The Rudolf Steiner Archive

6. Introductory Remarks to a Slide Presentation on the Construction of the Goetheanum

[ 1 ] Ladies and gentlemen! Please allow me today to summarize a few points about our building, building on and supplementing what I took the liberty of saying during the tour of the Goetheanum.

[ 2 ] For many years, our anthroposophical movement held its meetings in ordinary halls, such as those available today. And even when, beginning in 1909, we were able to begin staging dramatic works drawn directly from the impulses of the anthroposophical worldview, we initially had to limit ourselves to presenting these works in ordinary theaters and under ordinary theatrical conditions. As our anthroposophical movement grew in scope, the idea arose among a large number of friends to build a home of our own for anthroposophy. And so I was, in a sense—and I emphasize this because the commission to build did not come from me, but from friends of the anthroposophical worldview—entrusted with the task of creating a home befitting the anthroposophical movement.

[ 3 ] This naturally raised the question: How should one go about building such a house? If any other organization—an association with any given mission or objective—were to build a house today—and there are all manner of associations with all manner of objectives these days—it would consult with an architect. They would agree on the style in which such a house should be built: Greek, Gothic, Renaissance, or some other architectural style. That is, after all, the usual procedure today. If anthroposophy were a movement like all the others, it could have proceeded in this way as well. But anthroposophy takes into account the great demands of our time for a radical renewal of our entire culture, and therefore it could not be built in this way. Moreover, anthroposophy is not merely a set of ideas; rather, the ideas of anthroposophy spring from the whole of human experience, from the deep sources of the human being. And that which lives in the ideas of anthroposophy has, just as was the case with the older cultures, sprung from a primal source. And just as anthroposophy has something to proclaim in words through the human voice—just as it can be presented as a teaching—so, on the other hand, what flows from the same sources from which anthroposophical ideas flow can also be presented for direct artistic perception. What is at stake here is not a translation or transposition of anthroposophical ideas into art, but rather a different branch that can develop as art from the same source of life from which the anthroposophical ideas spring.

[ 4 ] What anthroposophy has to reveal can be expressed from a podium in words that convey ideas. But it can also speak through forms—through sculptural forms, through painting—without sculpture or painting becoming symbolism or allegory, but rather remaining within the realm of the purely artistic. This means nothing other than: When anthroposophy creates an architectural setting in which it is to take effect, it must give this architectural setting its own style, just as earlier worldviews have given their architectural settings the corresponding style. Let us take the Greek architectural style, as it was partly realized in the Greek temple: This Greek temple grew entirely out of the same worldview from which Greek drama, Greek epic poetry, and the Greek concept of the gods grew. The Greeks felt that, in creating their temples, they were building a dwelling for the gods. And this corresponds to what earlier cultural views saw in the human soul that had passed through death as it continued its development; there is a certain qualitative kinship between the Greek gods and the human soul that has passed through death, as it was perceived in earlier cultural currents. And something similar to what people in ancient times did—building dwellings for human souls that had passed through death, believing them to still be on earth—the Greeks then embodied at a later stage in their temples. The temple is the dwelling place of the god; that is to say, not of the human soul that has passed through death itself, but of the soul that belongs to another hierarchy, another world order.

[ 5 ] Anyone who can view forms artistically still senses, in the forms created for the Greek temple through supports, loads, and other elements, how—in earlier times—this dwelling was shaped from the earth itself for the dead, who remained on earth after death and acted as a chronic deity, a deity of the earth, so that the temple was erected as a continuation of the Earth’s gravitational forces—as perceived by human beings when they look beyond their physical bodies—as such a connection of forces. The Greek temple can only be regarded as complete if one views it as containing the statue of the god within. Anyone with a sense of form cannot conceive of an empty Greek temple as something complete. They can only conceive of—and can only sense—that this shell contains within it the statue of Athena, Zeus, Apollo, and so on.

[ 6 ] Let’s skip over a few stages in the development of art history and turn our attention to Gothic architecture. When one experiences Gothic architecture—with its forms and its distinctive windows that allow light to enter in a unique way—one always senses that, upon entering an empty Gothic cathedral, it is not a totality, not something complete. The Gothic cathedral is only complete when the congregation is inside, their souls resonating in harmony through their actions. A Greek temple is the enclosure of the god who dwells among people on earth through his statue. A Gothic cathedral, in all its forms, is that which encloses within itself the congregation united in harmony and with its thoughts directed toward the eternal.

[ 7 ] The Greek worldview, or the worldview that took shape in the Gothic period, are worlds that have passed away for humanity today. Only the degenerate forces of decline that stem from them can still survive today. We need a new culture—but not one that expresses itself solely through knowledge and ideas; rather, a culture that can also find expression in a new art. And so the development of art history also points to the necessity of a distinct architectural style for anthroposophy, which seeks to bring about a new form of culture.

[ 8 ] What anthroposophy is meant to embody is based on the fact that, in a sense, a higher being within the human being—who is, in fact, the human being himself—speaks to the person living an ordinary life that unfolds between birth and death. As I deeply felt this, the double-dome structure emerged to me as the necessary architectural envelope for this fundamental impulse of the anthroposophical worldview. In the small dome, what is inwardly vast and expansive is, so to speak, compressed outwardly and physically; in the large domed space, what is less expansive inwardly—that which belongs to the life we lead between birth and death—is spatially expanded. And when a person enters this building in the spirit of such an anthroposophical worldview, they must find their own essence. This is grounded in what has just been said. And while inside, they must perceive the building as if, as a human being—as a microcosm—they were not constrained by it, but rather were connected outwardly to the universe, to the macrocosm, through the building’s very forms. But when one looks at the building from the outside, one must have the feeling: Something is happening inside that brings something supernatural, something otherworldly, to earthly existence; something is happening inside that is hidden within the earthly realm itself. Thus, it must be possible to view the building in its entirety—both in terms of its overall form and its sculptural expansions, which, as I mentioned earlier, must represent organic structures.