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