THE GERMANIC REVIEW From Frankfurt's Goethehaus to Dresden's Frauenkirche: Architecture, German Identity, and Historical Memory after 1945
SUSANNE VEES-GULANI
otions of identity are often linked to specific places and spaces. N Cultural identity is usually rooted within communities that share traditions and a location within a certain geographical region. On a smaller scale, cultural identity is inadvertently tied to the physical structures and the architectural design organizing these spaces. Some groups, for example, might identify with a strong sense of the future and aspire to demonstrate their modernity by erecting contemporary buildings and structures, while others define themselves through his- torical sites (Layton and Thomas 1-2). The former case often leads to the destruction of historical remains to create space for the new; the latter frequently results in far-reaching conservation efforts to pre- serve remnants from the past. Since the late eighteenth century, particularly in many Western na- tions, such conservation efforts have increased, as sites and struc- tures from previous times began to function as visible confirmations of historical and national identity (Hunter 27-28). In the twentieth cen- tury, preservation of historical buildings and places reached new heights (Larkham 39), marking the emphasis many cultures now place on what they consider their heritage. In addition to historicist and nationalist arguments, this trend can be explained by current ex- periences. Maintaining and restoring historical sites lend stability to a world marked by large-scale destruction of familiar environments dur- ing war and rapid urban development, an unease with the modern sit- uation that seems to offer less possibilities of clearly and easily defin- ing oneself, and the fear of an uncertain future (Lowenthal 38). In Ttie Arctiitecture ofthe City, the Italian architect and theorist Aldo Rossi confirms the strong interdependence of collective historical memory with objects and places. The city is understood as "the col-
143 144 VEES-GULANI lective memory of its people," a relationship that is responsible for the special significance an urban structure represents as well as for what distinguishes it from others (130-31). This interaction also guarantees continuation between the past, when a building or monument was erected, and the future (131). Acknowledging these multiple facets, CJmberto Eco defines buildings as signs that have both a denotative and a connotative level; while they are designed for specific functions, they also contain symbolic meaning (56-67). As such, buildings signify "a complex of beliefs, ideas and values" (Ehrentraut 216) and are perceived as giving real and direct substance to one's cultural past and present (Larkham 7). In addition, heritage buildings generate "a didactic imperative" (Ehrentraut 216); they are seen as vehicles to teach about a culture's history. In accordance with these ideas, architect Donatella Mazzoleni defines buildings as exten- sions of the human and societal body as well as a metaphor for this body (289). They are locales for the expression of a certain cultural un- derstanding, they function as signs with which the community shares its self-view, and they provide the space for the reassertion of one's identity in times of turmoil: [A]rchitectural space concretizes the body in its totality. It then becomes, to all intents and purposes, its Replica, the Double of the body which can substitute for the body, in the sense that it can function as infra-language at times when the body cannot assume its trans-semiotic role. [. . .] At these moments of topological discontinuity of the body, which imply an in- stant of disappearance or nothingness, the house surrogates for the body by ensuring the material continuity of support, in a symbolic exchange. (290-91)
The situation in 1945 in Germany bears several characteristics of this form of discontinuity and death. Most Germans had readily embraced the Nazi ideology, which had provided them with a self-view emphasiz- ing distinctness but then collapsed with Germany's total defeat. This ideological death was also mirrored by physical destruction. Conse- quently, the cultural symbols enshrined in the buildings were unavail- able to reconfirm a cultural identity at this point of crisis. Postwar Ger- many was thus characterized by efforts in both a psychological and physical reformation; Germans needed to reconstruct their cities, their state, and their identity. The urge to find places that would offer reconfirmation of personal, na- tional, and cultural identity can shed light on the rebuilding plans imme- diately following 1945. The decisions reflect the coping mechanisms em- FRANKFORT'S GOETHEHAUS TO DRESDEN'S FRAUENKIRCHE 145
ployed by the population to deal with their Nazi past. A number of archi- tects had hoped to make the total destruction of the cities the basis for renewal as a distinct countermovement to the building styles of the Mazi period. They aimed at a simple, clear, and modern style of "democratic honesty" that would oppose the bombastic and overpowering tasteless- ness of the official National Socialist-architecture (Glaser 141). Howev- er, their ideas often went against the official policies of "Erhaltung, Wiederherstellung, bestenfalls vorsichtige[r] Korrektur" (Glaser 141). Im- mediately following the war, German town officials, with broad support from the population, often tried to erase the traces of the war by rebuild- ing the cities the way they had looked before the air raids, the way that everyone wished to remember them (Holzner 319-21; Durth 603). As Lutz Holzner states in a study on the role of tradition in the urban geog- raphy of West Germany, "After 1945, the German people characteristi- cally picked up the thread of tradition [. . .]. The experience of Hitler's regime and its attempts to enforce abrupt changes had once more proven changes to be a dangerous undertaking" (338). While Holzner emphasizes the political reactionism that character- ized these decisions, Peter Larkham, in his study on conservation and the city, also points to the important role psychology plays in such con- servation and reconstruction issues. He assesses the psychological need for humans to "look back" to visual objects as points of orienta- tion and "symbols of stability" (6), particularly in times of turmoil (41). Jeffry Diefendorf speculates in In the Wake of War that in the case of Germany, "modernism may have triggered disturbing memories of the unsettled radicalism of the early Weimar years" (65). For many, tradi- tionalism clearly seemed a more appropriate response to cultural inse- curity. So, despite the miserable living conditions many Germans found themselves in after the war, the restoration of historical and cultural sites received much attention. The buildings were seen as shrouded in an almost mythic aura, containing special, nearly magical powers: Wenn unsere bistorischen Stadte, die groBen wie die kleinen, denen die Zeit ihren Sondercharakter als etwas nie zu Vergessendes eingehammert bat, ihre innere Gleichniskraft behalten sollen, wenn sie weiter als Selbst- bekenntnisse ibrer Gescbicbte zu uns reden sollen, so mussen die sicht- baren Symbole, die in Stein gepragten WeistCimer unserer Vergangenbeit lebendig erbalten, aus ihren Trummerbetten wieder auferweckt werden [. . .]. (Clemen 195)
Finding inner stability by creating spaces in which one could resurrect one's cultural and national identity by reconnecting with the past was 146 VEES-GULANI thus seen by many as being as important as developing outer securi- ty by providing places to live and work. The Goethehaus in Frankfurt illustrates this approach. Completely destroyed in an air raid in 1944 (except for a small part of the front wall of the house, which later collapsed as well; Beseler and Qutschow xv), its rebuilding started as early as 1947. At the time of its comple- tion in 1951, the newly reconstructed house still stood amid a field of rubble. The stark contrast between the rebuilt Goethehaus and the de- struction surrounding it shows the conflicts between the different in- ternal and external needs of the population and reveals the direction Germany was choosing in reestablishing itself after the war. Rebuild- ing cultural landmarks immediately after 1945 was a way to rebuild its identity. As David Lowenthal comments in The Past Is a Foreign Coun- try: "Those who detach from themselves some part of their past com- monly substitute another" (38). By rebuilding their heritage, many Germans tried to redirect attention from a dark past to a happier one. In this way, restoration also became a symbol for the refusal to reflect on the recent past. The debate surrounding the Frankfurt Goethehaus after 1945 con- firms the fundamental importance of such rebuilding projects for Ger- man self-definition. Its so-called historical "restoration," even though it entailed a complete rebuilding, was possible because the Goethehaus's appearance and structure had been extensively documented in draw- ings and photographs. In addition, its interior had been removed for safekeeping shortly after the war had started, thus providing the origi- nal furnishings for the new structure (Meier 184). Yet the cultural sig- nificance of the building was even more important. The house was seen not only as representing but actually being Goethe and his spirit, a connection that was facilitated by the fact that the air raid that had destroyed it took place on the anniversary of Goethe's death, March 22. In the words of a Frankfurt citizen: [. . .] solange wir in den gleichen Raumen atmen, seine Treppenstufen emporsteigen, durch natnliche Fenster wie er auf Welt und Himmel scbauen durften, konnten wir das Gefuhl seiner unmittelbaren Nahe haben. Nun [. . .] hat sich eine Kluft aufgetan, unuberbruckbar. Es ist, als sei er nun wirklicb gestorben. (qtd. in Meier 185) For many, to accept the destruction of such sites would have meant the loss of a national and cultural identity, as these spaces were now viewed as their very essence. As Hermann Hesse states in support of the rebuilding efforts: FRANKFURT'S GOETHEHAaS TO DRESDEN'S FRACJENKIRCHE 147_
Es ist damit Idie Vernichtung historischer Statten] nicht nur ein groBes, edies Gut vernichtet, eine Menge hoher Werte an Tradition, an Schonheit, an Objekten der Liebe und Pietat zerstort: es ist auch die bildende und durch Bilder erziehende Gmwelt der kunftigen Geschlechter und damit die Seelenwelt dieser Nachkommen eines unersetzlichen Erziehungs- und Starkungsmittels, einer Substanz beraubt, ohne welche der Mensch zwar zur Not leben, aber nur ein hundertfach beschnittenes, verkummertes Leben fuhren kann. (qtd. in Hartmann 203)'
If these sites, widely viewed as the defining points of German culture, were not to have been rebuilt, a true Stunde Null would bave begun after tbe war—a state tbat would bave required not only accepting one's detrimental role in recent history but also starting anew to create a basis for an acceptable German national and cultural identity. In- stead, returning to Goetbe's age or otber historical times avoided bav- ing to redefine Germany's role and excluded the Nazi period from Ger- man cultural and national history altogether. Tbis path represented not only tbe emergence of a conservative mindset that rejected modern- ization but also a decision to be consciously apolitical—an attitude that in itself was directly informed by tbe present situation and thus inher- ently political.^ Tbis way of thinking was also widely expressed in the idea of the "good" and "bad" Germany, a distinction often propagated even today witb respect to the times under National Socialism. One well-known early example is Friedricb Meinecke's Die deutsctie Katastroptie (1946). In his work, the historian tracks the development of Nazism in Germany for more tban two hundred years, offering insight into the roots of National Socialism. Yet bis opinions about the overall meaning of the Nazi period for the country after 1945 are less convincing and contradict some of his earlier findings. By emphasizing tbe idea of the two Germanys, the corrupted, bad (Nazi) Germany and the good and true Germany of aesthetes, poets, and thinkers. Hitler can be explained as an inner-German foreign ruler, excluding his ideas from the German character or spirit (152). Meinecke thus subconsciously fosters the suppression of the Nazi past by stressing the need to find places where the true German soul, the pre-National Socialist Germany, could be re- discovered: CJnsere Aufgabe als Volk kann es jetzt nur sein, im Zeichen der Human- itat an der Reinigung und Verinnerlichung unseres seelischen Daseins zu arbeiten. Onsere Hauser sind uns zerstort, unser Nahrungsraum ist uns verkurzt. Aber an Wohnung und Nahrung fehlte es im Dritten Reiche auch fur die deutsche Seele. Diese ihr wieder zu erobern, durfte mindestens 148 VEES-GGLANI
ebenso dringend sein wie der Aufbau von Hausern und die Erzeugung von Lebensmitteln. (164) The Goethehaus In Frankfurt was a physical manifestation of this at- tempt to recapture an idea of Germanness that everyone could safely embrace. It offered the population a tangible representation of its cul- ture to the rest of the world. Not surprisingly, the Goethehaus became by far the most popular attraction in Frankfurt in the 1950s, with 129,000 visitors a year (von Beyme 205). However, not everyone supported the rebuilding effort. Most notably, many architects, art historians, curators, and journalists opposed the plan. Some criticized the reconstruction out of practical considerations, emphasizing the urgent need to create sufficient living and working space for the hungry and homeless population. Dolf Sternberger, for example, suggested a different direction for the rebuilding. With his call, "Geh vom Hauslichen aus [. . .]!" he hoped to draw attention to "heutiger, notiger, himmelschreiend notiger Bauweise und Wohnkultur" (200-01; emphasis in original). In addition, many warned against the assumption that a complete rebuilding actually could re-create the Goethehaus as a true historical site, pointing out that it could never be more than a copy of the original: "Wollte man das Goethehaus wieder- aufbauen, wie es war, [. . .] so ware es etwa, als woUe man einen lieben Verstorbenen genau und lebenswahr in Wachs nachbilden lassen und diese Imitation in sein Zimmer setzen" (Scheffler 269). Yet, the major concern of the opposing group was the symbolic value of the project, which is precisely what made the Goethehaus so attractive to its supporters. In his detailed commentary "Mut zum Ab- schied," for example, the publicist Walter Dirks criticizes the recon- struction of the Goethehaus as a sign of the attempt to suppress the unpleasant historical reality of National Socialism and its conse- quences by reviving old ideas and traditions: alien zeitbedingten Schwierigkeiten zum Trotz [wird] das Goethehaus [. . .] in der alten Gestalt dastehen und wie in fruheren guten Zeiten die Blumengabe des Shakespeare-Hauses zu Stratford on Avon entgegen- nehmen [. . .] Als wenn nichts geschehen ware. Aber es ist etwas geschehen, und dieses Qeschehen ist unwiderruflich. (86)
The idealization of Goethe and his times as the basis for a German na- tional identity after 1945 is also highly suspect to the author. Accord- ing to Dirks, the spirit of the Goethehaus is inherently linked to its de- struction—not necessarily because Germany had fallen from the FRANKFURT'S GOETHEHAUS TO DRESDEN'S FRAUENKIRCHE 149
Goethe ideal, tbe good Germany, as the supporters of the project em- phasize, but because the very fascination witb Goethe and his values, as well as tbe influence of Idealism and tbe classical period, created a society focused on the aesthetic, a society withdrawn from everyday political and economic needs. With this attitude, decisions in these lat- ter areas were left to others, who could gain enormous power. The discussion on reconstruction was one of the fundamental debates defining Germany's development after the war. In its most extreme forms, rebuilding according to the old models was seen as political restoration, suppression, self-idealization, and apolitical aestheticism by its critics. Supporters of using contemporary architectural forms to re- build Germany saw tbeir way as the only one that could truly deal with the past. Opponents of tbe new building designs complained about a loss of culture, heritage, and national symbols; a denial of what it meant to be German; as well as a heightening of confusion in an already chaot- ic world. The numerous historical reconstructions after 1945 show that most Germans found comfort in these more traditional settings. In a world of turmoil, they yearned for established and familiar structures. Analyzing the history of preservation in Salzburg, Austria, since the 1860s, Lester Rowntree confirms tbat falling back on tradition bas con- tinually been a "response to the stresses of new economic, political, and social currents" (74). Particularly in the extreme case of postwar Ger- many, many were not ready to face the most recent past or to try to re- define themselves. Instead, most of the population wished to reestablish themselves as rapidly as possible as a nation and gain a communal identity through re-creating identifiable and inspiring cultural icons of tbe past, without risking harsh criticism from other nations. This path of overcoming insecurity and depression after 1945 led directly to a peri- od of political restoration.^ Immediately after the war, political and societal attitudes toward re- building did not differ much in the individual occupation zones. All over Germany, the wisb for historical rebuilding was dominant. Interesting- ly, after East and West Germany officially came into being as separate states in 1949, the idealization of historically oriented architectural de- cisions gained more importance in the newly founded German Demo- cratic Republic (GDR) than in the Federal Republic, where modern and practical rebuilding ideas slowly gained some ground. In East Ger- many, any attempts at modern architecture were seen as first steps of an American colonization, and many plans were made to rebuild the cities according to their original historical structures." Finally, however. 150 VEES-GULAMI
Socialist building concepts under the influence of the Soviet Union and Khrushchev's emphasis on efficiency in the construction process be- came more important than the historical rebuilding efforts. This style emphasized large governmental structures and parade avenues in the city centers as well as fast and cheap construction of living space on the outskirts of cities by using a uniform design and premanufactured components for all buildings (the so-called Plattenbauten). In the city centers, the constant lack of money and materials in the GDR led to numerous partially completed projects, while many older buildings were simply left to crumble. Consequently, although the postwar re- building of cities in West Germany was mostly completed by the 1960s, it was still possible to encounter ruins from World War II when strolling through an East German city after reuniflcation. The political changes after 1989 had little influence on West German town struc- tures but brought a time of great transformation to East German cities. After more than forty years of Socialism in East Germany, the country found itself in a fever to rebuild its economy, its towns, and its identity. Despite the long time difference and the history behind the two past political systems, the basic reaction to reunification was similar to that after 1945 and revealed a continuity of coping mechanisms among the German population. City planning and architectural decisions lie once again at the heart of these aspects of transformation. A good example is the current rebuilding of the Frauenkirche (Church of Our Lady) in Dresden. The architecturally extraordinary Baroque church by the master builder George Bahr was an integral part of the fa- mous Dresden silhouette. This city often is described as the "Florence on the Elbe" and was immortalized by the paintings of the Italian artist Canaletto (Bernardo Belotto) in the mid-eighteenth century. When Dresden became the site of a devastating attack by allied bombing on 13-14 February 1945, the Frauenkirche was one of the architectural ca- sualties of the air raids. While at first appearing to withstand the effects of the bombs, it finally collapsed into a pile of rubble two days after the attacks. Overall, about fifteen square kilometers of the city were com- pletely destroyed (Paul 314), creating a landscape so vast and strange that it was often compared to the surface of the moon.^ Immediately after the war, campaigns for the reconstruction of the historic old town began. Particular attention was paid to the Frauenkirche, referring to its special design and its importance for Dres- den's cultural identity (Paul 327), an argument often stated in the Goethehaus debate as well. Although all of Dresden found itself in the FRANKFURT'S GOETHEHAOS TO DRESDEN'S FRAGENKIRCHE 15]
most desolate situation, these efforts were largely supported by the population. For this undertaking, rubble from the Frauenkirche site started to be cleared, measured, and catalogued. However, a change of direction in the East German government and the unavailability of prop- er funds prevented the rebuilding. Instead, new plans arose that were less concerned with the city's historic character and more concerned with the idea of radically separating it from its royal Residenzstadt flair, an appearance that was perceived as opposing Socialist ideals. Yet, some of the Dresden officials and conservationists never gave up on their rebuilding plans for the Frauenkirche and tried to save the building from being cleared away (Nadler 91). Consequently, neither the remains were removed nor the church rebuilt. Instead, the Social- ist government finally turned the destroyed building into a bombing memorial: "To the tens of thousands of dead, and an inspiration to the living in their struggle against imperialist barbarism and for the peace and happiness of man," as the official East German plaque read (qtd. in Buruma 300). The symbolic function of the Frauenkirche site was expanded, and the ruins were instrumental in the East German strug- gle against the West during the cold war. Depending on the relation- ship between the Soviet Union and the United States, the anniversaries of the destruction of Dresden were either seen as reminders of the hor- rors of war or as times for official demonstrations against the West, the destroyers of Dresden, and the imperialist-fascist enemy of Socialism. By portraying the Western powers as fascist systems and the bomb- ing of Dresden as a fascist act. East Germany ultimately equated the destruction of Dresden with the crimes committed under Mational So- cialism, portraying East Germans as victims and suppressing the causal relationship of the war. Consequently, unlike the Goethehaus, which was a reconstructed cultural icon from a prewar past that func- tioned as a site for identity formation for both individuals and the state, the ruins of the Frauenkirche became a visible symbol for East Ger- many's official self-definition as a counterregime to the West. In 1982, these ruins gained another meaning when Dresden inhabitants lighted candles there for peace and as a silent protest against their govern- ment. This demonstration again used a heritage site as a place to de- fine the group and its position within society. After the wall fell, the old plans for an exact reconstruction of the church were revived and swiftly begun under the leadership of the So- ciety for the Promotion of the Rebuilding of the Frauenkirche Dresden. For this group, reunification was also "die Wende fur die Dresdner 152 VEES-GULANI
Frauenkirche" (Paul, Kantschew, and Kroger). Implicit in this state- ment is the perception that the time had finally come to rescue the Frauenkirche, which had been a victim of both World War II and the Socialist East German government that had refused to rebuild it. The project resembles in many aspects the reconstruction of the Goethe- haus right after the war. Both buildings were considered important cul- tural icons in Germany, and in each case the availability of detailed plans and photographs of their appearance before destruction made a historical reconstruction possible. Thus, it is not surprising that the Frauenkirche also stirred strong emotions among its supporters and critics. Yet in this case, the conflict was even more pronounced be- cause the historical skyline in question had not existed for nearly fifty years when its rebuilding began to be discussed. Lowenthal assesses that reactions to the past, and thus to the ob- jects that represent it, can be ambiguous, with "explicit avowals of ad- miration or disdain conceal[ing] their opposites; reverence for tradi- tion underlies destructive iconoclasm; retrospective nostalgia coexists with impatient modernism" (35). This trend also underlies the Frauenkirche debate. Numerous architects, like their colleagues in 1945, strongly condemn the rebuilding project. Similar to the post- war era, they voice their protest against the historical reconstruction of a building that was completely destroyed. They warn against erect- ing what could at best be a copy of the original and call instead for "vorbildliche Bauten der Gegenwart" (Delau), modern constructions free of any nostalgia for the past. However, behavioral research into questions of conservation suggests that such a radical proposal for renewal is seldom embraced by the public, as their preference for sur- roundings is often linked to a familiarity of the environment (Hubbard 363). Yet, contemporary building styles rarely offer such familiar points of orientation. Nevertheless, contrary to the clean break from tradition its proponents attempt to propagate, contemporary archi- tecture does not exist in a vacuum but rather contains various ele- ments of past styles and ideas. Interestingly, despite the strong oppo- sition to heritage preservation and reconstruction among the supporters of contemporary architectural solutions, they also hope these buildings fulfill similar functions within society and culture. As in the case of the supporters of reconstruction projects, they view buildings as models and count on their pedagogical effect. Despite opposing claims, retrospection and reverence of the past are inher- ently interwoven in their view of future architectural design. FRANKFORT'S GOETHEHAGS TO DRESDEN'S FRAUENKIRCHE 153
Other critics, such as Christof Ziemer, who led rallies for democracy in 1989, argued for leaving the ruins the way they were. He hoped that by displaying this "offene Erinnerungswunde" (qtd. in Kohlhaas 26), memories of the war and its causes and consequences could be kept alive. His position won much support, even from the Protestant church (Steele T2), whose members once worshipped in the Frauenkirche. However, as in the case of the Goethehaus, the rebuilding of the Frauenkirche went ahead despite these dissenting voices, albeit under the condition that it had to be financed privately. The strong opposition to the rebuilding is matched by the unques- tionable belief in the project by its supporters. They insist that by re- building the Frauenkirche according to its original plans—for which the term "archeological reconstruction" was coined in 1991 (Burger 141)—they return to the world one of its most striking and unique monuments. There is little theoretical guidance in determining the jus- tification of such claims. As Larkham points out, "[I]n fields other than the built environment, there are considerable parallels in heritage and conservation problems but far greater advances in conceptualizing. In art, for example, there is a general consensus over the delimination of fake, restoration and replication" (257). When considering the possi- bilities that the reproduction of art in the twentieth century offers with its technical advances, Walter Benjamin ascertained early on that al- though copies of art might look the same externally, they lack the spe- cial aura that makes the original unique (13). Even if one does not consider other disciplines, the assertions of the rebuilding supporters are seen as problematic within conservation cir- cles. According to preservation guidelines, the rebuilding of a destroyed structure is only of historical value when the reconstruction uses more original materials than new ones (Kiesow 103). Because the Frauenkirche was completely destroyed, rebuilding it cannot be classi- fied as the preservation of a historical monument, as there will be only a very small number of original pieces of the church included in the building. Experts thus question the reality of the archaeological rebuild- ing of the church: "[E]s muss hier [. . .]—trotz aller gegenlaufigen Be- hauptungen—von einem Neubau gesprochen werden, der die Formen der Dresdner Frauenkirche wiederaufgreift" (Trimborn 141). Preserva- tion handbooks support this critical view: Grundsatzlicb sollte man in solcben Fallen [volliger Zerstorung] den (Jn- tergang des Baudenkmals als geschichtlichen Tatbestand hinnehmen und seine Lucke im Ortsbild durch einen Neubau schlieBen, der die gleichen 154 VEES-GULANI
stadtebaulichen Qualitaten wie der untergegangene Bau hat, denn auch eine Nachbildung des Verschwundenen kann darijber hinaus allenfalls noch den siedlungs- oder sozialgeschichtlichen Wert und die Innen- raumqualitaten, keineswegs aber die gestalterische Qualitat, den Quel- lenwert und die Geschichtsspuren wiederbringen. (Kiesow 103)
There is further evidence for the classification of the project as imitation instead of historical reconstruction. Because the Frauenkirche had structural problems, the rebuilding relies on modern computer technol- ogy and includes design changes and the introduction of modern mate- rials and techniques to maximize the Frauenkirche's stability and safety. It also should not be forgotten that the rebuilding of the church actu- ally requires the destruction of another monument to the German past, namely, the Frauenkirche ruins that had shaped the Dresden cityscape for several decades. As a symbol of official GDR policies, as well as of subverting the GDR system by opposition leaders, it had become a key site for processes of cultural and national identity formation and with significant historical and educational value. Thus, a strong case could be made for preserving the ruins. Since the emphasis on the archaeological and historical nature of the rebuilding of the Frauenkirche and its significance for preserva- tion goes against the standards developed for conservation of histor- ical buildings, these claims for the justification of the project are questionable. This is one reason why the rebuilding critics have called Dresden the new "Las Vegas an der Elbe" (Ruby) or a "Barock Disneyland" (Delau). These judgments seem somewhat exaggerated in the case of the Frauenkirche, but a look at the so-called Disneyfi- cation of reality in the United States can still offer some valuable in- sights into the project. Although completely artificial, the design of Disneyland causes strong emotional responses in its American visi- tors. For example, "Main Street U.S.A." represents a "typical" main street in a nineteenth-century town and is the centerpiece of Disney- land. It evokes feelings of nostalgia for an ideal of small-town Amer- ica, which, of course, only exists in the imagination. This version of small-town America conforms so perfectly to the ideals of the middle class that it actually has influenced the collective memory of nine- teenth-century Americana (Roost 96). Historical accuracy is not an essential element in creating sites that people value and feel a con- nection with. In fact, studies suggest that it is rare that only the his- torical value of a building makes it significant in the eyes of the peo- ple (Hubbard 369). Rather, it is their perceived relationship to the FRANKFURT'S GOETHEHAUS TO DRESDEN'S FRAGENKIRCHE 155_
building, because "the meaning of architecture and architectural styles is in the person and their interpretive mechanisms rather than being intrinsic to a set of physical characteristics" (Hubbard 365). It has been noted that the importance ascribed to the Frauenkirche project strangely surpasses its actual meaning: [d]ie Idee des Wiederaufbaus [wurde] von Beginn an merkwijrdig ijber- hoht. Als hatte sich plotzlich eine Schleuse geoffnet und einem lange aufgestauten Bediirfnis freie Bahn verschafft, flossen dem CInternehmen von Beginn an Schecks und Sympathien in nie gekanntem AusmaS zu (Neffe 295-96) A comparison to the debate surrounding the Goethehaus in Frankfurt helps clarify some of this fascination with the rebuilding of the Frauenkirche. The Goethehaus controversy revealed a strong connec- tion between the rebuilding efforts and the design of a new national identity. Rebuilding the Goethehaus helped fulfill the dream of creating a Germany unscarred by war and yet connected to culture and tradi- tion. Although not displayed as openly in the case of the Frauenkirche, probably because these expressions of nostalgia and selective histori- cal memory are now less commonly accepted and criticized more than after the war, these basic intentions to alter history are nevertheless felt throughout the whole controversy. Lowenthal emphasizes society's re- lationship to history and its wish "to alter the past to 'improve' it," to exaggerate and celebrate the things they are proud of and to downplay those they consider shameful (332). With the Frauenkirche, such a negating process goes even beyond those of the immediate postwar era, as it wipes out not only the visible marks of the consequences of the war but also more than forty years of Socialism. Fidelity to every detail is not truly necessary for a building to repre- sent the past and serve as a basis for identity formation. As many re- constructions, reenactments, and even Disneyland reveal, as long as the image satisfies the onlookers' expectations, viewers perceive the building as true to the past and often are unaware that the object was altered (Lowenthal 290). Still, the insistence on originality and particu- larly on the conservational value of the re-created structure dominates the Frauenkirche debate. The rebuilding supporters not only strive to achieve acceptance by the general public but also wish for official ap- proval of the project to confirm of their selective use of the past. As Adolf Ehrentraut points out in his study on Japanese heritage buildings, an "authoritative designation of sites as heritage guarantees the au- thenticity of both the touristic experience and the collective identities 156 VEES-GGLANI constructed on that basis" (218). Despite the questionable foundation for such a designation, rebuilding efforts in Germany and other heavily destroyed countries after World War II and the later reception to this re- building do give some basis for such wishes. For example, the old mar- ket square in Warsaw, Poland, which is a complete postwar reconstruc- tion, is now designated a World Heritage Site (Larkham 237). Such recognition would support the trend to rebuild in Dresden, with the Frauenkirche project as its flagship, and to reverse the changes the city endured after its destruction and during its GDR times, a heritage both city officials and a large part of the population view negatively and would like to erase (Duwel and Gutschow 270). The rebuilt Frauenkirche thus provides the ideal space for a resurrec- tion of the pre-Nazi past and the suppression from 1933 to 1990. As many comments reveal, in a time of redefinition and change after reuni- fication, identity is retrospectively connected to the existence of the Frauenkirche. It is seen through the lens of nostalgia, representing a past that Is both highly idealized and altered to meet the needs of the present (Lowenthal 348). This connection also explains the sentimental state- ments of select groups, such as the claim that every Dresden resident knows "from memory the precise location that each piece of rubble be- longs to" (Asch 4). The words of a Dresden resident exemplify the pro- jection of one's own destiny onto the physical entity of the Frauenkirche: For two hundred years my family has been connected to the Frauenkirche. My grandmother was confirmed there, my greatgrand- motber baptised, and I bad books and pictures recalling tbose years [. . .]. 1 know tbe cburcb from top to bottom. I was only a boy at tbe time but I loved the Frauenkirche. Tbe day after tbe raid we stood on our bal- cony where we lived. Tbe smoke lifted for a moment ... it was unbeliev- able. I shouted to my mother, 'look, tbe Frauenkirche is still standing.' We stared again, and saw through reddened eyes it was true. Yet shortly af- terwards it collapsed, as if not wanting to survive tbe insanity. The disas- ter was now complete, (qtd. in Asch 4) Indeed, the symbolic value attached to the church is limitless. For ex- ample, the writer Walter Kempowski, whose work Echolot: Fuga Furiosa (1999) includes a long section on the bombing of Dresden, goes even further. As he states in an interview: Es ist im Grunde ja nicbt Deutschland zerstort worden, es ist, wenn man so will, das alte Europa zerstort worden. Als die Frauenkircbe zusam- menbracb, brach nicbt nur ein deutscbes Gebaude zusammen, sondern etwas, das mit Kultur, Tradition und Abendland zusammenbangt. An den Folgen haben alle Europaer bis beute zu tragen. (Kempowski) FRANKFORT'S GOETHEHAUS TO DRESDEN'S FRAGENKIRCHE ]57_
This yearning for an identity defined through the idealized past characterizes the conservative view of the post-1945 and Adenauer era and corresponds to the wish by the chancellor of the reunification period, Helmut Kohl, and his supporters to re-create a German na- tional identity as independent as possible from the Nazi past.^ "Wun- den heilen, nicht offen halten" (Mohring 4), the credo of the Dresden struggle in rebuilding their Baroque skyline, could have been that of either political era. It is not surprising that Kohl repeatedly used this myth of the old Dresden and the emotional approach to the rebuilding of the city, with references to the church and through campaign stops in front of the ruins, in his message of the new nation—one that had successfully overcome its past and was now thoroughly integrated within Europe. So, when in the early 1990s Kohl was asked what he would like for his birthday, "he conceded that a reconstructed Frauenkirche would be the fulfillment of his ideal" (Asch 3). The Frauenkirche site has become so inherently political because it is the perfect place to renegotiate official German memory to fit with these ideals. Its destruction also symbolizes the wiping out of Dresden and the death of many of its inhabitants in a massive air raid. It is true that Dres- den can serve as yet another reminder that war is cruel and brings ter- rible sorrow and suffering. It is in this spirit that many Dresden residents and other Frauenkirche supporters justify the rebuilding of the church. Yet, this attitude neglects some complex issues. The bombings did not happen in isolation. Rather, they were part of a "total war" that Ger- many had started and refused to end. In a case such as Dresden, how- ever, where primarily civilian targets were destroyed and the bombings occurred very close to the end of the war, the rigid opposing categories of victims and perpetrators, while often legitimately applied in this war, cannot hold firmly. Dresden is a place where such polarizations can be legitimately questioned and approached in a more complex manner, but it can also serve as a platform for extremism when this includes at- tempts to downplay Germany's perpetrator role. In 1995, the writer Ralph Giordano warned President Roman Herzog in an open letter about the dangers of his plans of giving a speech at the Frauenkirche in Dresden at the fiftieth anniversary of the bombing. Giordano did not try to minimize the horror of the events because he knew the terrible effects of large-area bombings from his own experiences during the de- struction of Hamburg in 1943. However, he pointed out that Dresden also will always serve as an example for attempts by revisionists to off- set the wrongs committed by the Germans: "Gnd deren Paradebeispiel, 158 VEES-GUI-ANl ihr Lieblingsmodell, war und ist die Zerstorung Dresdens [. . .] Wer immer bei uns das Thema behandelt, er wird mit dieser unheimlichen Nachbarschaft zu rechnen haben—und einer aussert schwierigen Ab- grenzung zu Ihr" (10). The supporters of the Frauenkirche project are well aware of these is- sues and take pains to avoid any such association. In this spirit, the So- ciety for the Rebuilding of the Frauenkirche emphasizes in its donation pamphlet {Dresden ruft) how the newly constructed church will have symbolic value for the world: "The Frauenkirche, rebuilt from its ruins, will become a monument for the reconciliation of nations and a visible exhortation for peace in the world." Yet how believable—or how naive— are these good Intentions? Ehrentraut views such insistence on the uni- versality of historical rebuilding projects rather critically: "International declarations notwithstanding, the symbolic significance of architectural heritage [. . .] arises not from the universals of human experience but its particularistic permutations, which infuse heritage with the cognitive meaning and affective appeal through which one collectivity differenti- ates itself from others" (217). Interesting enough, the German text is equivalent to the English text printed on the opposite side, with one dif- ference, as the church here also is characterized as a symbol for the healing of the wounds caused by the war: "Die aus den Trummern wiedererstandene Frauenkirche wird ein Symbol fur die Heilung der durch den Krieg geschlagenen Wunden sein, ein Denkmal fur die Ver- sohnung der Volker und eine sichtbare Mahnung zum Frieden" (em- phasis added). Referring to wounds inflicted on Germans, draped in symbolism alluding both to the resurrection of Christ and the Phoenix's rise from the ashes, without mentioning the precursors suggests that Germans are innocent victims in need of healing from the effects of the horrors of war. By omitting this passage in the English translation, the inconvenient claim of German victlmhood is simply glossed over.^ Consequently, the Frauenkirche runs the danger of becoming a site where memory of the past can occasionally be renegotiated in ques- tionable terms. In the name of historical preservation, rebuilding then becomes a task of overcoming defeat and pain, a possibility of resur- recting national pride, and an outlet to thoughts and opinions that would be unacceptable if directly expressed. In the Dresden hype sur- rounding Germany's own hardship, the true horrors and the extent of crimes under Mational Socialism are often minimized, while German suffering is emphasized. In 1995, the taz reported such an attempt at minimizing Nazi crimes by concentrating on "German" suffering: FRANKFURT'S GOETHEHAGS TO DRESDEN'S FRAUENKIRCHE 159_
Die Dresdner Musikfestspiele stehen in diesem Jahr unter dem Motto: "Apokalypse;" und Intendant Michael Hampe schreibt im Geleitwort des Programnnhefts: "1995 jahrt sich zum funfzigsten Mal das Ende des Zweit- en Weltkriegs und die Zerstorung Dresdens, jenes apokalyptische Ereignis, das wie kein zweites zum Symbol des CIntergangs, des Grauens und des Leidens wurde, das jener Krieg uber die Menscbheit brachte." (Krell 5)
Here, the destruction of Dresden is suggested to be of comparable mag- nitude to the significance of Auschwitz, as an incident of German suf- fering is singled out as an epiphany of the horror of the war. This crass example openly reveals the shift in perception of German history that provides the political motivation of the Dresden rebuilding project. The debate about rebuilding cities in Germany and the subsequent questions of restoration in contrast to innovation first peaked after Wodd War II and then resurfaced, in very similar terms, after reunification. Thus, it never was solely an architectural discussion. The large number of people from various backgrounds involved in the dispute suggests the importance of this conflict in postwar German culture. On one level, the debate serves as a ground to renegotiate a cultural identity in the times of turmoil and stress that necessarily accompany significant po- litical, societal, and economic changes. Although some people see this as the best time to look toward the future and break with tradition by creating a contemporary environment, the larger part of the population engages in a more conservative view. Reconstructed buildings are seen as symbols that can serve both as material reconfirmation of a cultural identity based on sentimental nostalgia for Germany's cultural past and as tools for communicating this self-understanding to others. As the similarities between the Goethehaus debate and the Frauenkirche dis- cussion show, the current trend to define a culture through the rebuild- ing of historical structures is by no means new, but rather based on cop- ing mechanisms established after World War II. Thus, in times of change, Germans are continually drawn to processes of avoidance and suppression, redirecting the perception of German history away from Nazi Germany and its consequences to what is understood as a more glorious prewar past. Reconstruction projects such as the Frauenkirche, therefore, have some appeal to conservatives. Connecting to the prewar cultural past makes it possible to remove the Nazi and Socialist years from cultural memory; turning the destroyed heritage buildings into symbols for Ger- man suffering during the war, without consideration of German crimes, makes it possible to identify Germans as victims, shifting focus away 160 VEES-GULANI from their role as perpetrators. Yet, while reconstruction opponents usu- ally propose innovation through contemporary architecture as the cor- rect way to counter these notions, it is questionable whether such struc- tures can achieve such a goal. Inherently unfamiliar to their viewers, often expressing the fragmentation of modern life, they do not provide that uniform symbolic meaning that would turn them into sites of col- lective identity formation. At the same time, by looking ahead instead of to the past, they also do not engage in a discourse with the Nazi or Socialist past, which is ignored in much of the rebuilding projects. The situation after reunification, as revealed by the debate surround- ing the rebuilding of East German cities and tbe reemergence of cop- ing mecbanisms employed after 1945, sbows tbat postwar Germany has yet to find a national and cultural identity. The fierceness of the dis- cussion and the harsh criticism each side holds for the other suggest that Germans experience this lack of a new identity as a negative feel- ing. Yet, because ofthe rigidity of opposition between the supporters of restoration and those concentrating on the present and the future, with neither of these extremes offering a satisfying solution, questions of how Germans can properly remember their past with all its nuances, how they should treat their heritage, and how they can define them- selves as a modern postwar nation often are not addressed. However, without finding solutions to these issues, a new national and cultural identity will not form. Architecture can play a role in this process by of- fering sites where Germans can continue to reconsider their identity. When divergent opinions are reassessed as alternatives and each side becomes more flexible to the opposing view, architecture can belp cre- ate an environment that can inspire Germans to begin to move beyond their restrictive self-definitions.
University of Michigan
NOTES
1. Hesse's comments were quoted by Georg Hartmann in a speech at the opening ceremony for the reconstructed Goethehaus. Hartmann was the pres- ident of the "Freien Deutschen Hochstifts," which was responsible for the re- building. The inclusion of these lines in Hartmann's address makes apparent the representative character of Hesse's point of view. 2. See also Doering-Manteuffel 535. 3. The significance of botb the destruction and restoration of building struc- tures as symbols for tbe inner psychological condition of the German popula- FRANKFGRT'S GOETHEHAGS TO DRESDEN'S FRAGENKIRCHE 16]_
tion, and their attempts at identity formation after the war, also is confirmed in Heinrich Boll's important 1959 novel Biiiiard um haibzetin. Boll purposely uses three generations of architects and the construction, destruction, and re- building of an abbey, which is viewed as a cultural icon by the inhabitants of the city, to describe the Nazi era and particularly to criticize the direction Ger- many took after the war. 4. This historical reconstruction was not necessarily motivated by the wish to establish historical continuity, as in West Germany, but rather by the hope that it would show East Germany as the legitimate cultural successor of the past (Paul 319). 5. See, for example, Kurt Vonnegut's description of Dresden in his novel Siaugi-iteriT.ouse-Fiue. 6. Kohl continuously portrayed himself as a representative of a new era, of a generation not directly involved in the war. One well-known example is Kohl's remark during a visit to Israel about the "grace of belated birth" he experienced by being only a teenager at the end of the war. Another representative event displaying Kohl's desire to "normalize" German history is the controversial visit by Kohl and Ronald Reagan to the military cemetery in Bitburg, where they placed wreaths to commemorate dead German soldiers, despite the fact that SS officers were buried there as well. 7. Although the rebuilding is interpreted as a sign of overcoming Socialism, the rhetoric used is not only revisionist, but also, even though unconsciously on the part of the participants, in many ways a continuation of the East Ger- man standpoint of the German as a victim of Western imperialism.
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