped in such a way that it can function statically and dynamically within the organism, so too must the individual forms in our building in Dornach be such that they can serve these static and dynamic forces. Every single form had to be organized in such a way that, in its specific location, it could and had to be exactly what it now appears to be. From this perspective, look at each arch: how it is shaped, how it flattens out, for example, toward the entrance, how it curves inward relative to the building itself—where it must not only support but also give organic expression to that support, and in doing so must help develop what, in organic formation, appears only seemingly entirely unnecessary. Conventional architecture omits what the organism develops beyond the static. However, once the architectural concept is translated into the organic shaping of forms, one perceives these forms as necessary as well.

[ 4 ] From this perspective, you will have to consider every column; then you will also understand that the ordinary column, derived from geometry and statics, has been replaced by one that does not imitate the organic—nothing is imitated in a naturalistic way—but is transformed into organically formed structures. It is not imitated from an organic form. You will not arrive at this if you seek a model in nature. But you will arrive at it if you understand how human beings can live in harmony with the organizing forces at work in nature, and how, apart from what nature itself creates, forms that organize in this way can come into being. Thus, in these column supports, you will see how the expansion of the structure, the act of bearing weight, and the pointing inward are all expressed simultaneously—in the same way that, for example, in the upper end of the human thigh, bearing weight, walking, and moving are embodied statically, yet in an organic-static manner. From this perspective, I also ask you to consider, for example, the structure with the three forms standing vertically one above the other at the base of the staircase here below. Here, the sensation arises of how a person feels when striving upward on the stairs. They must have a sense of security, of inner wholeness, amid everything that takes place in this building—indeed, amid everything they see in this building. It all came to me purely from a sense of feeling. Believe it or not, this form came to me entirely from my artistic intuition. As I said, believe it or not, it was only later that it occurred to me that this form is somewhat reminiscent of the three semicircular canals in the human ear, which, when damaged, cause fainting—thus directly expressing what gives a person stability. This expression—that this building is meant to give people stability—arises from the experience of the three directions standing vertically upon one another. This can certainly be experienced in this structure without engaging in abstract reasoning. One can certainly remain within the realm of art.

[ 5 ] If you look closely at these wall-like structures, you will find that natural forces have also been poured into their forms—but in such a way that these forms, which are, after all, radiator covers, are first carved out of the concrete of the building and then, higher up, out of wood, and that they have thereby undergone a metamorphosis. You will find that in these structures, the process of metamorphosis is elevated to the realm of art. It is the architectural concept that is intended to take full effect in such radiator covers, which are designed so that one immediately perceives their purpose without first having to mentally explore it. This gives rise, in terms of perception, to these elemental forms—half plant, half animal—which one only realizes must be this way once they have been shaped from the material itself. And it also gives rise to the inherent necessity to metamorphose them, depending on whether they are in one place or another, depending on whether they are long and low or narrower and taller. None of this results from a calculation of form; rather, the forms take shape of their own accord through perception as they undergo metamorphosis—as, for example, here, where we have walked so far, where the building’s basement is a concrete structure and where one must immerse oneself in the very nature of concrete. One enters here through the west gate. Here is the space for checking coats. Via the staircase leading up on the left and right, one ascends into the wooden structure, which houses the auditorium, the stage area, and ancillary rooms.

[ 6 ] Please be so kind as to follow me up the stairs to the auditorium.

[ 7 ] Here, we first enter a sort of foyer. You will notice what a completely different impression the wood paneling creates compared to the concrete paneling in the basement.

[ 8 ] I would like to note here: When working with stone, concrete, or other hard materials in construction, one must approach the task differently than when working with soft materials, such as wood. Working with wood requires you to focus your entire sensibility on the fact that you have to scrape corners, concavities, and indentations out of the soft material, if I may use that expression. It is a scraping, a scraping out. You deepen the material, and only through this do you enter into this relationship with the material, which is a truly artistic relationship. Whereas when working with wood, you can only draw out of the material what gives it its form by focusing your attention on deepening it, when working with hard materials, you are not dealing with depressions. One enters into a relationship with hard materials only by building up, by working convexly, by applying raised surfaces to the base surfaces—for example, when working with stone. Grasping this is essential to artistic creation, and it has been partly lost in more recent times.

[ 9 ] When we enter the auditorium, you will see how every single surface, every capital, is treated individually. In this organic structure, a capital can only be such that one senses: In the sequence of elements, no kind of repetition can be created, as is otherwise the case with symmetrical, geometric, and static architectural styles. In this building, based on the organic concept, there is only a single axis of symmetry, running from west to east. Only in relation to this axis will you find a symmetrical arrangement—just as you can find only a single axis of symmetry in a higher organism, not by arbitrary choice, but arising from the inner organization of forces within that being.

[ 10 ] At this point, I would also like to mention that, under the influence of the organic approach to architecture, the treatment of walls had to become something entirely different from what it had been in the past. For earlier architects, a wall was what defined the boundaries of a room. It created the impression that one was inside the room. This building had to depart from that perception. The walls had to be designed so that they were not perceived as boundaries, but as something that carries one out into the vastness of the macrocosm; one must feel embraced, as if standing within the vastness of the cosmos. The walls had to be designed to be transparent, so to speak, whereas in the past every effort was made to artificially give the wall forms that made it enclosed and opaque. You will see that transparency is employed artistically throughout, and this principle was driven from fundamental principles right down into the physical realm in these windows that you see here and that you will see in the building. When you see windows in the style of earlier architecture, you will inevitably have the healthy impression that they break through the walls; they do not integrate into the architectural forms, but are incorporated solely on the basis of utility. Here, artistic sensibility must be applied down to the finest details. There was a need to portray the wall not as something that closes off, but as something that expands outward toward the infinite. I was able to achieve this only by realizing that one could, as it were, use a glass-etching method—similar to etching on paper—to scratch designs out of single-colored window panes. And so, single-colored window panes were purchased and then worked on in such a way that the desired motifs were scratched out with a diamond stylus. A true art of glass etching was thus conceived for this purpose, and the windows were created from this process.

[ 11 ] When you look at the motifs in the windows, do not think that they are merely symbolic designs. You can already see it in this larger window pane: Nothing is depicted on these window panes other than what the imagination produces. There are mystics who construct a mysticism out of superficial maxims and strange notions, and who constantly declare that the physical, sensory external world is a kind of Maya, an illusion. People often approach you and say that so-and-so is a great mystic because he always proclaims that the external world is Maya. — The physical human face has something that is Maya, something that is entirely a lie, something that is, in truth, something else. What is revealed on this wall windowpane is not something symbolic; it is a being captured in the eye, which simply does not appear to the spiritual observer as it does outwardly to sensory perception. The larynx is the organ that forms the image of the ethereal; the larynx, as a physical larynx, is already Maya, and that which is merely a physical-sensory perception is not reality. What lies behind it spiritually? The spiritual fact that the secrets of the world are truly whispered into a person’s ears, on the left and on the right. So that one can already say: the Bull speaks into the left ear, the Lion into the right ear. If one wishes to depict something like this as a motif in a picture or in words, one can only imbue the word with the very same thing that is already present in the image itself. However, one must be clear that such a picture can only be understood if one lives within the worldview from which it emerged. A person who does not actively live within a Christian sensibility will not be able to approach the pictorial representations produced by Christian art with understanding.

[ 12 ] The artist goes through a great deal when he immerses himself in a vision; but such an experience must not be transformed into abstract thoughts, otherwise it immediately begins to fade. Here is an example of the artist’s experience: When Leonardo da Vinci was painting The Last Supper, which has now deteriorated to such an extent that it can no longer be appreciated artistically, people felt it was taking too long. He could not finish the figure of Judas because Judas was meant to emerge from the darkness. Leonardo worked on this painting for nearly twenty years and was still not finished. Then a new prior arrived in Milan and inspected the work. He was no artist; he said that Leonardo, this servant of the Church, must finally finish his work. Leonardo replied that now he could do so; he had been dabbling at the figure of Judas all this time because he had not found a model for it; now that the prior was there, he had found in him the model for Judas, and now the painting would be completed quickly. — There you have such an external, concrete experience. Such external, concrete experiences play a much greater role in all of the artist’s creative work than can be expressed in such brief descriptions.

[ 13 ] You have entered the building, ladies and gentlemen, through the room beneath the organ and the room for the musical instruments. If, after entering, you look around, you will find that the architectural concept is characterized, first and foremost, by the fact that the floor plan consists of two not-quite-complete circles whose segments interlock. It seems to me that the necessity of shaping the building in this way becomes apparent when one approaches it from a certain distance and has some sense of what is actually intended to take place within it. I would now like to elaborate further on what is connected to the architectural concept. First, I would like to point out that you will see seven columns arranged symmetrically solely along the west-east axis, enclosing the auditorium on the left and right as you proceed. These seven columns are not designed such that a single capital form, base form, or architrave form is repeated; rather, the capital, base, and architrave forms are in a state of continuous, progressive development.

[ 14 ] The two columns that delineate the organ loft at the rear feature the simplest capital and base motifs: forms that, in a sense, strive downward from above, while others strive upward from below. This most primitive form of the interplay between top and bottom is then transformed into the subsequent architrave, capital, and base forms. This progressive metamorphosis came about through artistic sensibility, as I sought, while developing the model, to recreate the forces at work in nature. What is at work in nature—where, on a plant, an unnotched leaf with primitive forms is first formed at the bottom, and then this primitive form metamorphoses, the higher one goes, into a structured, indented, more complexly shaped leaf, even transformed into a petal, stamens, and pistil—this one must—though not in a naturalistic manner — but one must immerse oneself deeply and vividly in it, and then create from within oneself just as nature creates and transforms, just as it produces and metamorphoses. Then, without deliberation, drawing from much deeper powers of the soul than mere thought, one achieves such transformations of the second from the first, of the third from the second, and so on.

[ 15 ] It could be misunderstood that, for example, on the fifth column and in the architrave motifs above the fourth column, something resembling a caduceus appears. One might now believe that the caduceus was imposed on these two places by the intellect. I believe that anyone who had worked from the intellect would probably have placed the caduceus in the architrave motif and, below it—since the intellect tends toward symmetry—also the column motif with the caduceus. The one who works as has been done here finds something different. Here, in the motif that you see as the fourth capital motif, this caduceus emerged simply through a sense of metamorphic transformation—without my having the remotest intention of forming a caduceus—just as a petal emerges from a sepal. I was not thinking of a past style, but of the transformation of the fourth capital motif from the third. One can see how the forms that have gradually emerged in the course of human development have evolved in a completely natural way.

[ 16 ] Then we enter the epoch in which human beings intervene in the course of evolution through their inner spiritual life. If this is incorporated into the column in a way that emphasizes individuality, what emerges later on the column will correspond to what emerges earlier when working on the architrave surface. That is why you see the caduceus on the capital later than on the architrave.

[ 17 ] A plant that is slender and delicate develops different leaf shapes than a robust one. Just compare a shepherd’s purse with a cactus to see how the way space is filled and shaped is expressed in the plant’s form. At the same time, a mystery of the universe emerges as one thus intuits evolution. There has been much talk of evolution in recent times, but people feel little of it. They merely conceptualize it with their intellect. They speak of the evolution of the perfect from the imperfect. Herbert Spencer and others have caused both necessary and unnecessary harm in this regard, and this has given rise to an idea that is entirely valid from an intellectual standpoint but does not do justice to the observation of nature: Intellectual thinking assumes that evolution begins with simpler forms, which then become increasingly differentiated over time. Spencer, in particular, worked with such evolutionary ideas. But evolution does not unfold that way. Initially, there is indeed a differentiation, a complication of forms; but then a middle ground is reached, and the forms simplify again. What follows is not the more complicated stage, but rather what follows becomes simpler once more. One can observe this in nature itself. The human eye, which is the most perfect, has, in a sense, achieved greater simplicity than the eye structures of certain animals—such as those with the sword-like projection or the fan-like structure—which have since disappeared as the eye evolved further toward the human form.

[ 18 ] It is therefore necessary for human beings to connect with the power of nature, to sense the power of nature, to make the power of nature their own, and to create from this sense of connection. Thus, an effort has been made to design this building in a thoroughly organic manner, even in the interior architecture, shaping every detail in its place so that it is individualized within the whole. You can see, for example, that the organ is surrounded by sculptural motifs that give the impression that the organ is not simply placed there, but rather that it emerges from the entire organic design, as if growing out of it. Thus, every element within this building must be designed with this in mind.

[ 19 ] Here you can see the lectern I’m standing at. His initial idea was to create something here that, in a sense, grows out of the other architectural forms, but in such a way that it simultaneously conveys the effort being made from this vantage point to express through words everything that the building is meant to express. At the very moment a person speaks here, the forms of what is spoken must continue in such a way that, just as the nose in the face reveals through its shape what the whole person is, so too must the speech. Anyone who has made artistically inspired studies of the nose can, from a single study of the nose, derive the “architectural style”—the physiognomy—of the whole person. A person can never have a nose other than the one they have, and there could never be a different lectern here than the one that stands here. However, when one asserts this, it is meant according to one’s own perspective; one can only act according to one’s own perspective.

[ 20 ] You can see from this that an attempt was made here to truly transform the body, in that some of the motifs in these stained-glass windows are indeed images of the inner life of the soul. Take, for example, this pink-colored window here. On the left panel, you will see something emerging that resembles the west portal of the building; on the right panel, you will see a sort of head. There you see one person sitting on the slope, looking toward the building, and another looking toward the head. This is not meant to be anything speculative or mystical; it refers to an immediate, inner visual experience. This building could not have come into being in any other way than by perceiving the human head’s form within it in a mysterious way; and from the organic force on the one hand and the form of the human head on the other arises the building’s form, shaped by this perception. Therefore, the person sitting on the slope beholds in his soul the metamorphosis of the building—at one moment as a human head, at another moment as the building revealing itself outwardly. This provides, if I may say so, a motif that leads into an inner experience.

[ 21 ] There, in the blue window pane, you will see a person—on the left—taking aim to shoot a bird in flight. In the right pane, you will see that the person has fired the shot. The bird in the left pane is surrounded by a sphere of light. Surrounding the man, you will find all manner of figures vividly present in the astral body—sometimes when he is about to shoot, other times after he has shot. This is a reality, albeit one from mundane life. I can imagine that those who always wish to be steeped in inner exaltation might take offense when they experience things such as those referred to here—where simply a human act of shooting is depicted. Yes, I was pleased when an Italian friend once used a somewhat crude expression to describe Theosophists who are such mystics. This friend, who has since passed away, said it, and I may well say it here in this highly esteemed company, for the person in question was a princess, and what a princess says can certainly be repeated. She characterized such people—who always wish to live in a state of inner exaltation—by saying that they are people with a “face that reaches down to their belly.” I, too, am repeating her not entirely correct German. Well, my esteemed audience, the same idea was then also realized in painting. I can speak of the true nature of painting—of spiritual painting—only by referring to the small dome. Only in the small dome was it possible for me to realize what I have indicated as the demand of a new kind of painting: that here, beyond the act of creating from the experience of the window, drawing disappears entirely. I had one of my characters in the first Mystery Drama express this as follows: that the forms appear as the work of color. — For when one feels with a painterly sensibility, one perceives the drawing element, which is carried into the painterly, as a lie. When I draw the horizontal line, it is actually a representation of something that isn’t there at all. When I apply the blue sky as a surface and the green below, the form emerges from the experience of color itself. In this way, anything painterly can be created. Within the world of color itself lies a creative world, and the one who perceives the colors paints what the colors say to one another in the creative process. He need not adhere to a naturalistic model; he can create the figures from the colors themselves. It is true that nature, and human life as well, have a certain right to shape the moral out of the world of color with a sense of necessity.

[ 22 ] Yesterday, Mr. Uehli quite rightly pointed out how modern painters already possess a sensibility for the effect created by chiaroscuro and by color itself, and how this leads them to paint a double bass next to a can of food. In doing so, they are essentially on the right track—that what matters now is to see how light gradates as it takes on color when it falls on a double bass and then continues to fall on a can of food. That is the right approach. But what is wrong is that this is once again carried out through naturalistic experience. If one truly immerses oneself in the world of color, something other than a can of food and a double bass emerges from that world of color. Color is creative, and as it comes together, a necessity arises from the mere presence of color itself—one that must be experienced. Then one does not place a can of food next to a double bass, because that, after all, is outside the realm of color.

[ 23 ] Here, an attempt has been made to paint entirely from color. If you look at the reddish-orange spot and the black spot next to the blue spot here, you’ll see that these were initially perceived vividly from color itself. But then the colors come to life; they become figures that one can even interpret afterward. Just as one cannot create plants here using human reason, one cannot paint something onto the canvas that has been conceived by human reason. One must think only after the colors are there, just as a plant must first grow before one can see it.

[ 24 ] Thus a Faust-like figure emerged, together with Death and the Child. Thus the entire head emerged from the color, along with all its figurative elements. Only in the human-spiritual realm does a spiritually real, concrete form arise of its own accord.

[ 25 ] For example, above the organ motif, you can see how something is painted that a person clinging to the sensory world in a philistine way would naturally perceive as madness. But you will no longer perceive it as madness when I tell you the following: If you close your eyes, you will, in a sense, by sensing the interior of the eye, see something like two eyes gazing at one another. What is taking place there internally can certainly be developed further in a certain way. Then what—viewed in a primitive way—appears as two eyes shining toward you out of the darkness, and what is this inner experience of seeing, takes on such a form that—when projected outward—it can be experienced in such a way that one sees an entire beyond, an entire creation of the world within it. Here, too, an attempt has been made to create, out of color, what the eye experiences when it closes its lids and sees itself in the darkness. One need not merely read the mysteries with the intellect; one can see them—suddenly they are there.

[ 26 ] Similarly, attempts have been made to bring other motifs to life, again not through a naturalistic imitation of signs and forms, but entirely through color. The ancient Indians and their inspirers, the seven Rishis—who in turn were inspired by the stars to paint with their heads turned upward—if one were to do that today, it would be abstract, actually nonsense; I say this quite openly. But when one experiences what was experienced in ancient Indian culture in the relationship between the disciple and the guru, the teacher, one senses it as if the ancient Indian had not had a skull, but as if it had evaporated, and as if he were not the single human being living in his own skin, but rather one perceives him as a sevenfold being, it is as if his soul power were composed of the seven—so to speak—soul rays of the holy Rishis—coming over from ancient Atlantis, illuminating him—and that he then communicated to his world this which he thus revealed not from his own spirit but from the spirit of the holy Rishis. The more one unpacks what is said here, the closer one comes to what has been depicted here. The feeling has first been transported to ancient India, to ancient Atlantis. What can be seen there has been painted on the wall here, and only afterward can one speculate about it once it is there. This is how the message can relate to artistic creation. This is actually how everything in this building is to come into being.

[ 27 ] You will find this building covered with Nordic slate. The architectural concept must be fully internalized down to the dynamic energy that radiates outward. The slate—or any roofing material, for that matter—must shimmer in a certain way in the sunlight. This seemed to happen by chance here—though, of course, there is always an underlying necessity. When I saw the Nordic slate from the train in Norway, I knew it was the right material for roofing this building. We were still able to have the slate shipped from Norway in the pre-war period. You will sense the effect as soon as you gaze at the building from a distance on a sunny day.

[ 28 ] My particular concern while the building was under construction was the acoustics. Naturally, the building was also equipped with scaffolding on the inside during construction so that work could be done at the top. That didn’t produce any acoustics; the acoustics were completely different—that is, they were a caricature of acoustics. Now, the fact is that the building’s acoustics were also conceived based on the same architectural philosophy. My idea was that I had to expect the acoustic issue to be resolved for the lecturer through occult research. You know how difficult it is; you cannot calculate acoustics. You will see how we have succeeded in achieving a certain degree of perfection in the acoustics. You may now ask how these seven columns, which contain the secret of the building, are related to the acoustics. The two domes within our building are so lightly connected to one another that they form a kind of soundboard, just as the soundboard of a violin plays a role in the richness of the tone. Of course, since the entire structure—both the columns and the dome—is made of wood, the acoustics will only reach their full perfection over the years, just as the acoustics of a violin only develop over time. We must first find a way to profoundly influence the material itself so that we can fully experience, within the architectural concept, what is now intuitively perceived as the acoustics of this building. You will understand that the acoustics are best experienced from the organ loft. You will also notice that when two people speak to each other here in the center, an echo can be heard coming down from the ceiling. This seems to be a hint from the world’s essence that, within this building, one may speak only from the stage or the lectern, and that the building, by its very nature, does not actually tolerate useless chatter from any other location.

[ 29 ] Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have tried to explain to you, as we viewed the building, what can be said at this stage regarding this matter. I will have to supplement what I have said today in my presentation on the architectural concept, which I plan to give at the closing event next Saturday. At that time, I will be able to say whatever else needs to be said. Now we must clear the hall for the next lecture.