Hvattum, Mari) Gottfried Semper and The Problem of Historicism

GOTTFRIED SEMPER AND THE
PROBLEM OF HISTORICISM
k
Using key texts by the German architect and theorist Gottfried
Semper, Mari Hvattum offers a reinterpretation of historicism, viewed
both as a philosophical outlook and as an architectural problem.
Hvattum focuses on Semper’s two major concerns: his sensitive under-
standing of the ontological significance of art and architecture, and his
ambitious rendering of art and architecture as the objects of scientific
investigation and prediction. Hvattum investigates the background and
implications of these conflicting concerns. By examining the historicist
fusion of romanticism and positivism, the book seeks to understand
the nature as well as the limits of the modern dream of an architectural
“method of inventing”. More than an intellectual biography, Gottfried
Semper and the Problem of Historicism explores the continued influence
of historicism on modern architectural discourse and practice.
Mari Hvattum is Senior Lecturer in architectural history and the-

ory at the Oslo School of Achitecture, Norway. Co-editor of Tracing
Modernity, she has written widely on nineteenth- and twentieth-century
architectural discourse and practice.
GOTTFRIED SEMPER
AND THE PROBLEM OF
HISTORICISM
M A R I H VAT T U M
Oslo School of Architecture, Norway
cambridge university press
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© Mari Hvattum 2004
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First published in print format 2004
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For Carla and Christian
k
CONTENTS
List of Figures page xi
Prolegomenon 1
Introduction – Gottfried Semper: Texts and Interpretations 7

Semper’s Writings 9
Recent Interpretations 18
Approach 22
PA RT I : T O WA R D S A P O E T I C S O F A R C H I T E C T U R E
1 The Cult of Origins 29

Universal Origins: Laugier and the Primitive Hut 30
Historical Origins: Quatremère de Quincy and the
Caractère Relatif 35
Ritual Origins: Gustav Klemm and the Anthropology
of Art 42
2 The Doctrine of Imitation 47

Ideal Imitation: Quatremère de Quincy and
La Belle Nature 48
Organic Imitation: Goethe, Schlegel, and
Schaffende Natur 52
vii
CONTENTS
Tectonic Imitation: Karl Bötticher and the Autonomy

of Form 57
3 Semper and the Poetics of Architecture 64

The Primitive Hut Rebuilt 64
Imitation Redefined 72
Architecture as Mimesis of Praxis 75
PA RT I I : P R A C T I C A L A E S T H E T I C S
4 Semper and Practical Aesthetics 87

The Theory of Formal Beauty 88
The Theory of Symbolic Form and the Aesthetic
Evolution of Art 102
The Formula for Style 107
5 The Comparative Method 114

Comparative Architecture 115
Comparative Anatomy 123
Comparative Linguistics 133
6 Towards a Method of Inventing 137

Comparison as Experiment: Comte and La Physique
Sociale 138
Poiesis and Production in Semper’s Method of
Inventing 142
PA RT I I I : T H E A P O R I A S O F H I S T O R I C I S M
7 Semper and the “Style of Our Time” 149

The “Dilemma of Style” 150
Semper: Style as Result 154
The Necessity for Disintegration and the New Synthesis
of Art 158
8 History and Historicism 162

From Geschichten to Geschichte: The Organic Unity
of History 162
viii
CONTENTS
The Artwork of the Future 168

The Future as a Work of Art 170
9 Between Poetics and Practical Aesthetics 175

Wilhelm Dilthey: Historicity and Historicism 176
Semper and the Question of Method: A Conclusion 180
Epilogue 189
Notes 193
Selected Semper Bibliography 249
Bibliography 253
Index 269
ix
FIGURES
1 The Assyrian Central Saloon at the British

Museum, c. 1854. page 2
2 Assyrian stool. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil, 1878. 3
3 King Ashurnasirpal II on his throne. Throne room,
North West Palace, Calah, 9th century BC. 4
4 Gottfried Semper, 1874. 8
5 Gottfried Semper, Dresden Hoftheater, c. 1845. 12
6 Gottfried Semper and Karl von Hasenauer, first project
for the Imperial Forum, Vienna Ringstraße, 1869. 17
7 Charles Eisen, frontispiece to M.-A. Laugier, Essai sur
l’architecture, 1755. 32
8 “The Caraib Hut”. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil, 1878. 36
9 The cave. Giovanni Battista Piranesi, 1761–2, Campus
Martinus antiqua Urbis, 1762, detail. 40
10 “The Primitive Buildings”. William Chambers, A
Treatise on Civil Architecture, 1759. 41
11 “Australia”. Frontispiece to Gustav Klemm, Allgemeine
Kulturgeschichte der Menschheit, 1843–51. 44
12 Facial tattoos. Gustav Klemm, Allgemeine
Kulturgeschichte der Menschheit, 1843–51. 45
13 Claude Lorrain, Mercury and Argus, etching, 1662. 50
14 Strasbourg Cathedral, west front, begun 1277. 55
15 Italian sketches. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe,
“Baukunst”, 1795. 57
xi
FIGURES
16 Studies of Ionic capitals. Karl Bötticher, Die Tektonik

der Hellenen, 1852. 60
17 Studies of the bases of the orders. Karl Bötticher, Die
Tektonik der Hellenen, 1852. 61
18 Studies of the bending of leafs under burden. Karl
Bötticher, Die Tektonik der Hellenen, 1852. 62
19 Wreaths and rhythmic ornaments. Gottfried Semper,
Der Stil, 1878. 67
20 Knots and braids. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil, 1878. 68
21 Snake ornaments from Greece, Ireland, Egypt, and
Scandinavia. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil, 1878. 69
22 Techniques of weaving. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil, 1878. 70
23 Techniques of knitting and croché. Gottfried Semper,
Der Stil, 1878. 71
24 Assyrian stone panel decorated with carpet patterns.
Gottfried Semper, Der Stil, 1878. 74
25 Delphian sacrificial dance. Gottfried Semper,
Der Stil, 1878. 80
26 Assyrian sacred tree. Gottfried Semper, Prolegomenon
to Der Stil, 1878. 82
27 Egyptian necklaces. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil, 1878. 89
28 Egyptian headdresses. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil, 1878. 90
29 Assyrian warrior with armrings. Gottfried Semper,
Der Stil, 1878. 91
30 Flowers and snow crystals. Gottfried Semper,
Prolegomenon to Der Stil, 1878. 93
31 Axial symmetry as found in natural form. Gottfried
Semper, Prolegomenon to Der Stil, 1878. 94
32 Gottfried Semper, sketch of a woman’s head from the
Parthenon Frieze. 97
33 Gottfried Semper, sketch of female figures from the
Parthenon, eastern pediment. 98
34 Radial symmetry in architecture. Gottfried Semper,
Der Stil, 1878. 101
35 Persian bullneck capital. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil, 1878. 104
xii
FIGURES
36 Gottfried Semper, sketch from Karl Bötticher’s Die

Tektonik der Hellenen, 1852. 106
37 Greek hydria and Egyptian situla. Gottfried Semper,
Der Stil, 1878. 111
38 Greek women carrying hydrias. Gottfried Semper, Der
Stil, 1878. 112
39 Johann Bernhard Fischer von Erlach, Entwurf einer
historischen Architektur, 1721. 116
40 The historical development of temples. Julien-David
Leroy, Les Ruines des plus beaux monuments de la
Grèce, 1770. 118
41 Comparison of Greek and Egyptian temples.
Claude-Nicolas-Louis Durand, Recueil et Parallèle des
edifices en tout genre, anciens et modernes, 1799–1801. 119
42 “Vestibules”. Claude-Nicolas-Louis Durand, Précis des
Leçons d’architecture, 1819. 121
43 “Combinaisons verticales”. Claude-Nicolas-Louis
Durand, Précis des Leçons d’architecture, 1819. 122
44 Galérie d’anatomie comparée, Paris, c. 1830. 124
45 Comparative dissection drawings of fish stomachs.
Georges Cuvier, Leçons d’anatomie comparée, 1805. 126
46 Frontispiece to Carl Linnaeus, Fauna Svecica,
Stockholm, 1761. 128
47 Leo von Klenze, Walhalla, 1814–46. 152
48 “The Present Revival of Christian Architecture”.
Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin, An Apology for the
Revival of Christian Architecture in England, 1843. 153
49 Leo von Klenze, Munich Residence, 1826–35. 155
50 Sketch diagram for an ideal museum. Gottfried
Semper, Practical Art in Metals and Hard Materials: Its
Technology, History, and Styles, 1852. 186
xiii
PROLEGOMENON
In October 1848, the British Museum received a remarkable shipment

from Constantinople. Austen Henry Layard – adventurer, archaeol-
ogist, and diplomat – had started his Middle Eastern excavations in
November 1845, in fierce competition with the French archaeolo-
gist Paul Emile Botta. Less than two months later, he unearthed a
monument last mentioned in the Old Testament: King Ashurnasirpal
II’s palace in Calah.1 In the years that followed, until 1854 when the
Crimean War put an end to such financial extravaganza, an extraor-
dinary collection was assembled in London. With the magnificent
sculptures and bas-reliefs depicting hunts, battles, and sacrifices, the
Assyrian treasures formed a pictorial chronicle of a forgotten civilisation
(Figure 1).2
The arrival in London of Layard’s Assyrian find caused both cele-
bration and unease. It strengthened the status of the British Museum as
a seat of ancient art, but it also threatened the classical principles upon
which both the institution itself and its recently inaugurated build-
ing were based. The event challenged the view of ancient Greece as
the autochthonous cradle of art, indicating that Greek classicism –
widely regarded as a symbol of the dignity and superiority of Western
culture – had its roots in the ‘barbarian’ East.3 Layard’s collection
shook nineteenth-century art history to its foundations and had a pro-
found effect upon the incredulous audience who witnessed its arrival in
Bloomsbury. Among the audience was a German architect temporarily
stranded in London: Gottfried Semper.
1
GOTTFRIED SEMPER AND THE PROBLEM OF HISTORICISM
Figure 1. The Assyrian Central Saloon at the British Museum, c. 1854.

c Copyright
The British Museum.
Semper must have studied the new acquisitions of the British

Museum carefully. Years later, in his magnum opus, Der Stil in den
technischen und tektonischen Künsten oder praktische Ästhetik (1860–3), the
Assyrian collection provided a key example in his innovative theory
of the origins and development of art. A stool had particularly cap-
tured Semper’s imagination (Figure 2). In an ingenious series of anal-
yses, he traced the iconography of the stool back to its origins in the
primordial motifs of art.4 He examined how the stool’s stylised joints
echo the motif of the seam, and how the mouldings of the legs invoke
the motifs of the wreath and the ribbon. The animal heads flanking
the seat express both load-bearing capacity and religious significance,
2
PROLEGOMENON
Figure 2. Assyrian stool. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 1, p. 353.
Edinburgh University Library.
Semper explained, crowning and completing the harmonious composi-

tion of the stool.5 These motifs, he told his readers, symbolise primor-
dial ritual acts of binding, joining, and completing.6 Over time, they
had been gradually translated from their origins in textile art, metamor-
phosing into ceramics, metalwork, or masonry, and somewhere along
the way finding their tectonic expression in the stool.7
Semper’s little excursus on Assyrian furniture indicates why Der
Stil, despite its tortuous prose, was considered one of the most im-
portant contributions to the theory of art and architecture in the
nineteenth century. Through a simple description of some chair legs,
Semper seemed simultaneously to outline the history of Middle Eastern
civilisation, to present a tale of the origin and development of art, and
to put forward a theory of symbolic form. By tracing structural and
decorative features back to their origins, he hoped to reveal the full sig-
nificance of the artwork and to grasp the correspondence that exists be-
tween artistic form and its ‘history of becoming’ [Entstehungsgeschichte].
3
Figure 3. King Ashurnasirpal II on his throne with winged deities. Throne room,
North West Palace, Calah, 9th century BC.
c Copyright The British Museum.
This correspondence was a key concern of Der Stil, constituting (as we

shall see) Semper’s own definition of style.8
Semper’s Assyrian stool can still be seen in the British Museum,
in a bas-relief from the North West Palace of Calah.9 It is not sim-
ply a stool, but rather a throne: that of King Ashurnasirpal himself
(Figure 3). The king is seated on his throne, surrounded by priests and
officials and involved in a ritual of purification. The relief formed part
of a frieze adorning the walls of Ashurnasirpal’s throne room: an elabo-
rate symbolic structure presenting the role of the king in a cosmic and
political context. When one contemplates the eloquent visual narrative
of these panels, it becomes clear that the most remarkable feature of
Semper’s analysis is not so much what it includes as what it leaves out.
Patiently examining the Assyrian stool in minute detail, Semper re-
mained silent about the situation of which it was a part. He was obsessed
with the symbolic meaning of the furniture and tried to identify its reli-
gious, social, and structural significance. Yet, this symbolism remained
4
PROLEGOMENON
strangely immanent – attributed to the chair qua formal composition,

not to its role within the context of Assyrian kingship. The signifi-
cance of the artwork was understood as a product – not of the overall
context in which it is situated, but rather of the work itself. Purpose,
as Semper made clear in his London lectures, had become an ‘inter-
nal coefficient’ of the work of art.10 Some decades earlier, a famous
French anatomist remarked that for modern comparative anatomy, the
overall purpose of the animal is “present in its bones”.11 Such an im-
manent significance was precisely what Semper attempted to locate in
the structural-symbolic ‘organism’ of the stool.
The work that follows began with a desire to understand the curi-
ous compression of meaning observed in Semper’s analysis. This com-
pression occurred, I believe, in response to particular problems involved
in modern thinking on art. Semper saw art as an inscrutable source and
symbol of meaning; yet, at the same time, he tried to render this source
into a transparent and accessible object for the scientist-historian. Such
an operation presupposes that the work of art is fully autonomous, that
its meaning depends on itself alone. This ‘immanentisation’ of mean-
ing, so conspicuous in Semper’s analysis, may thus be understood as a
response to a problem haunting not only Semper himself, but also mod-
ern aesthetics in general. To investigate this problem, its background
and implications, is the ambition of the following study. I pursue it
through a reading of Semper’s texts; however, this material serves as
a means rather than an end. This is not first and foremost a book
about Gottfried Semper, but rather about the curious “entanglement
in the aporias of historicism” that characterises early modern thinking
on architecture.12
In my attempt to trace this problem, I have relied on much help
and support. My greatest debt and gratitude is to Dalibor Vesely for
his insight and inspiration through many years of collaboration. Many
thanks are due to Peter Carl for his infectious enthusiasm, and to
Marion Houston for her unfailing support and patient advice. I am
grateful to Karsten Harries and David Leatherbarrow for their inci-
sive criticism at a crucial stage of the project, and to Harry Francis
Mallgrave – without whose groundbreaking research this book could
not have been written – for his advice and support. I also thank Caroline
5
van Eck for her valuable input and Roberto Torretti for good ad-
vice. More than anything, however, this work is indebted to friends
and colleagues in Britain and abroad, without whose friendship, help,
and ‘sym-philosophising’ it would never have been realised. Anthony
Gerbino, Christopher Schulte, Diana Periton, Mary Bosworth, Ines
Geisler, Gabriella Switek, Gabriele Bryant, Renee Tobe, and many
others made crucial contributions to the long process of thinking and
writing, and the even longer one of rethinking and rewriting.
Many more thanks are due. The friendly reception I was given
at the Semper archives at the Eidgenössische Technische Hochschule
(ETH) in Zurich in 1997 was a great encouragement, and I thank espe-
cially the Institut für Geschichte und Theorie der Architektur (ETH-
gta) research coordinator, Bruno Maurer. An invitation to speak at the
ETH Semper symposium in June 2002 provided a much-needed boost
of inspiration in the final stages of preparing the manuscript, and I
thank the organisers and contributors. Staff at the Getty Research In-
stitute’s Publication Department made helpful contributions in the last
stages of editing, and the unfailing help and support from staff at the
Cambridge University Library, Victoria and Albert Museum archives,
department library at Architecture and History of Art in Cambridge,
British Library, Glasgow University Library, and numerous other insti-
tutions made the research process considerably less painful than what it
would otherwise have been. I gratefully acknowledge financial support
along the way from the Committee of Vice Chancellors and Princi-
pals of United Kingdom Universities, Norwegian Research Council,
Cambridge Overseas Trust, Cambridge European Trust, British Fed-
eration of Women Graduates and Kettle’s Yard Travel Fund. Thanks
to my parents, who enthusiastically and lovingly babysat little Kester,
so his mother could get on with proofreading, and finally, thanks to
my husband, Christian, for all his help and support and for patiently
enduring the last years’ frantic excursus into Assyrian stools and other
essential aspects of life.
6
INTRODUCTION
GOTTFRIED SEMPER : TEXTS
A N D I N T E R P R E TAT I O N S
T
his study concerns a dilemma that for a long time has both dis-
turbed and conditioned modern discourse on architecture. It is a
dilemma played out in the tension between continuity and innovation:
the desire to maintain tradition while at the same time find genuine
expressions for contemporary culture. A body of work displaying this
tension with particular incisiveness is that of the German architect and
theorist Gottfried Semper (1803–79) (Figure 4). Semper struggled his
whole life to formulate a “fundamental principle of invention, that with
a logical certainty could lead to true form”.1 Yet, at the same time, he
emphasised the need for historical continuity as an ontological basis
for society and a creative source for architecture. The conflict between
upholding tradition and simultaneously wishing to invent it by will is
painfully present in his work, as it is in the history of modern archi-
tecture. It is this “fine ambiguity of Semper’s system”2 that makes it so
relevant for our present-day situation.
The ambiguity of Semper’s position is mirrored in the multifarious
ways his work has been interpreted. He has been labelled a material-
ist as well as an idealist, seen as a proto-functionalist who anticipated
the Sachlichkeit of the modern movement, or as an eclecticist, legitimis-
ing nineteenth-century stylistic licentiousness. Some have seen him as
a Marxist revolutionary: a heroic rebel whose aim it was to “displace
the institutional location of architecture”; whereas others have dis-
missed him as a petit bourgeois and a defender of liberal capitalism.3
As a recent study on Semper points out: “No theorist in modern
7
Figure 4. Gottfried Semper, circa 1874. Institut für Geschichte und Theorie der Ar-
chitektur (gta), ETH Zürich.
8
INTRODUCTION
architectural history has had his doctrine judged more mundane, nor
more enigmatic.”4
The purpose of this study is not to produce support for any
one of these labels, nor is it my primary intention to dispute them.
I aim rather at investigating some seemingly irreconcilable elements in
Semper’s body of writings and identifying the common ground that
connects them. It is this ground – composed of the sundry grain of
nineteenth-century historicism – that is the topic for this book, which
is consequently less a book about Semper himself than about the very
conditions that made his project possible. Semper is nevertheless an
apt vehicle for this exploration. His ambiguous position between his-
toricism and modernism, idealism and materialism, makes him an ideal
medium to bring the conflicting sentiments of modern architectural
thinking to visibility. Semper’s work anticipated with surprising pre-
cision the dichotomies that continue to haunt architectural discourse
throughout the twentieth century, our self-proclaimed postmodernity
included.
S E M P E R ’S W R I T I N G S
A few months after his sudden appointment as a director of the

Bauakademie in Dresden in 1834, Semper – an unknown thirty-one-
year-old with little experience as either architect or teacher – gave
the first in a series of lectures on the general history of architecture.5
He opened his lecture by questioning, in a somewhat Nietzschean man-
ner, the uses and disadvantages of history for architecture. Lamenting
the dry and academic approach of the art historians, Semper sought a
more relevant approach to architecture and its past. The architect must
study history not in order to copy forms, but rather to comprehend laws.
This is all the more important, he told his listeners,
. . . because architecture does not have its ideals for imita-

tion readily prepared for it among the forms of nature. It re-
lies on indeterminate albeit no less secure laws . . . according
to which it orders the human condition in all its spatial
requirements.6
9
These otherwise unremarkable musings contain an important def-

inition. Art – and Semper included architecture in this category – is
first and foremost an ordering activity. Its subject matter is the ‘human
condition’. Art is the result of man’s attempt to come to terms, in a
tangible and spatial manner, with his place in the world.
Further on in his Dresden lecture, Semper identified the first
and simplest manifestations of the ordering activity of art. He labelled
them motifs [Motiven]: recognisable configurations in adornments and
artefacts that express basic aspects of human time and space.7 These
motifs are modified according to particular historical conditions, yet
they always remain the fundamental vocabulary of art. In this sense, art
copies neither nature nor history, but rather has its own store of forms
and its own logic for their application. Form-making is not subject to
the arbitrary whim of the artist, but rather is governed by laws analogous
to those of nature. A study of the history of art may reveal these laws and
may, in this way, lead the artist to a deeper understanding of his task.
The duty of the artist-historian – the dual role that Semper assumed
in all his writings – is to understand the transformation of the motifs
through history and to adhere to its underlying laws.
Despite its convoluted style, Semper’s first Dresden lecture pre-
sented in embryonic form the themes that would occupy him through-
out his life as an architect, teacher, and writer. First, to seek the origins
of art in some primordial human condition; and, second, to reveal the
development of art as a metamorphosis of motifs: these were key points
in Semper’s thinking on art. From these two points, moreover, sprang a
third. If Semper’s reflections on origins and evolution were concerned
with the essential nature of art, then the third point concerned the way
in which this nature may be comprehended. Put in a different way:
whereas Semper’s musings on origins and development constituted an
ontology of art – that is, a reflection on its essential purpose – then
the third point constituted an epistemology of art, an inquiry into its
‘knowability’.8 Both levels of inquiry were pursued constantly and si-
multaneously throughout Semper’s writings. His approach would vary
and his emphasis change, but the themes of origins, development, and
possible comprehension of art and architecture remained the frame-
work within which his thinking continually moved.
10
INTRODUCTION
The Early Writings

Semper already had pondered the question of artistic motifs and their
development in his first published essay, Vorläufige Bemerkungen über
bemalte Architektur und Plastik bei den Alten (1834), on the strength of
which he earned his early professorship in Dresden.9 This essay was
based on material gathered during his travels to the classical south
from 1830–3.10 It was a contribution to the polychromy controversy
of the 1830s in which Semper took the side of his Parisian teachers
and colleagues, Hittorf and Gau, arguing that classical architecture –
the Greek temple included – had been covered by stucco and paint.11
The argument was significant for several reasons. It implied a radi-
cal break with neoclassicism, for whom the white grandeur of classi-
cal architecture constituted an aesthetic principle.12 More important,
however, the study of polychromy carried with it a tacit hypothesis
about the historical development of art. Could it be, Semper specu-
lated, that the painted surfaces of classical architecture are the meta-
morphosed remnants of more primordial motifs? Could the history of
art be understood as a process of Stoffwechsel [material metamorphosis],
in which the motifs of art are gradually translated from one mate-
rial to another, while retaining their original significance? Although
no conclusive answer was reached in this early essay, it constituted
the first of many attempts at mapping the mysterious development
of art.
When the young Semper was summoned to Dresden, there-
fore, he had already established his course of inquiry. The Dresden
post in itself did not give much opportunity for theoretical reflection.
Semper enjoyed instead one of his most productive periods as an archi-
tect, receiving commissions for such prestigious projects as the Dresden
Hoftheater, the Picture Galleries of the Zwinger Palace, a synagogue,
and several townhouses and villas (Figure 5). He engaged in an ac-
tive social and political life in the circle around Richard Wagner, and
perfected his encyclopaedic knowledge of the history of art through
reading and lecturing.13 According to Semper, these lecture courses
furnished an “extensive review . . . of the total field of monumental
architecture”,14 and were planned for publication under the title
11
Figure 5. Gottfried Semper’s first Dresden Hoftheater, north front. Christian Gott-
lob Hammer, watercolor, c. 1845. Stiftung Preußische Schlösser und Gärten Berlin-
Brandenburg.
Vergleichende Baulehre. The project remains a voluminous but unfin-

ished manuscript in the Zurich archives.15
The London Writings

A new phase in Semper’s life and career started in 1849, when his in-
volvement in the Dresden uprisings forced him to flee Saxony for what
would become a permanent expatriation. As Harry Francis Mallgrave
vividly describes, Semper spent the next five years in sorry circum-
stances in Paris and London, unsuccessfully trying to restore his posi-
tion as an architect and teacher.16 Although arduous, the exile gave him
12
INTRODUCTION
the opportunity to systematise his reflections on art. Die Vier Elemente

der Baukunst (1851) was an important step in this direction.17 Here,
Semper gave his ideas on polychromy a more substantial theoretical
support by integrating them into a genealogy of art. To understand art
and its development, he argued, one must go back to the “primitive con-
ditions of human society”.18 Only here does the purpose of art become
clear, as the means by which man makes – practically and symbolically –
a world for himself. Semper’s reflections on origins, then, involved
not only a genealogy of art, but also speculations on the origin of
society:
The first sign of human settlement . . . is today, as when the

first men lost paradise, the setting up of the fireplace and
the lighting of the reviving, warming, and food-preparing
flame. Around the hearth the first groups assembled; around
it the first alliances formed; around it the first rude religious
concepts were put into concepts of a cult. Throughout all
phases of society the hearth formed that sacred focus around
which the whole took order and shape. It is the first and most
important, the moral element of architecture.19
The hearth – the “earliest and highest symbol of civilisation and

human culture”20 – provides a good example of Semper’s notion of the
motifs of art and architecture, or ‘elements’, as he called them in this
essay.21 A symbol of ritual gathering as well as a tangible source of
heat, the hearth was born out of clear needs in both a pragmatic and a
symbolic sense, its practical function completely merged with its repre-
sentational task. In later stages of architectural and cultural evolution,
the pragmatic function of the hearth was, according to Semper, trans-
formed into symbolic representation altogether. The primary meaning
of the hearth was now retained in the altar as a symbolic representa-
tion of the sacred centre of community. Here, the practical functions
of the hearth – heat, protection, and preparation of food – were re-
tained as rituals. The altar in later urban societies represented the same
sacred gathering around a common centre as the hearth in the first hu-
man settlements. The motif elements of architecture run through the
13
history of art as stable forms with primordial meaning, yet are con-
stantly modified according to different needs.
Around the hearth, the other elements of architecture were assem-
bled: the earthwork mound, the woven enclosure, and the wooden roof.
The first dwelling was formed. In Semper’s history of architecture, the
dwelling was not the first creation of primitive man. Rather, the hut
was composed of the four primary elements, each already developed
in their representational and utilitarian capacity as motifs of industrial
arts. “The history of Architecture begins with the history of practi-
cal art,” Semper wrote.22 The history of practical art, in turn, begins
with the motifs, simultaneously embodying function, technique, and
ritual action. The motifs remain constant through changes of material,
technique, and historical context: “However remote . . . from [their]
point of origin, [the motifs] pervade the composition like a musical
theme.”23
Semper’s remark on the origins of architecture in the practical
arts stems from the first in a series of lectures given at Marlborough
House in London between 1853 and 1854, fortunately recovered and
published in their original English by Mallgrave.24 Despite their id-
iosyncratic language and convoluted argument (memorably described
by Nikolaus Pevsner as “profound rather than clear and just a little
cranky”25 ), these lectures set out the key themes of Semper’s think-
ing. Art, he insisted, must be considered in a genealogical manner, by
tracing its origin and evolution. This genealogy was to provide the
foundation for a true science of art, establishing “a clear insight over
its whole province and perhaps also . . . form a doctrine of Style”.26 This
new science, Semper enthused, was to facilitate the understanding of
art and provide a practical guide for the artist: a ‘practical aesthet-
ics’, as he would later coin it.27 Far from a conventional art history,
Semper’s practical aesthetics was meant as a genealogy of artistic mak-
ing, an overview of all factors influencing the development of art
through history.28
The London lectures highlight Semper’s epistemological ambi-
tions in a particularly clear manner. By means of his practical aesthetics,
he attempted to explain the phenomenon of art – past and present –
as a result of the interaction between social, material, and historical
14
INTRODUCTION
factors. The aim was to establish a scientifically sound method by which

these factors and their interaction in the artwork could be observed
and explained. Semper compared this interaction to a mathematical
function. Every work of art “is a result, or, using a mathematical
term, it is a Function of an undefined number of quantities or pow-
ers, which are the variable coefficients of the embodiment of it.”29 By
defining these factors and their interaction, he hoped to gain a com-
plete insight into the development of art and to establish “a sort of
topic or Method . . . which may guide us to find out the natural way
of invention”.30 Prophetic words indeed: in his crude mathematical
analogy, Semper summed up aspirations that came to dominate archi-
tectural discourse for more than a century to come.
The Mature Writings

Semper’s two great theoretical concerns – the nature of art and how we
may know it – came together in his main work, Der Stil in den technischen
und tektonischen Künsten, oder praktische Ästhetik. Der Stil was published
during the last phase of his professional career: his professorship at
the Eidgenössische Technische Hochschule (ETH) in Zurich. The ex-
plicit ambition of Der Stil was to provide an overview of “all functional,
material, and structural factors that relate to the problem of style in
architecture” and to investigate “the most powerful factors of style in
architecture: the social structure of society and the conditions of the
time”.31 Again, Semper structured his investigation around the four
primary elements of architecture: the wall, the hearth, the mound, and
the roof. Each of these elements, he implied, corresponds to a partic-
ular technique of making, developed both in a ritual and a functional
sense in the practical arts. The hearth originated with the firing of clay,
and corresponds consequently to the technique of ceramics. The en-
closure originated in the wickerwork wall and, therefore, is associated
with the technique of weaving. Stonework, or stereotomy, corresponds
to the element of the mound; and carpentry, or tectonics, to the roof.32
Thus, starting from four primordial techniques of making embodied
in the four elements of architecture, Der Stil was to present a com-
prehensive mapping of art and architecture through time and place. It
15
established an all-encompassing comparative matrix within which an

artwork could be understood as a stage in a developmental process. By
means of this matrix, Semper sought to demonstrate the laws governing
the development of art and to render these laws accessible to the artist
and the historian.
When reading Der Stil, with its ambitious scope and its often
obsessive excursus into detail, it is easy to see how Semper’s project
expanded under his hands like rising dough. He had planned the work
in two volumes: the first outlining the origins of the applied arts, the
second tracing their synthesis in architecture.33 His investigation soon
outgrew this format, however, and the two volumes that appeared be-
tween 1860 and 1863 contained only the first part of the project. His
survey of textile art now filled the entire first volume, and the sec-
ond volume contained ceramics, tectonics, stereotomy, and – as an
afterthought – metalcraft. Architecture remained conspicuously ab-
sent, as did the investigation into the social and historical meaning
of art. These topics, Semper assured his impatient publisher, would be
treated in a third volume, which was to contain “the general meaning
and spirit of this language of form . . . brought about most powerfully
and comprehensibly in architecture through moral, religious, political,
local, and climatic conditions”.34 Such a work was never completed
and, according to Wolfgang Herrmann, it was probably never even
started.35
Despite its incompleteness, Der Stil was recognised as a ma-
jor intellectual achievement, and new editions continued to bolster
Semper’s reputation as one of the most important architectural the-
orists in the late nineteenth century.36 His reputation as an architect
reached a similar high point around this time, with the completion of
the ETH building and the Sternwarte in Zurich, as well as the mu-
seums and the Burgtheater in Vienna (Figure 6). Semper’s mastery of
the practise as well as the theory of architecture, and his dual empha-
sis on the utilitarian and symbolic significance of art, made him – in
the eyes of his younger contemporaries – a reconciliator of idealism
and materialism, beauty and necessity. The philosopher and historian
Wilhelm Dilthey praised him for his “well-balanced approach to art”,
proclaiming that “in our century aesthetics owes more to him than to
16
INTRODUCTION
Figure 6. Gottfried Semper and Karl von Hasenauer, first project for the Imperial
Forum, Vienna Ringstraße 1869. Bildarchiv der Österreichische Nationalbibliothek,
Wien.
anyone.”37 However, with an emerging polarisation between material-

istic and psychological explanations in art history and aesthetics towards
the end of the century, Semper’s insistence on integration appeared
increasingly untenable.38 As time passed, the different aspect of his
teaching would more often be considered in isolation, with the curious
result that Semper – who so contemptuously dismissed contemporary
colleagues as ‘materialists’ or ‘historicists’ – now became himself the
object of these labels.
To some extent, Semper had prepared this destiny for himself.
Due to the incomplete form in which it was published, Der Stil did
indeed give the impression that the development of art was driven by
material and utilitarian conditions. Alois Riegl consequently dismissed
Semper’s thinking as ‘materialist metaphysics’, for whom a work of
17
art “is nothing else than a mechanical product based on function, raw
material, and technique.”39 The early modernists took a similar stance;
however, rather than denigrating Semper for his alleged materialism,
they celebrated him for his realism.40 Wagner, Berlage, Muthesius,
and others praised Semper as one of the first to recognise the necessary
connection between style and social conditions, and to define these
conditions – the ‘spirit of the age’ – in terms of functional and material
factors.41 Semper’s only shortcoming, according to this verdict, was that
his built work had not heeded the demands of the modern Zeitgeist, but
rather clung to an outdated historicism. The task of the new generation,
then, was to realise in practise what ‘the great Semper’ had intuited in
theory: a modern language of architecture.42
Despite their conflicting conclusions, Riegl and the early mod-
ernists shared common ground in their assessment of Semper. Whether
denigrating or celebrating him, both parties understood Semper’s work
as a theory of the material, functional, and technical development of art.
Semper’s ideas on the origins of art (which, incidentally, are very close
to Riegl’s own notion of Kunstwollen), as well as the methodological and
epistemological assertions implied in his science of architecture, were
either ignored or tacitly absorbed. The objective of much recent schol-
arship on Semper has been to correct this one-sided interpretation, a
recovery that itself has been far from unequivocal. Let us take a brief
look at some of these conflicting interpretations.
R E C E N T I N T E R P R E TAT I O N S
The Dresden School

Dresden was the location of some of Semper’s most important works
and has been an equally important centre for Semper research, partic-
ularly focusing on the reinterpretation of Semper’s thinking in light of
his social and political engagement. Echoing the modernist argument,
Heinz Quitzsch, Heidrun Laudel, and others have ascribed to Semper
a pioneering recognition of the close link between art and sociopolitical
organisation.43 When Semper presented democracy as a key factor in
the aesthetic perfection of Greek art, they argue, he promoted not only
18
INTRODUCTION
an aesthetic, but also a political ideal.44 His criticism of contemporary

art, similarly, was a criticism of the social order that had produced it:
the culture of capitalism.45 Aiming to uncover guidelines for contem-
porary art, therefore, Semper’s writings harboured a political agenda,
and the practical aesthetics, in Quitzsch’s view, must be considered a
revolutionary manifesto for the design of a new society.46
Like the early modernists, Quitzsch deems Semper’s project a
failure. However, whereas the modernists located this failure in the
discrepancy between Semper’s theory and his practice – seeing him as
a modern theorist trapped in the body of a historicist practitioner –
Quitzsch locates the flaw within Semper’s theory itself. Semper failed
to formulate a science of art, Quitzsch argues, because he lacked a
sufficiently scientific theory of society and history from which to start.
Disillusioned by this failure, Semper gradually abandoned his political
engagement for speculative aesthetics, and moved in the process from
a socially oriented theory of art to an exclusive emphasis on formal
beauty.47
It is doubtful whether Quitzsch’s reading manages to correct the
one-sided view held by Riegl and the early modernists. Although rightly
rejecting the materialist allegations and pointing to the wider agenda
of Semper’s project, Quitzsch replaces the modernist emphasis on
materials and function with an equally one-sided focus on politics. What
is interesting in Quitzsch’s reading, however, is his assertion that at the
heart of Semper’s project lies an unfulfilled epistemological agenda. If
Semper’s practical aesthetics remained incomplete, Quitzsch implies,
it was not because he lacked the courage to implement it (as the mod-
ernists alleged), but rather because he failed to establish the episte-
mological conditions for a science of art. Momentarily leaving aside
Quitzsch’s assertion that this shortcoming could have been avoided had
Semper adopted a Marxist interpretation of history, his conclusion is
important. The incomplete nature of Semper’s project lies not so much
in his failure to implement a theory, but rather in a tacit acknowledge-
ment of the limits of ‘theoretisation’ in the field of architecture. One
of my ambitions in the following chapters is to investigate Semper’s
epistemological ambitions on behalf of a science of art and to pursue
the question of their limits.
19
Semper’s “Return from the Second Exile”48

A seminal attempt to rehabilitate Semper’s significance as architect
and thinker came with the resolve of the Institut für Geschichte und
Theorie der Architektur (gta) at the ETH in Zurich to systematise and
classify the Semper legacy. Martin Fröhlich’s comprehensive survey of
drawings and Herrmann’s critical catalogue of published and unpub-
lished manuscripts made available a significant body of previously inac-
cessible material.49 In the wake of this initiative, a more complex picture
of Semper has emerged, both as architect and theorist. Joseph Rykwert
has played an important role in this restoration. Rykwert argues that
Semper, in locating the origin of art in the ‘cosmic instinct’ of man,
radically redefined the assertions of neoclassical aesthetics.50 Opposed
to the neoclassical search for the origin of architecture as a building type,
Semper located his origins in rituals, artefacts, and adornment; that is,
in man’s primordial attempts to establish a human world.
This anthropological focus is for Rykwert what constitutes
Semper’s innovative contribution to the architectural discourse of the
nineteenth century.51 By emphasising the act of making as a funda-
mental mode of human existence, Semper redefined the role of art
in defiance of the enlightenment distinction between beauty and util-
ity. As Rykwert writes: “It is Semper’s great insight into the way in
which the artist and the craftsman relate what they think to what they
do . . . which seems to me invaluable and urgent. Conceived at the mo-
ment when thinking and doing were to be disastrously divorced, it may
well contain a hint for their reconciliation.”52
Rykwert does not develop this argument, leaving the hint for fu-
ture scholarship. Mallgrave has followed Rykwert’s lead, however, with
his extensive writings on Semper. In his comprehensive biography
Gottfried Semper, Architect of the Nineteenth Century, Mallgrave takes
Semper’s anthropological understanding of art as his point of depar-
ture, emphasising art as a vehicle for man’s practical and existential
orientation in the world.53 Semper understood art as a ‘poetic fiction’,
Mallgrave suggests, the task of which is to ‘mask’ reality and establish
a world of its own:
20
INTRODUCTION
The artistic appropriation of the mask with all its sugges-

tive possibilities is what drives Semper’s architectural theory.
The notion of the mask underlies his speculation that mon-
umental architecture had its origin in the commemorative,
provisional stage and theatrical performance, where the
masking or denial of reality is fundamental to the religious
or secular event.54
The significance of art, thus, resides in its theatrical essence: its

power to establish a ‘second reality’. Through this primordial mask-
ing, man, in Mallgrave’s words, comes to terms with “the existential
human condition of alienation.”55 Interpreting Semper’s theory of the
origin and development of art in terms of this ‘sense for theatrical-
ity’, Mallgrave identifies the fictional potential of art as the key to
Semper’s overall thinking.56 Mallgrave’s reading succeeds in refuting
allegations of Semper as a materialist, functionalist, or Marxist. Em-
phasising Semper’s reflections on the origin of art, he draws focus to the
anthropological foundation of Semper’s thinking and to the notion of
art as poetic fiction. In doing so, Mallgrave targets one of the most cru-
cial, mysterious, and neglected points in Semper’s oeuvre, and my own
work is much indebted to his interpretation. I hope, however, to show
that although this poetic fiction indeed lies at the heart of Semper’s
architectural thinking, its significance extends beyond simply a ‘mask-
ing’ or ‘denial’ of reality. The term itself gives us a hint of this: poiesis
in Greek signifies making – a making, as Aristotle tells us, informed
by a particular kind of knowing.57 This notion of poetic making was
one close to Semper’s heart, as his emphasis on technique as a primor-
dial link between ritual action and architecture demonstrates.58 For
Semper, the ontological significance of art and architecture was consti-
tuted by this link. One of my ambitions in this work is to develop the
notion of artistic making as poetic fiction and to reevaluate its signifi-
cance in Semper’s work.
Semper’s concern for art was twofold: it was a concern for the
essential nature of art (in which his reflections on the origins, tech-
niques, and motifs of art had their place), and a concern for the way in
21
which art could become the legitimate object of science. Rykwert and
Mallgrave focus on the former, locating an ontology of art in Semper’s
thinking. Quitzsch, on the other hand, emphasise Semper’s scientific
aspirations, identifying their epistemological underpinnings. These
interpretations are undoubtedly in conflict, potentially construing
Semper as an idealist or a positivist, respectively. Yet, both interpre-
tations are also undoubtedly true, targeting real and critical aspects of
Semper’s thought. More important than to determine which of the two
readings is ‘correct’, therefore, is to identify this conflict in Semper’s
own thought and to see how it conditioned his overall theory of archi-
tecture. The ‘tragic flaw’ in Semper’s thinking, puzzling so many of his
readers, appears here as a schism between his recognition of the onto-
logical significance of art and his desire for its methodical explanation.
Although neither of these pursuits is exclusive to Semper, my interest
is in the ambition and rigor with which he attempted to carry out both
sides of this conflicting enterprise.
APPROACH
This study interprets Semper’s writings in the context of nineteenth-

century architectural, philosophical, and scientific discourse. It does not
discuss his buildings but focuses on the interpretation of his texts.59 It
is also not a study based primarily on archival research. Most of the
material I use is well known and available in publication. Rather than
aiming to provide new facts, I hope to develop new understandings,
believing that despite an overwhelming availability of sources, critical
issues in Semper’s work – as well as in the intellectual context that
nurtured it – remain unaddressed and misunderstood. By relating the
individual (and often contradictory) aspects of Semper’s thought to a
larger context, I attempt to throw new light both on Semper’s own
project and on the context itself, exploring along the way the curious
intellectual climate of nineteenth-century historicism.
Semper’s writings raise essential questions about the nature, the
history, and the methodology of art and architecture, some of which
we encountered previously. Yet, he rarely explicated his theoretical
22
INTRODUCTION
assertions. It should be remembered that Semper was not an architec-

tural writer, but rather an architect who wrote, and that his associative
manner of writing, his idiosyncratic adaptations of theories, and his
sometimes underdeveloped arguments require a broad and synthetic
reading to make their significance apparent. Attempting to develop
such a reading, I have applied the intellectual framework of con-
temporary hermeneutics, interpreting Semper’s texts in light of the
nineteenth-century horizon – or horizons – of understanding.60 This
book is structured as a series of close readings in which critical issues in
Semper’s writings are elucidated by means of related texts. The read-
ings weave an interpretative web of references, each addressing a key
point in Semper’s oeuvre. The selection of these texts does not aspire
to present a complete overview of Semper’s theoretical sources. Many
central figures in Semper’s life have been left out, and some of the ones
included were (most likely) unknown to Semper himself. What has
guided my selection is not so much direct links of influence (although
in many cases such links certainly exist) as a desire to find texts that may
help us understand Semper’s own intentions and assertions.
This approach has its obvious limitations. Each of the texts chosen
would in itself deserve extensive study, and my selective reading will not
do full justice to their complexity. Neither will this reading always do
justice to Semper himself, insofar as it is more interested in capturing
an intellectual horizon than presenting a scrupulous biography. Yet,
the approach also has benefits: it allows me to use Semper as a vehicle
to address overriding issues in modern architectural discourse and to
interpret this discourse as part of a larger cultural context rather than
an isolated aesthetic domain.
Let me give some examples of this approach. When mapping
Semper’s position vis-à-vis the neoclassical discourse on architecture,
for instance, I use M.-A. Laugier’s and A.-C. Quatremère de Quincy’s
writings on origin and imitation, contrasting them with romantic imita-
tion theories like those of J. W. Goethe and A. W. Schlegel. Semper’s
understanding of the notions of origin and imitation goes beyond both
neoclassical and romantic aesthetics, however, and his emphasis on the
ontological rather than the formal meaning of art suggests analogies
with the Aristotelian notion of poetry as a mimesis of praxis. Interpreting
23
Semper’s notion of artistic making in light of Aristotle’s notions of

mimesis, praxis, and mythos, the first part of the book concludes by lo-
cating a dormant poetics of architecture in Semper’s reflections on the
origins of art.
Semper’s poetics of architecture was never fully developed, and
in his later writings, this insight is overshadowed by his dream of a
science of art, or a ‘practical aesthetics’ as he called it. Part II exam-
ines this practical aesthetics and its methodological presuppositions.
Semper patterned his new aesthetics on the comparative method, and
was undoubtedly inspired by previous comparative architectural his-
tories such as those of J.-D. Leroy and C.-N.-L. Durand. He did not
take his cues exclusively from architectural discourse, however. By the
mid-nineteenth century, the comparative method had come to dom-
inate fields as diverse as anatomy, linguistics, and sociology – all of
which were mentioned by Semper as methodological ideals. Searching
for precedents for Semper’s comparative theory of architecture, there-
fore, I draw on the comparative anatomy of G. Cuvier, the comparative
linguistics of F. Schlegel, and the comparative sociology of A. Comte.
Although Semper’s references to these disciplines are well known, their
common methodological presuppositions remain largely unaddressed.
I attempt to approach this question by looking at the compara-
tive method in light of the Kantian notion of organic systems. Such a
study, I believe, will not only elucidate the background and implica-
tions of Semper’s comparative project, but will also throw light on the
nineteenth-century obsession with comparative methodology in gen-
eral. The rise of this method, I will argue, implied a particular view
of the world, one in which the notion of a hierarchy of representation
has collapsed, where every phenomenon has gained an equal and com-
mensurable ontological status. In this situation, the task of architecture
became particularly problematic. Semper’s practical aesthetics may be
seen as a contextual response to this collapse.
Semper’s latent poetics stands in an uneasy relation to his practical
aesthetics, a disquiet that has led much scholarship to treat the two
in isolation. Yet, Semper himself always attempted to reconcile these
aspects, even when, late in life, doubts started to haunt him regarding
the possibility of such a fusion. It seems important, therefore, to look
24
INTRODUCTION
for the intellectual framework that allowed Semper to insist on the

unity between two such seemingly contradictory aspects of his work.
This framework, I believe, must be sought in the philosophical outlook
of historicism.
The third and concluding part of this book begins by look-
ing at the nineteenth-century debate on style and Semper’s position
within it. I argue that Semper’s concern for style was not primar-
ily an aesthetic concern, but rather informed by a particular notion
of history, formed and articulated by key contributions to historicist
thought such as that of J. G. Herder, W. von Humboldt, and W.
Dilthey. Relying on the interpretations of R. Koselleck and H.-G.
Gadamer, I investigate the aporetic structure of historicism, looking
at the way the seeming opposites of romantic aestheticism and pos-
itivist scientism were fused within it. This fusion, I believe, is key
to understanding Semper’s merging of a poetics with a practical aes-
thetics. The concluding chapter probes deeper into the aporias of
historicism, using Gadamer’s critique of historicist epistemology and
methodology as its point of departure. By looking at Dilthey’s idea of
a science of history and its methodological presuppositions, new light
may be shed on Semper’s own dream of a method of inventing. Both
Semper and Dilthey envisioned the possibility of a scientific method-
ology in the field of human culture, by means of which art and history
could become transparent objects for the scientist-historian. Semper’s
project for a science of art remained unfinished, as did Dilthey’s dream
of a science of history. The incompleteness of their project indi-
cates, perhaps, a limit beyond which instrumental reason cannot move.
If anything, therefore, this book is about tracing the limits of this
Prometheus-like project, in an attempt to understand – and resist – the
twentieth century’s continued claim for its completeness.
25
PA RT I
T O WA R D S A P O E T I C S
OF ARCHITECTURE
1 : T H E C U LT O F O R I G I N S
“Any discourse should first go back to the simple origin of the subject
under review, trace its gradual development, and explain exceptions
and variations by comparing them with the original state.”
Gottfried Semper 1
S emper’s emphasis on the origins of architecture linked him to a

long tradition of architectural thinking. In fact, his origin tale,
encountered in the Introduction, bears an unmistakable affinity to
Vitruvius’s description of the first gathering of men:
The men of old were born like the wild beasts, in woods,
caves, and groves, and lived on savage fare. As time went
on, the thickly crowded trees in a certain place . . . caught
fire . . . and the inhabitants of the place were put to flight . . .
After it subsided, they drew near and . . . brought up other
people to it, showing them by signs how much comfort they
got from it. In that gathering of men, at a time when ut-
terance of sound was purely individual, from daily habits
they fixed upon articulate words just as these had happen to
come; then, from indicating by name things in common use,
the result was that . . . they began to talk, and thus originate
conversation with one another.2
29
T O WA R D S A P O E T I C S O F A R C H I T E C T U R E
It is suggested here that the origin of architecture is part and parcel

of the origin of society. For Vitruvius, as for Semper, language and archi-
tecture were two primordially civilising institutions, preconditions for
as well as expressions of human culture. Man’s need to communicate –
and his urge to impress a mark of human order onto the world around
him – is the foundation of architecture as it is of culture as such. The
origin of language and the origin of architecture are intrinsically linked,
as two primary moments in the formation of a human world.
Despite this affinity, Semper systematically rejected the Vitru-
vian tradition. He mocked Vitruvius’s ‘strange and fruitless considera-
tion’ of the primitive hut as a model for the Greek temple, and judged
later discussions concerning the primitive hut a ‘pointless dispute’.3
For Semper, the primitive dwelling served as a “mystical-poetic, even
artistic motif, not the material model and schema of the temple”.4
Rejecting the Vitruvian hut as well as its eighteenth-century interpre-
tations, Semper presented a very different origin theory than those of
his predecessors; Hermann Bauer even grants him the dubious honour
of having abolished the Vitruvian construct once and for all.5 I believe,
however, that Semper rebuilt rather than demolished the primitive hut.
In this chapter, I will outline the intellectual framework within which
this refurbishment took place.
UNIVERSAL ORIGINS: LAUGIER AND THE

PRIMITIVE HUT
The eighteenth century can be characterised in part by the grow-

ing interest for first causes and the near obsession with origins, pur-
sued in every discipline.6 At a time when traditional values and beliefs
were increasingly questioned, and when religious and political hege-
monies were under radical transformation, the ‘quest for certainty’, as
Stephen Toulmin has coined it, became acute.7 In the spirit of René
Descartes, one searched for the single unquestionably certain thing:
the secure foundations on which to base judgement and action.8 This
search was pursued by philosophers and scientists alike, concerned
with regaining the epistemological legitimacy of their disciplines in the
30
T H E C U LT O F O R I G I N S
face of a faltering tradition.9 So whereas Hutcheson inquired into the

“Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue”, Hume sought the origins
of religious faith, and Condillac those of sensation. Rousseau tried to
identify the Homme naturel as he had appeared “from the hands of na-
ture”, Herder sought the origin of language, and Goethe the original
plant.10 Enlightenment scholars engaged in a passionate search for the
origin of any and every phenomenon. The world was to be reexplained
in terms of its foundational causes, architecture included.
A contemporary of Rousseau and Condillac, and fully sharing
their obsession with foundational causes, the Jesuit priest and later
Benedictine Abbot Marc-Antoine Laugier (1713–69) duly sought for
architecture a secure ground on which to base judgements and prac-
tice. He started his famous Essai with a declaration about the affinity
between nature and art: “It is the same in architecture as in all other
arts; its principles are founded on simple nature, and nature’s process
clearly indicates its rules.” This ‘simple nature’ must be sought in man’s
uncorrupted and authentic condition: “his primitive state without any
aid or guidance other than his natural instinct.”11 Laugier presented
his primitive hut in a lyrical description of natural man in his pastoral
driftings (Figure 7). Embodying three basic elements of architecture –
the post, the lintel, and the gabled roof – the hut represented the natu-
ral origin of architecture. It is “the rough sketch that nature offers us”,
Laugier explained, elevated from crude necessity to a work of art:12
Such is the course of simple nature; by imitating the natu-

ral process, art was born. All the splendours of architecture
ever conceived have been modelled on the little rustic hut I
have just described. It is by approaching the simplicity of the
first model that fundamental mistakes are avoided and true
perfection is achieved.13
A joint product of need and ingenuity, the primitive hut was con-
ceived as a ‘natural’ architectural form, embodying a universal relation-
ship between form and necessity.
Laugier’s primitive hut seems at first glance to fit seamlessly into
the Vitruvian tradition in which the origin of architecture is identical
31
Figure 7. “Allegory of Architecture Returning to its Natural Model”. Charles Eisen,

frontispiece to M.-A. Laugier, Essai sur l’architecture (2nd ed. 1755). By permission of
the Syndics of Cambridge University Library.
with man’s first building: a primitive building type from which all
architecture originates. This monogenetic origin theory fitted well the
scriptural account of the genesis of man, making ‘Adam’s house in par-
adise’ as well as Solomon’s temple legitimate ideals for emulation.14
32
These paradigmatic ‘buildings’ were seen to embody transcendental

laws of beauty, giving architecture a divine warrant. Laugier retained
the structure of this argument, yet he transformed Adam’s house into
a very different abode.
In the introduction to the Essai, Laugier declared that although
there were several treatises on architecture which “explain measures and
proportions with reasonable accuracy”, there was no work that “firmly
establishes the principles of architecture, explains its true spirit, and
proposes rules for guiding talents and defining taste.”15 This, need-
less to say, was the ambition of Laugier himself. Taking the side of the
‘moderns’ in the seventeenth-century Querelle, Laugier rejected the tra-
ditional emphasis on proportion, seeing it as relative and arbitrary.16
He sympathised with the ‘ancients’, however, in their worries over lack
of absolute standards, agreeing with Blondel that “the human intel-
lect would be terribly affected if it could not find stable and invariable
principles.”17 Only on the basis of such principles – the ‘fixed and un-
changeable law’ of architecture itself – would it be possible to elevate
architecture from ‘the lesser arts’ to a position ‘among the more pro-
found sciences.’18 It was Laugier’s determined resolve to fight for this
cause “with no other weapons than those of strict reasoning”.19
Laugier carefully set out the method he had adopted for his am-
bitious pursuit:
I asked myself how to account for my own feelings and

wanted to know why one thing delighted me and another
only pleased me, why I found one disagreeable, another un-
bearable. At first this search led only to obscurity and uncer-
tainty. Yet I was not discouraged; I sounded the abyss until
I thought I had discovered the bottom and did not cease to
ask my soul until it had given me a satisfactory answer. Sud-
denly a bright light appeared before my eyes. I saw objects
distinctly where before I had only caught a glimpse of haze
and clouds.20
If this statement sounds familiar, it is because an equally lonely

search for ‘clear and distinct’ truths had been described by Descartes
33
more than 100 years before.21 The affinity is more than a matter of
rhetorical style; Laugier wanted to formulate an axiom for architecture
akin to that which Descartes had formulated for human knowledge at
large.22 The domain of architecture, obscured by the relativity of taste
and sensation, was now to be brought into the daylight of reason. In the
same way that Baumgarten had tried to rescue the legitimacy of art by
confining it within the framework of Cartesian epistemology, Laugier
attempted to fit architecture into the mould of rationalist aesthetics.23
In this way, he envisioned “to save architecture from eccentric opinions
by disclosing its fixed and unchangeable laws.”24
Laugier’s attempt to find for architecture a natural origin which
could serve as its scientific axiom exemplifies a common theme of en-
lightenment thinking. The new bourgeois society of the eighteenth
century sought in nature a clear and distinct idea which could ground
an increasingly fragmented discourse.25 Architecture was a vehicle for
this project, as Boullée’s and Ledoux’s return to ‘natural’ geometric form
indicates.26 The German historian Wilfried Lipp remarks that when
Boullée and Ledoux took classicism back to its ‘origins’, what lay behind
was a general return to nature as a source of historical legitimacy.27 The
genetic retracing of origins to a fictitious point of identity between na-
ture and architecture was a crucial step towards a complete re-creation
of cultural and social order.28 When Boullée sought “those basic prin-
ciples of architecture and what is their source”, he was no longer after a
paradigmatic model, but rather a theoretical principle for architecture, as
clear and distinct as a Cartesian axiom.29 In this way, Boullée completed
the epistemological position initiated by Laugier. Although still apply-
ing the Vitruvian metaphor, Laugier’s primitive hut “is not a curious
illustration of a distant past or factor of an evolutionary theory of ar-
chitecture, but the great principle from which it now becomes possible
to deduce immutable laws.”30
Laugier’s ‘origin’, then, is a highly abstract idea, dressed up in the
metaphorical guise of the primitive hut. Although seeming to operate
within a Vitruvian tradition, Laugier transformed the notion of archi-
tectural origins into a Cartesian axiom. By postulating a rational nature
as the origin of architecture, Laugier was able to introduce a novel
conception of architectural meaning. Opposed to Vitruvius’s concern
34
to relate the orders to human proportion, Laugier’s origin theory

evoked an architecture that represented nothing but its own structural
principle. Perhaps for the first time, the history of architecture could be
presented devoid of mythical or religious overtones, working according
to its own well-defined laws. As Caroline van Eck points out: “The
novelty in Laugier’s approach . . . lies in his attempt to break with the
Renaissance tradition of mimesis, and define architecture not as a civic
art, whose meaning lies in the decorous representation of social, reli-
gious, or philosophical values, but as the material art of construction.”31
H I S T O R I C A L O R I G I N S : Q U AT R E M È R E D E Q U I N C Y
A N D T H E C A R A C T È R E R E L AT I F
“How falls it, that the nations of the world, coming all of one father,
Noe, doe varie so much from one another, both in bodie and mind?”
du Bartas 32
Semper fully shared Laugier’s dream of finding a secure principle upon

which to base a science of architecture. Yet, he repeatedly criticised
the Abbé for his naive proposal that the origin of architecture could be
found in one prototypical building.33 Semper’s ‘principle’ was no longer
the timeless and universal axiom of Laugier. Rather, the origin and
principle of architecture was to be found in the historical particularity
of its inception. Part of a generation which endeavoured to explain
cultural phenomena in historical and anthropological terms, Semper
sought the roots of architecture in empirical facts. The primitive hut
for him was neither Adam’s house in paradise nor the secular axiom of
enlightenment theory. It was an empirical phenomenon, revealing not
a timeless principle, but rather the particular historical conditions from
which it originated.
Semper’s favourite example of such an empirical origin type was a
‘Caraib hut’ that he had encountered at the Great Exhibition of 1851
in London (Figure 8). The hut embodied in an exemplary way the four
elements of architecture, and demonstrated the interrelationship be-
tween architecture and the motifs of practical art. Moreover, it was not
35
Figure 8. “The Caraib Hut”. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 2, p. 263.
an abstract product of speculation, but a real building. For Semper,

this last point was crucial. He wanted to present to his readers “no
phantom of the imagination, but a highly realistic exemplar of wooden
construction, borrowed from ethnology”.34 Rather than searching for a
36
universal principle of architecture, Semper and his generation searched

for geographically and historically specific conditions influencing archi-
tectural form. Their ambition was to map the correspondence between
a nation and its artistic expression, grasped in its historic, geographic,
and spiritual particularity.35 This conflict between ‘natural’ and ‘his-
torical’ origins of architecture – the ‘dual quest for origins’, as Barry
Bergdoll has called it – informed architectural discourse in the latter
half of the eighteenth century and prepared the ground for nineteenth-
century historicism.36
One factor that contributed to the undermining of the enlight-
enment dream of a single and universal principle of architecture was
the rapidly expanding genre of travel literature.37 Accounts from
missionaries and adventurers of ‘primitive’ peoples in the New World
had brought to light a hitherto unknown diversity in humankind.
These accounts, far from revealing a timeless and natural rationality
of man, seemed to reveal the exact opposite: the relative nature of
human culture and the influence of climatic, geographic, and historical
factors.38 This debate was often formulated as a conflict between a
monogenetic and a polygenetic theory of human origins39 – a question,
in Lord Kames’s words, of whether “all men be of one lineage,
descended from a single pair, or whether there be different races
originally distinct”.40 If man had originated from the Edenic couple or
descended from the survivors of the Ark, how could the extraordinary
diversity of peoples be accounted for? Despite its scriptural authority,
it became increasingly more difficult to square the monogenetic theory
with empirical observation.
An early attempt to solve this problem was that of Charles de
Secondat, Baron de Montesquieu (1689–1755). The Spirit of the Laws
(1748) was to account for the differences in morals, customs, and taste
of various nations by way of scientific explanation.41 That such diver-
sity existed was beyond doubt; indeed, Montesquieu observed, laws
accepted as just in one society may violate the most fundamental prin-
ciples of justice in another.42 Customs and laws cannot be universal, he
concluded, but must be relative to each nation. Moreover, this variation
does not derive from error and lack of taste, but rather from a real and
‘natural’ diversity among peoples and their conditions of existence.
37
To account for this diversity without lapsing into arbitrariness and

relativism was the task Montesquieu set for himself. He firmly believed
there were laws governing human affairs, but that these laws were to be
found neither in the monogenetic view of the Christian tradition nor
in the static ‘uniformitarianism’ of the early Enlightenment.43 Only
through a careful observation and analysis of the particular conditions
governing a nation – its climate, topography, and geology – could a
‘natural’ explanation of its character be reached.44
Montesquieu’s project had clear affinities with that of Laugier,
whose Essai is roughly contemporary with l’Esprit. They both rejected
the scriptural origin tale, seeking a natural and rational starting point
for a theory of human culture. There is, however, an important differ-
ence between the two. Whereas Laugier still conceived of nature as a
uniform axiom – a stable and universal order – Montesquieu saw nature
as the lawfulness governing change. Whereas for Laugier, nature was a
principle of uniformity, Montesquieu saw it as a set of relative factors.
These factors, he explained, condition the customs and manners of
a people, affect their judicial and political constitution, and form,
ultimately, their ‘spirit’ or character. As he wrote: “If it be true that the
temper of the mind and the passions of the heart are extremely different
in different climates, the laws ought to be in relation both to the variety
of those passions and to the variety of those tempers.”45 Montesquieu’s
theoretical turn implies an interesting reformulation of enlightenment
‘uniformitarianism.’ Now, ‘nature’ and ‘natural principles’ had come
to be seen as a particularising principle, capable of explaining not
everything’s uniformity, but rather everything’s difference.
By countering historical relativism with geographical determin-
ism, Montesquieu anticipated the notion of Volksgeist: the ‘spirit’ of the
nation, born out of its particularity in time and place. This idea would
form an important conceptual underpinning for German idealism and
romanticism, allowing someone like Herder to write that man “forms
nothing which time, climate, necessity, world, destiny does not allow
for.”46 Rather than coining as ‘natural’ that which makes all people the
same, it could now be claimed equally ‘naturally’ that every nation has
its own fingerprint, which stamps a unique mark on all its expressions.
By far, the most distinct of these expressions is constituted by art and
38
architecture.47 Thus, Montesquieu’s line of argument heralded a new

way of thinking about art. No longer an a-historical manifestation of a
universal canon, art could for the first time be seen as a historical
document of civilisation.
An architectural thinker trying to square the dogmas of classicism
with the new influx of empirical knowledge was Antoine-Chrysostome
Quatremère de Quincy (1755–1849). Profoundly influenced by
Laugier, Quatremère described his life work as an effort to formulate
a “theory of the originating principle from which art is born”.48
The notion of ‘originating principles’, however, no longer had the
same meaning as it had for Laugier and his generation. Rather than
the universalising principle of the primitive hut, Quatremère – like
Montesquieu – presented the origin of architecture as a historically
and geographically differentiating principle.49
Quatremère distinguished between three types of human com-
munities: hunters and gatherers, nomadic herdsmen, and, finally,
agricultural peoples. Whereas the first group knew little or no build-
ing, using caves and other natural formations as shelter (Figure 9), the
nomadic societies developed tents and other transportable structures.
Only the agricultural community, however, could be said to have
developed architecture proper, in the guise of the wooden hut.50 These
three primordial manifestations of architecture – the cave, the tent,
and the hut – constituted three distinct origin types, each correspond-
ing to a particular social organisation and a particular architectural
tradition.51 “Everything in their architecture retraces this first origin”,
Quatremère proclaimed.52 As the character of the tent is retained
in the hipped roofs of Chinese architecture, so can the cave still be
discerned in the massive constructions of the Egyptians, and the Greek
temple continues to echo its origin in the wooden hut (Figure 10).
Rejecting Laugier’s axiom, Quatremère substituted enlight-
enment ‘uniformitarianism’ for the geographical determinism of
Montesquieu. For Quatremère, architectural form was a product –
not of a universal principle, but rather of the particular conditions
from which it originated. Every nation had its unique origin type that
continued to condition its architectural expression throughout history.
Quatremère labelled this expression caractère relatif, by which he
39
Figure 9. The cave. Giovanni Battista Piranesi, 1761–2, Campus Martinus antiqua
Urbis, Rome 1762, detail. Glasgow University Library, Department of Special
Collections.
understood the particular capacity of architecture to reflect the geog-

raphy and climate of its setting, as well as the beliefs of the people who
created it.53 With this tripartite origin theory, Quatremère radicalised
Laugier’s dream of an autonomous and secular theory of architec-
ture. The origin of architecture, from his point of view, is found in
40
Figure 10. “The Primitive Buildings”. William Chambers, A Treatise of Civil Archi-
tecture, 1759. Glasgow University Library, Department of Special Collections.
41
neither transcendental order nor universal law, but rather in the ‘nat-
ural’ but particular condition of every nation. As Lavin has observed:
“From now on, any architecture – whether good or poor – could be
seen as revelatory of human civilisation and thus as a profoundly social
phenomenon.”54
Quatremère’s reformulation would have interesting and radical
implications for the architectural discourse of the nineteenth century.
Struggling to uphold the authority of classicism, Quatremère’s line of
argument also made it possible to view historical styles (or ‘charac-
ters’) as relative phenomena, potentially available to choice. By turning
Laugier’s origin principle into a conventional type, Quatremère un-
wittingly paved the way for the radical historicism that he had spent
his whole career trying to hold at bay. This relativism would be ea-
gerly grasped by the generation that revolted against him at the École
de Beaux-Arts in the 1820s and 1830s, for whom architectural history
was, as Bergdoll writes, “nothing more than a lesson . . . in architecture’s
specificity to time and place.”55 Architecture now could be treated as
a conventional entity, based on “l’empire de la nécessité ou celui de
l’habitude”.56 Semper, a student in Paris at the time, was profoundly
influenced by this idea.57
R I T U A L O R I G I N S : G U S TAV K L E M M A N D T H E
A N T H R O P O L O G Y O F A RT
Semper shared Quatremère’s emphasis on the historical specificity of

architecture, and continued to cultivate the dream of framing an au-
tonomous architectural science. In this sense, Quatremère’s origin the-
ory formed an important starting point for Semper’s own thinking.58
Semper, however, did not accept Quatremère’s threefold origin type.
In his usual sarcastic manner, he declared his contempt for “scholars
who tired themselves out in making ingenious deductions to prove
that Chinese architecture had derived from the tent”,59 and refuted
categorically any speculations on the architectural significance of the
cave.60 Rejecting both the universal origins of Laugier and the three-
fold type of Quatremère, Semper sought another notion of origin upon
42
which to base his reflections of architecture. Insisting that the origin of

architecture was a poetic ideal rather than a concrete model, he tried
to give his reflections on origins an anthropological basis.
One early and influential source that guided this reformulation
was the anthropologist Gustav Klemm (1802–67), a contemporary of
Semper in Dresden. A royal librarian to the Saxon court, Klemm spent
most of his life absorbed by one ambitious project: to provide “a pic-
ture of the development of Mankind in its entirety”.61 Like so many
nineteenth-century scholars, Klemm struggled to reconcile the explo-
sive growth of empirical facts with an enlightenment ideal of universal
knowledge. Semper fully shared the frustration of such an attempt,
dreaming as he did of establishing a ‘Complete and Universal Collec-
tion’ of artefacts.62 Unlike Semper, however, whose project remained
unfinished, Klemm actually published his nine-volume Allgemeine
Kulturgeschichte der Menschheit between 1843 and 1851. He is celebrated
as one of the fathers of modern anthropology, introducing the term
culture in an approximately modern sense.63
Despite his pioneering role in the field of anthropology, Klemm’s
thinking followed a rather traditional pattern. He explained cultural
diversity with the theory that different peoples had reached differ-
ent stages on the evolutionary line that extended from wildness to
tameness, a common position in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century
anthropology.64 In a similar vein, he envisioned world history in terms
of a constant strife between active and passive races, a theory echoing
Montesquieu’s musing on the relationship between climate and tem-
per. The same conventional approach seems at first glance to mark
his ideas on architecture, and Klemm has been accused of perpetuat-
ing a conservative neoclassicism.65 Upon closer examination, however,
Klemm’s original contribution becomes clear. Although he did refer
to Quatremère’s threefold origin types – the cave, the tent, and the
hut – he did not see them as the origins of architecture. For Klemm,
this ‘origin’ lies beyond any building type, in an anthropological cat-
egory located at the heart of a common human condition. All art, he
argued, is born out of the human need for representation: “We find
the beginnings of art in the lowest stages of culture, where we also en-
counter the beginning of nations, because man has the urge to manifest
43
Figure 11. “Australia”. Frontispiece to Gustav Klemm, Allgemeine Kulturgeschichte

der Menschheit (1843–51), vol. 1. Glasgow University Library, Department of Special
Collections.
his experiences externally, and to adorn his environment with these

representations.”66
The human desire for representation – labelled by Klemm as
Kunsttrieb, anticipating Riegl’s Kunstwollen in more than one way – went
through several stages, in parallel to the general cultural development
of society. On the lowest stage, this representation was made manifest
in knots and dance: both constituting a rhythmical imitation of time.
These primitive devices were the ‘carriers of myth’, Klemm explained:
‘mimetic narratives’ of the life of the nation and primary vehicles for
man’s orientation in the world (Figure 11).67 In more advanced stages
of cultural development, these simple means of representation were
fused in architecture as reified versions of festive adornment. As Klemm
wrote: “The adornment of these holy places called forth art, namely
architecture, dance, music.”68
44
Figure 12. Facial tattoos. Gustav Klemm, Allgemeine Kulturgeschichte der Menschheit
(1843–51), vols. 3–4, fol. II. Glasgow University Library, Department of Special
Collections.
Klemm traced the development of art by means of this hierarchy

of representational techniques, seeing in it an infallible index of hu-
man culture in its development from wildness to civilisation. After the
fusion of dance and knots in architecture, man invented a new device
for representation, he explained; namely, images. Although originat-
ing from the same artistic instinct [Kunsttrieb], pictorial representation
gradually took over as the privileged means by which religious and his-
torical events were represented and remembered.69 From its immediate
embodiment in the rhythmic work of dance, beads, and ornaments, the
human Kunsttrieb gradually attained higher levels of articulation in epic
recital and painting, reaching its ultimate peak of development in writ-
ten language (Figure 12).
Where architecture is concerned, two important assertions were
made in Klemm’s Allgemeine Kulturgeschichte. One was the idea that ar-
chitecture owes its meaning and representational capacity to the prac-
tical arts, using motifs developed, for instance, in the ritual act of dance
or the rhythmic mimesis of the knot. Following from this is a second
45
assertion: that the origin of architecture is not a formal type, but rather
an existential need, a Kunsttrieb. Against Laugier’s Cartesian dogma-
tism and Quatremère’s historical relativism, Klemm saw architecture
as a vehicle for man’s eternal need for representation.70 Although still
referring to the cave, the tent, and the hut, Klemm went beyond Qua-
tremère’s formal origin types. The origin of art and architecture, he
implied, lies in man’s urge to bring the structure of his world to ar-
ticulation and to sustain this world through embodied representation.
Echoing Schiller, Klemm identified the human play impulse as the ori-
gin of art: the urge to appropriate a world through playful imitation.71
Klemm’s novel ideas on the origins of art and architecture were
not meant as a polemic contribution to the art-historical debate of the
nineteenth century. His interest in art was informed by a strictly anthro-
pological perspective, from which point of view art was simply a useful
index to the progress of civilisations. His ideas, however, would form
an important weapon for a generation of thinkers – Semper included –
eager to overthrow certain neoclassical dogmas. Before turning to this
‘revolution’, however, we need to investigate a notion closely connected
with that of origins: the doctrine of imitation.
46
2: THE DOCTRINE OF
I M I TAT I O N
“Truth lives on in the midst of deception, and from the copy the
original will once again be restored.”
Friedrich Schiller 1
T he cult of origins constituted only the first part of a twofold

doctrine central to neoclassical aesthetics. Although the origin
theory of Laugier and others identified the source and model for art,
it did not address the question of how this model was to be emu-
lated. To do this was the task of the doctrine of imitation. This was
a doctrine with ancient precedents, yet one that would, in its en-
lightenment guise, become a vehicle for a very modern idea of art.
Whereas the classical notion of imitation centred around the idea of
beauty as mediation of goodness and truth, the enlightenment doc-
trine of imitation would – paradoxically – approach an ideal of aesthetic
autonomy.
Semper never explicitly developed a theory of imitation. On the
contrary, he always maintained that architecture, unlike the other arts,
was not imitative, and in this lay its virtues: “Architecture has its own
store of forms and is not an imitative art like sculpture and painting.”2
For Semper, the nonimitative arts, under which he grouped architec-
ture, music, and dance, had a privileged position in the aesthetic hier-
archy. They were “the highest purely cosmic . . . arts, whose legislative
support no other art can forego.”3 Semper elaborated this point in one
of his most potent statements on architectural imitation:
47
Tectonics is an art that takes nature as a model – not na-

ture’s concrete phenomena but the uniformity and the rules
by which she exists and creates. . . . Tectonics is a truly cos-
mic art; the Greek word kosmos, which has no equivalent in
any living language, signifies cosmic order and adornment
alike. To be in harmony with the law of nature makes the
adornment of an art object; where man adorns, all he does
more or less consciously is to make the law of nature evident
in the object he adorns.4
Voiced in the 1850s, this was hardly an original stance. In reject-

ing imitation as a principle for architecture, Semper was echoing a view
long prepared by the Sturm und Drang writers, a view which had con-
stituted a central aspect of idealist and romantic philosophy. However,
Semper’s attitude towards these schools was not one of wholehearted
support. Although his idea of ‘cosmic art’ clearly drew on an idealist
vision of nature as a cosmic totality, he was sceptical towards the ab-
stract approach of idealist thinkers, loathing their tendency to “trac[e]
the beauty of the phenomenal world back to the idea and dissect . . . it
into conceptual kernels.”5 Far from promoting a romantic aesthetics of
genius, Semper’s idea of the ‘legislative support’ of art and his promo-
tion of ‘cosmic lawfulness’ as a paradigm for art and architecture point
towards neoclassical ideas of la belle nature rather than towards an ideal
of subjective creation. Furthermore, Semper’s use of the term ‘tectonics’
indicates a rejection of both neoclassical and idealist aesthetics in favour
of a new emphasis on the structural autonomy of architecture, undoubt-
edly inspired by the theory of Karl Bötticher. Drawing on these three
partly overlapping, partly conflicting notions of imitation, Semper
supported neither and reformulated all, developing in the process a
highly original idea of imitation in architecture.
I D E A L I M I TAT I O N : Q U AT R E M È R E D E Q U I N C Y
A N D L A B E L L E N AT U R E
The neoclassical doctrine of imitation was well summed up by

Quatremère de Quincy when he described imitation as the “bond that
48
T H E D O C T R I N E O F I M I TAT I O N
connects all the fine arts by one common principle.”6 Quatremère’s

principle was, of course, the very même principe to which Charles Batteux
(1713–80) had undertaken to ‘reduce’ the fine arts, for the first time
singling them out as a separate, aesthetic category.7 Like most of his
contemporaries, Quatremère accepted Batteux’s definition, seeing the
fine arts as those whose purpose is pleasure, whose means is imitation,
and whose model is ‘beautiful nature’. As discussed in Chapter 1, the
nature invoked here was not nature in her raw and ‘natural’ state. Art
should imitate nature, Batteux claimed, not “as it is in itself, but as it
could be and as one could conceive of it by the mind.”8 Rather than
imitating nature’s concrete and individual reality, art should imitate
her general essence. This same principle constituted the core of Qua-
tremère’s theory of imitation: “The study of nature does not consist so
much in the special investigation of an individual and barren reality”,
he wrote, “as in the observation of the fertile principles of an ideal and
generalised model.”9
For both Batteux and Quatremère, then, imitation was a creative
act. The artist does not copy phenomena already present, but rather en-
deavours to reveal their original essence. In this sense, art is a revelation
of “an original, unknown even to the poet himself.”10 This ‘original’ is
the very idea of nature, extracted by the human intellect in an act of
ideal imitation. The artist takes as his model
. . . not only what the outward sense sees in reality, but also
what can only be discovered by that organ which scrutinises
the causes and motives of nature, in the formation of things
and beings. As such a model has nowhere any material ex-
istence, and it is the mind that alike copies and discovers
it, the works resulting from it are called creations or in-
ventions. It is the imitation of the world of ideas – ideal
imitation.11
The reciprocity between an ideal model concealed in nature and

its actualisation through imitation constituted for Quatremère la belle
nature.12 This ideal nature was in a sense more natural than nature
49
Figure 13. La Belle Nature. Claude Lorrain, Mercury and Argus (1662), etching.
Rosenwald Collection, Photograph c 2002 Board of Trustees, National Gallery
of Art, Washington.
herself. It was nature improved and fulfilled by art: nature as she ‘might
and ought to be’ (Figure 13).13 Insofar as nature presented herself
only in her particularity, her general and lawful essence can be en-
countered only in the work of man.14 La belle nature, then, was a cul-
tural construct. Moreover, it was a construct that had attained perfec-
tion only once in the history of human culture: in the art of ancient
Greece.
The idea that la belle nature was paradigmatically embodied in the
works of classical antiquity had long been commonplace in thinking
50
on art. One can find support for this idea in the works of Bellori,
Batteux, Winckelmann, Sulzer, and numerous others.15 As Pope pin-
pointed: “Those rules of old discovered, not devised, are Nature still,
but Nature methodised.”16 From the Renaissance to the eighteenth
century, antiquity attained the status of a second nature, a universally
valid paradigm for imitation and emulation. Rather than studying na-
ture directly – a dangerous pursuit leading down a ‘tedious and bewil-
dered road’17 – the artist should turn to the eternal works of antiq-
uity. In fact, to imitate Greek architecture is “nothing other than to
know and to imitate nature.”18 Greek art, insofar as it manifests na-
ture’s potential for unity, harmony, and wholeness, gives body to la belle
nature itself.
In his assertions on art and imitation, Quatremère comes across
as an apologist for enlightenment universalism. Upon closer inspec-
tion, however, his argument displays the same mixture of universalism
and historicism that I discussed in relation to his theory of origins.
Attempting to reconcile the relativism of Montesquieu with the neo-
classical idea of universal standards, Quatremère developed the fol-
lowing hybrid argument: Greek art embodies a universal standard of
beauty: la belle nature. It does so, however, due to the particular historical
and geographical conditions of ancient Greece. Due to its favourable
climate and its free and beautiful people, Greek culture offered the
artist perfect conditions for observing the human body: “It is beyond
doubt that nowhere, and at no time, has the imitation of the hu-
man body been attended by circumstances and causes so favourable
to its study, as those met among the Greeks.”19 With this line of ar-
gument, Quatremère reached an interesting solution to a notorious
problem.20 Although retaining the universal validity of classicism, this
validity could itself be explained as a product of relative historical causes.
In this way, Quatremère managed to combine an increasing sensitiv-
ity to the individual conditions of a culture with a claim for univer-
sal standards for culture and art alike. It was a fragile but ingenious
argument that served as a bridge between a universalising neoclassi-
cism and the new emphasis on the historical and individual specificity
of art.
51
O R G A N I C I M I TAT I O N : G O E T H E , S C H L E G E L ,
A N D S C H A F F E N D E N AT U R
“Gerade das, was ungebildeten Menschen am Kunstwerk als Natur

auffällt, das ist nicht Natur (von außen), sondern der Mensch
(Natur von innen).” J. W. von Goethe 21
Semper drew heavily on neoclassical aesthetics. Echoing Quatremère’s

notion of la belle nature, he insisted that architecture take as its model
“not nature’s concrete phenomena but the uniformity [Gesetzlichkeit]
and the rules by which she exists and creates.”22 Yet, Semper refused to
accept that this emulation of laws was imitation, feeling that this term
demeaned architectural creativity. He was not alone in harbouring
such scepticism. The neoclassical doctrine of imitation was – if often in
a reduced and misinterpreted version – a key target for the romantic
critique of neoclassicism. Blake called imitation an ‘idiot’s procedure’,
and Wordsworth demanded that art should no longer be a ‘mimic
show’ but be “itself a living part of a live whole.”23 The romantic
generation saw the doctrine of imitation as a dogmatic fettering of
creativity. August Wilhelm Schlegel (1767–1845) summed up this
attitude in his lectures on aesthetics:
Aristotle wrongly located the essence of the fine arts in imita-

tion. We are not trying to deny that there is really an imitative
element in them, but this does not constitute them as fine
arts. This depends rather on a reconfiguration of the object
of imitation by the laws of our intellect, in a transaction of
the imagination without external model.24
Schlegel’s criticism hit not so much Aristotle (who had never con-
ceived of let alone mentioned the ‘fine arts’) as it did his eighteenth-
century interpreters, Batteux in particular.25 By rejecting Batteux’s doc-
trine of imitation, Schlegel and his contemporaries aimed to finally
repeal an ancient insight still present in neoclassical aesthetics: that art
imitates and participates in a reality outside the artwork itself.
52
Despite his sharp-witted polemic against the idea of art as an imi-

tation of nature, Schlegel did not abandon imitation theory altogether.
Rather, he proposed a redefinition: If nature is understood as an in-
ner power rather than an external reality, and if imitation is seen as
a creative principle rather than mindless copying, then imitation may
still be considered the means and end of art.26 Quatremère would not
have disagreed. In fact, Schlegel’s argument was remarkably close to
Quatremère’s own, asserting that the model for imitation was to be
found not in nature’s appearances but rather in her inner principles,
and that mere copying contributes little to art’s pursuit of the ideal and
essential. It was in the attempt to locate this ideal essence that their views
diverged. Whereas Quatremère encouraged the artist to find his model
in external, if idealised, nature, Schlegel advised him to search in ‘his
own inner self’. Man is a microcosm in which the world is contained,
Schlegel argued, and by seeking inwards the artist might capture the
whole. Art is the expression of an inner power: a microcosmic principle
of creativity which is situated in the individual but which mirrors the
cosmos.27
Lurking beneath Schlegel’s views on imitation was the ancient
notion of natura naturans [creative nature] and its counterpart, natura
naturata [created nature]. This binary opposition had been articulated
already by Thomas Aquinas when he demanded that art should imitate
nature ‘in sua operatione’.28 In the Middle Ages and early Renaissance,
art had been seen as man’s means to comprehend the divine order.
Although creation is a divine power not granted man, he can participate
in the divine by imitating God’s creation.29 When Schlegel revitalised
natura naturans, however, far from returning to a premodern notion of
divine creation and its human imitation, he transformed both the notion
of nature and of imitation in a radical manner. For Schlegel, schaffende
Natur was no longer a transcendent power ultimately situated in God,
but rather an immanent force ultimately situated in man. Art, then,
equals both nature and the Creator in creativity:
. . . [art] should create as independently as nature, organised

and organising, produce living works that are complete in
themselves and moved, not by an alien mechanism like a
53
clock, but by an inner power, like the solar system. It was in

this way that Prometheus imitated nature, when he formed
man from earthly clay and vitalised him with a ray stolen
from the sun; a myth which provides us with such a beautiful
example.30
It is not difficult to see, in this redefinition of the relationship be-

tween nature and imitation, how the meaning of both is transformed.
“Nature is now within”, writes Charles Taylor, pinpointing the new
notion of nature as an inner power [inwohnende Kraft].31 Although for-
mulated in opposition to neoclassical imitation theory, the romantic
notion of imitation completed in many respects the neoclassical eman-
cipation of art into an isolated aesthetic domain of fine art. In Schlegel’s
Prometheus dream, art had become a vehicle for self-expression and
the artist a creator of parallel worlds. The artist, in Herder’s succinct
phrase, “is become a creator God.”32
Schlegel’s notion of creative nature drew heavily on the writings of
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832). In the essay, “On German
Architecture” (1772), the young Goethe celebrated human creativity,
by which he understood a spontaneous inner force. The neoclassi-
cal obsession with rules and doctrines had obstructed the true, living
source of art, Goethe argued, and fettered the creativity of the artist-
genius.33 Only in Gothic architecture could one find a living, creative
beauty, unfettered by ‘school and rule’.34 The Gothic cathedral was
not a product of stale dogmas, but rather a spontaneous expression of
necessity and purposefulness (Figure 14).35 It was in this sense, and
this sense alone, that art could be said to imitate nature. The high-
est form of imitation was “for an artist to penetrate into the depths
of things as well as into the depths of his own soul, so as to pro-
duce in his works not only something light and superficially effective,
but, as the rival of nature, something spiritually organic, and to give
it a content and a form by which it appears both natural and beyond
nature.”36
Goethe, then, saw a strong analogy between artworks and the
works of nature. The cathedral, in its overall composition as well as its
most minute detail, formed a harmonious, purposeful unity, indeed, an
54
Figure 14. Strasbourg Cathedral, west front, begun 1277. Taken from P. Frankl,
Gothic Architecture, Penguin 1962.
organic whole: “This . . . is the only true art. It becomes active through
inner, unified, particular and independent feeling, unadorned by, in-
deed unaware of, all foreign elements, . . . it is a living whole.”37 The
principal task of Goethe’s mature writings was to develop this organic
55
analogy. In the essay, “On Architecture” (1795), for instance, he traced

the emancipation of art from its early enslavement to necessity and ma-
terial causes to its highest poetic stage.38 He insisted that this process
be understood as an organic evolution.39 Like a plant or an animal,
art develops through lawful transformations according to an inherent
Keimkraft.40 In architecture, this inner power comes to expression in a
process of mimetic metamorphosis:
Architecture is not an art of imitation, but rather an au-

tonomous art; yet at the highest level it cannot do without
imitation. It carries over the qualities and appearance of one
material into another: every order of the columns, for exam-
ple, imitates buildings in wood; it carries over the character-
istics of one building into another: for example by the union
of columns and pilasters with walls; and does so for variety
and richness.41
In this late essay, Goethe abandoned the Gothic romanticism of his

youth for a return to the classical ideal. However, this was not the most
significant of his shifts. Applying to art the idea of metamorphosis devel-
oped in his Naturlehre, Goethe construed the artwork as an autonomous
and self-sufficient creation, governed by its own inner laws and imitat-
ing its own forms in a process of material metamorphosis.42 From this
point of view, the Greek temple could be analysed as an organic being
whose transformation is governed by an inner telos rather than by its
social and religious significance (Figure 15). Although still appealing
to the traditional category of imitation, Goethe abolished virtually any
external referent for art, thus completing the transformation of la belle
nature from a transcendent ideal to an immanent force.43 In Goethe’s
architectural writings, the work of architecture threatens to become
simply a representation of its own formal and material development,
testifying to its own Urstoff in the same way as the plant retains traces of
the original Urpflanze. By reducing the notion of analogy in architecture
to a matter of Stoffwechsel, Goethe could merge the seemingly contra-
dictory notions of imitation and autonomy. Architecture, as Schelling
proclaimed some years later, had become an ‘imitation of itself’.44
56
Figure 15. Italian sketches. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, “Baukunst”, 1795. Stiftung
Weimarer Klassik.
T E C T O N I C I M I TAT I O N : K A R L B Ö T T I C H E R
AND THE AUTONOMY OF FORM
“Des Körpers Form ist seines Wesens Spiegel! Durchdringst du sie –

löst sich des Räthsels Siegel.”
Karl B ötticher 45
Despite their critique of neoclassical aesthetic theory, neither Goethe

nor A. W. Schlegel doubted the authority of the classical ideal. In
fact, their aesthetic organicism was developed in defence of classi-
cism, aiming to offer a deeper understanding of its laws and evolution.
Goethe’s notion of the structural and material autonomy of architec-
ture must therefore be conceived within the framework of classicism,
never intended as an instrument for stylistic innovation. To turn the or-
ganic theory of art into an operative principle for design would be the
ambition of the next generation of architects and critics, who aimed
57
to extract concrete guidelines for the interpretation and production of

architecture.
One of the most interesting of these attempts was the theory of
tectonics. We have already encountered the term in Semper’s own writ-
ings, in which he sometimes used it synonymously with architecture,
other times to refer specifically to wooden construction.46 Tectonics
was, however, not Semper’s own term, but one that by the late 1840s on-
wards was associated with the architect and archaeologist Karl Bötticher
(1806–99), a Berlin scholar who in his youth had belonged to the circle
around the aging Schinkel. Bötticher set out his overall ambition in the
preface to the Tektonik der Hellenen (1844–52): to develop a history of
Greek tectonics, not as a compilation of facts but as a revelation of the
inner workings of art and history alike.47 Like Goethe, he searched for
the intrinsic principle, or Keimkraft, of architecture, and the laws by
which it unfolds through time; like Goethe, he found it in the principle
of creative nature:
The principle of Greek tectonics is . . . identical with the

principle of creative nature: the concept of each work
[Gebildes] is expressed in its form. From this principle alone
springs a law of form, which stands high above the individual
conditions of the particular subject matter [des werkthätigen
Subjektes]. [It rules] within boundaries that admit only the
true and highest freedom, and opens an inexhaustible source
for invention.48
Bötticher’s point of departure was the correspondence between

external form and inner idea that he believed to be apparent in all natu-
ral phenomena. Nature, he insisted, expresses the inner essence of her
creations through form. A natural phenomenon is always a “fully iden-
tical portrait of itself”: a perfect expression of its underlying concept.49
Bötticher argued that the correspondence between form and concept
that characterised natural beings from their embryonic beginning to
their mature state should be present also in works of art.50 The ambition
of his tectonic theory, then, was to substantiate this argument and to
58
translate the idea of correspondence from the domain of nature to that

of art and architecture.
To define the architectural ‘concept’ and its representation in
form, Bötticher introduced the terms Kernform [core form] and
Kunstform [art form].51 He defined Kernform as “the mechanical ne-
cessity, the statically effective schema” of architecture, a structural core
with a purely static function.52 In this sense, Kernform is an abstract con-
cept, a kind of Schopenhauerian ‘lauter Wirken’.53 Although the Kern-
form would be perfectly capable of performing its structural task alone,
being a pure concept, it lacks a visual expression of its own.54 It lacks, in
other words, a means by which to give visible form to its inner working.
This is the task of the Kunstform: an ‘explanatory layer’ of ornaments55
which expresses the mute working of the core.56 Whereas the Kernform
simply acts to carry and uphold, the Kunstform – as a symbolic dressing –
represents the tectonic conflict played out in the construction, making
visible the concepts of gravity and cohesion (Figure 16).57
For Bötticher, the reciprocal relationship between Kernform and
Kunstform constituted a dynamic interplay between the structure and
ornament of architecture. The classical orders provided him with a
valuable example of this. He described in great detail how the articula-
tion of the base dramatises the force of gravity and compression in the
column, and how the concave and convex movement of the Echinus
articulates the weight of the entablature resting upon it (Figures 17 and
18).58 Architectural ornament, here, is understood as an expression of
the inner, static working of the tectonic body: “nothing else than the
embodied image of its concept”.59
Bötticher’s demand for a correspondence between Kunstform and
Kernform presented architecture with an ideal that seemed to allow for
no historical development. With a closer reading of the Tektonik, how-
ever, it becomes clear that this correspondence is itself a historically
realised ideal. Until the period of ancient Egypt, Bötticher explained,
architectural ornament was conceived as a symbol of religious and ritual
phenomena.60 These phenomena, however, could never be adequately
represented in architectural form because they transcended the limits
for what can be made visible.61 Architecture at its highest stage,
therefore, had to abandon religious ideas, turning instead to concepts
59
Figure 16. Studies of Ionic capitals. Karl Bötticher, Die Tektonik der Hellenen, 1852,
vol. 2. By permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library.
which can be adequately represented in architectural form. This was

the achievement of the Greeks, who had developed an art form strictly
analogous to its concept.62 Egyptian architecture, on the other hand,
could never attain the autonomy and clarity of its Greek counterpart as
long as it tried to express transcendent values in physical form. It could
be dismissed as an inferior stage of architecture’s evolution, failing to
attain the ideal correspondence between form and idea.
By means of this quasi-Hegelian argument, Bötticher elevated
the principle of Greek classicism into a universal law, still valid for the
nineteenth century:
The Greek principle of representing the . . . static load of the

tectonic body by means of analogous Kunstformen, so that its
60
Figure 17. Studies of the bases of the orders. Karl Bötticher, Die Tektonik der Hellenen,
1852, vol. 2. By permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library.
concept in all its conditions is tangibly presented, contains

the only valid law, according to which all tectonic structures
can be executed.63
To emulate the Greeks implied not so much imitating the classical

style as emulating the principle of correspondence between form
and idea. On this basis, Bötticher formulated a guide to architectural
invention. By evaluating the correspondence between the idea of
the Kernform (i.e., the structural principle) and its manifestation in
the Kunstform, architecture could be judged as good or bad, valid or
invalid.64 Any new architectural style must be judged according to this
criterion: whether or not it gives adequate form to a new structural
principle.65 Only by respecting this principle, Bötticher pompously
61
Figure 18. Studies of the bending of leafs under burden. Karl Bötticher, Die
Tektonik der Hellenen, 1852, vol. 2. By permission of the Syndics of Cambridge Univer-
sity Library.
proclaimed, could “yet another art . . . emerge from the womb of time
and . . . take on a life of its own.”66
It is not necessary here to further explore Bötticher’s ‘third style’,
which he envisioned would spring from iron construction.67 Rather, we
should reflect on the underlying significance of his theory of tectonics.
With Bötticher, architectural representation became a matter of cor-
respondence between a structural concept and an allegorical dressing,
a hermetic relationship with no references to a reality outside the work
itself. In neoclassical aesthetics, the doctrine of imitation still served
as a link between art and reality, upholding – if in a secularised and
‘intramundane’ way – the ancient notion of art as representation. With
Goethe, Schlegel, and Bötticher, this notion was gradually abolished,
62
increasingly allowing architecture to be considered a self-referential

sign of itself. Ornamentation, as van Eck points out, is no longer
“discussed in terms of historically, culturally, and socially determined
meaning, . . . instead, its meaning rests entirely on the static function
it represents. Thereby, a work of architecture becomes almost entirely
self-referential, which is yet another way of underpinning its autonomy
in the sense that the meaning of a building is defined in architectural,
rather than social or cultural terms.”68
Semper was both inspired and infuriated by Bötticher’s tectonic
speculations. He was impressed by Bötticher’s analysis of architectural
ornament, relying on it greatly when developing his own notion of
Bekleidung.69 At the same time, however, he launched uninhibited verbal
attacks on the Berlin scholar, calling him “one-sided and doctrinaire”70
and “a vicious little mystagogue from Berlin”.71 Semper’s dispropor-
tionate reaction to Bötticher may help us to locate unresolved issues
within Semper’s own position. Semper accepted Bötticher’s idea of
architecture as an autonomous discipline and continued to dream of
a science of invention. Yet, he rejected a theory of imitation in which
architecture was simply an immanent sign of itself, and attempted
instead the difficult conciliation of autonomy and referentiality.
63
3: SEMPER AND THE POETICS
OF ARCHITECTURE
T he previous chapters outlined the way in which notions of ori-

gin and imitation conditioned architectural discourse in the late
eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Semper was profoundly in-
fluenced by this discourse. He shared many of the prevailing neoclassi-
cal attitudes and framed his theoretical pursuits in terms of origins and
imitation. He also had a thorough knowledge of idealist and romantic
philosophy, and its influence on his work is convincingly documented.1
Yet, Semper subjected the notions of origins and imitation to a radical
reformulation until they no longer had the same meaning as for his
neoclassical or romantic predecessors.
T H E P R I M I T I V E H U T R E B U I LT
We have already encountered Semper’s scornful attitude to enlighten-

ment theories of the origin of architecture. In his opinion, the obsession
with the primitive hut had produced merely “fruitless speculations,
which have not seldom led to dangerous errors and false theories”.2
Semper dismissed the wooden hut as the formal origin of the Greek
temple, and rejected Quatremère’s ‘fairy tale’ of the cave and the tent.3
Although recognising its importance, he refused to frame the question
of origins as a search for the original abode of man, concluding categor-
ically that “it is impossible to trace architecture, as the expression and
accommodation of social organisms, back to its earliest beginning”.4
64
SEMPER AND THE POETICS OF ARCHITECTURE
To attempt such a thing would be like wanting to trace a language

back to “the babbling of children or to the unarticulated voices of the
animal world”.5 As was becoming clear to both Semper and his contem-
poraries, human culture was infinitely older than what had previously
been thought, and even the most ancient artefact is a thousand times
removed from its actual historical origin.6 As Semper wrote:
The most primitive tribes known to us do not give a pic-

ture of the original condition of humanity, but rather of its
degeneration and impoverishment. Much in them suggests
a regression into a state of wildness, or, more correctly, a
disintegration of living social organisms into elements . . .
Their . . . provisional tents . . . can be seen more correctly as
an image of their present alienation and homelessness than
as the origin type of Oriental architecture.7
The primitive hut, then, was not the first and ‘natural’ artefact
sprung from the unadulterated needs of man, but rather a complex
product of a long historical process.
When Semper, despite this criticism, kept returning to the topic
of origins, he clearly had in mind something other than the Vitruvian
hut. The origins of architecture, he insisted, must be sought not in
architectural form itself but in the preconditions which shaped it: “the
constituent parts of form that are not form itself, but the idea, the force,
the task, and the means”.8 It was Semper’s lifelong ambition to find and
define these ‘constituent parts’ – and he found them, not as archaeo-
logical facts but as a creative principle:
Surrounded by a world full of wonder and forces, whose law

man may divine, may want to understand but never decipher,
which reaches him only in a few fragmentary harmonies and
which suspends his soul in a continuous state of unresolved
tension, he himself conjures up the missing perfection in
play.9
For Semper, then, the origins of art lay in the universal human
need to create order through play and ritual. These fundamental themes
65
show up in mythology as the overcoming of chaos by means of or-

der. By representing such lawfulness in his own activities, man estab-
lishes a domain of order in the midst of a mysterious and threatening
nature.10 “When man adorns”, Semper wrote, “all he does, more or
less consciously is to make the laws of nature evident in the object he
adorns.”11 In a word, art is born out of man’s need to make sense of the
world:
He makes himself a tiny world in which the cosmic law is

evident within strict limits, yet complete in itself and per-
fect in this respect; in such play man satisfies his cosmogonic
instinct. His fantasy creates these images, but displaying, ex-
panding, and adapting to his mood the individual scenes of
nature before him, so orderly arranged that he thinks he can
discern in the single event the harmony of the whole.12
We encountered this ordering activity of art in Semper’s Dresden

speech, and again in the writings of Gustav Klemm. Now we can appre-
ciate more fully what is meant by this ‘activity’ itself and its embodiment
in the motifs of art. Like Klemm, Semper located the ordering activity
of art first and foremost in the ritual; for instance, the reification of time
and movement into rhythm, dance, and musical expression. Through
ritual, Semper told his readers, man captures the creative law of nature
“as it gleams through reality in the rhythmical sequence of space and
time movements”.13 The ritual, in turn, finds its tangible embodiment
in the motifs of practical arts, is “found once more in the wreath, the
bead necklace, the scroll, the circular dance and the rhythmic tone that
attends it, the beat of an oar . . . These are the beginnings out of which
music and architecture grew.”14 (See Figure 19.) From its ephemeral
beginning in ritual movement, the ordering activity of art is embodied
in the artistic motifs, which in turn are fused in works of architec-
ture. This affinity between natural and cultural order, Semper argued,
is perfectly expressed in the Greek notion of cosmos, signifying “order
and adornment alike.”15 The process of making and adorning is here
understood as a rhythmical reenactment of the cosmos: the ordering of
a world through its microcosmic representation. Klemm had already
66
Figure 19. Wreaths and rhythmic ornaments. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed.
1878), vol. 1, pp. 13–16. Edinburgh University Library.
hinted at this connection, but what for him remained an isolated and
puzzling observation, constituted for Semper a key to the origins and
the meaning of architecture.
When seeking the simplest translation of ritual into tangible form,
Semper turned to textile art. This was the Urkunst, he explained, a pri-
mordial embodiment of the ritual act of joining parts into a whole.16
The knot was a privileged example of this: “perhaps the oldest tech-
nical symbol and . . . an expression of the earliest cosmogonic ideas”,
symbolising “the primordial chain of being”.17 (See Figure 20.) Being
simultaneously a functional technique and a symbolic means of rep-
resentation, the knot was a mediating figure between the ritual act,
the technique of making, and the actual work of art or craft. In time,
the motif of the knot was developed further in the more complex tech-
niques of the braid, the wreath, the seam, and the weave; all constituting
primordial symbols of ordering.18 As Semper wrote about the seam:
The seam [Naht] is an expedient [Nohtbehelf ] invented

to unite . . . pieces and surfaces, and which . . . through an
67
Figure 20. Knots and braids. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 1,
pp. 169–72. Edinburgh University Library.
ancient conceptual and linguistic fusion became the gen-

eral analogy and symbol for every joining of originally
separate surfaces to one complete whole. In the seam, an
important . . . axiom of artistic practice appears in its most
primary, simplest and . . . clearest form – the law, namely, to
make a virtue out of necessity.19
68
Figure 21. Snake ornaments from Greece, Ireland, Egypt, and Scandinavia. Gottfried
Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 1, pp. 77–8. Edinburgh University Library.
As Rykwert has pointed out, this etymological excursus was more

than a play on words.20 The proximity between Noht and Naht – the
need for order and its fulfilment through art – constituted an impor-
tant point in Semper’s reflections on origins. Art springs from a need
simultaneously practical and symbolic. Opposed to the enlightenment
polarisation of usefulness and beauty, Semper insisted on their fusion.
Even the simplest ornament testifies to this fusion, he argued, from the
scrolls and beads of the ‘South Sea Indians’ to the snake ornaments of
69
Figure 22. Techniques of weaving. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 1,
p. 177. Edinburgh University Library.
the Celts and Vikings (Figure 21).21 These symbolic-functional motifs

run through the history of art “like a musical theme”, guaranteeing its
continuity and intelligibility.22
Having identified the original motifs of art, Semper sought to
map their development and fusion in architecture. A key link in this
development was the motif of the wall, which he traced back to the tech-
nique of weaving (Figure 22). The original enclosure, he argued, was
not the solid wall of stone or wood, but rather the primitive fence,
woven by branches and grass: “Wickerwork, the original space divider,
retained the full importance of its earlier meaning, actually or ideally,
when later the light mat walls were transformed into clay tile, brick,
or stone walls. Wickerwork was the essence of the wall.”23 Textile art,
therefore, itself an imitation of ritual, rhythm, and dance – is the source
not only of the practical arts, but also of architecture: “The beginnings
of building coincide with those of weaving,” Semper declared.24 The
first volume of Der Stil was meant to provide substantial documenta-
tion for this assertion. Tracing the motif of enclosure from the primi-
tive fence to textile draperies, Semper found the principle of Bekleidung
70
Figure 23. Techniques of knitting and croché. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed.
1878), vol. 1, pp. 175–6. Edinburgh University Library.
[clothing or dressing] to be intrinsically linked to spatial enclosure, a

use which preceded even the clothing of the human body (Figure 23).25
The wall, then, springs directly from acts of gathering and en-
closing, acts expressed both practically and symbolically in the motifs
of the textile arts: “The wall is that architectural element that formally
represents and makes visible the enclosed space as such, absolutely, as
it were, without reference to secondary concepts.”26 Establishing the
boundaries within which cultural order can take place, the wall sets up a
spatial-symbolic home for man. It separates “the inner life . . . from the
outer life” and manifests “the spatial idea in its original conception.”27
As an enclosing gesture, the wall has its counterpart in the motif
of the hearth, as the soul and centre of every architectural work.28
Semper, then, demolished the Vitruvian hut as an indivisible nucleus
of architecture. In its place, he installed the hut as a composite struc-
ture composed of the four primary motifs, or elements, of architecture.
It was these motifs, not the hut itself, that constituted the origins of
architecture. These motifs represented the translation of human ac-
tion into tangible form, yet they were not primarily formal entities.
71
Inspired by ethnological findings and his own encounter with the

Caraib hut,29 Semper saw the origins of architecture not as formal but
rather as functional-symbolic phenomena, born out of man’s need for
symbolic representation.
I M I TAT I O N R E D E F I N E D
Implied in Semper’s restructured origin theory is an equally radical

redefinition of the neoclassical doctrine of imitation. As we saw pre-
viously, Semper was critical to the idea of architecture as imitative,
emphasising its role as a free and cosmic art. Yet, he did not reject the
notion of imitation outright, but rather subjected it to reinterpreta-
tion. Again, Semper’s notion of Bekleidung provides the most telling
example, particularly his ingenious (if factually licentious) analysis of
the Roman house. This building type was in its earliest form charac-
terised by a rectangular plan and an open, colonnaded atrium, Semper
explained. The spaces between the columns were equipped with woven
partitions, which subdivided the peristyle into different zones.30 The
partitions had both a functional and a symbolic task, differentiating the
space for various domestic purposes while at the same time constituting
a symbolic enclosure of the hearth, gathering the family together as a
sacred community.31 In the Bekleidung, thus, Semper located the pri-
mary idea of the wall as the “purely symbolic indication of the spatial
enclosure”.32
In later developments of the Roman house, the wall retained its
symbolic meaning, but its material changed. The motif of enclosure that
had been embodied in the textile draperies now ossified into stone.33
In the Pompeiian house, for example, the intercolumnar drapery was
retained in the form of a fresco, constituting, according to Semper,
“nothing else than the imitation [Nachahmung] of the draperies and
screens that used to furnish the stoas and halls. . . .” Here, the motif of
Bekleidung “shows itself in its full potential and in all the varieties of its
later stylistic developments and combinations.”34 This simple descrip-
tion contains an important point. Semper presented here the fresco of
the Pompeiian house as an imitation of a more primordial motif: that of
72
the textile wall. The process of material metamorphosis [Stoffwechsel ] is

a historical process based on and propelled by the principle of imitation.
Semper’s analysis of the Roman house entailed a very specific no-
tion of imitation. He did not see imitation as a simple translation of
a model – ideal or actual – into physical form. Rather, he understood
it as a complex series of transformations in which original motifs are
gradually modified in response to new needs and conditions. The pri-
macy of the motif – with its relative independence from material, its rel-
ative stability through time, and its constant reinterpretation through
history – was for Semper the principle governing architectural evolu-
tion. As stable expressions of human ideas and needs, retained through
material and technical transformation, the motifs were the primary nu-
clei in architecture’s ‘grammar of forms.’35 Every culture must interpret
anew these stable and stabilising motifs according to its own particular
condition, making them “its own flesh and blood”.36
Semper outlined the development of the Bekleidung motif within
the grand comparative scheme of Der Stil, starting with the primitive
cultures of the ‘South Sea’ (i.e., New Zealand and Polynesia), where the
woven wall appeared in its original state. He then followed its meta-
morphosis in Chinese lattice work, Indian stucco-coating, Assyrian
mosaics, and Egyptian painting, finally reaching its sublimated mani-
festation in Greek polychromy (Figure 24).37 The primary motif of Be-
kleidung remained the same throughout this long development, but was
modified through an imitative process of Stoffwechsel. Each step in the
history of architecture involves a creative reinterpretation and appro-
priation of the artistic motifs, a process we may now call imitation. For
Semper, the original model of this process could never be determined;
“the original is always already a copy”, he insisted.38 Rather than seek-
ing the origin of architecture in architectural form, Semper located it
in the human desire to order and imitate: the universal human Nach-
ahmungstrieb. This drive constituted for Semper, as it had for Plato, the
origin of art and society alike.
Semper’s notion of imitation, as it was set out in his Bekleidung the-
ory, differed from the neoclassical doctrine. Semper understood imita-
tion not as the copying of an original building type or an ideal model,
but rather as an interpretation of a functional-symbolic motif, itself
73
Figure 24. Examples of Bekleidung: Assyrian stone panel decorated with carpet pat-
terns. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 1, p. 51. Edinburgh University
Library.
imitating human situations and actions. Furthermore, Semper’s notion

of imitation was not (yet) the autonomous metamorphosis of Goethe
or Schlegel. Although adopting Goethe’s notion of material metamor-
phosis, Semper resisted seeing it as a self-sufficient process in which
architecture imitates itself. Finally, although appropriating Bötticher’s
idea of structural symbols (i.e., the ornament ‘miming’ the constructive
principle), Semper refused to see this as the exclusive locus of architec-
tural meaning. Semper located the origin of architecture not in archi-
tecture itself, but rather in human situations, insisting on the intrinsic
74
link between the motifs of art and its origin in ritual action. This recog-
nition unwittingly drew him close to the Aristotelian understanding of
art as mimesis of praxis. In the following section, I will explore this un-
derstanding, using it as a way to probe deeper into Semper’s reflections
on the origins of architecture.
ARCHITECTURE AS MIMESIS OF PRAXIS
The neoclassical doctrine of imitation had ancient precedents. Batteux’s

canonical formulation of the relationship between art and imitation
took its cue from Aristotle’s Poetics, which teaches that “Epic poetry
and Tragedy, also Comedy and Dithyramb, and most of the music
performed on the flute and the lyre are all, in a collective sense,
imitations.”39 Whether revering or reviling this principle, neither the
neoclassicists nor the romantics had any doubt as to its meaning. The
Aristotelian theory of imitation was seen as roughly identical with Bat-
teux’s own: a demand for art to imitate nature.40 Aristotle, however,
never claimed art to be an imitation of nature. What art (or poetic
activity, to be more specific) imitates, he made explicitly and repeat-
edly clear, is something quite different. “For tragedy is not an imitation
[mimesis] of men but of actions [ praxeos] and of life”, he wrote. “Thus,
what happens – that is, the plot [mythos] – is the end for which a tragedy
exists, and the end or purpose is the most important thing of all.”41
These three notions – mimesis, praxis, and mythos – are keys to Aristotle’s
poetics, constituting a reflection on art that elucidates not only tragic
poetry, but also all genuine poetic expressions, architecture included.
Mimesis
Aristotle took his examples of mimesis from musical performance. This
might seem peculiar to modern readers because in the current under-
standing of the term, music is the one art (together with architecture, as
Semper argued) that does not ‘imitate’ anything. To understand what
is meant by mimesis, therefore, we need to reappraise our easy equa-
tion of mimesis and imitation. Hermann Koller’s study Die Mimesis der
75
Antike contributes to such a reappraisal.42 Seeking to restore the full

significance of mimesis, Koller traces the term to its first appearance in
pre-Socratic texts, where it figures precisely in the musical context to
which Aristotle referred. Mimesis is first used in relation to the song and
dance in Dionysian rituals, the Pyrrian weapon dance, and the Delian
hymns.43 Koller concludes: “Greek dance, as a synthesis of words, tune,
rhythm, and gestures, constituted primarily the given unity of human
expression. Mimesis therefore always remains linked to man, it is his
coming-into-form [Formwerdung].”44
This notion of mimesis as rhythmic Formwerdung is close to Sem-
per’s own. When he located the origins of art in man’s reenactment of
cosmic order, he was drawing on an ancient idea. Plato, for instance,
saw the sense of rhythm and the urge for rhythmic enactment as a
defining feature for human beings:
No young creature whatsoever, as we may fairly assert, can

keep its body or its voice still; all are perpetually trying to
make movements and noises. They leap and bound, they
dance and frolic, as it were with glee, and again, they utter
cries of all sorts. Now animals at large have no perception of
the order or disorder in these motions, no sense of what we
call rhythm or melody. But in our own case, the gods . . . have
likewise given us the power to perceive and enjoy rhythm
and melody. Through this sense they stir us to movements
and become our choir-leaders. They string us together on
a thread of song and have named our ‘choirs’ so after the
delight [chara] they naturally afford.45
For Plato, the sense of rhythm is what ‘strings us together’ in a

community of fellow human beings.46 Rhythmic enactment grounds
human culture, establishing a mimetic distance from the natural world
and opening up a space in which communication is possible. This choric
act, according to Plato, is an act of imitation: “a mimetic presentation
of manners, with all variety of action and circumstance”.47 However,
it is not only the human community that is structured by means of
mimetic analogy, but also the cosmos itself. For Plato, cosmic order
76
is constituted by a hierarchy of analogies, in which the part takes part

in the whole as its analogous representation.48 As Plato put it, “there
exists certain forms, of which these other things come to part-take and
so to be called after their names; by coming to part-take of likeness and
largeness or beauty and justice, they become like or large or beautiful
or just . . . each thing that part-takes receives its share either the form
as a whole or a part of it.”49 Whereas Plato used the term methexis
or ‘participation’ here, Pythagorean philosophy referred to this same
participation as mimesis: a participation in or representation of cosmic
order.50 The principle of mimesis, understood as an analogous participa-
tion of the part in the whole, lies at the heart of Platonic cosmology as
the principle by which, in Ernesto Grassi’s words, “reality is ordered
into a world”.51
Praxis
If we have now established mimesis as the principle of participation
that structures both the human world and its cosmic setting, it is still
not quite clear what is being imitated. Plato’s Laws provides a partial
answer. Taking the question of mimesis back to the domain of music,
Plato wrote that “rhythms and music . . . are a reproduction expressing
the moods of better and worse men.”52 What is being imitated in mu-
sical and poetic performance, in other words, is human character in
its ethical and situational context.53 Aristotle took over this idea from
Plato, maintaining that “Tragedy is the imitation of an action” and that
the poet “is a poet by virtue of his imitation”.54 Far from being an
imitation of appearances, thus, mimesis is the representation of action:
a mimesis tes praxeos. All mimetic activity has this praxis as its object,
and varies only insofar as human action itself varies, within the field of
ethical possibilities.55
Aristotle’s careful definition of praxis as the object of mimesis re-
veals something important about the term itself. Mimesis of praxis is
not a representation of just any action, but rather action as it is situated
within an ethical field.56 When Homer wrote the Odyssey, for example,
he did not describe everything that ever happened to Odysseus, but
rather chose only what was ‘necessary or probable’ and what formed a
77
unity of action.57 To serve as an object for imitation, in other words,

action has to be relevant with respect to the ethically constituted
horizon of necessity and probability that governs a human world.
Grassi lucidly explains this important point: “The mimesis tes praxeos
is thus directed, not towards just any action offering itself as object
for imitation . . . The object of mimesis should rather be acts specific to
man; i.e., ethically determined praxis. . . . The object of art is the pecu-
liar possibilities of man”.58 Praxis encompasses not merely what is but
what might be; it represents an ethically structured field of possibilities,
from which any action draws its meaning.
Mythos
If praxis denotes a field of possibilities governed by necessity and prob-
ability, it remains to be asked how such a field can be informing or
informed by art. To answer this question, we must turn to the third
key term in Aristotle’s Poetics: the notion of the ‘plot’, or mythos. “The
imitation of the action is the plot”,59 Aristotle wrote. “Thus, what
happens – that is, the plot – is the end for which the tragedy exists.”60
In Paul Ricoeur’s analysis of the Aristotelian mythos, he starts by defin-
ing mimesis not as the “redoubling of presence . . ., but rather the break
that opens the space for fiction.”61 Ricoeur argues that this ‘opening’
is the primary role of the poetic work. It involves a threefold process,
referred to by Ricoeur as mimesis 1, 2, and 3.62 I will not adopt this ter-
minology, but will rather translate Ricoeur’s threefold mimesis into two
simple questions: How does the mythos come about, and what purpose
does it serve?
The first step in the mimetic process concerns the way in which
praxis can become the object of art; how, in other words, it is configured
into a plot. Aristotle insisted that in order to make a plot, one needs to
know not only a multitude of human actions, but also what gives them
unity.63 Ricoeur writes: “The composition of a plot is grounded in a
pre-understanding of the world of action, its meaningful structures, its
symbolic recourses, and its temporal character . . . If it is true that plot
is an imitation of action, some preliminary competence is required:
the capacity for identifying action in general by means of its structural
78
features.”64 This capacity is precisely what characterises Aristotle’s poet:

the capacity to see unity in plurality.65 It is this knowledge that permits
the poetic configuration of the mythos or, in Ricoeur’s word, the ‘em-
plotment’ to take place.66 As he writes: “[the mythos] draws a meaning-
ful story from the diversity of events and incidents . . . transforms the
events or incidents into a story.”67 The plot mediates between praxis
as invisible and unarticulated background (what Heidegger speaks of
as ‘concealment’68 ) and its embodiment and articulation in the work
of art. The emplotment of art clarifies the domain of praxis, confer-
ring to it, Ricoeur writes, “an initial readability”.69 Gadamer sums up
this idea: “The work of art transforms our fleeting experience into
the stable and lasting form of independent and internally coherent
creation.”70
The process of emplotment extracts a stable and intelligible ‘story’
from the particularities of human action. By outlining the framework
within which human action takes place, the plot offers a possibility to
represent and make sense of this action itself. As such, the poetic con-
figuration has a power to reveal new insights into our lives and actions,
and even a power to change them, insofar as “a life thus examined is
a life changed.”71 Poetic imitation in this sense is a circular process,
revolving around the mediating function of mythos. By articulating our
horizon of understanding, the mythos establishes a possibility to reflect
on ourselves, at the same time revealing and transforming our world.
Mimesis of praxis, thus, is not “the inert transmission of some already
dead deposit of material, but the living transmission of an innovation
always capable of being reactivated by a return to the most creative
moments of poetic activity.”72
Poiesis
Semper, in one of his late essays, asked the following fundamental ques-
tion: “In a most general way, what is the material and subject matter of
all artistic endeavour?” He answered the question himself: “I believe
it is man in all his relations and connections to the world”.73 Semper’s
emphasis on these ‘relations and connections’ brought him close to the
Aristotelian notion of praxis. Rejecting a notion of art as a matter of
79
formal composition, always insisting on its ethical significance and its

power to embody human situations, Semper approached – if in a par-
tial and inarticulate way – a poetics of architecture in the Aristotelian
sense.
Semper’s poetics may be explored by means of Ricoeur’s threefold
mimetic process: the (partial) recognition of praxis, the poetic config-
uration of praxis, and, finally, the self-reflection and potential trans-
formation of praxis. Semper identified two means by which the tacit
background of human existence was brought to articulation: the ritual
and the act of artistic making. These modes of representation were for
Semper two primordial ways to order ‘reality into world’. Both ritual
and artefact represent – although in different ways and to different
degrees – an emplotment: a poetic configuration of reality into a struc-
tured representation. This affinity comes to expression most clearly in
Semper’s notion of the artistic motif. Seen as the primordial reifica-
tion of ritual action, the motif is precisely that poetic configuration of
praxis into story that Ricoeur identified as emplotment. It being the
rhythmic imitation of time embodied in weaving or the cultic gath-
ering represented in hearth and altar, the motifs of art embody the
situational structure of human action (Figure 25). In doing so, they
establish a domain within which ethical orientation can take place. For
Semper, art and architecture are meaningful by virtue of this capacity
for poetic-mimetic representation.
If we adopt Ricoeur’s (and Aristotle’s) terminology, therefore,
Semper’s artistic motif can be described as a mediating link between
praxis and its representation: the primary gathering of praxis into a plot
or story. The role of the motif is to confer to praxis that ‘initial read-
ability’ that Ricoeur wrote about, thus allowing a reflective distance to
emerge through the poetic configuration. This is not a ‘denial’ of reality
in a narrow sense.74 In fact, it is the opposite: a recognition of art and
artistic making as the domain in which the ontological foundations of
a human world first can be recognised.75 Art and architecture involve
a constant interpretation and reappropriation of the latent significance
of human praxis. Echoing Heidegger, Ricoeur notes that art, seen as po-
etic representation, approaches “the heart of reality which is no longer
the world of manipulable objects, but the world into which we have
80
Figure 25. Delphian sacrificial dance. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878),
vol. 1, p. 24. Edinburgh University Library.
been thrown by our birth and within which we try to orient ourselves
by projecting our innermost possibilities upon it, in order that we dwell
there, in the strongest sense of the word.”76
Semper was, as we have seen, interested not so much in art and
architecture as a formal product as he was in the process of making art.
This was not a technical concern in the modern sense, although Der
Stil undeniably ended up as something like a catalogue of techniques.
I believe Semper’s notion of making has more in common with what
Aristotle would call poiesis: a particular mode of making informed by a
particular kind of knowledge. This poetic knowledge was precisely what
Aristotle required of the poet: the capacity to recognise and represent
the concealed unity of human action. Architecture, in Semper’s view,
involves precisely such a ‘thoughtful making’: a making informed by
81
Figure 26. Assyrian sacred tree. Gottfried Semper, Prolegomenon to Der Stil (2nd ed.
1878), vol. 1, p. 73. Edinburgh University Library.
the knowledge of human praxis, whose role it is to clarify and embody

such praxis (Figure 26).
Recognising architecture as mimesis of praxis in the Aristotelian
sense, Semper approached a poetics of architecture. He recognised
82
architecture as an embodiment of human actions and situations as they

are situated in an ethical field, and found this representation to be
crucial for man’s orientation in the world.77 Without this link to praxis –
for Semper, guaranteed by the relative constancy of the artistic motifs –
art and architecture would be unintelligible and meaningless. Semper’s
famous declaration that “the haze of the carnival candles is the true
atmosphere of art” may signify, therefore, something other than the
aesthetic escapism that the passage is often taken to evoke.78 It may
hint that the poetic essence of art – architecture included – lies in its
capacity not to escape reality, but rather to render it visible through the
mask of emplotment.79
In these first three chapters, we have seen how Semper redefined
neoclassical origin theory, locating the origins of architecture in a cre-
ative principle rather than a formal model. Similarly, he redefined the
idea of imitation from an emulation of ideal nature to a creative in-
terpretation of human situations. He relied heavily on Goethe’s theory
of metamorphosis and Bötticher’s notion of architecture as a structural
symbol, yet he refused to accept their conclusion that architecture is
an autonomous imitation of itself. For Semper, architecture was mean-
ingful only insofar as it retained its capacity to represent, in his own
words, “man in all his connections and relations to the world.” It is
this particular mode of representation that I have tried to elucidate by
drawing on the Aristotelian notion of mimesis of praxis: art as the po-
etic configuration of a human world. Semper himself, however, never
developed the poetics of architecture into more than scattered and am-
biguous reflections. The factor that prevented him from pursuing this
insight was, paradoxically, the very means by which he sought to realise
it: his dream of a ‘method of invention’ or a ‘practical aesthetics’.
83
PA RT I I
PRACTICAL AESTHETICS
4: SEMPER AND PRACTICAL
AESTHETICS
S emper’s sensitive recognition of the social and symbolic signifi-

cance of architecture made the shortcomings of contemporary
architectural discourse and practice all the more obvious to him.
“Notwithstanding our many technical advances, we remain far behind
them (our ancestors) in formal beauty, and even in the feeling for the
suitable and the appropriate”, he wrote, a complaint frequently re-
peated throughout his work.1 Yet, the state of decay in the arts was not
merely the fault of the artists. Semper saw the ‘Babel-like confusion’
confronting him at the Great Exhibition of 1851 as “nothing more than
the clear manifestation of certain anomalies within existing social con-
ditions, whose causes and effects up to now could not be seen by the
world so generally and so distinctly.”2 Semper conceived the question
of style not simply as an aesthetic problem, but also as a political, ethi-
cal, and philosophical issue with critical implications for contemporary
society.
The second step of Semper’s theoretical project was intended to
address this critical state of affairs. He alleged that to counter the con-
temporary crisis, it was necessary to systematise architectural design
into a “logical method of inventing”.3 Opposed to the “characterless
schematism and thoughtless caprice”4 of the architecture of his day,
Semper’s method was to teach how to “make artistic use of our social
needs as factors in the style of our architecture in the same way as has
been done in the past.”5 This procedure would contribute towards
87
getting a clear insight over [art and architecture’s] whole

province and perhaps also it would form the base of a doc-
trine of Style, and a sort of topic or Method, how to in-
vent, which may guide us to find a more natural way of
invention.6
The explicit aim of Semper’ Practical Aesthetics was to establish

the methodology for this ambitious enterprise.7 Not merely a history
of individual works, the practical aesthetics was to define the forces –
historical, material, and spiritual – affecting the origin and develop-
ment of art, and in this way prepare a systematic approach to artistic
making.8 By means of the practical aesthetics, Semper attempted to
turn art’s poetic-mimetic potential into a systematic procedure “that
with a logical certainty would lead to true form”.9 I will trace this at-
tempt through three steps: first, Semper’s theory of formal beauty, with
its implied formalisation of the artistic motifs; second, his theory of
symbolic form and its corresponding ideal of aesthetic autonomy; and
third, his attempt to ‘factorialise’ the correspondence between art and
society by means of a formula for style.
T H E T H E O RY O F F O R M A L B E A U T Y
Little discussed in contemporary scholarship, Semper’s theory of for-

mal beauty [Theorie des Formell-Schönen10 ] has often been regarded as
irrelevant and incomprehensible – a curious mixture of Naturphilosophie
and abstract aestheticism, with a rather dubious connection to Semper’s
overall project. This judgement is undoubtedly caused by the obscurity
of the theory itself. Deeply ambiguous and at times desperately tedious,
Semper never managed to integrate it successfully into his main body of
work. Nor, for that matter, did he complete it as a coherent argument.
Although the theory of formal beauty enjoys a prominent presence
in Semper’s writings, its various presentations are full of discrepan-
cies, presenting considerable difficulties for the reader. Yet, it may be
that these discrepancies – and the intellectual struggle that gave rise to
them – should make us pay more attention rather than less, and that a
88
SEMPER AND PRACTICAL AESTHETICS
Figure 27. The adornment of the human body: Egyptian necklaces. Gottfried
Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 1, p. 14. Edinburgh University Library.
reconsideration of the Theorie des Formell-Schönen can yield new insight

into Semper’s overall project.
The most accessible introduction to Semper’s theory of for-
mal beauty is found in his Zurich lecture, “Über die formelle
Gesetzmässigkeit des Schmuckes”.11 The lecture begins in a familiar
way, defining art as the means by which man imitates and appropriates
the laws of nature.12 In this lecture, however, Semper wanted to probe
deeper into the nature of this ‘cosmic’ law.13 With this in mind, he re-
turned once again to the notion of the motif, in which such lawfulness
manifests itself in its purest form. A formal analysis of the motifs, he
suggested, might reveal the very principle of configuration in art and
nature alike.
Some of the simplest and most primordial examples of the artistic
motifs were found in the adornment of the human body (Figures 27
and 28). Semper examined three categories of such adornment: the
hanging [Behang], the encircling [Ring], and those that emphasise
direction [Richtungsschmuck].14 The earring, for instance, is a Behang
which adorns the body by acting as a reference to its totality.15 Although
89
Figure 28. The adornment of the human body: Egyptian headdresses. Gottfried
Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 1, p. 198. Edinburgh University Library.
adorning only a small part of the body (i.e., the earlobe), the Behang
establishes a local symmetry which contrasts with the body as a whole.
In this way, it makes manifest the relationship between part and to-
tality. As Semper lyrically described it: “Thus the ear-ring, by making
manifest the vertical pull of gravity, accentuates the soft, . . . gravity-
defying curve of the neck.”16 Originating in the universal human
desire to imitate the wholeness of the cosmos, the Behang estab-
lishes the body as a dignified totality by means of a contrasting
symmetry. The other categories of adornment work in similar ways
but with different means. Whereas the ring emphasises the body’s
proportionality (e.g., the arm-rings of the Assyrian warriors), the
Richtungsschmuck emphasises direction and movement, as the seemingly
weightless flight of garlands contrasts and heightens the body’s line of
gravity (Figure 29).17
The three categories of adornment embody three particular mo-
tifs of art and represent, as such, three distinct kinds of order. So far,
we are within the framework of Semper’s origin theory; however, in
the attempt to establish a scientific basis for his practical aesthetics,
Semper went one step further. He extracted from the motifs certain
90
Figure 29. The adornment of the human body: Assyrian warrior with armrings.
Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 1, p. 22. Edinburgh University Library.
principles of configuration which, in turn, could serve as axioms for a

‘science of design’. The symmetry of the Behang, the proportionality
of the ring, and the directional order of the Richtungsschmuck were for
Semper more than genres of decoration. They represented universal
91
principles of configuration [Gestaltungsmomente], governing artistic as

well as natural form.18 On the basis of these three principles – symmetry,
proportionality, and directionality – Semper set out to establish his the-
ory of formal beauty.
The importance of the Gestaltungsmomente is confirmed in the
Prolegomenon to Der Stil and in “Attributes of Formal Beauty”.19 In
these essays, Semper applied a considerably more abstract approach,
expanding the scope of his survey from works of art to phenomena of
nature. If we follow the progressing complexity of natural form from
the crystal through to man, he suggested, we can trace the universal
principles of configuration from their most basic forms to their high-
est manifestation.20 Whereas in the essay on adornment, the Gestal-
tungsmomente were closely linked to the ritual origins of the motif,
Semper now presented them as purely formal principles. Instead of
Behang, Ring, and Richtungsschmuck, he now referred strictly to the prin-
ciples of configuration: symmetry, proportionality, and directionality.
His aim, he told his readers, was to “examine the formal laws and logic
noticeable in the creation of artistic works . . . , to comprehend the laws
of beauty in general and artistic beauty in particular by a purely empir-
ical method.”21
Semper started his investigation in the Prolegomenon by look-
ing at the simplest natural form: the “absolute, all-embracing uni-
formity [of ] the circle”.22 The circle and the sphere are examples
of a symmetrical Gestaltungsmoment, displaying a radial symmetry by
Semper labelled ‘eurythmy’.23 This radial order is primarily man-
ifest in crystalline structures such as snow crystals and minerals,
but is also found in organic beings; for instance, in the cross sec-
tion of the stem of a plant (Figure 30).24 Eurythmic configura-
tions are ordered around a central point and appear as self-sufficient
wholes:
Their character . . . is perfect regularity, . . . in a sense they

are true worlds within worlds because they isolate themselves
completely from the universe, are self-sufficient, and by their
form express the possibility of existing without the outer
world.25
92
Figure 30. The eurythmic principle of configuration as found in flowers and snow
crystals. Gottfried Semper, Prolegomenon to Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 1, pp. xxv–vi.
As self-sufficient and isolated ‘worlds’, these formations do not

refer to a larger whole, but rather establish themselves as independent
microcosms.26 This character of wholeness is crucial for their applica-
tion in art. The wreath which crowns the human head and the circular
93
Figure 31. Axial symmetry as found in natural form. Gottfried Semper, Prole-
gomenon to Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 1, p. xxxi. Edinburgh University Library.
enclosure erected around the hearth are both manifestations of mi-

crocosmic eurythmy, expressing “the absolute concept of encirclement
symbolically, and therefore allud[ing] to the encircled as the proper
object, and the centre of the eurythmic order”.27
One by one, and in obsessive detail, Semper examined the Gestal-
tungsmomente and their manifestations in nature as well as art. Axial
symmetry, found in higher organisms like plants and animals, is a man-
ifestation of the relationship between part and whole, Semper explained
(Figure 31).28 It is a macrocosmic principle of configuration which al-
ways refers to a larger whole.29 The same is the case for the principle of
proportion, whose domain is the orderly relationship between parts.30
Semper’s use of the terms ‘microcosm’ and ‘macrocosm’ echoed a long
intellectual tradition. The idea of the human body as a mikros kosmos – a
‘little world’ which participates in and makes manifest a larger whole –
is ancient, running through Greek philosophy as well as Christian
theology as a fundamental paradigm of order.31 In this tradition, the
94
microcosm of the body was understood as an analogous representation

of a cosmic whole, mediating between the universal and the particular.32
As presented by Semper, however, microcosmic theory was radically
transformed. From being a means of expressing the link between the
part and the whole, microcosm was now understood as a completely
self-sufficient configuration, constituted by the immanent interaction
of Gestaltungsmomente.
Semper was not alone in this conceptual shift. He appealed, among
others, to his contemporary, Adolf Zeising, whose Neue Lehre von den
Proportionen des menschlichen Körpers (1854) described the human body
as a ‘Bild der Gottheit’ and as a paradigm of beauty in art.33 Although
Zeising still appealed to the old idea of beauty as a manifestation of the
good, his analysis in fact rendered beauty a purely formal phenomenon,
constituted by symmetry and proportion. Drawing on Goethe’s organi-
cism, Zeising’s aesthetic morphology sought to establish principles for
aesthetic-organic configurations.34 He viewed these configurations as
autonomous and self-sufficient wholes or microcosms, completely sep-
arated from any macrocosmic reference.35 August Wilhelm Schlegel
provides the most coherent summing up of this attitude and brings us
back to the question of architecture:
In the animal world . . ., perfect symmetry announces a

complete and independent, autonomous whole, ‘a small
world’, and in architecture the appearance of wholeness is
brought about in a similar way. Only in this way is the work
recognised and isolated qua work: i.e., as the realisation of a
unique and indivisible plan.36
Schlegel’s notion of the microcosm of art comes close to Semper’s

own idea of the crystal as a mikros kosmos. Both form an alternative
and autonomous order with no relation to a reality outside itself. No
longer signifying mimetic participation, microcosm has come to mean
a self-sufficient whole, constituting “true worlds within worlds”.37
A similar transformation is apparent in Semper’s use of the term
‘macrocosm’. Traditionally signifying the whole – that is, the paradigm
for microcosmic imitation – in Semper it became itself a mode of
95
representation: a reference of the part to the whole. In this sense, his

notion of macrocosmic order actually resembles the traditional notion
of microcosm: “the reference to the relationship between the particular
and the universal”.38
The immanent notion of microcosm came to its most explicit ex-
pression in Semper’s analysis of the third Gestaltungsmoment: the prin-
ciple of directionality. There are three directional forces working on
all phenomena, Semper explained. The simplest and most primordial
is the force of gravity, which constitutes a constant pull downwards.
The second – rather loosely defined – is the “willpower of the living
organism.”39 This is not a Schopenhauerian Wille, but simply the di-
rection of movement: vertical in plants and horizontal in most animals,
including humans.40 Working counter to both gravity and willpower,
moreover, is a third direction: the vital force [Lebenskraft]. Semper in-
sisted that this is the predominant direction of the organism, working
horizontally in most animals and vertically in man, coinciding with
their respective axis of growth [Gestaltungsachsen].41
Against the inevitable burden of gravity, then, living beings put
up two modes of resistance: the axes of will and growth. These axes
take on different characteristics in different kinds of beings. In fish, for
instance, the directions of growth and will coincide: the only conflict
of forces active here is between the vertical line of gravity and the hor-
izontal direction of movement and growth, a relationship manifested
in the unidirectional shape of the fish head.42 In man, on the other
hand, each of the three axes has its own direction. His vital force points
vertically upwards, his direction of will moves horizontally along, and
the force of gravity pulls him downwards. This coordinate system of
forces is manifested most clearly in the human head, Semper argued,
where the vertical axis stands perpendicular to the direction of the eyes,
ears, and mouth (Figure 32). The head, as the manifestation (or, using
Semper’s terminology, the ‘authority’43 ) of direction, represents “the
high symbol of absolute free will, equally independent of self-
preservation and material constraints.”44
The principle of directionality sums up Semper’s theory of formal
beauty. The three Gestaltungsmomente constitute a field of forces in
which individual forces interact with each other.45 Both natural and
96
Figure 32. The human head as a manifestation of the equilibrium of forces. Gottfried
Semper, sketch of a woman’s head from the Parthenon Frieze. Institut für Geschichte
und Theorie der Architektur (gta), ETH Zürich.
97
Figure 33. The human body as a manifestation of the equilibrium of forces. Gottfried
Semper, sketch of female figures from the Parthenon, eastern pediment. Institut für
Geschichte und Theorie der Architektur (gta), ETH Zürich.
artificial configurations are formed by this ‘conflict of forces’.46 Like

Schelling, who proclaimed that “What we call matter is nothing but
force”,47 Semper presented Gestalt as a hierarchical system of forces.48
In the lowest manifestations of inorganic form, the three Gestaltungsmo-
mente are not individually manifest, but rather “converge into a single
moment”.49 From the nondirectional centre of gravity in the crystal
to the axiality of most plants, and further to the three-dimensional
organisation of the animal, the principles of configuration evolve grad-
ually from simple to complex. This evolution culminates in the hu-
man body, where the three axes of gravity, growth, and will are all
distinctly present, forming a three-dimensional vector system corre-
sponding to the three spatial dimensions (Figure 33).50 The interac-
tion between these independently articulated forces is what defines
formal beauty: “not so much an attribute of the work as an effect, in
which the most diverse moments within and without the object . . . are
simultaneously active”.51 These ‘moments’ (or principles), moreover,
98
are ‘absolutely formal’:
. . . that is to say, they adhere to the abstract and formal at-

tributes of the finished phenomenon; they exclude as foreign
all that is extrinsic to the phenomenon, everything that does
not relate to it directly, in particular the development in his-
tory and the differences in material.52
Understanding beauty as the interrelation of formal Gestal-

tungsmomente, Semper developed an aesthetic theory in which all
Gestalt – natural or artificial – can be seen as the autonomous result
of a formal configuration.53
In Semper’s opinion, the three Gestaltungsmomente – symmetry,
proportionality, and directionality – together form a complete whole
and are the exclusive factors of formal beauty. Just as it is impossi-
ble to envision a fourth dimension of space, he argued, it is “impos-
sible to add a fourth quality homogeneous with the three mentioned
above.”54 This prompts a question, however: If Gestalt is the man-
ifestation of inner forces, and if the same forces are at work in all
phenomena, natural or manmade, why do these forces manifest them-
selves so differently in different things? For Semper, the answer was in-
evitable: The inner forces manifest themselves differently according to
the purpose of the configuration. In addition to the Gestaltungsmomente
themselves, therefore, there is something guiding their interac-
tion. This, Semper conceded, is a fourth and superior principle of
configuration:
The fourth element is the cardinal point of the phenomenon;

it is the phenomenon’s purpose. The quality of beauty that
arises from the interaction and orderly arrangement of the
parts of the phenomenon around this fourth center is fitness
of content [Inhaltsangemessenheit].55
Fitness of content, as Semper explained further, arises from the

“harmonious interaction of these different factors, making the whole
99
appear as unity of purpose [Zweckeinheit]”.56 To achieve this unity is the

ultimate aim of the collaboration of the three Gestaltungsmomente, and
the telos of the organism as a whole.
The significance of this notion of purpose becomes clearer if we
look at how it manifests itself. As long as the purpose differs for different
kinds of beings, so will the means by which this purpose is expressed.
The purpose of minerals and crystals, for instance, is limited to their
actual Gestalt, determined by the indifferent point of gravity. Radial
symmetry is, therefore, an adequate manifestation of the purpose of
the crystal, making its ‘authority of purpose’ identical to the ‘author-
ity of symmetry’; namely, the formal accentuation of the centre.57 The
same is the case for some plant and animal formations, Semper ex-
plained, and even for simple architectural forms like the pyramid and
the obelisk, where purpose is manifested simply through formal reg-
ularity (Figure 34).58 For higher plants and animals, the expression
of purpose is more complex. In these configurations, the interaction
between different forces constitutes a unique Gestalt with a particular
character. In more complex plants, this character is usually constituted
by means of proportion, which serves as “the reflector of the unit of
purpose”.59 In other animals (‘snake, pike, the stag’) and in industrial
objects (‘the fast sailing ship, the war chariot, the tobacco pipe’), the di-
rectional authority is dominant.60 Only in man and his works, however,
does the manifestation of purpose reach its full complexity:
Here . . . the unit of purpose is reflected in the most noble

and expressive way because two authorities, the microcos-
mic and the directional, jointly reflect it. The way in which
the authority of purpose appears in the Greek temple is anal-
ogous to the way it appears in man: the crowning pediment
is the proportional dominant part and, at the same time,
the reflector of the approaching sacrificial procession of the
Hellenes.61
In the particular beauty that emerges when something is fit to

its purpose, the purely formal configuration is sublimated into an ex-
pression of goodness and truth. In Semper’s words, “Fitness of content
100
Figure 34. The eurythmic principle of configuration as found in architectural form.

Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 2, p. 360. Edinburgh University Library.
adds to formal beauty the attribute of goodness; in other words, it is

what the Greeks called ‘callogathia’”.62 Although the Gestaltungsmo-
mente of symmetry, proportion, and direction are purely formal, their
purposeful interaction transcends the aesthetic sphere and is sublimated
101
into the domain of ethics. This is the highest level of formal beauty in
which pure Gestalt takes on the role of a moral symbol.
Semper is here at his most impenetrable, leaving the reader to
extrapolate his half-developed notions and contradictory distinctions.
Still, some conclusions can be drawn. Semper presented purposive-
ness as a result of the interaction of the Gestaltungsmomente. Purpose,
in other words, is no longer understood as ‘that for the sake of’, but
rather as an immanent property of form. This immanentisation of pur-
pose is perhaps the most critical implication of Semper’s theory of for-
mal beauty. It prepares a notion of art as an autonomous microcosm:
an aesthetic totality with its own organic principles of configuration,
separated from human reality in everything but as a formal symbol.
This line of argument is close to modern aesthetics as it had culmi-
nated in Kant, and I will return to its significance in later chapters. A
more immediate question must be addressed first, however – namely,
of how it was possible for Semper to reconcile his theory of formal
beauty with his anthropological notion of architectural origins. How
could the motif – understood as mimesis of praxis – suddenly be equated
with a system of forces and seen as a product of formal laws? Although
Semper never answered this question satisfactorily, he did make some
interesting attempts, the most coherent of which is found in his theory
of symbolic form.
T H E T H E O RY O F S Y M B O L I C F O R M A N D T H E
A E S T H E T I C E V O L U T I O N O F A RT
Semper made several attempts at classifying and systematising the no-

tion of symbol. In his London lectures, for instance, he drew a three-
fold distinction between ‘natural’, ‘technical’, and ‘mystical’ symbols.63
Natural symbols, he explained, “are derived from analogies in nature
and [are] self-understanding [sic] for every one who has some feel-
ing for nature and the dynamical significance of natural forms”.64 The
motifs of art – e.g., the wreath, the knot, the bead – are all exam-
ples of such natural symbols: primordial manifestations of the hu-
man Nachahmungstrieb.65 Technical symbols are closely related to their
102
natural counterparts, permeating works of art and industry as faint

traces of old techniques and materials.66 The translation of the motif
of binding into the stylised mouldings of architecture or furniture of-
fers a good example of technical symbols: the gradual modification of
natural symbols into conventional representations of construction.
If natural and technical symbols form a harmonious synthesis, the
last category fits more uneasily into the triad. This is what Semper called
mystical or tendentious [tendeziöse] symbols. These were not “intended
to be of general understanding”, he explained, but were “composed on
mystical types, comprehensible only to those who were initiated into
the secrets of religion.”67 The mystical symbols are conventional signs,
referring to “the special destination [sic] of the building or to the God
of the temple and the religion of the founders.”68 In most preclassical
art, however, conventional symbols cannot be singled out as an inde-
pendent set of signs, but rather are merged with natural and technical
symbols. In Assyrian art, for example, free art had not yet emancipated
itself from utility and technique.69 Its animal-head furniture, bullneck
capitals, caryatids, and colossi all merge natural, technical, and mystical
symbolism in a manner paradigmatic for primitive art (Figure 35).70
Notwithstanding its symbolic value, the preclassical synthesis of
tendentious and natural symbolism was a fragile one. In Egyptian art,
for instance, Semper claimed that natural symbolism had been alto-
gether suppressed “by that mystical symbolism which had been ex-
pressly invented by the priestly foundations . . . so as not to be under-
stood by the vulgars and forming the hieratical language intelligible
for priests only.”71 The ‘hieratical Pharaoh style’ substituted natural
symbols for conventional hieroglyphs.72 So, while the natural sym-
bol is a presentation of its own essence, the tendentious symbol is
merely an allegorical representation of external ideas. In drawing this
distinction, Semper aligned himself with German idealist aesthetics.
Goethe, for instance, saw the allegory as a questionable form whose
alien content threatened the purity of art.73 Herder proclaimed sym-
bolic (as opposed to allegorical) representation as the only truly artistic
form, in which the artwork signified nothing but itself.74 The sym-
bol was seen as an immediate Wesensschau and the work of art as
a “self-expressing Gestalt symbol”.75 Karl Philipp Moritz summed
103
Figure 35. Persian bullneck capital. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878), vol. 1,
p. 358. Edinburgh University Library.
104
up this line of thinking:
The figure, insofar as it is beautiful, should signify nothing

and speak of nothing which is external, but speak only of
itself. Its external surface should speak of its inner essence
and only thus be significant. True beauty consists in this; that
a thing means only itself, signifies only itself, and comprises
only itself; that it is in itself a complete whole.76
The distinction between symbol and allegory would become a

powerful conceptual tool for the emerging discipline of art history.
Whereas preclassical art had not yet been emancipated from its alle-
gorical fetters, art at its highest stage was freed from external concepts
and dedicated to pure beauty. The development from allegorical to
symbolic art could be construed in terms of a historical evolution, de-
scribing the rise and fall of civilisations according to their degree of
aesthetic autonomy.
Semper eagerly adopted this line of argument. Although the
preclassical merging of natural and tendentious symbols (or, to put
it in other words, of symbolic and allegorical modes of representation)
was interesting in a historiographical sense, it was still immature with
respect to formal beauty.77 He argued that the Egyptians, in their at-
tempt to represent an extra-aesthetic content in tangible form, were
“sinning against the rules of formal beauty”.78 The tendentious con-
tent of Egyptian art prevented it from achieving aesthetic perfection.
Only in classical art would such a fulfilment take place; only here did
art emancipate itself from tendentious allegories and realise itself as
formal beauty. According to Semper, Greek art was
completely emancipated from all elements [external to itself ]

as a beauty whose only purpose is itself. This emancipation
from the nonformal elements of form . . . was the constant
aspiration of Greek art, in big and in small.79
Unlike Assyrian art, in which representations of plants and animals

still carried a mystical meaning, the Greeks had disentangled the double
105
Figure 36. The Greek cyma as structural symbol. Gottfried Semper, sketch from Karl
Bötticher’s Die Tektonik der Hellenen (1852). Institut für Geschichte und Theorie der
Architektur (gta), ETH Zürich.
symbolism of their ancestors and adopted their motifs in a purely

aesthetic-structural manner.80 Greek art, as Herder put it, “had been
made to speak as art, without alien attributes”.81 Semper used the Greek
cyma moulding as an example of such aesthetic purification (Figure 36).
In the cyma, he explained (with an unmistakable reference to Bötticher),
mystical meaning was shed for a pure expression of the “conflict be-
tween the vital force and gravity”.82 Only with this aesthetic eman-
cipation could art become truly organic, he insisted.83 ‘Barbaric’ art,
on the other hand, would always remain an ‘aggregate’ in which “the
elements of structure and decoration are joined in a more or less inor-
ganic, almost mechanical way”.84 Emancipated from any outer purpose,
Greek art had been ‘spiritualised’ [Vergeistigert] into a formal-aesthetic
106
equilibrium of forces, governed by the laws of formal beauty and com-

posed by means of symmetry, proportion, and direction. As a spiritu-
alisation [Vergeistigung] of traditional motifs of art, Greek architecture
displays a ‘purposiveness without purpose,’ and presents as such a uni-
versal expression of formal beauty.85
By construing architectural history as a gradual spiritualisation
of the motifs of art, Semper established an important vehicle for his
practical aesthetics. Although originating in the mimesis of praxis, art at
its highest stage metamorphoses into a purely formal beauty, in which
its reference to praxis has been fully spiritualised. This spiritualisation
or sublimation takes place through a historical evolution whereby the
origin of art in praxis is gradually reified as pure form. Such a formali-
sation was a necessary presupposition for the practical aesthetics. Only
if it is possible to extract positive laws of configuration from the motifs
of art could a method of invention be formulated. Far from an isolated
oddity in Semper’s texts, therefore, the theory of formal beauty with
its accompanying notion of symbolic representation forms an integral
part of the practical aesthetics.
THE FORMULA FOR STYLE
If the theory of formal beauty defined the formal laws governing the
artistic motifs, it was clearly not enough to explain the complex phe-
nomenon of art. To do so, it would be necessary to grasp not only
the formal configuration of the motif, but also the way this configura-
tion was modified according to particular circumstances. The theory
of formal beauty, thus, was merely the first step towards a practical aes-
thetics. Recognising that the work of art was not merely Gestalt, but
also a cultural product, Semper admitted that his practical aesthetics
was incomplete without a theory of style that could
comprehend in detail the law-like character [Gesetzlichkeit]

that becomes apparent in art during the process of becoming,
to deduce generally valid principles from what one has found,
and in accordance with them to establish the basic features
of an empirical theory of building.86
107
Such a theory should not only consider the demands of Gestalt,

but should also deal with more unruly factors such as cultural condi-
tions and historical change. A theory of style must consider all these
factors, including the way they interacted in the work of art. By means
of this theory, Semper wanted to explain the “correspondence of an art
object with its genesis, with all the preconditions and circumstances of
its becoming”.87 The task of the practical aesthetics was to map this
correspondence and to establish a method by which to “identify the
different values of a [mathematical] function composed of many vari-
able coefficients, . . . primarily with the intention of revealing the inner
necessity that governs the world of artistic form, as it does nature.”88
Semper’s practical aesthetics, then, presented the relationship be-
tween formal laws, cultural praxis, and architectural representation as
a mathematical function, in which art is understood as a product of
a functional relationship between verifiable coefficients. Any work of
art could be seen as “the uniform result or function of several variable
values that unite in certain combinations and form the coefficients of a
general equation.”89 These ‘certain combinations’ could be expressed
by the formula U = C(x,y,z,t,v,w . . . ). Semper further explained that
As soon as one of these coefficients changes, the result U must

also be different and must in its general appearance show a
distinct character that distinguishes it from other closely or
distantly related results. Where this is not the case and where
the result does not show modifications that correspond to the
changed elements making up the function, there it is false and
lacking in quality.90
Let us take a closer look at these coefficients of style. As we have

already seen, U stands for the ‘result’: the work of art or, more cor-
rectly, the style that unites the individual works into a coherent cultural
phenomenon. Semper defined style as “giving emphasis and artistic sig-
nificance to the basic idea and to all intrinsic and extrinsic coefficients
that modify the embodiment of the theme in a work of art.”91 The
formula for style was supposed to define the way in which these coef-
ficients work together. The functional expression – the C in Semper’s
108
formula – is the mathematical expression of the relationship between

the coefficients. It is an expression of the essential mode of creation,
comprising all aspects that could affect the work of art, architecture, or
craft.92 The variables, Semper declared, are of two kinds:
. . . first, those elements that are contained, as it were, in the

work itself and that comply with certain compelling natural
and physical laws that are the same under all circumstances
and at all times; second, those elements that have an influence
on the genesis of the work of art from the outside.93
Among the first kind – the ‘inner necessities’ – Semper empha-

sised first and foremost the purpose of the work.94 Also belonging to
this class are the formal, material, and technical aspects that consti-
tute the artefact. Although Semper does not say so explicitly, it should
be clear that these inner coefficients have much in common with the
Gestaltungsmomente encountered in the theory of formal beauty, whose
harmonious interaction constitutes the purposiveness of the work of
art. Seen as natural and a-historical, the Gestaltungsmomente exercise
the same claim on the artist at all times and in all cultures, constituting
stable and unchanging inner coefficients of art.95
The external variables of style are more multifarious: “to be taken
into account first are local . . . influences and factors, such as climate,
topography, national education, political-religious and social institu-
tions, historical memories and traditions”, Semper explained.96 Also
included among them is the personal contribution of the artist: “the
artist’s hand, his individual taste and artistic attitude.”97 This category
of coefficients comprises the historical variables of style, changing with
time and circumstance and effecting the historical transformation of the
motifs through time.98 The formula for style attempted to account for
all these coefficients and to define their interrelation in order to deter-
mine the correct or incorrect correspondence between an artwork and
its origins. With this device, Semper could, among other things, ‘prove’
the inadequacy of contemporary eclectics, because they had failed to
let the change in the variables produce a change in the final result. In
other words, they had failed to let style be the outcome of contemporary
109
conditions. Semper had produced a kind of ultimate test for rating the
truth content of architecture, and was indeed approaching the ‘fun-
damental principle for invention’ that he had sought for so long.99
Semper never attempted to implement the formula directly. He
saw it as a ‘crutch’, an idealised expression for the complex reality of
art.100 Even on an analogical level, however, the formula reveals an am-
bitious dream: that of capturing the history of art as a system in which
all components are fully accessible to the historian. This dream pre-
supposes a transparency of history and culture, implying that if one
only understands society well enough, one can calculate its artistic
expression – and vice versa: from a given style one can deduce the
cultural conditions that produced it. Art, then, becomes a document of
cultural history, “an account”, as Semper wrote, “of the state of civili-
sation and of the character of bygone generations, like the fossil shells
and the coral trees give us an account of the low organisations, which
once inhabited them.”101
An extraordinary example of this idea of correspondence between
artistic expression and cultural conditions is found in Semper’s well-
known comparison between the Egyptian situla and the Greek hydria
(Figure 37). Both are ceramic vessels made to collect and carry water;
yet, they utilise the formal and purposive repertoire of art in very dif-
ferent ways. Shaped to fetch water from the shallow banks of the Nile,
the situla is vertical and smooth with a simple form. It has a low balanc-
ing point and a slender, hinged handle, making it suitable to carry on a
yoke – a feature confirmed in its lack of a foot or base. The significance
of these features transcends a purely functional level, however. The
rounded, drooping vessel of the situla is typical of the monolithic and
unidirectional Gestaltungsmoment that in Semper’s view characterises
Egyptian art. In the hanging vessel, the three axes governing Gestalt
were not yet fully and freely expressed, but rather compressed into
a simple manifestation of gravity. This corresponds, Semper implied,
to the hierarchical structure of Egyptian society, with its principle of
subordination and religious dogmatism.
The Greek hydria, on the other hand, with its upward-striving
posture and articulated foot and mouth, represents the three direc-
tional forces in their full articulation. The hydria was shaped to fetch
110
Figure 37. Greek hydria and Egyptian situla. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed.
1878), vol. 2, p. 4. Edinburgh University Library.
water from springs rather than riverbeds; hence, its generously receiv-
ing mouth (Figure 38). It was meant to be carried on the head rather
than on a yoke; hence, its stable proportions and its wide foot. Yet, the
hydria does more than simply fulfil its function. The Gestalt of the vessel
takes on the role as a ‘national emblem’, signifying the moral perfection
of Greek art and society alike.102 Semper enthusiastically espoused the
value of the hydria at the expense of its Egyptian counterpart:
In what meaningful way did this insignificant artwork ex-

press symbolically the floating spirit and clear essence
of the spring-loving Greeks; compared to the situla, in
which . . . gravity and equilibrium created a quite opposite
expression, yet no less representative of the spirit of the
Egyptian people . . . The essence of all Egyptian architecture
seems to be contained within this product of the Nile, like in
an embryo, a relationship equally apparent between the form
of the hydria and certain types of Doric architecture!103
111
Figure 38. Greek women carrying hydrias. Gottfried Semper, Der Stil (2nd ed. 1878)
vol. 2, p. 5. Edinburgh University Library.
In this curious attempt at finding formal equivalents for moral

factors, the underlying assumptions of Semper’s practical aesthetics
become clear. The meaning of the artwork is a property of its formal
Gestalt. Art’s capacity for representation has become a matter of corre-
spondence between formal and sociocultural factors, a correspondence
that, in turn, has been sublimated into a moral symbol. In Semper’s
theory of style, the artwork is reduced to a passive Ab-bild – it merely
corresponds to the given conditions of society.104 Even when Semper
incorporated spiritual and ideal factors in his formula for style, these
had themselves been quantified into ‘factors’ corresponding to tangi-
ble artistic expressions. As Stockmeyer writes, “In place of an ideal
concept of purpose . . ., the things are explained with reference only to
themselves, according to the law of cause and effect . . . History-writing
becomes a ‘Géometrie des forces’.”105
Semper’s reading of the situla and hydria was based on comparison
as a methodological tool. A comparative method, needless to say, relies
on the availability of commensurable entities. Semper had established
this commensurability in his theory of formal beauty and refined it in
the formula for style. By presenting the artwork as a result of the lawful
112
interaction of coefficients, the formula for style made it possible to

compare art through time and place. The formula itself – the basic in-
terrelation between coefficients, that is – remains the same throughout
time. The ‘result’ of the formula, thus, is the commensurable outcome
of a standard set of relations. Architectural styles from different histor-
ical epochs can be understood as commensurable phenomena insofar
as they can all be reduced to the same equation. As products of the
same functional relationship, their difference is merely a product of
the varying influence of historically determined coefficients. The for-
mula was an attempt to find an expression for style in which the variety
of elements constituting it, as well as the products resulting from it,
could be presented in a clear and commensurable way.
113
5 : T H E C O M PA R AT I V E M E T H O D
“In raschem Siegeslauf hat die vergleichende Methode ein Gebiet des
Erkennens nach dem anderen ihrer Herrschaft unterworfen und mit
wie herrlichem Erfolg.”
E. Zitelmann 1
S emper’s practical aesthetics involved several methodological steps.

If the theory of formal beauty explained the ‘intrinsic coefficients’
of art, and the formula for style explained their modification by particu-
lar historical conditions, one step was still missing: a way to understand
the correspondence between style and society as it unfolds through
history. Missing, in other words, was an overall matrix in which indi-
vidual historical moments could be coordinated into a comprehensive
system of world history. If this could be achieved, it would be possible to
explain the correspondence between artistic form and social-material
conditions throughout history – for the first time establishing a com-
plete and systematic science of the origin and development of art.
Looking for precedents for this ambitious project, Semper found
contemporary human sciences in a deplorable state. In his view, the
lack of proper methodology had made the study of man a “chaos of
facts and experiences” accumulated “without coherence or principles”.2
To counter this confusion, Semper sought a method that could “find
again those connections between the things, and . . . transform into
an organic system of comparison what was before only an exterior
114
T H E C O M PA R AT I V E M E T H O D
and more or less arbitrary system of coordination and of exterior

order.”3 Such a move from an ‘analytic’ to a ‘synthetic’ science, he
argued, had already been achieved in a few other disciplines:
Philosophy, history, politics and a few other branches of the

natural sciences were raised to [the] comparative viewpoint
by the great men of the past centuries, while in the other
sciences, because of the abundance and complexity of their
material, inferences only timidly begin to join with research.4
In Semper’s opinion, comparison was the methodological device

capable of elevating the history of art to a proper science: “The compar-
ative method applied to the study of the history of art is the only way to
achieve a true knowledge and appreciation of these important moments
of the monumental style”.5 He was not alone in making this appeal. The
comparative method had been celebrated as the nineteenth century’s
‘ruler of science’6 and the means by which the ‘individual event’ of
history and culture could be lifted “up to the level of more general
truths”.7
C O M PA R AT I V E A R C H I T E C T U R E
Semper’s dream of establishing a comparative science of architecture

was not without precedents. To order historical samples chronolog-
ically and to compare them according to scale was a strategy applied
already by Serlio, Palladio, and Scamozzi, to mention but a few.8 These
early comparative histories were rather modest in scope, limiting them-
selves to a few building types and the geographical area of Europe.
J. B. Fischer von Erlach (1656–1723) took a more comprehensive
approach in his Entwurf einer historischen Architektur (1721), which
has been called the first comparative world history of architecture
(Figure 39).9 In the format of a picture book with short comments
on each entry, Fischer von Erlach presented a broad selection of works
both real and mythical: “the most noted buildings of foreign nations,
both ancient and modern, taken from the most approv’d historians,
115
Figure 39. Johann Bernhard Fischer von Erlach, Entwurf einer historischen Architek-
tur, Vienna 1721, book III, fol. XV. By permission of the Syndics of Cambridge Uni-
versity Library.
original medals, remarkable ruins and curious authentick designs”.10

Providing a cross-cultural and transhistorical overview of architecture,
Fischer von Erlach sought to demonstrate the existence of universal
rules of symmetry and regularity that unite even the most diverse styles
and customs.11
Despite its comparative ambitions, the Entwurf actually presented
little by way of a systematic comparison. Fischer von Erlach focused on
the individual qualities of each work rather than their common features.
In this sense, his work had more in common with the baroque Wunder-
Kammer than with a modern collection, emphasising each object’s
emblematic meaning rather than the internal logic of the collection
116
itself.12 Throughout the eighteenth century, this focus would change.

Julien-David Leroy (1724–1803), for example, used comparison as a
vehicle for a systematic historiography in his Les Ruines des plus beaux
monuments de la Grèce (1758). Leroy’s focus was no longer on the em-
blematic value of the works depicted, but rather on the relationship
between them: “My aim in measuring the monuments was primar-
ily to find out the relationship of different Greek monuments among
themselves and with those of the peoples who came before and af-
ter them in the mastery of the fine arts, as well as the relationship of
Greek monuments with those described by Vitruvius.”13 This principle
is illustrated in Leroy’s famous table (Figure 40), which shows the his-
torical development of Egyptian, Phoenician, Christian, Greek, and
Roman temples.14 Here, we see architecture evolve from the simple
to the complex in a series of typological transformations: a model that
would have radical implications for the way architectural history was
conceived. As Bergdoll points out: “The Greek temple was no longer
the inviolable type of perfection, but rather a moment of harmony and
perfection on a longer developmental continuum. While Leroy was not
the first to create such plates lining up histories of building types by floor
plan, he was the first to use them as the basis for a theory of comparative
architectural history.”15 With Leroy, comparison had become an instru-
ment by which to measure historical development and to classify works
of architecture according to evolutionary lines of progress or decay.
Semper did not refer to Leroy when seeking precedents for
his own Vergleichende Baulehre. However, he did appeal to the work
of one of Leroy’s students: Jean-Nicolas-Louis Durand (1760–1834),
whose books he found “remarkable for the comparing idea which they
contain”.16 “The Frenchman Durand came closest . . . to this goal”,
Semper wrote; namely, “the reunification of arbitrarily separated doc-
trines into a general theory of building”.17 A lecturer at the new École
Polytechnique, Durand had radicalised the comparative matrix of his
mentor and made an unprecedented attempt to systematise architec-
tural history and design.18 His Recueil et Parallèle des édifices de tout genre,
anciens et modernes (1799) aimed to provide a complete and instant in-
sight into architectural history by surveying “all building types through-
out all times and in all societies.”19 Like Leroy, Durand presented
117
Figure 40. The historical development of temples. Julien-David Leroy, Les Ruines des
plus beaux monuments de la Grèce (2nd ed. 1770), fol. 1. By permission of the Syndics of
Cambridge University Library.
118
Figure 41. Comparison of Greek and Egyptian temples. Claude-Nicolas-Louis

Durand, Recueil et Parallèle des edifices en tout genre, anciens et modernes (1799–1801).
fol. 1, Brussels edition, undated. Glasgow University Library, Department of Special
Collections.
the works in parallel rows of plans, sections, and elevations, drawn to

the same scale and sorted according to type (Figure 41).20 The draw-
ings emphasised geometrical composition, carefully removing idiosyn-
cratic features and standardising each design according to typological
norms.21 By these means, Durand explained, one could “manifest . . . in
the most evident way possible the spirit that reigns in these magnificent
productions”.22 As Legrand explained in his introduction to the Recueil:
The perfection of a correct system will here outshine ev-

ery form of seduction which has prevailed in the absence
[of such comparisons]. Defects will stand out all the more
119
when placed in parallel with the purity of form, licences will

be exposed for what they are in reality, and mixed genres,
which have only an ambiguous character since they are com-
posed of several others, will be side by side along with their
constituent elements reproduced from the original monu-
ments and will thus be exposed, either in borrowing their
forms, or in bringing close together, often discordant parts.23
Although Durand based his comparative matrix on a notion of

type, it was no longer the ideal type of his mentor, Leroy.24 Abandoning
metaphysical notions of harmony and beauty, Durand understood the
aim of architecture as to fulfil functional and representational demands
with as much economy as possible.25 His ‘type’ was the geometric trans-
lation and optimisation of these demands. By systematically extracting
and classifying such types from the history of architecture, the Recueil
was to provide students of architecture with empirical standards for
design.
Durand’s most explicit attempt to move from a descriptive to a pre-
scriptive theory of architecture came with Précis des Leçons d’architecture
(1802–5).26 Written as a design manual for his students at the Polytech-
nique, the book analysed architectural form into its simplest compo-
nents or ‘elements’ (e.g., the orders, arcades, gates),27 and mapped their
combinations in architectural ‘parts’ like “porticoes, atriums, vestibules,
interior and exterior stairs, rooms of every kind, courts, grottoes, and
fountains” (Figure 42).28 Systematically progressing from the combi-
nation of elements into parts and parts into complete buildings, the
Précis presented a step-by-step guide to architectural composition.29
According to Durand, the student of architecture must learn to “com-
bine different elements among themselves, and . . . pass from there to
different parts of the building, and from these parts to the whole – this is
the path that one must follow if he desires to learn how to compose”.30
This gradual progress from simple to complex sums up the di-
dactic program of the Précis. By means of typological standards, the
architect could deduce the correct combination of elements and parts
(Figure 43). For Durand, architectural composition had become an ars
120
Figure 42. Parts of buildings: “Vestibules”. Claude-Nicolas-Louis Durand, Précis des

Leçons d’architecture (2nd ed. 1819), fol. 10, Partie 2eme. By permission of the Syndics
of Cambridge University Library.
combinatoria governed by the demands of the type and the law of utility
and economy.31 As he wrote:
[Architecture is] the composition of the whole of buildings

which is nothing other than the result of the assemblage
of their parts. It is necessary to know the former before
occupying oneself with the latter; as these parts are solely
a compound of the basic elements of buildings, and as all
particular principles must be derived after the study of gen-
eral principles, it will be these basic elements that constitute
the prime object of the architect’s study.32
121
Figure 43. “Combinaisons verticales”. Claude-Nicolas-Louis Durand, Précis des

Leçons d’architecture (2nd ed. 1819), fol. 4, Partie 2eme. By permission of the Syndics of
Cambridge University Library.
Semper found Durand’s practical ambitions compelling, and read-

ily agreed that architecture could be classified according to its simplest
elements.33 He might even have agreed with Durand’s definition of
architecture as an ‘assemblage of . . . parts’ had it not been for their
very different notions of the nature and interaction of these parts. For
Durand, they were simply formal elements, stripped to a pure ge-
ometrical form and combined to fulfil a functional task. For Sem-
per, on the other hand, they were the motifs of art: a primordial
merging of functional needs and symbolic representation. Moreover,
in Semper’s view, these parts were not simply assembled; rather,
they were products of a complex interaction between historical and
122
natural factors in a process he had tried to express in his algebraic

formula for style. It was on this basis that Semper criticised Durand’s
‘inorganic’ approach and the ‘lifeless schematism’ resulting from it: “He
loses himself into tabular formulas, he puts the things into rows and
brings about a sort of alliance between them by mechanical ways instead
of showing the organic laws by which they are connected together.”34
Despite these shortcomings, Semper recognised in Durand’s work
the beginning of a new method of invention. He saw it as his task to
complete a comparative science of architecture, for which Durand’s
time ‘was not ripe’.35 However, this ambitious project required a new
and advanced criterion for comparison, one that could replace Durand’s
mechanistic typology with a new dynamic-organic notion of type. By
means of this new tertium comparationis, Semper envisaged the possibil-
ity of moving from a static and artificial system of comparison to one
that was comprehensive and natural. For this he sought his model – not
in architectural theory, but rather in the new sciences of comparative
anatomy and linguistics.
C O M PA R AT I V E A N AT O M Y
Biological and evolutionary metaphors permeate Semper’s writings.

Architecture grows like an organism, he implied, and should con-
sequently be studied like one.36 It was this organic working of the
work of art that he set out to analyse and systematise in the formula
for style. The use of biological metaphors was hardly a novelty with
Semper. It drew on the general rhetoric of German idealism and ro-
manticism, particularly Goethe’s aesthetic organicism and Herder’s ‘vi-
talism of the mind.’37 Yet, when calling for an organic understanding of
art, Semper did not refer to Goethe or Herder but rather, famously, to
the French anatomist Georges Baron Cuvier (1769–1832). He sought
“a method analogous to that which guided Cuvier in his compara-
tive osteology, but applied to architecture”. Such a method, he con-
tinued, “will by necessity greatly facilitate an overall view of this field
and . . . will also permit an architectural theory of invention to be based
on it”.38
123
Figure 44. Galérie d’anatomie comparée, Paris c. 1830.

c Bibliothèque centrale
M.N.H.N. Paris.
A contemporary of Durand in Paris, Cuvier has often been dis-

missed as a last ‘fixist’, uneasily situated between the class-based tax-
onomies of Linnaeus and Buffon and Darwin’s evolutionism.39 Far from
being a reactionary leftover, however, Cuvier was situated at the very
centre of biological research of his day, establishing the anatomical col-
lection in the Jardin de Plantes (Figure 44) alongside such scholars as
Jean-Baptiste Lamarck (1744–1829) and Étienne Geoffrey St-Hilaire
(1772–1844). He was appointed professor of comparative anatomy in
1802, and published in 1805 his famous Leçons d’anatomie comparée,
which Semper is reported to have had on his desk while writing Vergle-
ichende Baulehre.40 The affinity between these two scholars ran deeper
than Semper’s nostalgic memory of his strolls in the Jardin de Plantes.41
In fact, Cuvier’s comparative anatomy provided Semper with key as-
pects of his own comparative method.42
Although Cuvier has been celebrated as the father of compara-
tive anatomy, comparison had already long served as a methodological
124
principle in natural history. The novelty of Cuvier’s taxonomic system

did not lie in the use of comparison per se, but rather in what was
being compared. Whereas Carl Linnaeus (1707–78) had based his clas-
sification system on comparison between the number, form, and situa-
tion of plants’ reproductive organs, Cuvier ordered his tableau élémen-
taire according to the performance and interaction of different organs
(Figure 45). He rejected Linnaeus’s taxonomy based on physical ap-
pearance and replaced it with one based “rather on the functions them-
selves” and their internal relations.43 Comparing functional relations
rather than form, Cuvier arrived at a new notion of type: “an expres-
sion of definite and basic constant relationships in the structure of living
things that are fixed and unalterable and upon which all knowledge of
them depends.”44 According to this typology, the animal is an organ-
ism in which every part is functionally and structurally adjusted to one
overall purpose: survival. The animal is defined by the relation and in-
teraction between its organs, not the formal properties of the organs
themselves.45 Cuvier’s new type, then, served as a paradigm according
to which any living thing could be identified and categorised within a
comparative matrix.
Cuvier’s functional comparison radically expanded the taxonomy
of Linnaeus. Comparison now needed to consider not only a selected
part of a plant or animal’s organs, but also the total functional scheme of
the organism. Cuvier’s new type established exemplary patterns for such
schemes, and constituted not a formal but rather a functional-structural
entity. This new typology meant that organisms could be compared
according to relationships between parts rather than according to the
character of the parts themselves. In this way, the difficult problem
of qualitative judgement could be avoided, and biology could attain a
new scientific legitimacy. As Cuvier wrote: “We are . . . able to establish
certain laws which rule these relations and are employed like those
which are determined by the general [mathematical] sciences”.46 Due to
this methodological innovation, Cuvier asserted, “the history of animals
no longer displays the arbitrary and irregular progress that it did twenty
years ago; it has become a rational science.”47
By implying that the object of study – whether an animal organ
or the whole animal – can be defined solely in relation to other organs
125
Figure 45. Comparative dissection drawings of fish stomachs. Georges Cuvier, Leçons
d’anatomie comparée, Paris 1805, vol. 5, fol. XLIII. Glasgow University Library, De-
partment of Special Collections.
126
and animals within a comparative matrix, Cuvier’s comparative method

introduced a new level of precision in biology. The qualitative aspect of
life – that is, the contextual meaning of plants, animals, and men – could
be absorbed into a functional scheme, governed by an overall purpose
of survival. Based on a typology of fixed species and the principle of the
correlation of parts, the palaeontologist could reconstruct an animal’s
complete structure from “a single bone, from a single fragment of a
bone: a method which has given such curious results when applied to
fossilised animals.”48 From this point of view, the meaning of an animal
was internalised and “present in its bones”, so to speak: a function of
its own internalised functions.49 As Foucault points out:
From Cuvier onwards, it is life in its non-perceptible, purely

functional aspect that provides the basis for the exterior pos-
sibility of a classification. The classification of living beings
is no longer to be found in the great expanse of order; the
possibility of classification now arises from the depths of life,
from those elements most hidden from view.50
The real novelty in Cuvier’s taxonomy was the ambition to estab-

lish a natural system of classification, capturing life itself in the com-
parative matrix. Linnaeus had never extended his ambitions this far,
but had humbly declared that he sought only the “best artificial sys-
tem possible”.51 Yet, artificial was not the same as arbitrary. Situated
firmly within a baroque worldview, Linnaeus saw the study of nature
as a study of a divine hierarchy and the naturalist as the “publisher
and interpreter of the wisdom of God” (Figure 46).52 This task had
certain inherent limits. Despite man’s privileged position in the hier-
archy of beings, he cannot comprehend fully God’s plan. The world,
Linnaeus declared, “is altogether made up of wonders, and displays such
a degree of contrivance and perfection, as mortals can neither describe
nor comprehend”.53 The only way men can approach this perfection
is through signs and symbols: “all which appears manifests traces of
divine wisdom and power”.54 The artificial taxonomy, therefore, is not
only the only system available to man, it is also a meaningful emblem of
God’s creation.55 From this point of view, the choice of the reproductive
127
Figure 46. Emblematic representation of nature. Frontispiece to Carl Linnaeus,
Fauna Svecica, Stockholm 1761. Glasgow University Library, Department of Special
Collections.
128
organs as the tertium comparationis of botany was far from arbitrary. As

the source of life and regeneration, these organs were emblems of God’s
creation and potent symbols by which nature could be represented.56
Far from setting up a neutral and natural system of classifica-
tion, Linnaeus aimed for an artificial and symbolic one. His ambition
was never to equate reality with his system, but merely to represent it
in a meaningful way. Only with Cuvier’s comparative anatomy do we
see a system with the ambition to be natural, using the very princi-
ple of life as an index for classification. As Cassirer writes: “Systematic
biology . . . as understood and practised by Cuvier, was no mere de-
vice of classification and arrangement that can be easily apprehended,
but a disclosure of the very framework of nature herself.”57 Whereas
Linnaeus’s taxonomy operated as an analogous and symbolically signif-
icant representation of a world order, Cuvier aimed to present reality
directly, devoid of symbolic or mediating significance. With Cuvier,
thus, the metaphorical and mediating significance of scientific repre-
sentation is no longer recognised as legitimate, necessary, or real. This
is perhaps why the taxonomic projects of Linnaeus and his contem-
poraries fell so soon into disrepute. They could suddenly be seen as
systems of mere classification, and considered simply a first, primitive
step towards a natural science of life.58
Cuvier, then, did not share Linnaeus’s notion of science as a means
of representation. He expanded the ambitions on behalf of science into
a dream of revealing the very essence of nature. This expansion –
paradoxically – imposed a curious limitation in the scope of natural
science. Because the comparative matrix was thought to be a compre-
hensive presentation of nature herself – not just an analogy, but also an
equation of nature – it was forced to provide its full meaning, so to speak,
from within. The metaphysical aspect of living creatures, their place and
meaning within the great chain of being, was now compressed into the
tableau élémentaire of the natural scientist.59 Life, as Foucault writes, had
ceased to be addressed as an ontological mode and had become instead a
functional definition – an autonomous and self-contained phenomenon
that for the first time allowed for a biology: a science of life.60
The parallel between Cuvier and Semper is clear. Rejecting Du-
rand’s formal type, Semper based his taxonomy of architecture on a
129
functional-structural principle of comparison. Semper’s type, thus, like

Cuvier’s, was not a formal but rather a functional entity, making it
possible to compare functional relations rather than form. In Semper’s
taxonomy, the artistic motifs played much the same role that the organs
did in Cuvier’s anatomy: morphological units upon which a comparative
matrix could be based. In a certain sense, Semper’s reinterpretation of
Durand resembled Cuvier’s reinterpretation of Linnaeus: the transition
from a comparison based on the appearance of parts to a comparison
based on a set of internal relations. This transition may be seen as a
move from an arithmetric to an algebraic understanding of systems, a
development we encountered rather literally in Semper’s formula for
style. By construing the work of art as an organism – a self-contained
system understood as the interrelation of definable parts – the possibil-
ity for a complete and scientific knowledge of the architectural organism
seemed to open up. Semper’s formula for style was an attempt to bring
to visibility the organic workings of the coefficients of style.
Cuvier’s anatomy and Semper’s practical aesthetics both rested
on a powerful presupposition: that the processes of life and creation
were – or at least could become – fully accessible to the scientist and
the historian. Furthermore, they both believed that the purpose of the
organism – whether natural or aesthetic – could be found within its
constituent parts. This notion of organic systems had gained its philo-
sophical justification in Kant’s teleology, presented in his Critique of
Judgement.61 Kant’s question in his third Critique had been roughly
the following: What is it that justifies us in seeing nature as a whole
that assumes the form of a logical system?62 In the same way that he
had traced the foundation of pure reason, he now set out to uncover
the foundation for our empirical understanding of nature. Kant an-
swered his own question by following the pattern from his two earlier
Critiques. We can assume a lawfulness and purposiveness in nature, he
declared, because our understanding itself requires it. Although we have
no proper concept under which to subsume our empirical experience of
nature – a requirement, Kant insisted, for knowledge proper – we nev-
ertheless have certain ‘ideas’ of it.63 These ideas are strictly regulative;
they do not provide any knowledge of nature as such, yet they allow us
to investigate nature according to our own mode of understanding.64
130
Regulative ideas, Kant explained, “are not created by nature, rather we

question nature according to these ideas”.65
One of the regulative ideas facilitating our understanding of na-
ture is the idea that nature is purposive; that is, that it works accord-
ing to a plan.66 Yet, the fact that we have this idea does not mean
that someone (e.g., God) has actually made the world in a purpose-
ful manner.67 The idea of God serves only to symbolise the highest
form of systematic unity to which empirical knowledge can be brought:
the “purposive unity of things”.68 God – now understood as a regula-
tive idea of the lawfulness and purposiveness of nature – is a prop-
erty of our mental faculties, not a principle of nature an sich. As Kant
summed up:
This lawfulness is a formal purposiveness of nature that we

simply assume in it; it provides no basis for a theoretical cog-
nition of nature, nor for a practical principle of freedom, but
it does give us a principle for judging and investigating na-
ture: a principle by which to seek, for particular experiences,
the universal laws.69
With this assertion, Kant put teleological explanation on a rad-

ically new footing. No longer a final cause in the traditional sense,
purposiveness was now recast as an internal principle of the ego cogito.70
Nature is purposive, but purposive only with respect to our judgement
of it. It is so only because reason – in order to be able to deal with it –
demands that nature assumes an order analogous to reason’s own: a
coherent system of parts constituting an individual whole.71 For Kant,
thus, the teleological judgement of nature is granted by the peculiar
constitution of our cognitive faculties “attributing to nature a refer-
ence to this our need [for systematicity]”.72
Kant’s notion of purposiveness refers neither to any utilitarian
purpose that nature may serve, nor is it concerned with the ontological
status of nature per se.73 Kant would dismiss the first as irrelevant and
the latter as beyond human comprehension. Being simply a judgement
of the suitability of organic systems to our understanding of them,
Kant’s purposiveness is a “purposiveness without purpose”.74 Such
131
immanent purposiveness does not hold only for nature as a whole,

he argued, but also for every organised being, including the work of
art.75 Kant defined such organised beings as ‘natural purposes’, and
explained that “a thing exists as a natural purpose if it is . . . both cause
and effect of itself”.76 Organisms are self-sufficient systems made up
of parts which interact in an ordered way, each part being understood
in terms of the whole and the whole being understood in terms of the
parts. Kant defined this system-organism as
. . . an organised unity, and not an aggregate. It may grow

from within, but not by external addition. It is thus like an
animal body, the growth of which is not by an addition of a
new member, but by the rendering of each member, without
change of proportion, stronger and more effective for its
purpose.77
With Kant, purposiveness lost the metaphysical connotations it

had had in Aristotelian teleology and that it still retained in the meta-
physics of Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646–1716). The notion of pur-
pose was confined within the subjective (if universal) consciousness as
a formal category; it became an immanent principle of reason rather
than as an external telos connecting phenomena to an overall world of
meaning. This sheds light on the tendencies that we have observed
in Cuvier and Semper. The new scientific legitimacy of biology and
aesthetics alike relied on the possibility of viewing their respective sub-
ject matters as self-referential systems, whose full meaning could be
grasped within the system itself. For scientific knowledge of such a
system to be possible, none of its components could be hidden from
view; the purpose of the organism must be regarded as its immanent
property, available for observation and explanation. Cuvier’s taxonomy
and Semper’s historical matrix, with their mutual ambition of being
‘natural’, left no room for extrinsic references, as it were. They be-
came self-contained systems whose purpose was provided from within.
This line of thinking had been prepared by Kant, when he internalised
teleological explanation as a purely formal principle of the subjective
understanding.
132
C O M PA R AT I V E L I N G U I S T I C S
Kant’s notion of organic systems formed a paradigm not only for the
new science of biology, but also for other disciplines striving for sci-
entific legitimacy. A prominent example can be found in the study of
language. As Friedrich Schlegel enthused: “ . . . comparative grammar
furnishes as certain a key to the genealogy of language as the study
of comparative anatomy has done to the loftier branch of natural
science”.78 Comparative linguistics was defined by one of its founders as
“the examination of the language-organism and . . . its development”.79
Semper adopted this definition almost literally, replacing ‘language’
with ‘art’:
Just as contemporary linguistics is trying to demonstrate

the family relationships between different human idioms,
to trace the transformation of individual words through the
centuries and to identify their original roots; just as linguis-
tics in this way has succeeded in elevating itself to a real
science . . . we may justify a similar ambition in the domain
of art, which would focus its attention on the development
of the art-forms from the germs and roots, out of which they
were undoubtedly born.80
By moulding his comparative project on the methodological ideal

of linguistic and biology, Semper sought to give to architecture the
scientific legitimacy that in his view it so desperately needed.
Comparison was not a new principle in the study of languages.
As in natural history, it had long been an important methodological
device. Leibniz had promoted the comparison of languages as a useful
means to understand the nature of the human spirit.81 Belonging to
a tradition by which language was understood not as a conventional
system, but rather as a set of substantial signs, Leibniz saw linguistics
as a means to unravel the real meaning of things.82 The study and
comparison of languages was a key to the original unity between sound
and significance: a unity lost gradually in the course of time or removed
133
by a jealous God at the Tower of Babel. From this point of view, traces
of the lingua paradisiaca still glimmer through contemporary languages
and can be uncovered through careful comparison.83 The vehicle for
such comparison was etymology.84 By following the transformation
of words backwards in time, one could approach the true meaning
and essence of reality itself. As such, the study of language was not
a linguistic, but rather a metaphysical pursuit, important only insofar
as it, in Leibniz’s words, “gives us the opportunity to find eternal and
universal truths.”85
By the early nineteenth century, the notion of language had
changed and, with it, the scope and objectives of its study. Linguistics,
like anatomy, sought to free itself from the emblematic worldview upon
which it had been based and to establish itself as an autonomous sci-
ence. As in anatomy, this emancipation would be propelled by a new
notion of type. Rather than categorising languages in terms of etymo-
logical roots, nineteenth-century linguists such as Friedrich Schlegel
(1772–1829), Franz Bopp (1791–1867), and Wilhelm von Humboldt
(1767–1835) turned their focus to grammatical structure. Two main
types of language became apparent from this point of view: the first
consisted of languages that expressed modification of meaning (e.g.,
change of tense, gender, case) by changing the root sounds of words or
sentences;86 the second included languages that expressed such change
by adding new sounds or words. Respectively labelled ‘inflectional’ and
‘affixional’ languages,87 the former type included Sanskrit, Latin, and
Greek, whereas the latter consisted of Chinese, Semitic, and Arab lan-
guages, as well as the ‘primitive’ languages of the American Indians and
the Malays.88
It is immediately apparent which type is being introduced here;
no longer etymologically induced, type was now defined according to
a set of inner relations within language itself. Rather than focusing
on the word and its reference, one studied grammatical structure with
no reference to the ‘outside’, as it were.89 The theory of inflection
shifted the emphasis from etymology to grammar and, as such, it im-
plied – much in parallel with Cuvier’s new anatomy – a move from
a substantial to a relational understanding of its subject matter.90 As
Wilhelm von Humboldt pointed out, “inflection itself is completely
134
meaningless, [it] contains nothing but the pure concept of the

relation”.91 Opposed to the Leibnizian notion of language as a sign
of an ultimate reality, Humboldt, Schlegel, and their contemporaries
saw language as an autonomous system with its own inner logic. From
this point of view, “there are no eternal ideas in language or behind
language; there is no natural, universal significance”.92 They pursued
not a reality that lay behind language, but rather the reality of language
itself.
The new notion of grammatical types closely paralleled Kant’s idea
of organic systems. As Kant had distinguished between organic and me-
chanical systems, so could the linguist – based on this new typology –
distinguish between organic and mechanical language types. August
Wilhelm Schlegel summed up Kant’s distinction when he declared that
“Form is mechanical when it is imparted through external force, merely
as an accidental addition without reference to its character . . . Organic
form, on the contrary, is innate; it unfolds itself from within, and reaches
its determination simultaneously with the fullest development of the
seed.”93 Implicit in this organic analogy lies a criteria for evaluation.
Whereas inflectional languages with their internal sound change could
be seen as organic, the additive principle of affixional languages was
condemned as mechanical.94 Friedrich Schlegel described the Indo-
European languages as ‘living germs’ with an innate capacity for change
and development.95 The inflectional languages are organically grown,
he argued; their structure forms an ‘organic tapestry.’96 The affixional
languages, on the other hand, do not display this organic unity. Their
roots are not “fertile seeds but merely a heap of atoms, which any ar-
bitrary wind may easily disperse and scatter. Their internal connection
is nothing but a purely mechanical and external addition.”97 Inflec-
tional languages – which just so happened to be the Indo-European
languages – are more organic and hence more sophisticated than their
Asian, American, and African counterparts. The latter could be dis-
missed as mechanical compilations, lacking the ‘artful simplicity’ of
a truly organic structure.98 Just as Semper could ‘prove’ the supe-
riority of Greek art due to its self-sufficient and organic structure,
nineteenth-century linguistics ‘proved’ the organic superiority of in-
flectional languages.
135
Let me sum up the points raised in this chapter and bring the
discussion back to Semper’s practical aesthetics. Semper redefined
the notions of type and comparison from the mechanistic model of
Durand – which used form as a basis for comparison – to an or-
ganic model, comparing according to functional and structural rela-
tionships. In doing so, he followed the precedent of Cuvier, Schlegel,
and Humboldt, whose shift from a substantial to a relational under-
standing of life and language seemed to promise a science of organic
wholes. This notion of organic systems, adapted from Kantian philoso-
phy, furnished the comparative method with a new tertium comparationis.
No longer referring to a reality to which the organic system belongs,
the comparative disciplines formulated immanent criteria for mean-
ing and truth, thus opening the possibility of an autonomous science
of life, language, and art. In this way, the comparative method – with
its claim for commensurability – challenged the traditional notion of
art and science as modes of representation of a world order. Within
the comparative matrix, the world order itself had become an abstract
set of coefficients, potentially open for scientific explanation. Semper’s
ambitions on behalf of the practical aesthetics must be understood in
this light. By seeing the work of art as an organism which at its high-
est level has shed its links to praxis for an immanent interaction of
Gestaltungsmomente, Semper sought to formulate a science of art.
136
6 : T O WA R D S A M E T H O D
OF INVENTING
“Comparative theory of building therefore presents a logical method

of inventing, which we vainly seek in rules of proportion and obscure
principles of aesthetics.”
Gottfried Semper 1
S emper’s practical aesthetics was meant to provide a vehicle for his-

torical interpretation, a basis for educational reform, and a logical
method of inventing. In short, it was to provide a total method for the
interpretation, diffusion, and production of architecture and art. So far,
I have examined only the first part of this diverse ambition: the compar-
ative method as a vehicle for explaining the historical development of
art. Now it is time to approach the final step of the practical aesthetics:
the dream of a method to guide not only the interpretation, but also
the production of architecture.
Semper’s hope of moving from a descriptive to a prescriptive the-
ory of architecture relied on the framework of the comparative method.
Although comparative anatomy and linguistics had provided a model
for the interpretation of organic wholes, they had been less explicit
about the possibility for systematic prediction. The disciplines in which
this ambition was formulated most explicitly were neither anatomy nor
linguistics, but rather the new sciences of man: sociology and political
science. By means of comparison, these disciplines aimed to progress
from explanation and description to experimentation and prediction,
137
establishing a science of human culture. This was the ambition that

fuelled and informed Semper’s method of inventing.
C O M PA R I S O N A S E X P E R I M E N T : C O M T E A N D
LA PHYSIQUE SOCIALE
Semper presented his ideas on the hierarchy of sciences in Science,

Industry, and Art. Here, as we saw in Chapter 5, he described an episte-
mological evolution in which increasingly complex areas of knowledge
became the object of scientific explanation. Semper asserted that the
comparative sciences – among which he included “philosophy, history,
politics, and a few higher branches of the natural sciences” – formed
the highest level in this hierarchy, constituting the final stage in the
evolution of knowledge.2 The practical aesthetics was the vehicle by
which the study of art and architecture was to be elevated to such a
level. In this sense, the practical aesthetics represented the final stage
in the evolving knowledge of art, opening for a complete insight into
its origins, its development, and its creation.
Semper’s line of argument bears a strong affinity to the French
philosopher and sociologist Auguste Comte (1798–1857), a contem-
porary of Semper in Paris.3 Comte envisioned the hierarchy of sci-
ence as a gradual ascent of knowledge. Whereas the simplest empirical
science – astronomy – had reached its scientific (or ‘positive’, in Comte’s
terminology) stage in the seventeenth century, physics, chemistry, and
biology had followed only gradually, and had reached their status as
legitimate sciences over the course of the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries.4 The area of knowledge that had yet to find its positive form
was the study of human society, a shortcoming Comte took upon him-
self to amend. His ambition, set out in the Cours de Philosophie Positive
(1830–42), was to establish a positive science of society: a sociology or,
in Comte’s own words, a social physics.
Corresponding to the gradual ascent of knowledge was a grad-
ual differentiation of method.5 Whereas astronomy relied on direct
observation, its successors (i.e., physics and chemistry) refined this
method into idealised observation (i.e., experimentation). For the most
138
T O WA R D S A M E T H O D O F I N V E N T I N G
complex areas of reality, however – the domain of life and society – these
methods no longer sufficed. As Comte explained: “If biological phe-
nomena are incomparably more complex than those of any preceding
science, the study of them admits of the most extensive assemblage of
intellectual means (many of them new) and develops human faculties
hitherto inactive or in a rudimentary state”.6 This ‘extensive assem-
blage’ encompassed, first and foremost, the methodological principle
of comparison, a principle inaugurated in biology and coming to full
fruition in the new sociology.7 Just as the biologist compares different
stages in the development of organisms, the student of society must
investigate
. . . as profoundly and completely as possible, all the states

through which civilization has passed, from its origin to the
present time. We must consider their coordination and con-
nection and how they can be combined under general heads
capable of furnishing principles, making manifest the natural
laws of the development of civilization.8
In this schema, the comparative method represented the highest

stage in the methodological development of positive science. Similar
to the way in which physics and chemistry refined the techniques of
observation by means of experiments, social science was to develop
experimentation further by means of comparison. By establishing a
matrix within which different social and political structures could be
studied in parallel, comparative sociology could be regarded as the “real
experiments in social physics, even better fitted than pure observation
to manifest or confirm the natural laws that preside over the collective
progress of mankind.”9
The comparative method thus established an experimentum mentis
in the realm of history. By providing a framework within which society
could be observed through time and place, the comparative method
furnished the scientist-historian with a predictive device equivalent to
the experiment in natural science. In the laboratory-like condition of
the comparative matrix, the historian could generate and test his hy-
potheses and, in this way, unravel the laws of social organisation. Comte
139
was inspired by the precedent of Cuvier, who had himself seen compar-
ison as “experiments ready prepared by the hand of nature”.10 Com-
parison was the means by which the student of organic wholes could
gain control over his subject matter, equal to that of his colleague in
physics or chemistry.
This idea would have a great impact on the new comparative
disciplines of the nineteenth century. In anthropology, for instance,
the comparative method was explicitly described as a form of experi-
mentation. “The vast range of societies open to observation and the
history of institutions experiment for us”, one prominent spokesman
for comparative anthropology proclaimed.11 The cultural scientist,
in this view, does not so much conduct experiments as observe – within
the laboratory of history – experiments being conducted.12 This is
the tacit positivism at the heart of early social science, presupposing
an epistemological model within which human culture in all its as-
pects is rendered an accessible object of analysis and explanation.13
Semper’s practical aesthetics shared these ambitions to a large ex-
tent. If the comparative method of biology and linguistics provided
him with a notion of art as an organic system potentially open for
explanation, then his notion of invention and its methodology (pre-
sented in Chapter 4) came remarkably close to Comte’s experimental
comparison.
The modern notion of experiment entails certain presuppositions.
An experiment depends on the possibility to abstract the object of study
from its entanglement with the world, to isolate it in an ideal condition
in which all factors working upon it and within it can be observed, and
their laws and regularities explained.14 Such idealisation – insofar as it
succeeds – grants the possibility to extend the scope of the experiment;
from observing and explaining the object as it appears here and now,
one can move on to predicting and planning the way it will develop
in the future. The possibility of such an extension was paramount to
Comte’s definition of science. “From science comes prevision, from
prevision comes action”, he proclaimed.15 This dictum holds for all the
positive sciences, not least for social physics, which in Comte’s view
was the most advanced of them all.16 Social phenomena are susceptible
140
to prevision, he insisted: “. . . here, as in other cases, and more than in

other cases, the office of science is . . . to modify phenomena; and to
do this, it is necessary to understand their laws.”17 Comte’s idea of
prevision, then, involved more than simply to foresee a course of events.
For him, prevision was equal to production: the possibility to modify the
future according to laws extracted from the past. Comparative sociology
aimed not only to explain social order, but also to change it. It was to
exhibit
. . . the philosophic picture of the social future as deduced

from the past – in other words, determining the general plan
of reorganization destined for the present epoch. . . . we need
the application of these results to the present state of things
so as to determine the direction that ought to be impressed
on political action with a view to facilitating the definitive
transition to a new social state.18
This positivist creed involves not merely a descriptive but also a

prescriptive idea of science. If you can unravel the laws by which the
human world is governed through history, then you can determine –
with scientific certainty – the correct solution for today or tomorrow.
Social physics, as Comte concluded in the Cours, “is the only possible
agent in the reorganization of modern society”.19
It should be clear that Comte’s positive philosophy was more than
a classification of history and science. It was, in fact, a sociopolitical
method of inventing, whose aim was “the coordination of the social
past, and its result the determination of the system that the march of
civilization tends to produce in our time.”20 The eschatological ring is
no coincidence.21 In Comte’s late writings, the positive reorganisation
of society took the form of a ‘Religion of Humanity’, which was to
effect a salvation of society and the end of history.22 The advent of pos-
itive religion represented the final stage in the evolution of knowledge,
constituting “a universal system for which the whole course of modern
progress has been preparing the way”.23 On this epistemological level,
all forms of mental activity would have reached a positive stage, making
141
it possible to “systematize feelings and actions” once and for all.24 As

Comte enthused:
Positivism offers . . . a system that regulates the whole course

of our private and public existence by bringing feeling, rea-
son, and activity into permanent harmony. In this final syn-
thesis, all essential conditions are far more perfectly fulfilled
than in any other.25
Comte’s social physics was, first and foremost, a method to pre-

dict and implement the correct order for modern society. This dream
would continue to haunt the nineteenth century, forming a common
denominator for positivism, historicism, and romanticism alike, and
constituting the intellectual framework within which Semper’s practi-
cal aesthetics was conceived.
P O I E S I S A N D P R O D U C T I O N I N S E M P E R ’S
METHOD OF INVENTING
The particular strand of positivism that underlies Semper’s practical

aesthetics is gradually becoming apparent. By adopting comparison as
his methodological vehicle, Semper aimed to establish a science of art
capable not only of explanation, but also experimentation. This ambi-
tion was clearly expressed in the formula for style. Establishing ideal
conditions for observing the interaction of the coefficients of style, the
formula aimed for a complete introspection into the origins and devel-
opment of art. It established not only a hermeneutic device by which
style could be interpreted, but also – in theory at least – an experimental
device by which it could be planned and executed. Although Semper’s
famous appeal for “a sort of topic or Method, how to invent”26 echoes
a classical rhetorical tradition as well as a modern scientific one, there
is no doubt that in his elaboration of the method, his ultimate guide
is modern science.27 The practical aesthetics was intended as a mod-
ern scientific enterprise and was to encompass – following Comte’s
epistemological hierarchy – observation, comparison, and prevision.28
142
Like Comte’s ‘practical theology’, the practical aesthetics relied on the

possibility to expand the comparative method from a mode of explana-
tion into a procedure for production. The “comparative theory of build-
ing, therefore”, Semper himself concluded, “presents a logical method
of inventing which we vainly seek in rules of proportion and obscure
principles of aesthetics”.29
The equation of scientific knowledge with productive knowl-
edge is an important characteristic of nineteenth-century thought.
E. Voegelin has argued that the Victorian era, by substituting the bios
theoreticos for the homo faber, exchanged the question of truth for that
of usefulness.30 This ideal of knowledge may be seen as epitomised in
the engineer, a figure particular to the nineteenth century:
The engineer . . . has complete control of the particular little

world with which he is concerned, surveys it in all its relevant
aspects and has to deal only with ‘known quantities.’ . . . The
application of the technique which he has mastered, of the
generic rules that he has been taught, indeed presupposes
such complete knowledge of the objective facts; those rules
refer to objective properties and can be applied only after
all the particular circumstances of time and place have been
assembled and brought under the control of a single brain.31
The comparative-experimental method – as it was transferred to

social science by Comte and to aesthetics by Semper – involved an
attempt to apply precisely such an engineering technique to human so-
ciety and its expressions. This attempt presupposes “that the director
possesses the same complete knowledge of the whole society that the
engineer possesses of his limited world.”32 Inspired by the practical-
mindedness of Durand (whose École Polytechnique, incidentally, was
the centre of Comtean philosophy, as well as the cradle of modern
engineering), Semper’s practical aesthetics presented a theory of ar-
chitecture in which the social, historical, and material factors of art
were all regarded as accessible to observation and experimentation –
accessible, that is, to be manipulated and controlled in the same way
that the engineer controls the variables of his project.33 Within this
143
intellectual framework, theory has become synonymous with operative

theory, no longer a mode of contemplation, but rather a procedure
leading towards results.34 The practical aesthetics was to provide such
a theory. It was, in Semper’s words, “a tool, an instrument or at least
an arrangement for production or for action.”35 Aesthetic theory, here,
has become a mode of production based on the full availability of its raw
material: the cultural conditions themselves. It has become a practical
aesthetics in the Kantian sense of the word: “nothing more than the
theory of what belongs to the nature of things, except that here this
theory is applied to the way we can produce these things according to
a principle.”36
This is far from classical poetics. Although poiesis also signifies a
production of sorts, it is a production of a rather different kind. From
a poetic point of view, the work of art is not a product of a set of coef-
ficients already defined. Rather, it is the work of art itself that brings,
through creative imitation, the foundation of a cultural community into
partial articulation so that the common horizon of understanding can
be recognised. In Semper’s mathematical analogy, this relation is turned
upside down. The method of inventing requires a transparency of his-
tory and culture; it presupposes a world in which all historical, spiritual,
and practical factors are already present and defined, so that the result
of their interaction can be calculated and serve as the paradigm for a
correct style.37
In the Aristotelian conception of art as poetic imitation, the pur-
pose of art was constituted by its capacity to articulate – however par-
tially and locally – the unity of human praxis. In this sense, the purpose
of the work of art was always to articulate something beyond the limits
of introspection. Semper’s formula for style, with its ambition to de-
termine a correct correspondence between cultural coefficients and the
work of art, implied a dream of rendering these coefficients available for
explanation and reproduction. The most problematic aspect of the for-
mula does not lie in its supposed promotion of functionalism, as some
modern scholars have hinted.38 It lies rather in the ambition inherent
in the formula to understand artistic creation as the manipulation of
verifiable and fully accessible factors within a set relation. In this oper-
ation, the enigmatic relation between praxis and poiesis that grounded
144
the Aristotelian notion of mimesis is captured as a transparent relation

that can be expressed analogous to a mathematical function. The work
of art is the end product of a fully comprehensible and objectifiable
interaction between manageable and neatly identifiable variables, and
can as such be determined with mathematical certainty. The represen-
tational capacity of the work of art is reduced to a matter of the correct
correspondence between a given set of coefficients.
Semper did not attempt, as I have already pointed out, to imple-
ment his method of inventing directly. Nor did he succeed in turning
his sketchy mentions of an Erfindungsmethode into a rigorous scientific
method. Yet, he always insisted on both the desirability and the possi-
bility of such a project, a vision that continued to fuel his hopes for a
third volume of Der Stil. It seems to me urgent to recognise the epis-
temological presuppositions of this vision even when it itself remained
unfulfilled, and I have attempted to do this by looking at Comte’s
epistemological hierarchy. What remains, however, is to examine why
Semper, despite obvious difficulties, continued clinging to a dream
of a scientifically sound Erfindungsmethode. My hypothesis is a simple
one. Semper’s method of inventing was a rescue operation: a strategy
to save architecture from the excesses of historicism by granting it the
legitimacy of a science. Yet, by a curious inversion, it was precisely the
intellectual framework of historicism that allowed Semper to attempt
to merge his poetics of architecture with a practical aesthetics. In the
last and final part of this study, I will situate this uneasy fusion within
the framework of historicist thinking to appreciate more fully both the
ambitions and the limitations of Semper’s method of inventing.
145
PA RT I I I
THE APORIAS OF
HISTORICISM
7: SEMPER AND THE “STYLE OF
OUR TIME”
“The great question is, are we to have an architecture of our period,

a distinct, individual, palpable style of the nineteenth century?”
T. L. Donaldson 1
I f in Part II I mapped the theoretical framework that underlies

Semper’s practical aesthetics, it is now time to address how Semper
believed this framework could affect contemporary architectural prac-
tise. Having looked at Semper’s theory of practise, in other words,
we must now examine his practise of theory. Although Semper warned
against attempting to implement the formula for style directly, he never-
theless insisted on its applicability. The practical aesthetics was meant
to be not just another contribution to aesthetic speculation, but also
“sufficiently specific and complete in itself to be of practical use”.2 My
concern in Chapter 7 is to identify this ‘practical use’ and to look for
the way in which Semper’s practical aesthetics delineated the role and
responsibility of architecture in the nineteenth century.
More than anything, the architectural discourse of the first half
of the nineteenth century was conditioned by the problem of self-
expression: how to conceive and craft a ‘style of our time’. At the
time Semper formulated his theory of style, the question “In which
style should we build?” had already fuelled debate for decades. The
debate rested on two related assumptions. First, it relied on a notion of
style understood as the relative character of time and place. Second, it
presupposed that history could be seen as a succession of epochs that
149
THE APORIAS OF HISTORICISM
evolve according to laws and manifest themselves by means of style. Al-

though these assertions sound self-evident to twenty-first–century ears,
they actually signalled a great intellectual shift and constituted key as-
pects of the intellectual framework of historicism. The present chapter
approaches this issue by looking at the nineteenth-century dilemma of
style and Semper’s entanglement in it.
THE “DILEMMA OF STYLE”3
The term style, or stile, had been used since the Renaissance to de-
note the particular characteristics of an artist, but made its way into
architecture only in the first half of the eighteenth century.4 As van
Eck has shown, the eighteenth-century notion of style was closely
linked to concepts taken from rhetoric, such as caractère, maniera, and
genre.5 In the same way that poetry could be tragic, comic, or bu-
colic, architecture also had its genres, expressed by means of style.6 In
this context, style was understood as variations within the universally
valid architectural language of classicism.7 The rhetorical notion of
style received its first serious challenge in the late eighteenth century,
from the emerging discipline of art history heralded by Winckelmann
and Quatremère de Quincy. Although the universal validity of classi-
cism was still being upheld, the arguments used to defend it under-
went significant changes, some of which were examined in Chapter 2.
Classicism was now seen as valid not because it represented an a pri-
ori embodiment of beauty, but rather because it manifested the best
possible conditions and the noblest possible men. While struggling to
retain an absolute notion of style, the art historians of the late eighteenth
century unwittingly made it a relative expression of particular historical
conditions.8
By the early nineteenth century, the relative notion of style
had come to be taken for granted. Whereas in the eighteenth cen-
tury style presupposed a given language from which one could draw,
nineteenth-century architects saw each style as a language in itself – that
is, an autonomous system of meaning with its own particular logic.
Different historical styles were conceived as different but analogous
150
SEMPER AND THE “STYLE OF OUR TIME”
systems, each corresponding to a particular set of values. Moreover,

these systems were regarded not only as passive impressions of past
civilisations, but also as didactic tools for the formation of the present.
The demand for a ‘style of our time’, then, aspired not only to repre-
sent the present but also to form it; the dilemma of style, consequently,
became a dilemma of moral ideals and how to emulate them. Two dis-
tinct approaches dominated the debate.9 The revivalists argued for the
reappropriation of one or another historical style, seeing it – whether
it be Greek classicism or German gothic – as an appropriate expression
of modern society. The eclectics, on the other hand, argued that only a
synthesis of all past styles could form the true expression of the present.
Let us look briefly at these positions.
The revivalists did not form a unified camp, but rather consisted
of several different positions split by stylistic preference, as well as the
type of argument put forward in its defence. Defenders of classicism fol-
lowed Winckelmann’s and Aloys Hirt’s notion of antiquity as a timeless
ideal. To emulate the classical style was to emulate an ideal civilisa-
tion, a powerful paradigm for the new sense of national identity which
emerged in the nineteenth century.10 In Germany, for instance, Leo
von Klenze and Karl Friedrich Schinkel (in his classical period) saw in
Greek architecture an “ideal valid for all times”, an ideal to be realised in
the new German state (Figure 47).11 Friedrich Gilly and Karl Bötticher,
on the other hand, emphasised the structural economy of classicism,
seeing its aesthetic rationality as a model for modern society.12 In ei-
ther case, classicism was justified as the appropriate self-expression of
the modern nation state, manifesting its rationality and improving its
morality in one simultaneous effect.
A similar duality between a moral-symbolic and a structural-
economic argumentation was found among the medievalists. Eugéne-
Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc saw in Gothic a structural principle suitable
for modern iron construction, an argument similar to that presented by
Heinrich Hübsch on behalf of a byzantinesque Rundbogenstil.13 How-
ever, the medievalists tended more often to emphasise the moral and
didactic aspects of style. Echoing the ecstatic tone of Goethe’s
“Deutsche Architektur”, they hailed Gothic as a source of spiritual
renewal for a corrupt modernity. By adopting the Gothic style, one
151
Figure 47. Leo von Klenze, Walhalla, 1814–46.
could access the particular values embodied in medieval civilisation

and, in this way, reconquer an authentic relation between artistic form
and meaning.14 Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin, for instance, whose
London Parliament Semper so despised, saw in the spiritual force of
Gothic a possibility for a salvation of the present and a renewal of the
Christian state (Figure 48).15 From this point of view, the notion of style
was fully relativised. Gothic was seen as the self-expression of the mod-
ern nation, not because of its universal validity as an architectural lan-
guage, but because of an alleged relationship between ‘now’ and ‘then’.
These revivalist positions were opposed by various factions of
eclectics. The synthetic eclectics argued that the style of today could
not be a straightforward revival of the past, but rather must consist in
the adaptation of all known styles into a new synthesis, constituting a
152
Figure 48. “The Present Revival of Christian Architecture”. Augustus Welby North-
more Pugin, An Apology for the Revival of Christian Architecture in England, 1843.
new artistic expression for a new time.16 This was the position in-
forming King Maximilian II of Bavaria’s unprecedented architectural
competition, the purpose of which was to invent a new style.17 The
competitors were encouraged to apply all known architectural styles
in a synthetic attempt to express the “character of the time”.18 Sim-
ilar ambitions were expressed by Saint-Simonian theorists who saw
stylistic synthesis as the inevitable outcome of the progress of history.19
The typological eclectics, on the other hand, took a different position:
rather than encouraging the fusion of styles, they promoted the use of
different styles for different building types.20 The Ringstrasse in Vienna
153
is a notable example of this attitude, using typological eclecticism as

a means to affirm the historical legitimacy of a new bourgeois society
and its institutions.21
It is not necessary to investigate the ‘battle of styles’ in more de-
tail. I am less concerned with the intricacies of the individual posi-
tions than with the underlying assumptions of the discourse as a whole.
In the nineteenth century, style had come to be seen as the relative
character of a particular civilisation, formed by specific cultural and
material conditions. Through history, this character attained a moral
significance, becoming a paradigm to be emulated and appropriated
by the present. The choice of style, thus, was not simply a matter of
aesthetic preference. Rather, it was a vehicle for moral improvement
as in Pugin, a symbol of national renewal as in Schinkel and Klenze,
an expression of rationality and progress as in Hübsch, or the self-
representation of a new social class as in the Vienna Ringstrasse. How-
ever, if style was not conceived as an aesthetic choice, it was neverthe-
less seen as a matter of choice, and history was considered raw material
for the self-invention of the present. Semper criticised this assertion
repeatedly and relentlessly. His own theory of style, in fact, was devel-
oped as a means to counter the stylistic licentiousness of the nineteenth
century.
S E M P E R : S T Y L E A S R E S U LT
In Semper’s view, contemporary attempts to fabricate a “style of our

time” were fundamentally flawed both artistically and intellectually.
He attacked virtually every position in contemporary architectural
discourse and practice, dividing his adversaries into four categories:
the ‘Materialists’, the ‘Historians’, the ‘Aestheticians’, and the ‘Gothic
Romantics’.22 He scolded the latter for their “arbitrary and unnatu-
ral manners”,23 accusing them of “becoming engrossed in a past or
alien world that is no longer understood and can be made to fit our
present conditions only with difficulty”.24 He disliked the “antiquated,
foreign, or self-invented order”25 of the ‘Historians’ and dismissed
them for their “negation of the present”.26 The nineteenth-century
154
Figure 49. Leo von Klenze, Munich Residence, 1826–35.
city, in his view, was turning into a pretentious assemblage of lies and
idiosyncrasies (Figure 49):
The young artist traverses the world, crams his notebooks

full of pasted on tracings of every kind, then returns home
with the cheerful expectation (taking care to show his
155
specimens to the right connoisseur) that soon he will receive

the commission for a Walhalla à la Parthenon, a basilica à
la Monréale, a boudoir à la Pompeii, a palace à la Pitti,
a Byzantine church, or even a bazaar in the Turkish taste!
What miracles result from this invention! Thanks to it our
major cities blossom forth as true extraits de mille fleurs, as the
quintessence of all lands and centuries, so that in our pleasant
delusion we forget in the end to what century we belong.27
From Semper’s sweeping generalisations, some fairly specific ar-

guments can be extracted. The failure of contemporary architects con-
sisted not so much in their borrowing from the past as in their lack of
understanding of the present: their inability to see that a true style must
grow out of actual forces in contemporary society. To import a histor-
ical style without regard for its conditions of becoming was to Semper
not only wrong, but also impossible. Style, in his view, was neither a
matter of creation ex nihilo nor of literal copying; rather, it was a prod-
uct of old factors modified according to new conditions. This insight
set Semper apart in the contemporary debate. Although the battle of
style was fought over which style to choose, Semper did not regard style
as a matter of choice at all, but rather as a result of certain conditions:
“the uniform result . . . of several variable values that unite in certain
combinations”.28 Neither the eclectics nor the revivalists, in Semper’s
view, had addressed the complex relationship between society and art.
To do this was the task he took upon himself.
As discussed in Part II, Semper’s theory of style presupposed that
to determine style, one must determine its constituent coefficients.
The problem of style was a problem of interpretative introspection:
the extent to which modern society could understand and define the
forces working in it and on it. Only if these conditions were revealed
could a new style crystallise: “A vast field of inventiveness will be
revealed to us once we try to make use of our social needs as fac-
tor in the style of our architecture.”29 The particular difficulty faced
by the modern period, however, was the disarray of these conditions
themselves. How can we presume to understand other cultures and
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epochs, Semper pessimistically asked, when “we do not even precisely

know our own present conditions.”30 In the state of ‘Babylonian con-
fusion’ that the nineteenth century found itself, no coherent artistic
style could emerge – and least of all, a new style, as long as modern
society had failed to produce new cultural or material factors. The at-
tempt to invent a new style irrespective of such factors was, in Semper’s
opinion, as meaningless and as incomprehensible as inventing a new
language:31 “No modern Anthemius of Tralles or Isodor of Miletus
will be ingenious enough to create a new style unless a new con-
cept of universal historical importance had first become overwhelm-
ingly evident as an artistic idea”.32 Only if the factors influencing style
were themselves renewed could style change; only when a new idea
crystallised could modern society find its adequate expression in art
and architecture. As Semper resignedly concluded in one of his last
essays:
People reproach us architects for a lack of inventiveness –

too harshly, since nowhere has a new idea of universal im-
portance, pursued with force and consciousness, become
evident. We are convinced that wherever such an idea should
really take the lead, one or the other of our young colleagues
will prove himself capable of endowing it with a suitable ar-
chitectural dress. Until that time comes, however, we must
reconcile ourselves to make as best as we can with the old.33
This passage sums up Semper’s attitude to the nineteenth-century

dilemma of style. Although sharing his contemporaries’ view of style as
relative, he refused to see it as a matter of choice. Semper maintained
that style is a result of particular cultural conditions and that it cannot
be arbitrarily invented. The present was undeniably in a particularly
difficult position as long as its cultural conditions were confused and
difficult to interpret. Even so, the task of the artist remained the same:
to embody the present conditions as truthfully and correctly as pos-
sible, for in this way, to at least clarify rather than confuse an already
muddled situation.
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T H E N E C E S S I T Y F O R D I S I N T E G R AT I O N A N D T H E
N E W S Y N T H E S I S O F A RT
Having looked at Semper’s demands for style as a result, we still have not
come any closer to understanding how, in Semper’ view, the artist was to
tap into his own time and embody it by means of style. Semper tried to
approach this question in “A Critical Analysis and Prognosis of Present-
Day Artistic Production”, an essay prepared as a preface to the Theory
of Formal Beauty. Semper started the analysis with a lyrical descrip-
tion of the balance between destruction and regeneration of the cos-
mos – a suitable analogy, he proposed, to describe similar phenomena
on the horizon of art.34 The ambiguous state of cosmic nebulas makes
it impossible to determine whether they are “age-old systems robbed
of their centres . . . , or whether they are cosmic dust being formed
around a nucleus”.35 Most probably, Semper concluded, both these
processes are present simultaneously. Formation and destruction oscil-
late in a dialectical process, the synthesis of which is the birth of a new
system.
This observation may be useful when the contemporary state of
the arts is to be assessed, he suggested. Society and art are undoubtedly
in the midst of a crisis. But does this crisis necessarily imply a final
disintegration into chaos? Semper believed that it did not. Just as the
disintegration of cosmic systems always prefigures the advent of a new
order, so does the present artistic confusion contribute to the formation
of a new system of art and society alike. The conditions of contemporary
art are visible as “mysterious fog patches on the horizon of art history”.
They signal “the disintegration of monumental art and . . . the reversion
of its elements into a general and indifferent state of being”. Yet, they
also indicate “new art formations that, slowly emerging from the chaos
of wrecked worlds of art, suddenly crystallise at the moment of coming
to life around a new centre to which everything relates.”36
Semper’s cosmic analogy should be examined carefully because it
contains his solution to the dilemma of style. From his point of view,
a new style could only emerge out of the complete disintegration of
the old. In terms of architecture, this disintegration implied the break-
ing down of monumental styles into their elementary motifs which, in
158
turn, served as starting points for a new unity. It was in this turbulent
situation – unpleasant to observe but rich in possibilities – that Semper
situated the contemporary crisis.37 Semper did not criticise his fellow
artists for distorting the motifs they borrowed from history. On the
contrary, he criticised them for not distorting them enough, for not
disintegrating them according to the need of the present:
What about our magnificent monuments with their frescos,

painted glass, statues, pediments, and friezes! They do not
belong to us. Out of their elements nothing new has arisen
that we could possibly call our own. They have not become
part of our flesh and blood. Although they are presently be-
ing collected with great care, they have not yet disintegrated
sufficiently, let alone has anything new been created.38
Semper’s conception of the artistic motifs and their metamorpho-

sis implied that architecture consists in the constant reappropriation of
ancient motifs according to present conditions. According to Semper,
then, the solution to the contemporary crisis lay neither in the invention
of a new style nor in the uncritical adaptation of past styles, but rather
in the modification of traditional motifs according to forces active in
the present. Only in that way, he insisted, could art and architecture
become “our own flesh and blood” rather than borrowed garments.39
This appropriation involved the disintegration of the motif: the grad-
ual transformation, recombination, and spiritualisation of traditional
elements.40 Only by means of such disintegration could the needs and
spirit of today be translated into a coherent style. This might not be a
completely new style, but it would nevertheless be unique, as long as
contemporary conditions – material, industrial, social, and political –
pressed their unmistakable fingerprint on the ancient motifs.
From this perspective, the ‘Babel-like confusion’ of the modern
age did not merely signify crisis and decay; rather, it signified the nec-
essary reorganisation of society and art alike, preparing the ground
for a new unity. The present chaos represented a period of disintegra-
tion necessarily preceding a new synthesis: a new union of life and art.
The artist played an important role in this process. Although he alone
159
could not bring about anything new, he might – by disintegrating and

reappropriating the ancient motifs of art – contribute towards a new
unity. A new level of ambition had entered Semper’s theory of style.
Style, for him, was the result of present conditions, but could also
serve to clarify and articulate these very conditions “in one great effect,
and after one directing Idea”.41 The transformatory power of art – a
favourite theme in romantic aesthetics – appeared here in the midst of
Semper’s apparent determinism.
Semper envisioned the ‘style of our time’ to be a new and timely
synthesis of the disintegrated motifs of art. This synthesis was nec-
essarily linked to social transformation: a new style must spring from
a new synthesis of the conflicting forces of modern society. Such a
synthesis was encountered once before in Semper’s historical analyses.
The Greeks had inherited the disintegrated motifs of Middle Eastern
and Egyptian art and synthesised them, in an act of aesthetic sublima-
tion, into a new unity. This was precisely what Semper envisioned for
nineteenth-century art:
We have arrived at the start of a new cycle, about where in the

old cycle the Greeks were before the time of the Ionian poets.
For four hundred years our practical science has worked for
the disintegration of old traditions, just as genius and work-
manship in early Greek times digested the half-forgotten
traditions.42
By means of the disintegration and sublimation of the motifs of

the past, the chaos of the present may be elevated into a new unity of
the future. To effect such a unity was the task of the Gesamtkunstwerk,
described by Semper as “an all-embracing artistic whole that would
express the highest stage reached by man in his moral and political
development”.43 No longer simply a passive result, art at its high-
est stage was to transform the world into an aesthetic unity. Wilhelm
Dilthey thus celebrated Semper as the originator of the total work of
art: “It was the key Idea underlying both the artistic achievements and
the aesthetic writing of the great Semper. If only he were alive today,
since such great tasks confront us now without any artist his equal.”44
160
Underlying Semper’s musings on style lay a particular notion of

history. The practical aesthetics construed history as an oscillation be-
tween coherence and chaos, a gradual succession of unified and discor-
dant periods. The present was characterised by incoherence, but con-
tained the germ of a future unity. The practical aesthetics was to teach
the present how to interpret its own conditions, for thus to prepare
modern society for its aesthetic sublimation in a future Gesamtkunst-
werk. In the following chapter, I will investigate this particular notion
of history and, in the process, situate Semper’s thinking within the in-
tellectual framework of nineteenth-century historicism.
161
8 : H I S T O RY A N D H I S T O R I C I S M
FROM GESCHICHTEN TO GESCHICHTE: THE

O R G A N I C U N I T Y O F H I S T O RY
S emper’s practical aesthetics presupposed a strict correspondence

between style and its historical conditions of becoming, a corre-
spondence he accused his contemporaries of having ignored to disas-
trous effect. This idea of correspondence rested on distinct assertions
about history: about the way history is structured and about the way we
can access this structure as a guide to the present. Semper’s assertions
were not original. They arose out of a rich German tradition for histor-
ical thinking that emerged in the second half of the eighteenth century
and came to its full articulation in the nineteenth. One influential con-
tribution to this tradition was Wilhelm von Humboldt’s “Ueber die
Aufgabe des Geschichtschreibers” (1822). Advising the historian about
his task and how to conduct it, Humboldt boldly declared the histo-
rian’s objective to be “the depiction of what takes place [Darstellung
des Geschehenen]”.1 The self-evident ring of this statement is deceptive.
For what is das Geschehene? In answering this question, Humboldt pre-
sented a key to nineteenth-century philosophy of history. The ‘stuff of
history’ is not simply individual historical events, but rather what binds
them together as an apparent unity. The essential task of the historian
is to articulate this unity. “What has taken place . . . is only partially vis-
ible in the world of the senses”, Humboldt explained. “The remainder
must be added through feeling, deduction, and conjecture.”2 Individual
162
H I S T O RY A N D H I S T O R I C I S M
historical events must be grasped in their ‘inner, causal connections’.3

Nothing in themselves, the events constitute merely the necessary foun-
dation for history: ‘its material, but not history itself.’4
The German philosopher and historian, Reinhart Koselleck,
has pointed out the radical assertion lurking behind Humboldt’s
seemingly commonplace views. Examining Humboldt’s assertion that
‘history itself’ is something over and above individual events, Koselleck
refers to the old topos historia magistra vitae.5 For classical authors
such as Thucydides and Cicero, history was not an abstract unity, but
rather a collection of concrete examples that guided ethical and political
conduct.6 This tradition retained its authority well into the eighteenth
century, before which time it would have been impossible to talk – in
the manner of Humboldt – about “the task of the historian” without
further qualification.7 “If anyone had said before 1780 that he studied
history”, Koselleck writes, “he would have at once been asked by his
interlocutor: Which history? History of what?”8
With Humboldt’s notion of history in and for itself, therefore, we
encounter a distinctly modern idea. No longer a series of events with
an exemplary significance, history was recast as something behind the
events – something that governs them and ties them together as a whole.
This new notion dovetailed a new use of the word. Whereas before the
mid-eighteenth century one would talk about histories [die Geschichten],
the latter part of the century introduced the term as a subjectless and
objectless singular: history [die Geschichte].9 It was to this new history
that Humboldt appealed, in a statement that encapsulates the transition
from Geschichten to Geschichte:
History . . . does not serve primarily through individual ex-

amples of what is to be followed or avoided, which are often
misleading and seldom instructive. Rather, its true and ines-
timable use – arising more through the form which adheres
to events rather than through the events themselves – is to
enliven and refine our sense for the treatment of reality.10
In rejecting the traditional topos of historia magistra vitae,

Humboldt presented history not as a collection of examples, but as an
163
abstract unity. The object and essence of history was no longer the
events themselves, but rather “the form which adheres to the events”.
For Humboldt and his generation, history had taken on a new level of
autonomy over and above the field of concrete experience.
Having already examined the Kantian notion of organic systems,
Humboldt’s understanding of history as a set of ‘inner causal connec-
tions’ has an unmistakably familiar ring. History was now understood
as a system, characterised by internal coherence, autonomy, and unity,
and growing from within rather than by a process of external addition.11
Kant himself had anticipated the possibility of replacing the aggregate
of histories with a system of history in his “Ideas for a Universal History
from a Cosmopolitan Point of View” (1784).12 It was this possibility
that Humboldt had in mind when he advised the historian to seek the
‘creative powers’ of history,13 to respect its ‘living breath’ and articu-
late its ‘inner character’.14 The identification of the organic, system-like
character of history was what allowed the historian to reach beyond in-
dividual events to ‘history itself’. From this point of view, history is a
living, individual totality with its own inner purpose, the articulation
of which is the task of the historian.15
The organic notion of history had been anticipated already by
the German Sturm und Drang writers.16 For Johann Gottfried Herder
(1744–1803), for instance, history was the ‘fermentation of human
powers’, bound together not as an intellectual aggregate, but rather as
a living whole.17 Although still echoing the classical notion of history
as a cycle of birth, growth, and decay, Herder’s historical organicism
took on a new dimension. No longer signifying the eternal recurrence
of stages of civilisation, Herder used the organic metaphor to express
the uniqueness of each such stage while also emphasising their law-
ful succession. The organic metaphor thus allowed him to unite two
seemingly opposite concepts: unique individuality and absolute lawful-
ness. If history could be seen as an organic system, complete at any
stage of its development, then individuality and lawfulness would be
reconciled.18 This congenial fusion would constitute the framework of
historicist thinking, making Herder’s Auch eine Philosophie der Geschichte
zur Bildung der Menschheit – in Meinecke’s words – a ‘splendid charter
of historism’.19
164
‘Historism’ – or ‘historicism’, which is now the accepted English

term – has been defined in many different ways. Troeltsch described
it in the broadest possible sense as the “historicizing of our knowing
and experiencing”, a transformation he identified with the nineteenth
century.20 Meinecke put it more strongly, characterising the rise of
‘historism’ as “one of the greatest intellectual revolutions that has ever
taken place in Western thought.”21 Herder and Humboldt were key fig-
ures in this revolution, and from their texts we can extract a more precise
definition of historicism itself. Historicism implies a view of history as
an organic whole, complete in itself at any point, yet evolving according
to (potentially) comprehensible laws. This organic paradigm, however,
is open to two rather different interpretative emphases. Whereas ro-
mantic philosophy and later the German historical school emphasised
the uniqueness and individuality of historical epochs, French positivist
thinking emphasised the lawfulness of epochal succession and the pos-
sibility for historical prediction. A curious fusion took place within his-
toricist thinking, merging enlightenment rationalism with its apparent
antithesis: romantic individualism. Gadamer has seen this uneasy fu-
sion as one of the key ‘aporias of historicism’.22 Let us look briefly at
these positions.
Although recognising both the individuality and the lawfulness of
history, Herder chose to emphasise the former. He argued that every
nation and every civilisation has its own measure [Maßstab] accord-
ing to which it must be judged. If one committed the error (as he
accused Winckelmann) of judging a period “by the measure of a dif-
ferent time”, one would gain little understanding of its true spirit.23
Like an organic whole, a civilisation is an autonomous totality with
“its centre of happiness within itself”.24 It can be understood only in
relation to its Volksgeist: the unique and individual character in which
all expressions of life in a certain period of time appear united. We
have encountered the idea of Volksgeist before, in the origin theories
of Montesquieu and Quatremère de Quincy. However, with Herder
the Volksgeist had become a historical phenomenon, shifting with the
flow of time. Whereas for Montesquieu and the enlightenment histo-
rians, national character was primarily connected to place – to climate,
soil, and topography – for Herder, it became primarily temporal, a
165
continually changing Spirit of the Age [Zeitgeist]. As he wrote: “The

spirit of the century interwove and joined . . . the most disparate
qualities . . . joined them to a whole.”25 For Herder, as well as for the
historicist tradition following him, Volksgeist was temporalised into Zeit-
geist, into the organic coherence of the epoch.26
If German thinking tended to emphasise the individuality of
epochs, the French tradition – continuing the enlightenment legacy –
focused on historical lawfulness and prediction. Comte’s social physics
was clearly conceived within this tradition. In fact, Comte’s hierarchy
of knowledge (discussed in Chapter 6) was based directly on the
organic notion of history. According to Comte and his mentor, Claude
Henri de Saint-Simon (1760–1825), history described an oscillation
between ‘organic’ and ‘critical’ periods.27 Whereas the former were
periods in which all social forces formed an organic unity, the latter
were periods of crisis in which the correspondence between society
and its beliefs had broken down. From this point of view, the Middle
Ages had been an organic period – its science, art, social structure, and
religious belief all in perfect correlation. The modern period, on the
other hand, was in a critical state, its social structure no longer ‘fitting’
its knowledge and beliefs.28 The nineteenth century constituted a
transitory and mongrel stage of world history, in which the conviction
of theological and metaphysical beliefs had been lost but not yet
replaced by positive knowledge.29 The modern age lacked organic
coherence: its social, political, and epistemological structure no longer
corresponded to its actual historical stage of development.30 This
historical organicism, with its principle of correspondence and its idea
of immanent wholes, formed the foundation for Comte’s social sci-
ence. Just as Cuvier had developed an experimental science of organic
wholes, Comte envisioned an experimental science of the organism
of history. Within the comparative matrix, epochal organisms could
be observed and explained, their future configurations predicted and
implemented.
This organic-aesthetic historicism constituted the framework
within which the ‘battle of style’ was fought. As discussed in Chapter 7,
the nineteenth-century debate on style presupposed that history could
be conceived of as a systematic whole, constituted by distinct and
166
homogeneous epochs, each with a particular character and a distinct

style. The different epochs, in their turn, constituted unique and
organic expressions, all ‘equal before God’.31 Semper’s practical aes-
thetics must be understood within this intellectual framework. From
the historical school, he took the idea that each epoch forms an organic
whole endowed with its own unique character. Each style, then, is the
manifestation of such epochal character, representing a unique value
system potentially accessible for appropriation. Style was the unifying
fingerprint of the epoch, growing out of the epochal conditions of be-
coming. The task of the present was to achieve such an organic coher-
ence between style and sociohistorical conditions – and, in this way,
consolidate itself as a true epoch. From the positivists, moreover,
Semper took the idea that this organic sublimation of the modern epoch
could be planned and implemented in a rational manner. The notion of
epoch, thus, served not only as a descriptive, but also as a prescriptive
device. Like Comte, Semper believed in the possibility of explaining
and predicting the inner workings of the epochal organism, rendering
(art) history into a positive science by which the aesthetic synthesis of
the future could be prepared.32
The ambiguous framework of historicism informed not only
Semper’s vision of the past, but also his view of the present and future. If
history is envisioned as a succession of coherent epochs – organic wholes
in which all expressions of life adhere to a dominant Zeitgeist – then the
discrepancies of the present must seem all the more conspicuous. To be
sure, the sense of crisis expressed by Semper and his nineteenth-century
contemporaries was a response to a time of great social and intellec-
tual upheaval. However, this disorder must have seemed particularly
acute when seen against the background of a past construed as coher-
ent and organic. The cry for a unified and unifying ‘style of our time’
was caused not only by a chaotic present, but also by a particular notion
of the past which made the present seem essentially deficient. Constru-
ing the past as a succession of organic epochs, one could justify the de-
mand that the present too should unite in one organic unity, in one co-
herent epoch, in one style, and in one Volk. This was Semper’s ambitions
on behalf of the Gesamtkunstwerk: the aesthetic-organic unification of a
‘critical’ age.
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T H E A RT W O R K O F T H E F U T U R E
“There is no inherent limit to the capacity of the artist to shape

reality.”
W. Dilthey 33
The epochal consciousness emerging with nineteenth-century histori-

cism was not directed ‘backwards’ but rather ‘forwards’. If, as Humboldt
insisted, the historian’s task was to grasp and articulate the organic unity
of the past, he was closely complemented by another figure, whose task
it was to realise this unity in the present and to provide direction for the
future: this was the role of the artist.34 Charged with manifesting the
spirit of the age, the artist was to give a tangible expression to his own
time, and thus to realise it as an epoch proper. The modern age posed
certain difficulties for such a ‘realisation’, however, because it seemed
to lack the organic unity that would allow a true style to emerge. It
was in response to this problem that the notion of the Gesamtkunst-
werk assumed such importance in nineteenth-century philosophy and
aesthetics.
The term Gesamtkunstwerk suggests a synthesis of individual arts
into one total artwork.35 For Semper, as Mallgrave has pointed out,
architecture was a Gesamtkunstwerk by its very nature, fusing arts and
craft into a higher unity.36 Yet, when Semper evoked the “grand all-
embracing artistic whole”37 of the Gesamtkunstwerk, he had in mind
something more than a synthesis of individual art forms. He aimed
at a cultural synthesis, a unification of modern culture into an or-
ganic, epochal whole. Semper’s friend and compatriot, Richard Wagner
(1813–83), was an important source for these visions, and Wagner’s
essay “The Artwork of the Future” (1849) coined the term Gesamtkunst-
werk in its modern sense. Reading more like a political manifesto than
an aesthetic treatise, the essay proclaimed that the artwork of the fu-
ture would rescue man from the ‘baleful state’ of modernity.38 Whereas
enlightenment thinkers had confined art to an isolated domain of aes-
thetics – severed from life and fragmented into ‘art varieties’ – the art-
work of the future was to fuse art and life into a new aesthetic-political
168
synthesis and thus save man from the “errors, perversities, and un-
natural distortions of modern life.”39
Wagner often returned to his diagnosis of the present as somehow
‘un-natural’.40 He argued that the modern age had not yet grasped the
‘necessity’ by which it could be inaugurated as a true epoch. Echoing
Saint-Simon and Comte, Wagner regarded the nineteenth century as
a critical period, characterised by ‘bad coherence’.41 Only an artwork
sprung from the actual needs and forces of the present could amend this
disintegration, yet these needs and forces were all but clear: “Where
are the life-conditions which shall summon forth the Necessity of this
Art-work and this redemption?”42 Wagner, like Semper, appealed to
the present to grasp its own epochal conditions and to realise them –
and thus itself – through art:
In common . . . shall we close the last link in the bond of holy

Necessity; and the brother-kiss that seals this bond, will be
the mutual Art-Work [Gesamtkunstwerk] of the Future. . . .
for in this Art-work we shall all be one – heralds and sup-
porters of Necessity, knowers of the unconscious, willers of
the unwilful, betokeners of Nature – blissful men.43
This passage sums up Wagner’s and Semper’s notion of the

Gesamtkunstwerk. The true work of art is an organic expression of its
time, out of whose needs it grows. Such art is ‘natural’ in the sense that it
is a necessary rather than arbitrary expression of the present conditions.
“The future will settle everything”,44 Semper enthused. “The shack-
les would fall by themselves if the urge that drives the present became
more generally aware of its aim. Here is victory and freedom!”45
The Gesamtkunstwerk, as envisioned by Wagner and Semper, was
simultaneously a manifestation and an actualisation of modern society,
sublimating it into an aesthetic totality. Through the Gesamtkunstwerk,
the modern nation was to be constituted aesthetically; the hidden depth
of the Volk was to be articulated in the total work of art. The dream
was to merge art and life, making art the ultimate expression for the
Lebensgefühl of the time, and joining the disintegrated arts together
again in a higher unity. This was an idea deeply rooted in romantic
169
philosophy. Friedrich Schlegel anticipated it when he called for a uni-

versal poetry that could “vitalise poetry and poeticise life”.46 Against
the aesthetic differentiation of the Enlightenment, art was called upon
to transcend its aesthetic confines in order to serve as a transformatory
power for life and society.47 As Wagner proclaimed: “It is for Art . . . and
Art above all else, to teach this social impulse its noblest meaning, and
guide it towards its true direction.”48
A curious reciprocity reveals itself here between art and the con-
ditions from which it springs. The Gesamtkunstwerk was to emerge out
of the depth of a united Volk, yet it was also to serve as the means
by which to bring about such a unity. The aesthetic revolution that
Wagner envisioned was not simply a consequence of a future ‘Manhood
of Humanity’, but also the very event that would create such a fu-
ture. The Gesamtkunstwerk was a means of redemption, a vehicle for
salvation from the ‘baleful state’ of modernity, actualising the new
conditions of humanity and fulfilling its deliverance to the ‘promised
land’.49 The task of the artist was to transform contemporary society
from a critical to an organic epoch in the Saint-Simonian sense. His
mission was “to bring about a metamorphosis of the mass into a Volk,
a civilisation into Culture”.50 “In this Art-work we shall all be one”,
Wagner wrote – a united Volk fully in charge of its own future.51
Semper’s prophetic statement sums up this argument:
For everything will only remain an eerie phantasmagoria

until our national life develops into a harmonious work of
art, analogous but richer than Greek art in its short golden
age. When this happens, every riddle will be solved! Where
are they who have thought of the possibility!52
T H E F U T U R E A S A W O R K O F A RT
Both Wagner and Semper believed the Gesamtkunstwerk to be the means

by which the organic unity of the future could be manifested and actu-
alised. From this point of view, history was refashioned into a kind of
aesthetic project, and the Gesamtkunstwerk into the aesthetic equivalent
170
of the epoch: an organic whole potentially open for description, expla-

nation, and implementation. The topos of history as a work of art had
already been elaborated by Giambattista Vico (1668–1744). In the New
Science (1725), Vico divided reality into two principal spheres: divine
and human. Whereas God is the creator of the natural world, man
is the maker of civil society. “Whoever reflects on this”, Vico wrote,
“cannot but marvel that the philosophers should have bent all their
energies to the study of the world of nature, which, since God made
it, He alone knows; and that they should have neglected the study of
the world of nations, or civil world, which, since men had made it,
men could come to know.”53 A complete knowledge of God’s creation
is not granted man; he can fully understand only what he has made
himself.
Vico’s ideas may sound deceptively modern, heralding ideas of
what Koselleck coined the ‘constructability of history’: that history
is ours to make.54 However, for Vico, human history still belonged
within a transcendent order and was not yet seen as history in and for
itself.55 When the constructability of history was invoked at the end
of the eighteenth century, this understanding had changed, a trans-
formation linked to the shift from Geschichten to Geschichte.56 Whereas
Vico considered human history a set of exemplary events and institu-
tions still deriving their meaning from a telos outside history itself, the
late eighteenth century increasingly saw history as an immanent and
self-regulating system. The demand for its constructability was thus
radically extended. It no longer concerned only man-made institutions
situated in history, but also included the making of history itself.57 Man
has a history “not because he participates in it, but because he produces
it”, Schelling wrote in 1798.58 Conceiving history as a comprehensible
system whose workings do not depend on divine providence but rather
on human prevision, history was rendered a malleable material for the
crafting of progress.59 In Engels’s words, history was ours to make:
The extraneous objective forces that hitherto governed his-

tory pass under the control of man himself. Only from that
time will man himself, more and more consciously, make his
own history – only from that time will the social causes set
171
in movement by him have, in the main and in a constantly

growing measure, the result intended by him. It is the ascent
of man from the kingdom of necessity to the kingdom of
freedom.60
This notion of the constructability of history is far removed from

that of Vico. In fact, Vico’s dictum about the making of history has been
fully inverted. Whereas Vico suggested that man can understand what
he has made, the reverse is true with Engels: man can make what he has
understood.61 History, understood as an organic whole governed by an
immanent purposiveness rather than an external telos, is a phenomenon
whose workings may be explained by means of a scientific method, pre-
dicted by means of rational prognosis, and implemented by means of a
political or aesthetic program. If we opened this section by looking at
the affinity between the artist and the historian in nineteenth-century
thinking, we have now reached the point where the two merge almost
completely. From the historicist point of view, the possibility to un-
derstand history guaranteed a possibility to produce history. In the case
of Wagner, Semper, and many of their contemporaries, this produc-
tion was to take place by means of an aesthetic revolution. Historicist
thinking turned the artwork of the future into the future as a work
of art.
For romantic aesthetics, the ‘all-embracing artistic whole’62 of
the Gesamtkunstwerk was a means by which to mend the enlighten-
ment split between art and life. Yet, by augmenting an already isolated
aesthetic whole into an autonomous and alternative world, romantic
aesthetics radicalised rather than bridged the aesthetic differentiation.
The Gesamtkunstwerk – despite its ambitions in the opposite direc-
tion – represented the ultimate aestheticisation of art and history alike.
As Häusler writes:
Though rejecting the rationalist vocabulary of the pre-

ceding century, the nineteenth-century Romantics pushed
yet further the tendency towards a complete emancipation,
the assignment of Art to a separate sphere. If the eigh-
teenth century had consigned art to an autonomous realm to
172
improve its status, the Romantics adopted this same princi-

ple of aesthetic autonomy only to raise art from here onto a
level above all other spheres of knowledge and experience,
neatly separating it from the other ‘lower’ aspects of life.63
By projecting an already isolated aesthetic paradigm onto the

whole world, the aesthetic revolution of the romantics paradoxically
confirmed the very differentiation it was trying to overcome. Gadamer
articulates this succinctly : “The experimental search for new symbols
or a new myth that will unify everyone may certainly gather a public
and create a community, but since every artist finds his own community,
the particularity of such communities merely testifies to the disintegra-
tion that is taking place.”64 This comment is relevant with regard to
Wagner’s and Semper’s shared vision of the Gesamtkunstwerk. For them,
the Gesamtkunstwerk was a ‘precursor of redemption’: the means by
which the new epoch was to crystallise.65 It was an aesthetic project,
carefully designed to unify a fragmented modernity. With this idea –
which for Semper implied a dream not only of a total artistic expression,
but also of a method that could secure the correctness of this expres-
sion itself – he radicalised the romantic quest for aesthetic totality and
approached a Comtean idea of the makeability of history. Although ro-
mantic aesthetics conceived art as refuge and redemption from the dis-
enchanted world of reason, the dream of an aesthetic revolution relied
itself on an unsurpassed instrumentality, in which the Gesamtkunstwerk
of the future had become a matter of prognosis and implementation.
Conceived as both a product of and an instrument for a new aes-
thetic synthesis, the concept of the Gesamtkunstwerk testified to the
close affinity between positivism and romanticism within the frame-
work of historicist thinking. Semper’s practical aesthetics bears out this
affinity particularly clearly. It was more than an attempt to systematise
architectural design procedures – it was, in fact, a radical assertion of
the makeability of history, an assertion presupposing that history could
be rendered transparent to the ‘designs of reason’. Here, the real impact
of historicism on Semper’s thinking becomes visible. Far from being
simply a matter of stylistic choice, historicism has to do with the way in
which history is envisioned as being available to the present. Semper’s
173
practical aesthetics implied strong claims concerning this availability.

Presenting style and epoch as a transparent interaction of quantifiable
factors, the practical aesthetics established a complete introspection
into history and culture as the necessary presupposition for architec-
tural production. Semper’s method of inventing was in this sense a fun-
damentally historicist device: the attempt to establish a methodology
for the aesthetic sublimation of modern society.
174
9: BETWEEN POETICS AND
C hapter 8 examined the intellectual framework of historicism,

looking at the way such seemingly adverse tendencies as historical
individualism and historical determinism were fused within it.1 Trying
to grasp this ambiguous framework, I drew on Gadamer’s notion of the
aporias of historicism, by which he pinpointed the inherent tension in
historicist thought between romanticism and positivism. This peculiar
fusion was made possible by the organic analogy, recasting history as a
self-regulating system, complete at every point yet governed by com-
prehensible laws. The organic paradigm seemed to do for history what
it had done for anatomy and linguistics: to allow for a methodical expla-
nation and prediction of historical phenomena, establishing a science
of history and historical expressions. This aspiration lies at the heart
of nineteenth-century historicism, pointedly defined by Heidegger as
history becoming “an object of contemplation for method”.2
However, if the aesthetic-organic framework of historicism sheds
light on certain ambiguities within Semper’s practical aesthetics, it does
not illuminate the aspect of Semper’s thinking that I have called his po-
etics; that is, his notion of art as a creative interpretation of praxis.
Emphasising the inalienable presence of the past embodied in art,
Semper’s poetics of architecture presented a mode of history very dif-
ferent from the historicism of style and epoch. Following Gadamer,
we may talk about this as Geschichtlichkeit: the inescapable historicity of
human existence.3 Notwithstanding the historicist attempt at reducing
history to a matter of methodology, there always remains a historical
175
dimension unaffected by this reduction, a dimension constituted by the

fact that our lives are “always already affected by history”.4 Semper’s
poetics addressed this historicity as it came to expression in works of
art and architecture.
Having so far described the aporias of historicism as the am-
biguous fusion of romanticism and positivism, we are now encoun-
tering a deeper aporia located at the heart of Semper’s thinking. It
is a conflict between a recognition of the profound historicity of art
on the one hand, and a historicist dream of developing a method by
which to master history and art alike on the other. In this conclud-
ing chapter, I will situate Semper’s work within this tension and, in
this way, return to my initial point of departure: the conflicting re-
lationship between Semper’s poetics of architecture and his practical
aesthetics. One last close reading will help me do this. It is a read-
ing of the German philosopher Wilhelm Dilthey (1833–1911), whose
philosophy of history made the deeper aporias of historicism abun-
dantly clear. A younger contemporary of Semper, Dilthey was, in fact,
a great admirer of Der Stil, celebrating it as an “enlightening model for
how an important historical problem should be solved in aesthetics.”5
The appraisal indicates the affinity that existed between the two schol-
ars, allied in a mutual search for a science of history and historical
expressions.
W I L H E L M D I LT H E Y : H I S T O R I C I T Y
AND HISTORICISM
Writing in the last decades of the nineteenth century, Dilthey could

coolly evaluate the dual origins of historicism. In his view, neither the
German historical school nor the Anglo-French tradition of social sci-
ence had managed to elevate the study of historical phenomena to the
status of an objective science. Although the historical school had devel-
oped sensitive insights into historical phenomena, it had neglected the
methodological rigor demanded from a proper science.6 And although
social science in the tradition of Comte and Mill had outlined a rig-
orous methodology, it lacked “that intimate sense of historical reality
176
BETWEEN POETICS AND PRACTICAL AESTHETICS
necessary for appreciating the essential nature of history.”7 With one

position emphasising method over substance and the other substance
over method, no secure foundation had been found for the human
sciences.8
Dilthey’s own philosophical project was informed by this criti-
cism. He wanted to retain the concrete richness of the historical phe-
nomenon while also developing an objective science of history, thus
accommodating both the insights of the historical school and the rig-
ors of positivism. Although sharing their ambitions, however, Dilthey
rejected both romantic and positivist attempts at formulating the prob-
lem of history. Neither a matter of metaphysics nor of ‘facts’, Dilthey
saw history as a matter of epistemology: of how we can come to possess
objective knowledge of the historical world. As he asked: “We are now
confronted by the question of the scientific knowledge of . . . human
existence. Is such a knowledge possible, and what means do we have to
attain it?”9
Posing the question in this way, Dilthey followed Kant’s prece-
dent. Kant’s critical project had been to show how scientific knowledge –
pure or empirical – is possible. Extending this approach, Dilthey set
out to prove the possibility of a Geisteswissenschaft: a science of history
and culture. In the same way that Kant had located the possibility of
knowledge in man’s transcendental faculties, Dilthey identified histor-
ical knowledge as an epistemological rather than an ontological prob-
lem, and sought to complement the Kantian Critiques with a Critique
of Historical Reason.10 With Dilthey, as Gadamer notes, “the claim of
the pure science of reason was extended to historical knowledge. It was
a part of the encyclopaedia of the mind.”11
Attempting to clear the ground for a legitimate Geisteswissenschaft,
Dilthey sought the simplest constituent element of history as his point
of departure. In contrast to natural science, which structures its research
around supposedly neutral facts, the human sciences must base their
research on data always already pregnant with meaning.12 Following
the romantic tradition, Dilthey located this nucleus of meaning in the
lived experience [Erlebnis] of the individual. The individual’s Erlebnisse,
he argued, constitute a structure by means of which “one’s inner life is
woven into continuity”.13 Such experiences form a nexus of meaning
177
which structures not only the individual psyche, but also the histori-
cal world. In fact, the historical world “exists nowhere else but in the
representations of such an individual.”14
Historical knowledge, then, springs from the depth and totality of
human self-consciousness, and any science of man must begin there.15
Starting from the individual’s experience of life, the Geisteswissenschaften
were to gradually expand their scope until they achieved “the analysis
of our total lived experience of the human world”.16 The possibility
for such an expansion was given by the affinity between individual and
world: “The first condition for the possibility of a Geisteswissenschaft lies
in the consciousness that I am myself a historical creature”,17 Dilthey
declared:
I myself, who experience and know myself from within, am a

constituent of this social body . . . the other constituents are
similar to me and are thus for me likewise comprehensible
in their inner being. I understand the life of society.18
With our recent discussion of Vico’s ‘human history’ in mind,

Dilthey’s statement sounds familiar. Man’s comprehension of the life of
society is different from his comprehension of nature.19 Whereas na-
ture is known as an object experienced from the outside, the historical
world is known, as it were, from within. Because man is himself a part of
a historical world, he knows that world by its affinity to his own being.20
This participation was, for Dilthey, the epistemological guarantee for
historical knowledge: I understand the historical world because I am
myself a historical creature. Yet, this insight is only the starting point
for a science of history. If historical knowledge is to be elevated to a
science proper, it cannot remain a matter of subjective intuition. The
extrapolation that links self-consciousness to the consciousness of oth-
ers cannot merely be spontaneously given, but rather must be achieved
through a systematic procedure. Only by means of such a procedure
can the historian transcend the particularity of his own life and grasp
an ever-expanding horizon of historical understanding. We may attain
historical knowledge, in other words, only by means of a method of
interpretation.21
178
Dilthey’s methodology entailed a two-step procedure. The first

step was constituted by the principle of sympathy, described previously:
By using the experiences of my own life to understand the expressions of
others, I can gradually expand the understanding I have of myself into
a complete understanding of the historical world. Historical knowl-
edge, in this sense, is a kind of augmented self-consciousness in which
the individual’s life experience has become “the starting point for an
expansion that in a living transposition, fills out the narrowness and
fortuitousness of his private experience”.22 This principle of sympa-
thy implied the second methodological step, that of comparison: If by
sympathy I can understand the ‘other’ in history, then by comparison I
can assemble a potentially infinite number of ‘others’, the interrelation
of whom constitutes the structure of history.23 Comparison, Dilthey
explained, allows me to transcend my particular situation and opens
the possibility of a “complete science of history . . . the presentation
and explanation of the system of human culture.”24 Dilthey’s historical
method, then, was a means by which the limitations of subjective con-
sciousness could be transcended. Through sympathy and comparison,
the historian was to rise above his own relative viewpoint to an objective
and comparative overview of history.25
As in the case of Cuvier and Comte, Dilthey’s comparative method
was based on certain essential presuppositions. It presupposed a world
in which all historical phenomena are equally present and accessible for
the sympathetic historian, thus allowing for a complete and objective
overview of history. A certain ‘simultaneity of history’ was thereby es-
tablished within the comparative matrix, pinpointed by Gadamer when
he writes that “Comparison essentially presupposes that the knowing
subjectivity has the freedom to have both members of the compari-
son at its disposal. It openly makes both things contemporary.”26 This
contemporaneity, we might add, can be achieved because the compar-
ative method considers not the particular significance of the objects
of study, but rather their formal relations. Count Yorck pointed this
out to Dilthey in a letter: “Comparison is always aesthetic; it is always
concerned with the pattern of things.”27 The implications of this for-
malisation were discussed in Chapters 5 and 6 . Construing its object of
study as a set of formal relations, the comparative method established a
179
laboratory-like condition in which the inner workings of life, language,

or history could be unravelled. This comparative experimentation, as
we saw in the work of Comte, had not only explanatory but also pre-
dictive ambitions. If the laws and forces of history could be explained,
then their future manifestations could be foreseen. Dilthey shared this
ambition on behalf of the human sciences, tacitly accepting Comte’s
dictum that “all science has prevision for its end”.28
The aporia of Dilthey’s science of history runs deeper than the rift
between historical individualism and determinism. It is a conflict be-
tween a recognition of the fundamental historicity of human existence
on the one hand, and the dream of developing a method by means of
which this historicity can be mastered on the other. Gadamer demon-
strates how the second ambition inevitably cancels the first.29 Lived
experience is always situated, Gadamer argues: it belongs, as Dilthey
himself knew, to a particular time, place, and situation. Man is situated
(or ‘thrown’, in Heidegger’s word) within a particular horizon of un-
derstanding, a horizon which is historically constituted. In this sense,
historical consciousness is not an “infinite intellect for which every-
thing exists, simultaneous and co-present”, but rather remains “always
entangled in the context of historical effect.”30 A method demands, by
definition, that this entanglement be transcended and replaced by an
objective overview. The essential nature of historicity, therefore, can
never be grasped by means of method, and Dilthey was able to har-
monise the epistemological demands of the human sciences only by
neglecting the essential historicity of the human situation. In the new
Geisteswissenschaften, as Gadamer points out, the ontological reality of
historicity was ultimately discarded for the epistemological construc-
tion of historicism.31
SEMPER AND THE QUESTION OF METHOD:

A CONCLUSION
The affinity between Dilthey and Semper is striking: they both recog-
nised the depth and complexity of historical expressions; they both
sought a scientific procedure that could encompass this complexity
180
without compromising the demand for objectivity; and, finally, they

both claimed to have found it in the ‘contemporising’ procedure of the
comparative method. By means of this method, Dilthey and Semper
came to turn their recognition of the historicity of the human world
into a dream for its transparency and, further, into an operative method
for its prediction. The key to understanding Semper’s unlikely fusion
of poetics and practical aesthetics must be sought within this second
aporia of historicism.
To approach the question of historicity in Semper’s work, it is nec-
essary to return to his reflections on origins. Semper located the origins
of art and architecture not in a formal model, but rather in the creative
instinct of man. From his point of view, art served as a vehicle for man’s
practical and existential orientation in the world, and could not be un-
derstood in isolation from this task. The notion of motif played a key
role in these reflections. As the simplest ‘translation’ of ritual action
into form (e.g., the embodiment of rhythm in the motif of weaving),
the motifs constituted the primordial nuclei of art. With time, these
motifs metamorphosed into new materials and were transformed ac-
cording to new needs, yet they remained recognisable configurations
with a relative stability, guaranteeing the continuity and legibility of
art through history. In this sense, the motifs had a distinctly historical
character. The kind of history at stake, however, was not the history of
historicism – an object to be analysed by means of method – but rather
history as a continuous and involuntary presence, granting recognis-
ability and meaning to the world. Semper’s motifs of art constituted an
omnipresent resonance, revealing the past and, by doing so, renewing
the present.
Semper, like Dilthey, did not seek his point of departure in em-
pirical facts, but rather in phenomena always already pregnant with
meaning.32 For both scholars, this meaning resided in the particular
historicity of human experience and expression, in the way the past ex-
ercises a continuous effect upon the present. Gadamer has called this
particular ‘effect’ of history Wirkungsgeschichte: history as it works on us
through language, art, and tradition. From this point of view, “time is
no longer primarily a gulf to be bridged because it separates; it is actu-
ally the supportive ground of the course of events in which the present
181
is rooted.”33 For Semper, the kind of making that takes place in art,
craft, and architecture testified to this ‘supportive ground’ of history.
It is a mode of history never directly available for observation, yet it
exercises a continuous effect on our thinking and making.
Art, in Semper’s sense of the term, embodies history as it works on
the present and, in doing so, establishes a reinterpretation of both the
past and the present itself. It is in this sense that art can be described as
mimesis of praxis: a creative interpretation of a human world. Ricoeur,
following Aristotle, described the working of art as emplotment: the
configuration of ‘reality into world’.34 This emplotment involves his-
tory insofar as what it reveals is a historical world. Yet, this does not
mean that the artwork is concerned only with the past. On the contrary,
the work of art, as Ricoeur points out, makes it clear that “the past is no
longer something over and done with . . . but something that . . . is now
preserved in the present.”35 Semper knew this when he emphasised the
constant need to reappropriate the ancient motifs of art, to transform
them and make them “our own flesh and blood”.36 For him, the past
was a necessary and inalienable presence, and the task of art was the
constant interpretation and reinterpretation of this historicity.
As mimesis of praxis, the work of art brings something to visibility
that would otherwise remain unseen. It does not only reproduce an
already existing reality, but also brings forth something new. Ricoeur
talked about this double effect as the poetic capacity of art. When I
somewhat cautiously called Semper’s reflections on the origin and de-
velopment of architecture a poetics, it had to do with this dual capacity.
Poiesis signifies ‘fiction’ or ‘fabrication’. To talk about the poetic fiction
of architecture is to suggest that architecture imitates human praxis in a
poetic fashion: at the same time revealing and transforming the word in
which it is situated.37 This was indeed what Semper suggested when he
emphasised the need to disintegrate and reappropriate the ancient mo-
tifs of art according to the needs of the present. For him, architecture
was something which both reveals and transforms the very ground of
human existence. This poetic fiction did not imply a ‘denial of reality’
in any narrow sense.38 Rather than an aesthetic escape from reality, the
poetic fiction of art represented in a certain sense a privileged access to
reality itself. The work of art – which for Semper meant the process of
182
making as well as the actual result – is an activity fundamental to man’s

‘being-in-the-world’, to borrow Heidegger’s phrase: an activity whose
primary significance is ontological rather than aesthetic.
Having reminded ourselves of the main points of Semper’s poetics
of architecture, it is time to confront the difficult question of method;
that is, the question of how Semper could reconcile his recognition of
the poetic capacity and historicity of art with the methodological de-
mands of his practical aesthetics. Like Dilthey, Semper (at least, in his
poetics) refused to reduce his subject matter to a matter of narrowly
defined facts. In this sense, he was certainly neither a materialist nor a
functionalist, but rather had a broad and inclusive view of the means
and ends of architecture. At the same time, however, alarmed by the
contemporary sense of crisis, Semper sought to save architecture from
‘eccentric opinion’ by giving it the legitimacy of a science and the pro-
cedure of a method. This ambition entailed a peculiar dilemma: the
meaning of art is not objectively given, but rather resides within a par-
ticular horizon of understanding. Semper recognised this, stating that
art can never be invented ex nihilo, but relies on a shared memory.39 Yet,
if art were to be made the legitimate object of a method, this horizon
must be transcended. Method, as we saw in Dilthey, presupposes that
the contextual significance of the object of study be overcome, that it be
disentangled from its involvement with the world and made the object
of ideal observation and explanation.40
This disentangling was precisely what took place in Semper’s prac-
tical aesthetics. By formalising the notions of motif and style into coef-
ficients that can be treated in a methodical manner, Semper gradually
abandoned his contextual understanding of art in favour of a formal
analysis. I followed this process through three steps: (1) the first step
reduced the notion of motif to a purely formal configuration in the
theory of formal beauty; (2) the second step rendered style a result of
a transparent interaction between definable coefficients in the formula
for style; and (3) the third step placed these ‘results’ within the univer-
sal expanse of the comparative matrix, establishing for art a complete
view “over its whole province”.41 By means of this overview, the slip-
pery problem of style could be made no longer a matter of ‘choosing
appropriately’, but rather a question of ‘defining correctly’. Instead of
183
being a matter of ethical judgement, the ‘style of our time’ would be a

matter of method and its correct application.
I wrote in the Introduction that Semper’s dilemma could be
framed as a tension between his concern for the ontological signifi-
cance of art and his demand for its epistemological explanation. Now
we may return to this tension. Faced with the demands of method,
Semper was forced to shift his emphasis from the meaning of art itself
to the meaning of the procedures by which art can be investigated.
Like Dilthey, he replaced an insight into the historicity of art with a
historicist demand for methodical explanation, testifying to the posi-
tivist dictum that “we seek no other unity than the unity of method”.42
Again, Dilthey’s case is instructive. Dilthey recognised historicity as
an ontological phenomenon, an essential feature of human existence.
In his historical critique, however, this ontological problem was of-
fered an epistemological solution, in which the question of historicity
became a question of how and by what means it might be known.43
Thus, for all his criticism of naive neo-Kantianism, Dilthey actually
continued the tendency initiated by Kant’s ‘Copernican revolution’: he
replaced the ontological question of the world with an epistemological
question of how to investigate it. Unlike the first question, the latter
could be answered without recourse to a transcendent reality, and could
as such be considered scientifically legitimate. This conflation of sub-
stance and method is characteristic of historicism and positivism alike.
Both presuppose, as Habermas points out, “that the meaning of knowl-
edge is defined by what sciences do and can thus be adequately expli-
cated through the methodological analysis of scientific procedures.”44
Habermas describes this shift, so conspicuous in the nineteenth century,
as a ‘flattening’ of the realm of reflection, in which ontology is reduced
to epistemology and subsequently to a set of methodological principles
transparent to reason.45 Semper’s practical aesthetics testified to this
flattening. Starting from a concern for the ontological significance of
art, he ended with a purely epistemological construction in which the
question of the truth of art was overshadowed by a question of proce-
dural correctness. In this sense, Quitzsch was right when he identified
Semper’s failure as an epistemological one, but wrong when assuming
that the failure could have been avoided. The intellectual framework
184
of historicism, although seemingly allowing Semper to proceed from a

poetics of art to its implementation in a practical aesthetics, forced him
in reality to lay aside his original question. This is the inherent naiveté
of historicism: “In trusting to the fact that its procedure is methodical,
it forgets its own historicity.”46
Semper’s theoretical reflections on architecture remain suspended
in the aporia of historicism. He recognised the historicity of art, yet he
was ultimately forced to sacrifice this recognition for methodological
coherence. This reduction is nowhere more clearly expressed than in
Semper’s plan for an “Ideal and Universal Collection”, formulated dur-
ing his London exile. Simultaneously inspired and alarmed by the Great
Exhibition of 1851, Semper set out to outline the principles by which an
ideal collection should be organised. This would not be simply another
museum, but rather a complete encyclopaedia of human culture:
A Complete and Universal Collection must give, so to speak,

the longitudinal Section – the transverse Section and the plan
of the entire Science of Culture; it must show how things
were done in all times; how they are done at present in all
the Countries of the Earth; and why they were done in one or
the other Way, according to circumstances; it must give the
history, the ethnography and the philosophy of Culture.47
Semper outlined the organisation of such a collection in some

detail, the structure of which anticipates the organisation of Der Stil.
The universal collection would form a great comparative matrix in
which the artefacts were arranged – not according to chronology or aes-
thetic value (the two most common criteria for museum classification
at the time),48 but rather according to the four primordial techniques
of making and their corresponding ‘elements’ (Figure 50). The section
comprising textile art, for instance, would begin with the simplest
wickerwork, expand to more refined textile products, and culminate
in the metamorphosed motif of Bekleidung in its different guises. Sim-
ilarly, the other elements of architecture would be traced from their
simplest origins to their most sublimated expressions and presented in
their development through time and place. An additional section would
185
Figure 50. Sketch diagram for an ideal museum. Gottfried Semper, Practical Art in
Metals and Hard Materials: Its Technology, History, and Styles. Unpublished manuscript,
London 1852. V&A Picture Library.
display products of ‘mixed character’, demonstrating the “blending

together of the four Elements [in] High Art and Architecture.”49 In
this way, Semper hoped to establish “a good Comparative System of
Arrangement”,50 “a sort of Index to the History of Culture”51 that
would enable “the Student to see the things in their mutual relations,
to observe their mutual affinities and Dissimilarities, and to find out
the Laws and Premises upon which all these mutual positive and
negative relations depend.”52
186
Semper’s universal collection was to allow human culture in all

its aspects to be captured and displayed in the simultaneity of the
comparative matrix. By means of this matrix, which would grant “a
clear insight over [art’s] whole province”, the laws of artistic making
were to be revealed and a practical aesthetic formulated.53 What is ex-
traordinary about Semper’s ambition is not so much its breadth as its
depth. ‘Universal’ collections and ‘general’ histories were favourite pur-
suits in nineteenth-century scholarship. Semper’s ‘Ideal and Universal
Collection’, however, was not only supposed to display everything, but
also to explain it: capturing the full meaning and manifold of human
creativity in one universal overview. Its significance was to be guaran-
teed not by the particular meaning of the artefacts displayed, but by
the methodological arrangement itself, displaying human culture and
history as an immanent system whose laws are available for explanation
and prediction. Within the laboratory of the comparative matrix, the
riddles of art and history were to be solved once and for all.
Semper’s project for a universal collection provides a good exam-
ple of the historicist emphasis of method over substance, the idea that
the ‘truth’ or ‘correctness’ of an inquiry can be guaranteed by procedure
rather than by content. As such, the collection testifies to the inevitable
formalisation implied in the historicist obsession with method. For the
historicist mind, as Count Yorck reminded us, everything is a pattern,
instantly available to methodical explanation. This observation seems
an apt comment on Semper’s universal collection. By means of this
collection, establishing a comparative overview over the ‘province of
art’, Semper aimed to reveal the laws of artistic making and to render
them available for observation, explanation, and prediction. Yet, this ap-
proach seems, paradoxically, to limit rather than expand the questions
that can be asked about art and its significance. Although seeming to
establish a complete and systematic overview, the practical aesthetics
excluded questions about the ontological meaning of art for the sake of
epistemological clarity.
It may now be possible to assess Semper’s attempt to turn ar-
chitectural interpretation and creation into a scientific procedure and
to appreciate the deep dilemma inherent in his position. Although
recognising the historicity of artistic making, Semper’s sense of crisis
187
on behalf of contemporary art and architecture led him to quantify

both history and artistic making into factors of systematic analysis. The
practical aesthetics presupposed that the work of art in all its aspects
could be understood as a result of clearly definable coefficients and their
interaction. By means of this analogy, Semper formulated a theory of
style that had both explanatory and predicative capacity. Yet, Semper
achieved this theoretical coherence only at the cost of abandoning his
initial insight into the poetic capacity of art. From the point of view
of his poetics, artistic making was a vehicle for interpretation, a vehi-
cle by means of which the concealed horizon of a human world could
be brought to a partial articulation. The practical aesthetics, on the
other hand, set up quite a different set of presuppositions, according
to which the coefficients of art were already fully defined. Unlike the
poetics, which took the opacity of the world as its point of departure,
the practical aesthetics required a complete transparency of history and
culture before the act of making could even begin.
188
EPILOGUE
T
he dream of fully capturing one’s own horizon of understanding,
and objectifying the presupposition for understanding itself, was
one that could not have succeeded. As Vesely points out, “in order to
do so, it would have been necessary to transform the whole culture
to which architecture inevitably belongs into verifiable conditions and
to make them part of a complete functional system.”1 Semper him-
self implicitly testified to this recognition by the incompleteness of his
project. “I can assure you,” he wrote to his impatient publisher awaiting
the third volume of Der Stil, “that it was not carelessness, indifference,
and certainly not ill will, but motives and emotions of quite a different
nature that prevented me again and again from fulfilling . . . the obliga-
tions I have towards you and the public”.2 In this epilogue, I would like
to touch upon these ‘feelings and motives’, to scrutinise more closely,
that is, the inherent limits of a ‘science of architecture’.
This investigation takes us back to Kant, whose Critiques were
precise attempts to investigate the inherent limits of human reason.
Knowledge, for Kant, was possible only insofar as intuition – received
through the sensate faculty – can be subordinated under laws given
by the understanding itself. Our knowledge of the phenomenal world
is restricted to those aspects of it that can be subsumed under the
categories of the understanding, such as cause and effect, substance,
and so on. These aspects of the empirical reality give rise to deter-
minate judgements (i.e., knowledge) because they belong to principles
189
EPILOGUE
“native to the understanding itself.”3 Everything else – for instance,

the notion of nature’s purposiveness – will generate only reflective
judgements; that is, judgements on phenomena which cannot be sub-
sumed under an a priori law, but merely under regulative ideas.4 These
phenomena transcend the possibility for secure knowledge and repre-
sent as such the limits of our pure reason, beyond which our thinking
no longer has – or can have – any possibility of attaining scientific
certainty.
This is Kant’s critique of the rationalist’s unlimited faith in rea-
son. His Critique of Pure Reason was the attempt to outline the limits
of our conceptual knowledge and, as such, the limits of a scientific ob-
jectification of the world. Although our notion of nature as purposeful
is necessary for any investigation into nature, this purposiveness itself
cannot be turned into an object of science. The notion of purpose is
rather serving as a border concept, indicating the limits beyond which
scientific knowledge cannot reach. The notion of purpose in nature
indicates, in Kant’s words, “a supersensible basis of [nature’s] reality,
though we could not cognize this basis.”5 Our understanding is able to
know a priori whatever laws it itself prescribes to nature, through the
categories. Beyond the categorical understanding, however, we cannot
have theoretical knowledge, but can only think:
We saw that, as far as nature’s construction in terms of par-

ticular laws is concerned (for whose systematic coherence we
do not have the key), those principles pertain merely to re-
flective judgement: they do not determine the actual [an sich]
origin of these beings, but only say that the character of our
understanding and of our reason is such that the only way we
can conceive of the origins of such beings is in terms of final
causes. And hence we are certainly permitted to strive as hard
and even as boldly as possible to explain such beings mechan-
ically. Indeed, reason calls upon us to make this attempt, even
though we know that there are subjective grounds why we
can never make do with a mechanical explanation, grounds
that have to do with the particular kind of limitation of our
understanding.6
190
EPILOGUE
This all too brief glimpse into Kant’s epistemology can perhaps
shed light on the utopian nature of Semper and Dilthey’s mutual ambi-
tions to make human expression the object of science. Our knowledge
of the world is based on something which itself cannot be ‘known’ in
the strict sense of scientific knowledge. The historically given ground
upon which a cultural community rests is what determines our knowl-
edge about the world, and cannot itself be objectified. As Gadamer
points out:
To be historically means that knowledge of one-self can never

be complete. All self-knowledge arises from what is histor-
ically pre-given, . . . because it underlies all subjective inten-
tions and actions and hence both prescribes and limits every
possibility for understanding any tradition whatsoever in its
historical alterity.7
Let us return to Semper for a last reflection. His thinking em-

bodies a tension characteristic, I believe, for the modern period. It is a
tension between – on the one hand – an inescapable reliance on tradi-
tion and – on the other – a dream of a clean slate. Semper recognised
tradition as that which constitutes man’s horizon of understanding, thus
governing his thinking and making. With this recognition, he testified
to an understanding of art as a poetic imitation and interpretation of
a life-world. The attempt to elevate a poetic interpretation into a sci-
entific method, however, was one that inevitably cancelled the poetics
itself. The particular historicity of art, in which its poetic potential re-
sides, can never be rendered transparent for a methodical explanation.
As Harries puts it:
Like a poem, no way of life is given so transparently that it

unambiguously declares its meaning. There can be no defini-
tive statement of that meaning; it must be established, ever
anew and precariously, in interpretation. All building, and
more self-consciously architecture, participates in this work.
Building is a response interpreting a way of life.8
191
EPILOGUE
This poetic potential was precisely what Semper had recognised

in his reflections on the origins of architecture as the mimetic interpre-
tation of praxis. In his practical aesthetics, however, imitation became
calculation and praxis adhered to practice: a verifiable entity, no longer
the horizon conditioning our understanding, but itself fully available
for scientific knowledge. Artistic creation, then, became a matter of cor-
respondence between style and its effective causes, a correspondence
that could be utilised in the production of art. Semper’s attempt to
restore an authentic relation between art and society by means of a
scientific method inevitably turned design into an operative device for
calculation rather than an act of interpretation.
The incompletion of Semper’s project indicates, however, that a
full appropriation of the poetic dimension is not possible. There always
remains, in the midst of any attempt of instrumentalisation, a poetic
power of architecture to mediate between an inexhaustible tradition and
a concrete situation. The historicity that is involved in acts of poetic
interpretation – in the making of a building, for instance – inevitably
opens a dimension of meaning inaccessible to scientific analysis. Only
by recognising the incompatibility of Semper’s poetics and his practical
aesthetics is it possible to assess the meaning of his theoretical work
and to reassess its continued influence – explicit or implicit – on our
contemporary architectural discourse and practice.
192
NOTES
PROLEGOMENON
1 Genesis 10:11–12.
2 On the excavation and reception at the British Museum, see R. D. Barnett and
A. Lorenzini, Assyrian Sculpture in the British Museum, Toronto: McClelland &
Stewart 1975, p. 20; and E. Miller, That Noble Cabinet, A History of the British
Museum, Athens, Ohio: Ohio University Press 1974, pp. 213–20.
3 For an account of the debate that ensued, see I. Jenkins, Archaeologists &
Aesthetes in the Sculpture Galleries of the British Museum 1800–1939, London:
British Museum Press 1992, pp. 151–70.
4 The notion of ‘motif’ [Ger. Motiv] is key in Semper’s architectural thinking,
and will be central in the following discussion. It is not easily translatable, as
the German Motiv is used in a very wide sense, encompassing both artistic
‘motifs’ and human ‘motives’ as these terms are used in English. However,
The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary’s definition of ‘motif’ as “a distinctive
feature or element in a design or composition . . . also, the dominant idea of
a work. . . . a leading figure or short phrase, a subject or a theme” is roughly con-
sistent with Semper’s own, and I will apply this term in the following discussion.
The notion of motif will be examined more closely in the introduction and in
chapter 3.
5 Der Stil in den technischen und tektonischen Künsten oder praktische Ästhetik. Ein
Handbuch für Techniker, Künstler und Kunstfreunde, vol. 1 (1860), Mittenwald:
Mäander 1977, pp. 386–7.
6 Ibid., pp. 383–4.
7 Ibid., pp. 381 and 383. ‘Tectonic’ in this context refers to wooden constructions.
8 Semper defined ‘style’ as the “Übereinstimmung einer Kunsterscheinung mit
ihrer Entstehungsgeschichte, mit allen Vorbedingungen und Umständen ihres
Werdens”. “Ueber Baustile” (Zurich lecture, 4 March 1869), MS 280, in H.
and M. Semper (eds.), Kleine Schriften (1884), Mittenwald: Mäander 1979,
p. 402.
193
N O T E S T O P P. 4 – 9
9 British Museum, no. 124564–6. For an iconographical analysis of the relief, see A.
Parrot, Nineveh and Babylon, trans. S. Gilbert and J. Emmons, London: Thames
and Hudson 1961, pp. 36–7.
10 “Outline for a System of Comparative Style Theory” (London lecture,
11 November 1853), MS 122, fol. 17, in RES, Journal of Anthropology and Aesthetics
6, Autumn 1983, pp. 5–32.
11 Georges Cuvier, Discourse sur les Révolutions de la Surface du Globe (Paris 1828),
quoted in E. Cassirer, The Problem of Knowledge, trans. W. H. Woglom and
C. W. Hendel, Yale University Press 1950, pp. 130–1.
12 An expression borrowed from H. G. Gadamer, Truth and Method, trans. J.
Weinheimer and D. G. Marshall, London: Sheed & Ward 1989, part II.I.2:
“Dilthey’s Entanglement in the Aporias of Historicism”.
INTRODUCTION
1 “Ein Fundamentalprincip der Erfindung, welches . . . mit logischer Sicherheit die
wahre Form . . . finden liess.” H. Semper, Gottfried Semper, ein Bild seines Lebens
und Wirkens, Berlin: Calvary 1880, p. 12.
2 J. Rykwert, “Gottfried Semper and the Conception of Style”, in Vogt, Reble,
and Frölich (eds.), Gottfried Semper und die Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts, Basel:
Birkhäuser 1976, p. 79.
3 It was A. Riegl in his Late Roman Art Industry (1901) who first classified Semper
as a materialist (Rome: Bretschneider 1985, p. 9). E. Stockmeyer saw him as
promoting ‘immanent idealism’ (Gottfried Sempers Kunsttheorie, Zurich: Rascher
1939, p. 38). A. Pérez-Gómez accuses him of postulating “functionalism as a
fundamental premise of architectural intentionality” (Architecture and the Crisis
of Modern Science, Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press 1992, p. 7), whereas
H. Bauer points out that in Semper’s theory, “sprechen gleichzeitig deutscher
Idealismus und Historismus” (“Architektur als Kunst,” in Bauer [ed.] Probleme
der Kunstwissenschaft, Berlin: Gruyter 1963, p. 161). H. Quitzsch reads Semper
as a proto-Marxist (Die Ästhetischen Anschauungen Gottfried Sempers, Berlin:
Akademie-Verlag 1962), whereas L. Ettlinger characterises him as an ‘ardent
liberal.’ (“On Science, Industry and Art, Some Theories of Gottfried Semper”,
Architectural Review, CXXXVI, 1964, p. 57.) M. Wigley sees Semper as re-
belling against enlightenment reason (“Untitled: The Housing of Gender”, in
Colomina [ed.], Sexuality and Space, Princeton Architectural Press 1992, pp. 365–
6), whereas K. Marx dismissed “the Saxon Semper” as a petit bourgeois (letter
to Engels, 31 August 1851, quoted in Quitzsch, Die Ästhetischen Anschauungen
Gottfried Sempers, p. 12).
4 H. F. Mallgrave, “Commentary on Semper’s November Lecture”, RES: Journal
of Anthropology and Aesthetics, no. 6, Fall 1983, p. 31.
5 “Öffentlicher Lehrkursus über die allgemeine Geschichte der Baukunst”,
MS 19. Published as Semper’s “Dresdner Antrittsvorlesung” in H. Laudel,
Gottfried Semper: Architektur und Stil, Dresden: Verlag der Kunst 1991,
pp. 221–34.
194
N O T E S T O P P. 9 – 1 1
6 The full quote is “Die Geschichte der Kunst muss erlernt werden, weniger
um dieser gelehrten Richtung zu gehorchen, obgleich auch diese hier zu
berücksichtigen ist, da nun einmal mit den Wölfen geheult werden muß, aber
d. Architektur hat ihre Vorbilder zur Darstellung einer Idee nicht fertig in
den Gestalten und förmlichen Erscheinungen der Natur, sondern sie beruht
auf unbestimmbaren aber nicht desto weniger sicheren und festen Gesetzen
(die mit den Grundgesetzen der Natur übereinzustimmen scheinen), nach
denen sie alle räumlichen Bedürfnisse der menschlichen Verhältnisse ord-
net und auf eine das Kunstgefühl erweckende Weise zusammenfügt.” Ibid.,
pp. 223–4.
7 Ibid., pp. 230–1. On the translation of the German Motiv with English Motif,
see Prolegomenon, note 4.
8 My distinction between the ontological and epistemological aspects of
Semper’s thinking does not coincide with K. Frampton’s distinction between
the ontological and the representational aspects of architecture, a distinction he
partly attributes to Semper, Studies in Tectonic Culture, Cambridge, Massachusetts:
MIT Press 1995, p. 16. Whereas Frampton seems to use the term ‘ontol-
ogy’ to refer to the constructive elements of architecture (as opposed to the
representational skin), I use it to refer to the significance of art for human
existence.
9 Trans. Preliminary Remarks on Polychrome Architecture and Sculpture in Antiquity,
in H. F. Mallgrave and W. Herrmann (eds. and trans.), Gottfried Semper: The Four
Elements of Architecture and Other Writings, Cambridge University Press 1989,
pp. 74–129. Further on the publication of Vorläufige Bemerkungen and Semper’s
subsequent appointment to the Bauakademie, see ibid., introduction, pp. 2–16
and 45–73.
10 For an account of Semper’s early travels, see M. Fröhlich, Gottfried Semper.
Zeichnerischer Nachlass an der ETH Zürich: Kritischer Katalog, Basel: Birkhäuser
1974, pp. 12–30; and H. F. Mallgrave, Gottfried Semper; Architect of the Nineteenth
Century, Yale University Press 1996, pp. 38–53.
11 Semper had studied under Frans Christian Gau in Paris in 1826–7 and 1829.
Under Gau’s tutelage, he was introduced to the architect and archaeologist,
Jaques-Ignace Hittorf. Both Gau and Hittorf had undertaken archaeological
research in Italy and the Near East, and Hittorf’s polychrome reconstruction
of ‘Temple B’ at Selinus is often seen as the beginning of ‘The Polychrome
Controversy’. For a thorough account of this controversy, see D. van Zanten,
The Architectural Polychromy of the 1830s, New York: Garland 1977. Further on
Hittorf, see D. D. Schneider, The Work and Doctrines of Jaques Ignace Hittorf,
1792–1867, New York: Garland 1977.
12 See, for instance, Johann Joachim Winckelmann, who saw “noble simplicity
and sedate grandeur in gesture and expression” as the defining characteristics
of Greek classicism. On the Imitation of the Painting and Sculpture of the Greeks
(1755), in Winckelmann: Writings on Art, D. Irwin (ed. and trans.), London:
Phaidon 1972, p. 72.
195
N O T E S T O P P. 1 1 – 1 5
13 Although incomplete, the inventory of Semper’s Dresden library (MS 148, un-
published manuscript in the Semper archives) contains an impressive collection
of classical and contemporary authors, supporting Hans Semper’s claim that his
father was exceptionally well read. Gottfried Semper, ein Bild, p. 12.
14 Prospectus to Vergleichende Baulehre (MS 52), in W. Herrmann (ed. and trans.),
Gottfried Semper: In Search of Architecture. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press
1984, p. 168.
15 MS 52–77, unpublished manuscript in the Semper archives.
16 For a detailed account of Semper’s exile, see Herrmann, In Search, chapter 2.
17 Trans. The Four Elements of Architecture: A Contribution to the Comparative Study of
Architecture (1851), in Mallgrave and Herrmann, The Four Elements of Architecture
and Others Writing, pp. 74–129.
18 Ibid., p. 102.
19 Ibid., p. 102.
20 “On the Origin of Some Architectural Styles”, (London lecture, December
1853), MS 138, fols. 1–23, in RES, Journal of Anthropology and Aesthetics 9, Spring
1985, pp. 53–60. Semper wrote these lectures in English, a language he never
fully mastered. I do not attempt to correct Semper’s mistakes when quoting from
the London lectures, but rather adhere to the texts as published.
21 Semper used ‘element’, ‘motif ’, and ‘type’ – even ‘idea’ and ‘symbol’ – more or
less indistinguishably, referring to archetypal ‘Ur-formen’ or ‘Urmotiven’ of art
and architecture. In some texts, however, he presented the ‘motifs of art’ as a
potentially infinite number of primordial ‘themes’ in artistic making, whereas
the ‘elements of architecture’ are motifs reified into the four basic architectural
configurations of mound, wall, hearth, and roof. See, for instance, The Four
Elements of Architecture, pp. 101–26.
22 “Outline for a System of Comparative Style Theory”, MS 122, fol. 9, p. 9.
23 Science, Industry, and Art, Proposals for the Development of a National Taste in Art at
the Closing of the London Industrial Exhibition (1852), in Mallgrave and Herrmann,
The Four Elements of Architecture and Others Writings, p. 136.
24 A selection of Semper’s London lectures was published in RES, Journal
of Anthropology and Aesthetics, no. 6, Autumn 1983; no. 9, Spring 1985; and
no. 11, Spring 1986.
25 N. Pevsner, Some Architectural Writers of the Nineteenth Century, Oxford: Claredon
1972, p. 260.
26 “Outline for a System of Comparative Style Theory”, MS 122, fol. 5–6, p. 9.
27 Semper introduced the term ‘Practical Aesthetics’ in the title of Der Stil.
29 Ibid., fol. 15, p. 11.
30 Ibid., fol. 6, p. 9.
31 Second Prospectus to Der Stil (MS 196 and MS 205), in Herrmann and
Mallgrave, The Four Elements of Architecture and Others Writings, p. 179.
32 Although this correspondence remains implicit in Der Stil, Semper spelled it out
clearly in The Four Elements of Architecture, pp. 103–4.
196
N O T E S T O P P. 1 6 – 1 8
33 See Herrmann, “The Genesis of Der Stil, 1840–1877”, In Search, pp. 88–117.
34 First Prospectus to Der Stil, quoted in Herrmann, In Search, p. 101.
35 In Search, pp. 104–112.
36 The second edition of Der Stil was published by Bruckmann Verlag, Munich
1878; third edition by Mäander Kunstverlag, Mittenwald 1977. Semper’s essays
and lectures were edited by his sons, Hans and Manfred Semper, and published in
1884 as Gottfried Semper, Kleine Schriften, Berlin 1884; second edition Mittenwald:
Mäander 1979.
37 W. Dilthey, The Three Epochs of Modern Aesthetics and Its Present Task (1893),
trans. M. Neville, in R. A. Makkreel and F. Rodi (eds.), Wilhelm Dilthey, Poetry
and Experience, Selected Works, vol. V, Princeton University Press 1985,
pp. 190–204.
38 See H. F. Mallgrave and E. Ikonomou (eds.), Empathy, Form, Space: Problems in
German Aesthetics, 1873–1893, Santa Monica: Getty 1994, introduction.
39 Alois Riegl, Late Roman Art Industry (1901), p. 9. See also Riegl’s Stilfragen (1893),
trans. by E. Kain, as Problems of Style, Foundations for a History of Ornament,
Princeton University Press 1992, p. 4. Riegl’s emphasis on Semper’s ‘materialism’
was later perpetuated by, among others, L. Venturi, History of Art Criticism, trans.
C. Morriatt, New York: Dutton 1936, pp. 226–7; and W. Waetzold, Deutsche
Kunsthistoriker, Berlin: Hessling 1965, pp. 130–9.
40 As Mallgrave points out, Richard Streiter applied the notion of ‘Realism’ –
borrowed from the literary genre associated with Zola, Flaubert, and others –
to the new tendency in architecture in his Architektonische Zeitfragen (1898). Otto
Wagner, Modern Architecture, ed. and trans. H. F. Mallgrave, Santa Monica: Getty
1988, introduction, pp. 3–4.
41 Otto Wagner proclaimed that “no less a person than Gottfried Semper first
directed our attention to this truth (even if he unfortunately later deviated
from it); namely, that art is governed by necessity only.” Modern Architecture,
p. 91. Hendrik P. Berlage similarly enthused: “Like all the great spirits, Semper
looked toward the future; he is one of those who, as Heine says, ‘nod to
each other over the centuries’.” “Thoughts of Style in Architecture” (1905), in
Hendrik Petrus Berlage, Thoughts on Style 1886–1909, Santa Monica: Getty 1996,
p. 137. Hermann Muthesius hailed “the brilliant Gottfried Semper, . . . one
of the most important writers on architecture of the century”, in Style
Architecture and Building-Art, Transformations of Architecture in the Nineteenth
Century and its Present Conditions, trans. S. Anderson, Santa Monica: Getty
1994, p. 68.
42 As Berlage lamented: “If only Semper, who said things of undying value in
Der Stil, had drawn the consequences in his architecture, how differently ar-
chitecture would have developed under his influence in Germany and here in
Switzerland.” “The Foundations and Development of Architecture”, in Thoughts
on Style, pp. 235–6. The modernist reading of Semper has received much critical
attention lately, and I will not discuss it further. For an account of the early
Semper reception, see Mallgrave, Gottfried Semper, Epilogue: “The Semper
197
N O T E S T O P P. 1 8 – 2 3
Legacy: Semper and Riegl”. See also S. Georgiadis, “Sempers schwierige

Rückkehr aus dem zweiten Exil”, in Werk, Bauen + Wohnen, no. 4, 1992, pp. 61–2;
and R. Haag Bletter, “Gottfried Semper”, in Macmillan Encyclopaedia of Architects,
vol. 4, London : Free Press 1982, pp. 25–33.
43 Quitzsch, Die ästhetischen Anschauungen Sempers, p. 15. Laudel, Architektur und
Stil, pp. 20–1.
44 Quitzsch, Die ästhetischen Anschauungen Sempers, pp. 6–7. Laudel, Architektur und
Stil, pp. 12–20.
45 Semper’s most explicit criticism of capitalism is found in Science, Industry, and Art,
p. 135, where he describes the capitalist system as “dangerous for the industrial
arts, decidedly fatal for the traditional higher arts”.
46 Quitzch, Die ästhetischen Anschauungen Sempers, pp. 5–15.
47 Ibid., p. 36.
48 S. Georgiadis, “Sempers schwierige Rückkehr aus dem zweiten Exil”, in Werk,
Bauen + Wohnen, no. 4, 1992, pp. 61–2.
49 The majority of Semper’s drawings and manuscripts were gathered in Zurich
after his death by a committee of devotees planning a Semper museum.
This dream was never realised, but the material constitutes the core of the
Zurich archives, catalogued in M. Frölich, Gottfried Semper, Zeichnerischer
Nachlass an der ETH Zürich, Basel: Birkhäuser 1974; and W. Herrmann,
Gottfried Semper, Theoretischer Nachlass an der ETH Zürich, Basel: Birkhäuser
1981.
50 “Semper and the Conception of Style”, in Vogt, Reble, and Frölich (eds.),
Gottfried Semper und die Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts, Basel: Birkhäuser 1976,
pp. 68–81.
51 For Rykwert’s use of the term ‘anthropology’, see The Idea of a Town, The
Anthropology of Urban Form in Rome, Italy and the Ancient World, Cambridge,
Massachusetts: MIT Press 1995.
52 Rykwert, “Semper and the Conception of Style”, p. 81.
53 Mallgrave, Gottfried Semper, Architect of the Nineteenth Century, Yale University
Press 1996, p. 300.
54 Mallgrave, introduction, The Four Elements of Architecture, p. 40.
55 Mallgrave, Gottfried Semper, Architect of the Nineteenth Century, p. 300.
56 Ibid., p. 8.
57 Aristotle, Poetics, trans. J. Hutton, New York: Norton 1982.
58 Rykwert, “Semper and the Conception of Style”. See also D. Vesely, “The Nature
of Creativity in the Age of Production”, in Scroope, Cambridge Architecture Journal,
Issue 4, 1992, pp. 25–30.
59 I leave this to the experts, most notably Mallgrave, who has already presented
weighty analyses of Semper’s built work in his Gottfried Semper; and Laudel, who
leads the present recataloguing of Semper’s design legacy for the 2003 Semper
bicentenary.
60 I rely here on Gadamer’s notion of ‘horizons of understanding’, Truth and Method,
pp. 302–7.
198
N O T E S T O P P. 2 9 – 3 2
THE C U LT OF ORIGIN
1 “The Basic Elements of Architecture”, (1850, preface to Vergleichende Baulehre),
MS 58, fols. 15–30. Trans. in Herrmann, In Search, p. 196.
2 The Ten Books on Architecture, trans. M. Hicky Morgan, New York: Dover 1960,
Book II, Chapter 1, p. 38.
3 Der Stil, vol. 2, pp. 210 and 275.
4 “ . . . mystisch-poetische, zugleich künstlerische, Motiv, nicht as materielle
Vorbild und Schema des Tempels”. Der Stil, vol. 2, p. 275. As Herrmann points
out, this is the only place in the whole volume that Semper applied bold type-
script. In Search, p. 169, “Semper’s Position on the Primitive Hut”.
5 Probleme der Kunstwissenschaft, p. 139, “Architektur als Kunst”.
6 For an account of the enlightenment cult of origins, see W. Lipp, Natur,
Geschichte, Denkmal: Zur Entstehung des Denkmalbewusstsein der bürgerlichen
Gesellschaft, Frankfurt am Main: Campus 1987. See also A. Lovejoy, Essays in
the History of Ideas, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press 1948, pp. 78–98, “The Par-
allels Between Classicism and Deism”; and S. Toulmin, Cosmopolis, the Hidden
Agenda of Modernity, Chicago University Press 1990. For two succinct analyses
of the role of the origin cult in architectural thinking, see J. Rykwert, On Adam’s
House in Paradise: The Idea of the Primitive Hut in Architectural History, Cambridge,
Massachusetts: MIT Press 1981; and K. Harries, The Ethical Function of Archi-
tecture, Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press 1996, chapter 9, “Tales on the
Origins of Building”.
7 Cosmopolis, pp. 69–80.
8 René Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, trans. J. Cottingham, Cambridge
University Press 1986. Second Meditation: “The Nature of the Human Mind
and How It Is Better Known than the Body.”
9 See, for instance, Lipp’s account of the theological origin debates in the late
seventeenth century. Natur, Geschichte, Denkmal, p. 189.
10 Francis Hutcheson (1694–1746), An Inquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty
and Virtue (London 1726); David Hume (1711–76), The Natural History of Religion
(London 1757); Étienne Bonnot de Condillac (1715–80); Essai sur l’origine des
Connoissances humaines: Ouvrage ou l’on rèduit à un seul principe tout ce qui concerne
l’entendement humain (Amsterdam 1746); Denis Diderot (1713–84), “Recherches
Philosophiques sur l’origine et la Nature du Beau” (Paris 1751); Jean-Jacques
Rousseau (1712–78), Discours sur l’origine et les fondements de l’inègualité parmi les
hommes (Amsterdam 1755); Johann Gottfried Herder (1744–1803), Abhandlung
über den Ursprung der Sprache (Berlin 1772); Johann Wolfgang Goethe (1749–
1832), Die Italienische Reise (?1786–88), trans. W. H. Auden and E. Mayer, Italian
Journey; London: Penguin 1962.
11 Laugier, An Essay on Architecture (1753), trans. W. and A. Herrmann, Los
Angeles: Hennesey & Ingalls 1977, p. 11.
12 Ibid., p. 13.
13 Ibid., p. 12.
14 See Rykwert, On Adam’s House, chapter 5, “Reason and Grace”.
199
N O T E S T O P P. 3 3 – 3 7
15 An Essay on Architecture, p. 1.
16 For more on the increasing relativisation of the notion of proportion in the
eighteenth century, see W. Herrmann, Laugier and Eighteenth-Century French
Theory, London: Zwemmer 1985, pp. 37–8.
17 François Blondel, Cours d’Architecture, Ensigné dans l’Academie, Paris 1698.
Quoted in A. Pérez-Gómez, Architecture and the Crisis of Modern Science, p. 47.
18 Laugier, An Essay on Architecture, pp. 3 and 7–8.
19 Ibid., avertissement to the second edition, p. 147.
20 Ibid., p. 4.
21 Discourse on the Method (1637), trans. R. Stoothoff, The Philosophical Writings of
Descartes, vol. 1, Cambridge University Press 1990, part two, pp. 116–22.
22 Throughout the eighteenth century, Cartesian and Newtonian philosophy had
been diffused into common knowledge with the popular writings of Voltaire
(Elements de la Philosophie de Newton, Paris 1738) and Algarotti (Le Newtonianism
pour les Dames, Paris 1738), among others. Laugier was profoundly influenced by
this academic fashion. See Herrmann, Laugier, pp. 36–8, and Rykwert, Adam’s
House in Paradise, chapter 3.
23 Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten, Meditiationes Philosophicae de Nonnullis ad
Poema Pertinentibus (1735) trans. Reflections on Poetry by K. Aschenbrenner and
W. Holther, University of California Press 1954; and Aesthetica, 1751.
24 An Essay on Architecture, pp. 2–3.
25 See Lipp, Natur, Geschichte, Denkmal, p. 15. See also Lovejoy on the eighteenth-
century conception of nature as a principle of uniformity. Essays in the History of
Ideas, p. 79.
26 As Boullée wrote: “If I went back to the source of all the fine arts, I should find new
ideas and thus establish principles that would be all the more certain for having
their source in nature.” “To Men Who Cultivate the Arts”, in H. Rosenau (ed.)
Etienne-Louis Boullée, Architecture, Essay on Art, London: Academy 1976, p. 82.
27 Natur, Geschichte, Denkmal, pp. 245–6.
28 Ibid., pp. 247–50.
29 Architecture, Essay on Art, introduction, p. 83.
30 Herrmann, Laugier, p. 48.
31 C. van Eck, Organicism in Nineteenth-Century Architecture: An Inquiry into its The-
oretical and Philosophical Background. Amsterdam: Architectura & Natura 1994,
p. 96.
32 Guillaume de Salluste du Bartas (1544–90), quoted in Margaret Hodgen, Early
Anthropology in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, University of Pennsylvania
Press 1964, p. 207.
33 Der Stil, vol. 2, pp. 210 and 275.
34 “ . . . kein Phantasiebild, sondern ein höchst realistisches Exemplar einer
Holzkonstruktion aus der Ethnologie entlehnt”, ibid., p. 276.
35 For an account of this argument in the context of the French Beaux-Arts,
see B. Bergdoll, Léon Vaudoyer, Historicism in the Age of Industry, Cambridge,
Massachusetts: MIT Press 1994, pp. 1–108.
200
N O T E S T O P P. 3 7 – 3 9
36 Ibid., p. 9.
37 For a presentation of the impact of travel literature on eighteenth- and
nineteenth-century thinking, see, for instance, B. M. Stafford, Voyage into
Substance, Art, Science, Nature, and the Illustrated Travel Accounts, 1760–1840,
Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press 1984. See also M. Bell, Goethe’s Nat-
uralistic Anthropology: Man and Other Plants, Oxford: Claredon 1994, pp. 35–
41; and J. Honigmann, The Development of Anthropological Ideals, Homewood,
Illinois: Dorsey 1976, pp. 54–60.
38 The French tradition of the Grand Tour was another important source of new
knowledge about antiquity. From 1778 onwards, the French Grand Prix pen-
sionnaires in Rome were required to do an archaeological study of an ancient
monument rather than a treatise, a requirement contributing greatly to archae-
ological knowledge and interest. The Napoleonic expedition to Egypt in 1798–
1800 likewise contributed to new historical and ethnological knowledge. See
Bergdoll, Léon Vaudoyer, p. 7.
39 See S. Lavin, Quatremère de Quincy and the Invention of a Modern Language of
Architecture, Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press 1992, p. 63.
40 Henry Home, Lord Kames (1696–1782), Sketches of the History of Man, Edinburgh
1779, vol. 1, p. 1. Quoted in F. Voget, “Progress, Science, History and Evolution
in Eighteenth- and Nineteenth-Century Anthropology”, Journal of the History of
Behavioral Sciences, vol. 3, 1967, p. 135.
41 The Spirit of the Laws, trans. T. Nugent, Chicago: Encyclopaedia Britannica 1952.
42 Ibid., Book XIX, “Of Laws in Relation to the Principles which Form the General
Spirit, Morals, and Customs of a Nation” §1, p. 135.
43 A term borrowed from Lovejoy, Essays in the History of Ideas, pp. 79–82.
44 See, for instance, The Spirit of the Laws, Book XIX, §4, “On the General Spirit
of Mankind”: “Mankind are influenced by various causes: by the climate, by the
religion, by the laws, by the maxims of government, by precedents, morals, and
customs; whence is formed a general spirit of nations.” On his use of the term
‘character’, see, for instance, Book XIX, §10: “Of the Character of the Spaniards
and Chinese.”
45 Ibid., Book XIV, §1: “Of Laws in Relation to the Nature of the Climate”. As he
continued in §2: “We ought not, then, to be astonished that the effeminacy of
the people in hot climates has almost always rendered them slaves; and that the
bravery of those in cold climates has enabled them to maintain their liberties.
This is an effect which springs from natural causes.”
46 “Man bildet nichts aus, als wozu Zeit, Klima, Bedürfnis, Welt, Schicksal Anlass
gibt.” Auch eine Philosophie der Geschichte zur Bildung der Menschheit (1774), ed.
H. S. Irmscher, Stuttgart: Reclam 1990, p. 32.
47 Herder, for instance, considered art and craft as an ‘archive of peoples’: “Ihre
Gesänge sind das Archiv des Volkes”, Sämtliche Werke, Berlin 1877–1913,
vol. IX, p. 533, quoted in Lipp, Natur, Geschichte, Denkmal, p. 123.
48 Encyclopédie Méthodique, Paris 1788–1825, vol. 3, p. 424, quoted in Lavin,
Quatremère de Quincy, p. 86.
201
N O T E S T O P P. 3 9 – 4 2
49 Lavin concludes that Quatremère was perhaps the first theorist to “challenge
the theoretical tyranny of the primitive hut.” Quatremère de Quincy, p. 87.
50 Encyclopédie méthodique, vol. 3, p. 424, quoted in Lavin, Quatremère de Quincy,
p. 21.
51 See, for instance, De l’architecture ègyptienne considerée dans son origine, ses principes
et son gôut, et comparée sous les mêmes rapports à l’architecture grecque, Paris 1803,
whose first section treats ‘the diversity of architectural origins’. Quoted in Lavin,
Quatremère de Quincy, p. 56.
52 Ibid., p. 22.
53 In the Encyclopédie méthodique, Quatremère identified two kinds of architectural
character: caractère essentiel and caractère relatif. Whereas the former denoted
universal and ideal types, the latter referred to the aspects of architectural ex-
pression relative to climate, ground, and government. As he wrote: “Le car-
actère, quel qu’il soit dans la nature, considéré dans son ensemble ou dans le
détail de ses productions, est une qualité dépendante, soit du systême général
auquel est subordonné l’univers, soit des causes accidentelles qui sont la suite
& le complément de ce systême.” Encyclopédie Methodique, vol. 1, p. 482, en-
try ‘Caractère’. See also Jaques-Guillaume Legrand, Essai sur l’historie général
de l’architecture (1799). Legrand supported Quatremère’s tripartite origin the-
ory, and developed a theory of the correspondence between social, material,
and architectural form. As he wrote: “Les mêmes besoins, diversement satis-
faits dans d’autres climats, des matériaux et des usages différens, ont nuancéles
autres Architectures.” Essai sur l’histoire générale de l’architecture, 2nd edn., Paris
1809, pp. 27–8. I am indebted to Anthony Gerbino for pointing out this passage
to me.
54 Lavin, Quatremère de Quincy, p. 70.
55 Bergdoll, Léon Vaudoyer, p. 2. As Vaudoyer wrote in a letter to his father
(23 March 1830): “A civilisation’s architecture should take its character from
1. its institutions, 2. its usages, 3. its climate, 4. the nature of materials.” Quoted
in Bergdoll, Léon Vaudoyer, p. 107.
56 Legrand, Essai, p. 37, quoted in Gerbino, “Imitation, Character, Typology: The
Concept of Style in the Architectural Theory of Jaques-Guillaume Legrand”,
Unpublished essay, University of Cambridge 1994, p. 7.
57 Semper, although never a student at École des Beaux-Arts, had close contact to
the Beaux-Art circles during his stays in Paris and Rome and during his travels to
Greece (his travel companions were Jules Goury and Mathieu Prosper Morey,
the Grand Prix winner of 1831). For more on Semper’s Paris connections, see
Mallgrave, Gottfried Semper, pp. 25–38.
58 Semper often referred to Quatremère in admiring terms. See Der Stil, vol. 1,
pp. 218, 220, 237, 315, 404 (note 1), 464 and 499; and Der Stil, vol. 2, p. 270 (note
2). Most of these references concern Quatremère’s polychrome reconstruction
of Phidia’s Athena for the Parthenon, in Le Jupiter Olympien (1815).
59 Vergleichende Baulehre, chapter 14, MS 66, fol. 188, quoted in Herrmann, In
Search, p. 165.
202
N O T E S T O P P. 4 2 – 4 5
60 As Semper wrote: “We believe we are fully justified in not admitting the grotto
as a motif of consequence to architecture and in disregarding it completely when
inquiring into the origins of architecture”, in “The Basic Elements of Architec-
ture”, p. 200.
61 “Wir müssen also die Folge der Culturzustände bei den verschiedenen Völkern
der alten und neuen Welt, der alten und neuen Zeit aussuchen, sie neben einander
stellen und daraus das Bild der Entwicklung der gesamten Menschheit zu erken-
nen versuchen.” Allgemeine Kulturgeschichte der Menschheit, Leibzig: Teubner
1843–51, vol. 1, p. 22. Semper referred explicitly to Klemm twice: Der Stil, vol.
1, pp. 98 and 102. As Mallgrave points out, however, his reliance on Klemm
was probably greater than what this scarce acknowledgement shows. “Gustav
Klemm and Gottfried Semper, the Meeting of Ethnological and Architectural
Theory”, RES, Journal of Anthropology and Aesthetics, 9 Spring 1985, pp. 69–79.
62 Practical Art in Metals and Hard Materials: Its Technology, History, and Styles. Un-
published manuscript, London 1852, fol. 1.
63 J. Leopold, Culture in Comparative and Evolutionary Perspective: E. B. Tylor and the
Making of Primitive Culture. Berlin: Reimer 1980, pp. 67–90. For a general out-
line of Klemm’s theory, see Mallgrave, “Gustav Klemm and Gottfried Semper”
pp. 71–4.
64 See F. W. Voget, “Progress, Science, History, and Evolution in Eighteenth- and
Nineteenth-Century Anthropology”, Journal of the History of Behavioral Sciences,
vol. 3, 1967, pp. 132–155.
65 Mallgrave, “Gustav Klemm and Gottfried Semper”, p. 73.
66 “Die Anfänge der Kunst finden wir aus den niedrigsten Stufen der Cultur, wo wir
auch die Anfänge des Staates fanden, indem der Mensch den Trieb hat, das was
in ihm vorgeht, was ihm erscheint, nach Aussen darzustellen und mit diesen
Darstellungen seine Umgebung zu schmücken.” Allgemeine Kulturgeschichte,
vol. 1, p. 214.
67 As he wrote: “Je mehr sich das gesellschaftliche Leben zum Volksleben, zum
Staate, zur Theocratie ausbildete, desto mehr Hülfsmittel zu Bewahrung und
Pflege des Wekenswerthen, mithin auch der Sage, finden wir entstehen. Dergle-
ichen Hülfsmittel sind die Knoten, die man aus Otdia in Schnuren knüpfte, um
sich Namen zu merken, die chronologischen Knoten der Neger in Kongo und
die Wampums der nordamericanischen Indianer. Endlich ist noch der Tanz
als Träger der Sage zu nennen; der Tanz – doch nicht etwa in der Bedeu-
tungslosigkeit der modernen Salonwelt – sondern als plastische Darstellung,
als mimische Erzählung einer Reihe Thatsachen”. Ibid., pp. 2–3.
68 “Der Schmuck dieser heiligen Stätten erweckt die Kunst, namentlich Baukunst,
Tanz, Musik.” Ibid., p. 23.
69 “Man malte die Geschichten förmlich ab – und erklärte sie durch gebun-
dene Rede. Die gebundene Rede ging wohl zuförderst aus der Verbindung
der Erzählung mit dem Tanze und mit dem Tone hervor. Diese gebundenen
Erzählungen wurden, als die Theocratie Tempel und bei diesen Priester und
Priesterschulen hervorgebracht, eingelernt und an Festtagen vorgestellt, somit
203
N O T E S T O P P. 4 5 – 4 9
aber der Nachwelt bewahrt und von dieser später, nachdem die Schrift mit
Worten, Silben und endlich mit Buchstaben sich herausgebildet, für alle Zeiten
gerettet.” Ibid., p. 3.
70 Klemm emphasised that architecture originated in the collective cult, not
in the individual’s need for shelter: “Auch die Architektur – die im Süden
aus leichten, luftigen Zelten, im Norden aus den Steinhöhlen sich entwick-
elte, hat ebenfalls im öffentlichen Leben ihre eigentliche Begründung, und
aus der öffentlichen Architektur haben dann die Wohnhäuser ihren besten
Schmuck entlehnt. Die ältesten Gebäude für das öffentliche Leben, scheinen mir
lediglich Erhöhungen gewesen zu sein, auf denen öffentliche Opfer, öffentliche
Sitzungen und Versammlungen gehalten wurden. Wir finden auf mehreren
Inseln der Südsee aufgehöhte Plätze, auf denen Gerichte und dergl. gehalten
werden.” Ibid., p. 216.
71 Schiller’s idea that “man is only wholly man when he is playing” seems to be an
implicit source of inspiration for Klemm, as does Hegel’s notion of the spirit’s
‘self-recognition’ through embodied representation. F. Schiller, On the Aesthetic
Education of Man in a Series of Letters, trans. R. Snell, Bristol: Thoemmes 1994,
15th Letter, p. 80; G. W. F. Hegel, Introduction to Aesthetics, trans. T. M. Knox,
Oxford: Claredon 1979, “The Work of Art as a Product of Human Activity”,
pp. 30–1: “Art seems to proceed from a higher impulse and to satisfy higher
needs . . . Man brings himself before himself by practical activity, since he has the
impulse, in whatever is directly given to him, in what is present to him externally,
to produce himself and therein equally to recognise himself.”
THE DOCTRINE OF I M I TAT I O N

1 On the Aesthetic Education of Man in a Series of Letters, 9th letter, p. 52.
2 “A Critical Analysis and Prognosis of Present-Day Artistic Production”, preface
to Theorie des Formell-Schönen, 1856–9, MS 178, fols. 1–29, trans. Herrmann, In
Search, p. 257.
3 Prolegomenon to Der Stil, vol. 1, trans. Mallgrave and Herrmann, The Four
Elements of Architecture and Other Writings, p. 196.
4 “The Attributes of Formal Beauty”, Introduction to Theorie des Formell–Schönen,
1856–9, MS 179, fols. 1–46, trans. Herrmann, In Search, p. 219. See also ibid.,
p. 220: “As a cosmic art, tectonics forms a triad with music and dance inasmuch
as they are not imitative arts either; furthermore, all three have the same cosmic
conception of their task and a similar idealistic way of expression.”
5 Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 193.
6 An Essay on the Nature, the End, and the Means of Imitation in the Fine Arts, 1823,
trans. J. C. Kent, London 1837, p. 176.
7 Traité des beaux arts réduit à un même principe, Paris 1746. For a presentation of
Batteux’s thesis, see F. X. J. Coleman, The Aesthetic Thought of the French Enlight-
enment, University of Pittsburgh Press 1971, pp. 22–100; and P. O. Kristeller,
“The Modern System of the Arts” in P. Kivy (ed.), Essays on the History of Aesthetics,
Rochester University Press 1992, pp. 199–201.
204
N O T E S T O P P. 4 9 – 5 2
8 Des beaux arts réduit, p. 25. Translated and quoted in Coleman, The Aesthetic
Thought of the French Enlightenment, p. 94.
9 An Essay on Imitation in the Fine Arts, p. 97.
10 Ibid., p. 202 (my emphasis).
11 Ibid., p. 216. Quatremère distinguished between an ideal and a particular model,
a distinction he also used in the entry on imitation in the Encyclopédie Méthodique.
He would, however, sometimes substitute ‘ideal model’ for ‘type’, as, for instance,
in the entry on ‘type’ in the Encyclopédie Méthodique, vol. 3, p. 545.
12 For a presentation of the changing meaning of this term in enlightenment and
romantic art theory, see M. H. Abrams, The Mirror and the Lamp: Romantic Theory
and the Literary Tradition, Oxford University Press 1953, chapter 2: “Imitation
and the Mirror”, pp. 30–46.
14 As Quatremère explained: “as nature neither had furnished nor could furnish any
perfect and complete model for imitation, as regards art, so it remained for the
genius of the artist itself to complete by a judicious combination, the qualities
of the particular model. This the true imitator did, and he could alone do it by
generalising, through extensive observation, the study of nature and reducing it
to a system.” Ibid., p. 223.
15 Panofsky has described this attitude thus: “that classical art itself, in manifesting
what natura naturans had intended but natura naturata had failed to perform,
represented the highest and ‘truest’ form of naturalism.” Renaissance and Re-
naissances in Western Art, Stockholm: Almquist & Wikell 1960, p. 30. See also
J. Bialostocki, “The Renaissance Concept of Nature and Antiquity” in Acts of
the Twentieth International Congress of the History of Art, vol. 2, Princeton 1963,
pp. 19–30.
16 Quoted in R. Wellek, A History of Modern Criticism, vol. 1, The Late Eighteenth
Century, London: Cape 1955, p. 13.
17 Winckelmann, On the Imitation of the Painting and Sculpture of the Greeks (1755),
trans. D. Irwin, in Winckelmann, Writings on Art, London: Phaidon 1972, p. 67.
18 Quatremère de Quincy, Entry on ‘autorité’ in Encyclopédie Méthodique, vol. 1,
p. 176. Quoted in Lavin, Quatremère de Quincy, p. 104.
20 Already Winckelmann, influenced by Montesquieu, had emphasised the role of
climate and constitution in the aesthetic perfection of ancient Greece. See On
the Imitation of the Painting and Sculpture of the Greeks, p. 61.
21 J.W. von Goethe, Maximen und Reflexionen, quoted in H. von Einem, Beiträge zu
Goethes Kunstauffassung, Hamburg: Schröder 1956, p. 149.
22 “The Attributes of Formal Beauty”, p. 219.
23 Both quoted in A. K. Wiedmann, Romantic Roots in Modern Art: Romanticism and
Expressionism: A Study in Comparative Aesthetics, Surrey: Gresham 1979, p. 47.
24 “Jedoch setzte Aristoteles irriger Weise das ganze Wesen der schönen Kunst in
die Nachahmung. Wir leugnen nicht, das wirklich ein nachahmendes Element in
ihr sey, aber das macht sie noch nicht zur schönen Kunst; vielmehr liegt dies eben
205
N O T E S T O P P. 5 2 – 5 4
in einer Umbildung des Nachgeahmten nach Gesetzen unseres Geistes, in einem

Handeln der Phantasie ohne äusserliches Vorbild.” Die Kunstlehre (1801–2)
in E. Behler (ed.), August Wilhelm Schlegel, Vorlesungen über Ästhetik, vol. 1
(1798–1803), Munich: Schöning 1989, p. 213.
25 Schlegel admitted that Aristotle probably meant ‘representation’ [Darstellung]
when speaking about ‘imitation’, and accused modern authors of misunderstand-
ing the Aristotelian mimesis (ibid., p. 213). Yet, Schlegel himself exacerbated this
misunderstanding in his many attacks on Aristotle’s ‘disastrous doctrine’. See
ibid., p. 252.
26 “Wird nun Natur in dieser würdigsten Bedeutung genommen, nicht als eine
Masse von Hervorbringungen, sondern als das Hervorbringende selbst, und
der Ausdruck Nachahmung ebenfalls in dem edleren Sinne, wo es nicht heisst,
die Äusserlichkeiten eines Menschen nachäffen, sondern sich die Weise seines
Handelns zu eigen machen, so ist nichts mehr gegen den Grundsatz einzuwen-
den, noch zu ihm hinzuzufügen: die Kunst soll die Natur nachahmen.” Ibid.,
p. 258.
27 As Schlegel wrote: “Wo aber soll der Künstler seine erhabne Meisterin, die
schaffende Natur, finden . . . ? In seinem eignen Innern, im Mittelpunkte seines
Wesens durch geistige Anschauung, kann er es nur, oder nirgends. Die As-
trologen haben den Menschen Mikrokosmus die kleine Welt genannt, was sich
philosophisch sehr gut rechtfertigen lässt. Denn wegen der durchgängigen
Wechselbestimmung aller Dinge, ist jeder Atom Spiegel des Universums. Der
Mensch ist aber das erste uns bekannte Wesen, das nicht blos für eine fremde
Intelligenz Spiegel des Universums wäre, sondern weil seine Thätigkeit in sich
zurückgeht, es auch für sich selbst seyn kann. Die Klarheit, die Energie, die Fülle,
die Allseitigkeit womit sich das Universum in einem menschlichen Geiste ab-
spiegelt, und womit sich wiederum dieses Abspiegeln in ihm spiegelt, bestimmt
den Grad seiner künstlerischen Genialität, und setzt ihn in den Stand eine Welt
in der Welt zu bilden.” Ibid., p. 259.
28 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, chapter I, 117, 1. Quoted in U. Eco, Art
and Beauty in the Middle Ages, trans. H. Bredin, Yale University Press 1989, p. 94.
29 Eco, Art and Beauty, chapter IX, pp. 92–104. On the changing conception of cre-
ativity from the Hebrew tradition to the eighteenth century, see R. Kearney, The
Wake of Imagination: Ideas of Creativity in Western Culture, London: Hutschinson
1988.
30 “ . . . sie soll wie die Natur selbständig schaffend, organisiert und organisirend,
lebendige Werke bilden, die nicht erst durch einen fremden Mechanismus, wie
etwa eine Penduluhr, sondern durch inwohnende Kraft, wie das Sonnensystem,
beweglich sind, und vollendet in sich selbst zurückkehren. Auf diese Weise hat
Prometheus die Natur nachgeahmt, als er den Menschen aus irdischem Thon
formte, und ihn mit einem von der Sonne entwandten Funken belebte; ein
Mythus der uns gleich ein schönes Beyspiel an die Hand giebt”. Die Kunstlehre,
p. 258.
31 C. Taylor, Sources of the Self, Cambridge University Press 1989, p. 375.
206
N O T E S T O P P. 5 4 – 5 7
32 Quoted in ibid., p. 378.

33 As Goethe reprimanded pedantic neoclassicists, probably targeting Laugier: “If
you had rather felt than measured, if the spirit of the pile you so admire had
come upon you, you would not simply have imitated it because they did it and
it is beautiful; you would have made your plans because of truth and necessity,
and a living creative beauty would have flowed from them.” “On German Ar-
chitecture”, in J. Gage (ed. and trans.), Goethe on Art, London: Scholars 1980,
p. 105.
34 Ibid., p. 105.
35 Cf. the quasi-epiphany in which the architect of Strasbourg Cathedral himself
told Goethe: “All this was necessary, and I made it beautiful.” Ibid., p. 107.
36 Introduction to Propyläen, in Goethe on Art, p. 6. See also “Simple Imitation of
Nature, Manner, Style” (1789), ibid., pp. 22–3.
37 “On German Architecture”, in ibid., p. 109.
38 Also known as “Palladio Architecture”. This essay was not published in Goethe’s
lifetime. In ibid. pp. 196–200.
39 Ibid., pp. 196–7.
40 As he wrote in “Dritte Wallfahrt nach Erwin’s Grabe”: “Individuelle Keimkraft
nur treibt wie die Geschöpfe der Natur so selbständige künstlerische
Werke hervor.” Quoted in von Einem, Beiträge zu Goethes Kunstauffassung,
p. 94.
41 “Palladio Architecture”, p. 197. Schlegel also invoked the principle of metamor-
phosis in architecture: “Man sieht, dass nach dieser Ansicht alle für nothwendig
geachteten Theile in der Architektur allegorisch zu nehmen sind, und das Bauen
aus Stein eine beständige Maskerade des Bauens aus Holz ist. Gesetzt nun auch
sie liesse sich historisch durchführen, indem man solche alte Denkmäler nach-
wiese, wo der Ursprung aus den Formen des ersten Materials sichtbarer zu seyn
scheint als in andern, und sie liessen sich in eine stätige Stufenfolge zusammen-
reihen, von dem ersten Übergange an bis zur grössten Entfernung von jenem
Ursprunge, so würde dadurch für die Regeln der Baukunst noch nichts bewiesen
werden können.” Die Kunstlehre, p. 313.
42 von Einem convincingly argues that Goethe’s notion of metamorphosis in art
and architecture derived directly from his study of plants. Beiträge zu Goethes
Kunst-Auffassung, p. 90. A similar argument is made by van Eck, Organicism in
Nineteenth-Century Architecture, p. 110.
43 For a discussion on the ‘immanentisation’ of art that takes place in
Goethe’s thinking, see von Einem, Beiträge zu Goethes Kunst-Auffassung,
p. 90, where he argues that Goethe’s notion of organic form made it
for the first time possible to locate the meaning of art ‘within’ the art-
work itself: “Damit konnte das Abhängigkeitsverhältnis der Kunst von den
außerkünstlerischen Mächten gedanklich gelöst, die seit Jahrhunderten vorge-
tragene und gerade in der französischen Theorie des 18. Jahrhunderts noch
einmal neu formulierte ‘ewige Lüge von Verbindung der Natur und Kunst’
(um einen Goetheschen Ausdruck zu gebrauchen) endgültig überwunden und
207
N O T E S T O P P. 5 7 – 5 9
die Kunst als eine selbständige schöpferische Kraft der Natur gleichgestellt
werden.”
44 Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph Schelling (1775–1854), The Philosophy of Art, trans.
D. W. Stott, University of Minnesota Press 1989, p. 167.
45 Die Tektonik der Hellenen, 2nd edition, Berlin: Ernst & Korn 1874, title page.
46 For the first use, see e.g., “The Attributes of Formal Beauty”, p. 219; for the
second use, see Der Stil vol. 2, “Siebente Haubtstück. Tektonik (Zimmerei)”,
p. 209.
47 “Eine wirkliche innere Geschichte der hellenischen Tektonik”, Die Tektonik der
Hellenen, 1st edition, Potsdam: Riegel 1852, p. xi.
48 “Das Princip der hellenischen Tektonik ist nachweisbar ganz identisch mit dem
Principe der schaffenden Natur: den Begriff jedes Gebildes in seiner Form
auszusprechen. Aus diesem Principe allein entspringt ein Gesetz der Form,
welches hoch über der individuellen Willkühr des werkthätigen Subjektes steht,
innerhalb seiner Gränzen die allein wahre, die höchste Freiheit einschliesst und
der Erfindung eine unversiegbare Quelle eröffnet.” Tektonik, 1st edition., p. xiv.
See also ibid., §3, p. 6.
49 “Die Natur hat sich überall der körperlichen Form als Organ bedient, um in
dieser das Wesen und den Begriff eines jeden organischen Gebildes nach allen
Beziehungen anzusprechen. Auf solche Weise ist bei den Vegetabilien wie bei
lebenden Geschöpfen, der ihrem Dasein zu Grunde liegende Begriff, als ganz
identisches Abbild seiner selbst, in der körperlichen Form des Stoffes zur Er-
scheinung gelangt . . . Aus der gewordenen Form, kann der Begriff dann auch
zweifellos erkannt werden.” Tektonik, 2nd edition., § 4.1, p. 18.
50 “Hinsichtlich des Begriffes im Verhältnisse zur Form, findet das Gesagte auch
volle Anwendung auf die künstlich geschaffenen, die tektonischen Bildungen:
nur tritt hier an Stelle jener Urform des Keimes, ein intellectuelles Urbild,
welches von der Idee aus dem tektonischen Begriffe erst gefunden und nach
ihm gestaltet ist.” Ibid., p. 19.
51 See, for instance, preface to the Tektonik, 1st edition, p. xv. In the second edition
of the Tektonik, Bötticher substituted the term ‘Kernform’ for ‘Werkform’. In
the following discussion, I will use the term ‘Kernform’, retaining ‘Werkform’
in quotes from the second edition.
52 “Die Kernform jedes Gliedes ist das mechanisch notwendige, das statisch
fungierende Schema . . .” Tektonik, 1st edition, Vorwort, p. xv.
53 “Die Materie als solche kann nicht Darstellung einer Idee seyn. Denn sie
ist . . . durch und durch Kausalität. Ihr Seyn ist lauter Wirken.” A. Schopenhauer
(1788–1860), Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung, (1819), vol. 1, book 3, §43, p. 251.
In Gesammelte Werke, Wiesbaden: Brockhaus 1972. Further on Bötticher’s debt
to Schopenhauer, see Bauer, “Architektur als Kunst” in Bauer (ed.) Probleme der
Kunstwissenschaft, pp. 147–152, and van Eck, Organicism in Nineteenth-Century
Architecture, p. 165.
54 “Jedes Bauglied bloss in der Werkform beschlossen gedacht . . . erfüllte seine
statische und raumbildende Leistung vollkommen und ohne Weiteres: allein
208
N O T E S T O P P. 5 9 – 6 1
irgend welches äusserliche Merkzeichen das beide Eigenschaften, nach allen

ihren Beziehungen, dem Anblikke sogleich erkennbar und verständlich machte,
war an ihm noch nicht vorhanden. . . . Kurz es verhielte sich jedes Glied im
Schema der blossen Werkform scheinbar todt.” Tektonik, 2nd edition, §5.1,
p. 24.
55 “Funktion-erklärende Charakteristik”, Tektonik, 1st edition, p. xv.
56 Tektonik, 2nd edition, §5.2, p. 25. For further definitions of Kunstform v. Kernform,
see ibid., §5.2, pp. 25–6 (footnote); §4.7, p. 20, and §6.1, p. 31.
57 It was important for Bötticher to emphasise that the Kunstform is not simply a
layer of decoration, added after the structure has been built. Ornament, insofar
as it is true, he insisted, “ . . . entsteht mit demselben Augenblicke in welchem das
mechanische Schema des Gliedes koncipirt wird; der Gedanke an beide ist Eins,
sie werden beide mit einander geboren. Erst mit ihrer Erscheinung wird der
Begriff jedes Gliedes offenbar, . . . sobald sie durch Aufprägung einer Bildform
als ein vom Geiste Gezeichnetes, durch Gedanken Belebtes erscheint.” Tektonik,
1st edition, p. xv.
58 Tektonik, 2nd edition, §6.6, p. 36.
59 “Der hiernach aus dem Werkstoffe folgerecht gestaltete Körper wird in seiner
Form dann nichts anderes sein, als das materialisirte und verkörperte Urbild des
Begriffes.” Tektonik, 2nd edition, §4.3, p. 19. Bötticher thus broke with the view
of his teacher Karl Otfried Müller (to whom he dedicated the first edition of
the Tektonik), who warned that “the artistic idea is never a concept”. Ancient Art
and Its Remains, or a Handbook of the Archaeology of Art (1830), trans. J. Leitch,
London 1850, §7.
60 The Egyptians, according to Bötticher, “drükken in dem Ornament der
baulichen Glieder nur symbolische Bezüge auf den Cultus aus, niemals statis-
ches Verhalten, niemals Verknüpfung zu einem statischen Systeme.” Tektonik,
2nd edition, §5.3, p. 27.
61 “ . . . der Grenze des irdisch Darstellbaren.” Tektonik, 2nd edition, §1, p. 3. Note
the Hegelian undercurrent in this argument.
62 Ibid., §1, p. 3.
63 The full quote reads: “Der hellenische Grundsatz, die materielle statische
Leistung jedes tektonischen Körpers durch analoge Kunstformen auch bildlich
an demselben zu versinnlichen, so dass mittelst dieser sein Begriff in allen
Beziehungen vor Augen gestellt wird, enthält das einzig gültige Gesetz, nach
welchem überhaupt tektonische Gebilde erzeugt werden können, die für ihren
Begriff eben so wahr als in ihrer Form allgemein verständlich sind: es hat gle-
iche Gültigkeit für alle Erzeugnisse der Tektonik, vom kleinsten Geräthe bis
zum grösten Bauwerke. In diesem Gesetze ist nicht bloss der Weg zur Findung
der Formen gezeigt, es zieht auch jeder beliebigen oder willkürlichen Bildung
vorweg eine feste Schranke.” Tektonik, 2nd edition, §5.3, p. 27.
64 Architecture should “ . . . nach dem Begriffe gemessen werden nach welchem sie
Dasein empfangen hat. In diesem ist die Bedingung ihrer Gestalt, die mass-
gebende Norm für deren Beurtheilung enthalten. Falsch gebildet erscheint eine
209
N O T E S T O P P. 6 1 – 6 5
solche Körperform, wenn sie ihrem Begriffe widerspricht: inhaltslos wenn gar
kein Begriff in ihr zu erkennen ist.” Tektonik, 2nd edition, §4.4, p. 19.
65 Bötticher expanded on the possibilities for a new style in “The Principles of the
Hellenic and Germanic Ways of Building with Regard to Their Application to
Our Present Way of Building”, trans. and ed. W. Herrmann, In What Style Should
We Build? The German Debate on Architectural Style, Santa Monica: Getty 1992,
p. 153: “No one realized that the origin of all specific styles rests on the effect of
a new structural principle derived from the material and that this alone makes
the formation of a new system of covering space possible and thereby brings
forth a new world of art-forms.”
66 Ibid., p. 157.
67 Ibid., p. 158.
68 Organicism in Nineteenth-Century Architecture, pp. 170–1.
69 See, for instance, his detailed notes from Bötticher’s Tektonik, MS 150, in the
Semper Archives.
70 MS 169, fol. 12, quoted in Herrmann, In Search, p. 141.
71 Letter to J. K. Bähr, 25 December 1852, quoted in Herrmann, In Search, p. 141.

1 See Bauer, “Architektur als Kunst”; in Bauer (ed.) Probleme der Kunstwissenschaft;
and Stockmeyer, Gottfried Sempers Kunsttheorie.
2 “ . . . fruchtlose Grübeleien . . . die nicht selten zu schädlichen Irrthümern und
falschen Theorien geführt haben.” Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 2.
3 “Es darf hier nur an den seit Vitruv hundertfältig wiederholten Versuch erin-
nert werden, den dorischen Tempel in allen seinen Theilen und Gliedern aus
der Holzhütte herzuleiten und zu entwickeln, oder an den Irrthum, den selbst
ein Gau theilen konnte, dass der ägyptische Tempelbau dem Troglodytenthume
seinen Ursprung verdanke, welches dahin geführt hat, dass man über die Cul-
turgeschichte Aegyptens ganz falsche Theorieen fasste . . . Der Grottenbau sollte
auch in Indien den Grundtypus der Baukunst bilden (was wo möglich noch aben-
theuerlicher klingt), so wie das Zelt der Mongolen dem geschweiften Dache der
Chinesen zum Urbilde dienen musste.” Ibid., p. 2.
4 “[Es ist] unmöglich die Baukunst, die den Ausdruck und das Gehäuse der
Gesellschafts organismen erfindet, bis zu ihren ersten Anfängen zu verfolgen.”
Ibid., pp. 5–6.
5 “Diese Versuche gingen aus einer richtigen Schätzung der Wichtigkeit hervor,
die sich an die Frage über die Urverwandtschaften der Kunstformen knüpft,
allein man verfuhr dabei, wie wenn einer die verschiedenen Sprachen auf das
Lallen der Kinder, auf die unarticulirten Naturstimmen der animalischen Welt,
oder auf das Pescheräh der wildesten Stämme zurückführen wollte, was, glaube
ich, auch schon versucht worden ist.” Ibid., p. 2.
6 On the reconsideration of the chronology and span of human history in the
late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, see I. Hallowell, “The History of
210
N O T E S T O P P. 6 5 – 6 8
Anthropology as an Anthropological Problem”, Journal of the History of Behavioral

Sciences, vol. 1, 1965, p. 29.
7 “Die rohesten Stämme die wir kennen, geben nicht das Bild des Urzustandes
der Menschheit, sondern das ihrer Verarmung und Verödung zu erkennen.
Vieles deutet bei ihnen auf einen Rückfall in den Zustand der Wildheit oder
richtiger auf eine Auflösung des lebendigen Organismus der Gesellschaft in ihre
Elemente hin. . . . ihre jetzigen provisorischen Zeltdächer und Smalas können
mit grösserem Rechte als die Sinnbilder ihrer heutigen Fremd – und Heimath-
losigkeit gelten, als man dafür hat, sie die Urtypen orientalischer Baukunst zu
nennen.” Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 3.
8 Prolegomenon to Der Stil, in Mallgrave and Herrmann, The Four Elements of
Architecture and Other Writings, p. 183.
9 Ibid., p. 196.
10 For an insightful reading of this aspect of Semper’s thinking, see Mallgrave,
Gottfried Semper, pp. 290–302.
13 Ibid., p. 196.
14 Ibid., p. 196.
16 “ . . . weil sie sich dadurch gleichsam als Urkunst zu erkennen gibt, dass alle
anderen Künste . . . ihre Typen und Symbole aus der textilen Kunst entlehnen,
während sie selbst in dieser Beziehung ganz selbständig erscheint und ihre Typen
aus sich heraus bildet oder unmittelbar der Natur abborgt.” Der Stil, vol. 1,
p. 13.
17 “Vielleicht das älteste technische Symbol und, . . . der Ausdruck für die frühesten
kosmogonischen Ideen die bei den Völkern auskeimten.” Der Stil, vol. 1,
p. 180. See also ibid., p. 83: “Es ist in allen theogonischen und kosmogonis-
chen Systemen das gemeinsam gültige Symbol der Urverkettung der Dinge, der
Nothwendigkeit – die älter ist, als die Welt und die Götter, die alles fügt und über
Alles verfügt. Der heilige Fitz ist das Chaos selbst, das verwickelte üppige, sich
selbst verschlingende Schlangengewirr, aus welchem alle ornamentalen Formen,
die ‘struktiv thätigen’ hervorgingen, in welches sie, nach vollendetem Kreislaufe
der Civilisation, unabänderlich zurückkehrten.”
18 Semper on the braid, see Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 184. On the wreath, see ibid., p. 15.
19 “Die Naht ist ein Nohtbehelf, der erfunden ward, um Stücke homogener Art,
und zwar Flächen, zu einem Ganzen zu verbinden und der, ursprünglich auf
Gewänder und Decken angewendet, durch uralte Begriffsverknüpfung und selbst
sprachbräuchlich das allgemeine Analogon und Symbol jeder Zusammenfügung
ursprünglich getheilter Oberflächen, zu einem festen Zusammenhange gewor-
den ist. In der Naht tritt ein wichtigstes und erstes Axiom der Kunst-Praxis in
ihrem einfachsten, ursprünglichsten und zugleich verständlichtsten Ausdrucke
auf – das Gesetz, nämlich, aus der Noht eine Tugend zu machen.” Der Stil,
vol. 1, pp. 78–9.
211
N O T E S T O P P. 6 9 – 7 2
20 J. Rykwert, “Semper and the Conception of Style”. See also Mallgrave, Gottfried
Semper, p. 292.
21 See Der Stil, vol. 1, §18, “Die Nath”, pp. 78–84.
22 Science, Industry, and Art, p. 136.
23 The Four Elements of Architecture, pp. 103–4. Original emphasis. See also Der
Stil, vol. 1, pp. 227–8: “Als früheste von Händen produzierte Scheidewand, als
den ursprünglichsten vertikalen räumlichen Abschluss den der Mensch erfand,
möchten wir den Pferch . . . erkennen, dessen Vollendung eine Technik erfordert,
die gleichsam die Natur dem Menschen in die Hand legt.”
24 See, for instance, “If climatic influences and other circumstances suffice to explain
this phenomenon of cultural history, and even if we cannot deduce from it that we
are dealing with a universally valid rule about the development of civilization, it
nevertheless remains true that the beginnings of building coincide with those of
weaving. . . . As the first partition wall made with hands, the first vertical division
of space invented by man, we would like to recognize the screen, the fence made
of plaited and tied sticks and branches, whose making requires a technique which
nature hands to man, as it were. The passage from the plaiting of branches to
the plaiting of hemp for similar domestic purposes is easy and natural.” Der Stil,
vol. 1, p. 213, trans. Rykwert, Adam’s House, p. 30.
25 See Der Stil, vol. 1, pp. 277–83. Semper’s famous remark on enclosure and cloth-
ing is found in ibid., p. 227: “Die Kunst des Bekleidens der Nacktheit des Leibes
(wenn man die Bemalung der eigenen Haut nicht dazu rechnet . . . ) ist ver-
muthlich eine jüngere Erfindung als die Benützung deckender Oberflächen zu
Lagern und zu räumlichen Abschlüssen.” Semper saw this assertion confirmed
by the etymological connection between Wand [wall] and Gewand [clothing].
Ibid., p. 229.
26 “Die Wand ist dasjenige bauliche Element das den eingeschlossenen Raum als
solchen gleichsam absolute und ohne Hinweis auf Seitenbegriffe formaliter
vergegenwärtigt und äusserlich dem Auge kenntlich macht.” Der Stil, vol. 1,
p. 227, trans. Mallgrave and Herrmann, The Four Elements of Architecture and
Other Writings, p. 254.
27 Ibid., p. 228.
28 “On the Origin of Some Architectural Styles”, fol. 1, p. 53.
29 On Semper’s famous encounter with the ‘Caraib hut’ at the Great Exhibition of
1851 in London, see Herrmann, In Search, “Semper’s Position on the Primitive
Hut”, pp. 165–73.
30 “Wer nur den Grundplan eines antiken Hauses betrachtet überzeugt sich sehr
bald dass die jetzt fehlenden Draperien unbedingt im Geiste restituirt werden
müssen um es für wohnliche Zwecke geeignet erscheinen zu lassen. Dies tritt
noch mehr hervor wenn wir die Lebensweise der Alten berücksichtigen und
z. B. uns erinnern dass, bei den Römern wenigstens, nach altem Brauche das
Ehebett des Familienvaters in dem Atrium des Hauses seinen Platz hatte und
eben daselbst die Frau, inmitten ihrer weiblichen Dienerschaft, die häuslichen
Arbeiten des Spinnens und Webens verrichtete.” Der Stil, vol. 1, pp. 277.
212
N O T E S T O P P. 7 2 – 7 6
31 Far from having a secondary and ornamental role, thus, Semper argued that the
Bekleidung was a key feature of the Roman house. He even maintained that the
main task of the peristyle columns was to accommodate the textile partition.
Ibid., p. 283.
32 “Rein symbolischen Andeutung des verschlossenen Raums.” Ibid., p. 279.
33 The motifs of Bekleidung “zeigen sich zwar . . . in späterer Verknöcherung des
Gedankens als wirkliche Mauerwände”. Ibid., p. 278.
34 “ . . . deren Motiv eben nichts weiter als die Nachahmung solcher mit Drape-
rien und Scheerwänden ausgestatter Stoen und Hallen ist . . . Hier zeigt er sich
[das Bekleidungsr-motiv] in seiner ganzen Fruchtbarkeit und in allen Varietäten
späterer stilistischer Ausbildung und Verbindung.” Ibid., p. 283.
35 “A Critical Analysis and Prognosis of Present-Day Artistic Production”, p. 256.
36 Ibid., p. 253.
37 Bekleidung is a theme that runs through the whole of Der Stil, but is presented
particularly succinctly in vol. 1, §66, “Excurs über das Tapezierwesen der Alten”.
38 “Das Original ist schon Kopie . . . ”, Der Stil, vol. 2, p. 173.
39 Aristotle, Poetics, p. 1447a.
40 See, for instance, Bötticher’s revealing misreading of Aristotle’s Poetics: “Wie
gut die Alten sich der Bildungsweise und des Verhältnisses dieser Gestaltun-
gen bewust gewesen sind, ergiebt sich aus einer bekannten Stelle in der Poetik
des Aristoteles. Hier wird von den Gebilden der Kunst gesagt, sie seien eine
Nachahmung von Erscheinungen [mimesis ton phainomenon] und eine Zusam-
mensetzung derselben nach einer bestimmten Nothwendigkeit [anagkè]. Diese
Nothwendigkeit ist nichts Anderes als der von der Idee vorbedingte Begriff,
dem entsprechend die Zusammensetzung geschieht.” Tektonik, 2nd edition, §6.5,
p. 34. As van Eck points out, however, Aristotle never used the phrase mimesis
ton phainomenon, and never intended the theory of mimesis as a realist doctrine
(Organicism in Nineteenth-Century Architecture, note 60 to chapter 5, p. 332). I am
indebted to Prof. Roberto Torretti for his computer search through Aristotelis
Opera. Ex recognitione 1. Bekkeris edidit Academia Regia Borussica. Berlin:
G. Reimer, 1831, confirming that the expression mimesis ton phainomenon does
not appear in the text.
41 Poetics, p. 1450a.
42 H. Koller, Die Mimesis in der Antike, Nachahmung, Darstellung, Ausdruck, Bern:
Francke 1954.
43 The connection between mimesis and music is confirmed by classical authors
such as Pindar, Aischylos, Athenaios, Xenophon, and Plutarch. See Koller, Die
Mimesis in der Antike, pp. 13, 21, and 40–2.
44 “Der griechische Tanz als Verbindung von Wort, Melodie, Rhythmus und
Gestik bildete tatsächlich die naturgegebene Einheit menschlichen Ausdruckes.
Mimesis bleibt deshalb immer an den Menschen gebunden, sie ist seine
Formwerdung.” Ibid., p. 210. For a critical assessment of Koller’s argument,
see G. F. Else, “Imitation in the Fifth Century”, Classical Philology, no. 53, 1958,
pp. 73–90.
213
N O T E S T O P P. 7 6 – 7 8
45 Plato, The Laws, Book II, 653d–654a, trans. A. E. Taylor in E. Hamilton and H.
Cairns (eds.), Plato, the Collected Dialogues, Princeton University Press 1989. All
references to Plato are taken from this edition.
46 Significantly, this rhythmical choir-song and dance is the only art allowed into
Plato’s ideal state. The Laws, Book VII, 816b–817e.
47 Ibid., Book II, 655.
48 See, for instance, Timaios 28–29, where imitation is presented as the principle
on which the world is created and maintained.
49 Parmenides, 130e–131a.
50 Aristotle comments on this change of term in Metaphysics, Book 1, vi, 3. See also
S. Halliwell, Aristotle’s Poetics, London: Duckworth 1986, pp. 115–16, and H. G.
Gadamer, “Art and Imitation” in The Relevance of the Beautiful and Other Essays,
Cambridge University Press 1986, pp. 101–2.
51 Kunst und Mythos, Hamburg: Rowohlt 1957, p. 115. For a discussion of the role
of mimesis in Platonic cosmology, see L. Golden, Aristotle on Tragic and Comic
Mimesis, Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars 1992, p. 59. See also Halliwell, Aristotle’s
Poetics, p. 118: “Mimesis is both the means by which the eternal produces and
fashions the world and correspondingly the means by which the human mind
can ascend or aspire in its search for knowledge: mimesis carries an active philo-
sophical and theological significance.”
52 The Laws, Book II, 668.
53 Plato drew here on Pythagorean ideas, more specifically on the teachings of
Damon, a fifth-century Pythagorean mystic to whom Plato refers specifically
in the Republic, Book III, 400. Damon developed a theory of the analogous re-
lation between the order of music (and numbers) and the order of the human
soul. From this point of view, the composition and performance of music in-
volves an ethical choice. See Plato, The Laws, Book II, 668. For a presentation of
Damon’s teaching and Plato’s interpretation of it, see Koller, Die Mimesis der
Antike, p. 23.
54 Poetics, 1449b, 1450a, 1450b, and 1451b.
55 Ibid., 1448a.
56 As E. Grassi notes, praxeos, prattein, and the related pratonto (singular) and praton-
tas (plural) signify action and acting men as ethically situated. Theorie des Schönen,
pp. 123–9. See also D. Vesely, “Architecture and the Poetics of Representation”,
Daidalos, September 1987, pp. 30–2.
57 Poetics, 1451a.
58 “Die mimesis tes praxeos richtet sich demnach nicht auf jede beliebige
Handlung, die sich als Gegenstand der Mimesis darbietet, . . . Gegenstand der
Mimesis darf vielmehr nur die für den Menschen spezifische Handlung sein, das
heißt diejenige Praxis, die vom Ethos bestimmt wird und von ihm ihren Sinn
erhält . . . Gegenstände der Kunst sind also die dem Menschen eigentümlichen
Möglichkeiten.” Die Theorie des Schönen in der Antike, pp. 127–8.
59 Poetics, 1450a.
60 Ibid., 1459a.
214
N O T E S T O P P. 8 9 – 9 2
61 Time and Narrative, vol. 1, trans. K. McLaughlin and D. Pellauer, University of

Chicago Press 1983, p. 45.
62 Ibid., chapter 3: “Time and Narrative: Threefold Mimesis”, pp. 52–87.
63 Poetics, 1451a.
64 Ibid., p. 54.
65 Poetics, 1451a–b. In this sense, the structure of praxis comes close to what in
contemporary hermeneutics is called a ‘horizon of understanding’: a shared level
of understanding constituting a background for communication. See Gadamer,
Truth and Method, pp. 302–7.
66 Time and Narrative, pp. 45–51.
67 Ibid., p. 65.
68 See, for instance, “The Origin of the Work of Art”, in D. Farrell Krell (ed.),
Martin Heidegger, Basic Writings, London: Routledge 1993.
69 Time and Narrative, p. 58.
70 “The Relevance of the Beautiful”, in The Relevance of the Beautiful and Other
Essays, p. 53.
71 Ricoeur, “Narrated Time”, trans. R. Sweeney, in A Ricoeur Reader: Reflection and
Imagination, ed. Mario J. Valdés, University of Toronto Press 1991, p. 351.
72 Ricoeur, Time and Narrative, p. 68.
73 “On Architectural Styles” (Zurich lecture, 1869), in Mallgrave and Herrmann,
The Four Elements of Architecture and Other Writings, p. 269.
74 Cf. Semper’s famous footnote in Der Stil: “Every artistic creation, every artistic
pleasure presupposes a certain carnival spirit, or to express myself in a modern
way – the haze of the carnival candles is the true atmosphere of art. The denial of
reality, of the material, is necessary if form is to emerge as a meaningful symbol,
as an autonomous human creation”, vol. 1, p. 231, note 2. Note that it is a denial
of material reality that Semper is promoting here and, as Mallgrave rightly notes,
this should be understood less as an appeal for reality’s destruction than for its
‘theatrical suspension’ (Gottfried Semper, p. 300). I believe, however, that one
may develop an even more radical interpretation of this passage by relating it to
the Aristotelian notion of poiesis. From this point of view, the empirical manifold
of reality must in a certain sense be ‘denied’ in order for a meaningful ‘story’
(or ‘symbol’, in Semper’s word) to emerge: an event constituting the very core
of the mimetic process. In this sense, Semper’s call for a Vernichtung der Realität
lies at the heart of his latent poetics of architecture.
75 The notion of the ontological significance of art is informed by the thinking of
Heidegger; see, for instance, “The Origin of the Work of Art”, pp. 139–212; and
Gadamer, “The Relevance of the Beautiful”.
76 Ricoeur, “The Function of Fiction in Shaping Reality”, A Ricoeur Reader, p. 133.
77 The possibility of seeing architecture as a poetic art in the Aristotelian sense
is implied in the Greek notion of drama itself. As Vesely points out, the poetic
configuration (plot) in the drama is carried by the Chorus. Chorus is linked to
the Chora: the space or place of the dramatic performance. Choric work (which
both Plato and Aristotle used as the definition of mimesis) cannot be separated
215
N O T E S T O P P. 8 3 – 8 9
from its spatial situatedness. (“Architecture and the Poetics of Representation”,

p. 33.) Semper echoed this insight, talking about architecture as a choric work
and the architect as the choragus. (Preliminary Remarks on Polychrome Architecture,
p. 53.) In extending the Aristotelian notion of mimesis of praxis to the domain of
architecture, I follow the precedents of Vesely, ibid.; Harries (The Ethical Function
of Architecture); J. Rykwert (The Dancing Column, Cambridge, Massachusetts:
MIT Press 1996); and D. Leatherbarrow (The Roots of Architectural Invention:
Site, Enclosure, Materials, Cambridge University Press 1993), among others.
78 Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 231, note 2. See note 74 for a further discussion.
79 Wladimir Weidlé touches on this mimetic-poetic capacity of architecture: “Vom
Augenblick an, wo sie [die Baukunst] zu ‘sprechen’ anfängt, ist ihre Sprache
mimetisch . . . Nur durch Mimesis vermag der Mensch dem von ihm Gedachten
und Erlebten eine Gestalt zu geben, die nicht einfach darüber berichtet, wie
das gewöhnliche Sprache tut, sondern dieses Gedachte und Erlebte in sich
verkörpert, mit ihm eins wird und für den Hörer, den Betrachter, eben das
ist, was sie vermitteln soll.” Gestalt und Sprache des Kunstwerkes, Studien zur
Grundlegung einer nichtästhetischen Kunsttheorie. Mittenwald: Mäander 1981,
p. 54.

2 Ibid., p. 130.
3 Prospectus, Vergleichende Baulehre, p. 171.
4 Ibid., p. 170.
5 Prospectus, Der Stil, p. 179.
6 “Outline for a System of Comparative Style-Theory”, MS 122, fols. 5–6, p. 9.
The question of how to understand this call for a ‘method’ or ‘topic’, echoing
both modern scientific positivism and classical rhetoric, will be discussed further
in chapter 6.
7 Although Semper used this term for the first time on the title page of the first
volume of Der Stil, the idea of a ‘practical’ theory of art occurs earlier. See, for
instance, Prospectus, Vergleichende Baulehre, p. 171.
8 Der Stil, vol.1, p. 276.
9 “ . . . ein Fundamentalprincip der Erfindung, welches . . . mit logischer Sicherheit
die wahre Form . . . finden liess.” H. Semper, Gottfried Semper, p. 12.
10 Semper planned to publish a work with this title shortly after his arrival in Zurich,
describing it to his publisher as an “umfassenderen Werk über die gesamte
Formenwelt” (quoted in Herrmann, Theoretischer Nachlass, p. 118). The work
was never published, but exists as an unpublished manuscript (MS 168–181 in
the Semper archives) and as fragments in several of Semper’s published writings.
11 “Ueber die formelle Gesetzmässigkeit des Schmuckes und dessen Bedeutung als
Kunstsymbol” (Zurich lecture, 1856), MS 163–4. In H. and M. Semper (eds.)
Kleine Schriften, pp. 304–43. For more on Semper’s Zurich lecture series, see
Mallgrave, Gottfried Semper, pp. 270–1.
216
N O T E S T O P P. 8 9 – 9 2
12 “Wo der Mensch schmückt, hebt er nur mit mehr oder weniger bewusstem Thun
eine Naturgesetzlichkeit an dem Gegenstand, den er ziert, deutlicher hervor.”
“Über die formelle Gesetzmässigkeit des Schmuckes”, Kleine Schriften p. 305.
13 “Welches ist nun aber dieses kosmische Gesetz? Vielleicht lässt sich demselben
dadurch auf die Spur kommen, dass wir den Schmuck in bestimmte Kategorieen
teilen, und dabei die charakteristischen Unterschiede der schmückenden Ele-
mente berücksichtigen.” Ibid., p. 310.
14 Ibid., p. 310.
15 “Der Behang . . . ziert den Körper, indem er auf dessen Beziehung zu dem
Allgemeinen hinweist, an welches die Einzelerscheinung gebunden ist, und
mit dieser Hinweisung den Eindruck der ruhigen Haltung, des richtigen
Verhaltens der Erscheinung zu dem Boden, worauf sie steht, hervorruft.” Ibid.,
pp. 310–11.
16 “So hebt das Ohrgehänge, indem es der Schwerkraft folgend eine Vertikallinie
versinnlicht, die zarte vorwärts gebogene, von der Schwerkraft unabhängige
Kurve des Nackens.” Ibid., p. 311.
17 On the Ringschmuck, see ibid., p. 314; on the Richtungsschmuck, see ibid.,
pp. 319–21.
18 Semper’s terminology is inconsistent regarding the principles of configuration.
In the “Attributes of Formal Beauty”, he referred to them as ‘qualities’, ‘at-
tributes’, and ‘unities’. In “Über die formelle Gesetzmässigkeit des Schmuckes”
and Prolegomenon to Der Stil, however, he simplified his terminology, referring
mainly to Gestaltungsmomente[principles of configuration].
19 “Attributes of Formal Beauty” was probably written between 1855 and 1859. It is
unclear whether the many manuscript versions of this essay were meant to form
an independent work, as Herrmann suggests (Theoretischer Nachlass, pp. 118–19),
or whether they were preparatory drafts for the Prolegomenon to Der Stil, as
held by Mallgrave (Gottfried Semper, p. 273). The two texts are in part almost
identical, and I will refer to both in the following discussion.
20 As he wrote: “Since in every phenomenon that claims perfection the principle of
individualisation is symbolised clearly and distinctly by a certain arrangement of
parts, there appear three moments of configuration [Gestaltungsmomente] that
can be active in the generation of form.” Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 198; see
also “Attributes of Formal Beauty”, p. 228.
21 “Attributes of Formal Beauty”, p. 225.
23 Ibid., p. 200. Although Semper borrows Vitruvius’s term here, his definition has
little to do with Vitruvius’s, who defines ‘eurythmy’ as “beauty and fitness in the
adjustment of the members” (The Ten Books on Architecture, book 1, chapter 2,
p. 14), not as radial symmetry.
25 “Attributes of Formal Beauty”, p. 230. See also Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 198:
“A Principle of Configuration for Complete, Self-Contained Forms Indifferent
to the Outside”.
217
N O T E S T O P P. 9 3 – 9 6
26 Prolegomenon to Der Stil, pp. 198–206; “Attributes of Formal Beauty”,

pp. 230–5.
27 Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 201. On the wreath as ‘microcosmic’ adornment, see
“Über die formelle Gesetzmässigkeit des Schmuckes”, p. 315. Semper is not con-
sistent in his use of the terms ‘microcosmic’ and ‘macrocosmic’. Whereas in Pro-
legomenon to Der Stil and “Über die formelle Gesetzmässigkeit des Schmuckes”
he sees eurythmic order as ‘microcosmic’, in “Attributes of Formal Beauty” he
groups eurythmy under the heading “On Macrocosmic Authority”, p. 234.
28 Prolegomenon to Der Stil, pp. 203–4.
29 Whereas the eurythmic order of the crystal is characterised by a self-sufficient
perfection, the symmetrical order of, for example, the leaf refers to the larger
whole of the tree. See “Attributes of Formal Beauty”, p. 231, and Prolegomenon
to Der Stil, pp. 203–5.
30 Prolegomenon to Der Stil, pp. 211–12.
31 For a presentation of the history of microcosmic thinking, see G. P. Conger, The-
ories of Macrocosms and Microcosms in the History of Philosophy, Columbia University
Press 1922; and R. Allers, “Microcosmus, from Anaximandros to Paracelsus”, in
Traditio, Studies in Ancient and Medieval History, Thought and Religion, vol. II, New
York 1944, pp. 319–407.
32 As a Pythagorean text stated it: “Man is a microcosm because he has in him
the four elements as well as all the powers of the cosmos”. Photius, quoted in
Conger, Theories of Macrocosms and Microcosms, p. 19.
33 Neue Lehre von den Proportionen des menschlichen Körpers auch einem bisher unbekannt
gebliebenen, die ganze Natur und Kunst durchdringenden morphologische Grundge-
setze, Leibzig: Weigel 1854, pp. 1 and 137: “Das Rein-Schöne”. Further on
Zeising’s impact on Semper, see Laudel, Gottfried Semper: Architektur und Stil,
pp. 164–73; and Mallgrave, Gottfried Semper, pp. 271–2.
34 Similar speculations were presented by the botanist Augustin Pyramus de Can-
dolle (1778–1841), who based his ‘organography’ on the principle of symmetry.
See Cassirer, The Problem of Knowledge, p. 135.
35 Neue Lehre, part 2, pp. 146–58: “Von der Bedeutung der Proportionalität im
Gebiete des Formell-schönen”.
36 “In der Thierwelt . . . verkündigt die vollendete Symmetrie ein geschlossenes und
selbständiges, sich selbst bestimmendes Ganzes, ‘eine kleine Welt’; und so wird
auch in der Architektur die Erscheinung der Ganzheit dadurch erreicht. Das
Werk wird dadurch erst als Werk, d. h. als Ausführung eines einzigen untheil-
baren Entwurfs erkannt, und isolirt.” Die Kunstlehre, p. 311.
37 “Attributes of Formal Beauty”, p. 230. Semper (and Schlegel) understood ‘mi-
crocosm’ in a very different manner than its traditional meaning, in which the
microcosmic reference to the whole had been emphasised over and above its
autonomy and isolation.
38 “ . . . des Hinweisens auf den Bezug der Einzelerscheinungen zum Allgemeinen”,
“Über die formelle Gesetzmässigkeit des Schmuckes”, p. 311.
218
N O T E S T O P P. 9 6 – 9 8
40 Schopenhauer defined will as the vital force governing both body and mind of
living beings, and would probably not have approved of Semper’s distinction
between will and vital force. Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung (1819), book 2,
§18, pp. 118–23. Semper was probably familiar with Schopenhauer’s philosophy
through Richard Wagner, who had discovered Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung
in 1854 (Wagner, My Life, London: Constable 1994, pp. 614–17). Yet, Semper
did not make direct references to Schopenhauer, and his speculations on force
and matter could equally well derive from Schelling. For more on Semper and
Schopenhauer, see Mallgrave, Gottfried Semper, pp. 271–6.
41 Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 207. In “Über die formelle Gesetzmässigkeit des
Schmuckes”, pp. 236–7, Semper seems to suggest that the ‘predominant di-
rection’ of a being is not simply the direction of growth, but somehow the
sum or the relationship between all the different directional forces working
upon it.
43 By ‘authority’, Semper meant the visual manifestation of the Gestaltungsmomente.
Ascribing the term to Vitruvius, he defined it as “the emphasis given to certain
formal components of a phenomenon that stands out from the rest and thereby
become within their sphere the leaders of the chorus, as it were, and the visi-
ble representatives of a unifying principle”. Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 209;
“Attributes of Formal Beauty”, pp. 233–40.
45 Semper spoke about this as a ‘threefold integrated unity’ which governs all form.
Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 198.
46 Ibid., p. 206: “In this struggle of the organic vital force [Lebenskraft] against
both the material and will power, nature unfurls her most glorious creations; it
is manifested in a beautiful elastic curve of a palm, whose majestic leaf corona
vigorously straightens up while bending to the general law of gravitation as a
whole and its individual parts (the leaves of the corona).”
47 Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von Schelling, Ideas for a Philosophy of Nature (1798),
trans. E. E. Harris and P. Heath, Cambridge University Press 1988, introduction,
p. 18. For a discussion of this idea, see J. I. Esposito, Schelling’s Idealism and
Philosophy of Nature, Bucknell University Press 1977, “Schelling and the Analysis
of Organic Form”, pp. 68–78.
48 “Die Aesthetik des Rein-Schönen hat ihre materielle Grundlage in der
Dynamik und Statik. Jede in sich abgeschlossene Form hastet so zu sagen an
einem körperlichen, bei dessen Gestaltung und Erhaltung Kräfte thätig sind.”
“Über die formelle Gesetzmässigkeit des Schmuckes”, p. 326.
49 Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 198. This idea echoes Schelling’s notion of grav-
ity as he presented it in the introduction to Ideas for a Philosophy of Nature,
pp. 20–1.
50 Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 198. An elaboration of this idea can be found in
August Schmarsow, Grundbegriffe der Kunstwissenschaft, am Übergang vom Al-
tertum zum Mittelalter kritisch erörtert und in systematischem Zusammenhange
219
N O T E S T O P P. 9 8 – 1 0 3
dargestellt, Leibzig: Teubner 1903, chapter 3, “Menschliche Organisation”.

Schmarsow was a great admirer of Semper. He adopted his theory of formal
beauty and succeeded in presenting it in a considerably clearer manner than
Semper himself. Another perhaps less successful attempt at systematising the
theory of formal beauty is that of Albert Fischer, “Die ästhetischen Anschauun-
gen Gottfried Sempers und die moderne psychologische Ästhetik”, Archiv für
die gesamte Psychologie, vol. 2, Leibzig 1904, pp. 362–422.
53 See, for instance, the Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 209: “Art, like nature, displays
a similar variety of combinations but cannot exceed nature’s bounds by an inch;
its principles of formal configuration must be in strict accordance with the laws
of nature.”
55 Ibid., p. 229.
56 Ibid., p. 230.
57 Ibid., p. 234; Prolegomenon to Der Stil, pp. 209–10.
58 Prolegomeon to Der Stil, p. 213. Semper did not explain this rather dubious
assertion further.
60 Ibid., p. 240.
61 Ibid., p. 240.
62 Ibid., pp. 229–30. See also “Über die formelle Gesetzmässigkeit des Schmuckes”,
p. 329: “Diejenige Eigenschaft des Schönen, die aus dem Sichordnen aller
Teile um diesen idealen Mittelpunkt der Beziehungen herum zu einer
Einheit höheren Grades hervorgeht, ist die Inhaltsangemessenheit, . . . Sie lässt
das Formell-Schöne zugleich als gut and zweckentsprechend erscheinen.”
63 In Der Stil, this distinction appears in many different versions. Semper dis-
tinguished between ‘technical’, ‘utilitarian’, and ‘tendentious’ symbols (vol. 1,
p. 377); between ‘structural-functional’ and ‘tendentious’ (vol. 1, p. 386); and
between ‘real’ and ‘tendentious’ symbols (ibid.). In “On Architectural Symbols”,
MS 140, MS 142, fols. 6–19, pp. 62–7, he distinguished between ‘structural’ and
‘traditional’ symbols, equating the former with what he elsewhere called ‘natural
symbols’, fols. 6–8, p. 63.
64 “On Architectural Symbols”, fols. 6–7, pp. 62–3. By ‘self-understanding’, he
seems to mean ‘self-explanatory’ or ‘self-evident’.
65 Semper described natural symbols as the “natürliche Gemeingut aller Völker,
worauf gleichsam die Natur selbst diese verwies und hinführte.” Der Stil, vol. 1,
p. 415.
66 “On Architectural Symbols”, fol. 7, p. 63. See also Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 377.
67 “On Architectural Symbols”, fol. 7, p. 63. See also Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 382.
68 “On Architectural Symbols”, fol. 7, p. 63.
69 “Die assyrischen Kunstgeräthe sind desshalb eben so überaus interessant, weil
sie den Doppelsinn dieser Symbole noch an ihnen herauslesen. Die freie Kunst
220
N O T E S T O P P. 1 0 3 – 1 0 6
hat sich an ihnen noch nicht aus dem Ornamente abgelöst, letzteres behält dafür
höhere Bedeutung als die des einfachen Zierrahts.” Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 386.
70 Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 383 and pp. 387–9.
71 “On the Relation of Architectural Systems with the General Cultural Condi-
tions”, London lecture, 29 November 1854, MS 144, fols. 1–39, in RES, Journal
of Anthropology and Aesthetics 11, Spring 1986, pp. 42–53. fol. 5, p. 44.
72 “ . . . setzt der hieratische Pharaonenstil das symbolische Ornament, das gleich-
sam aus einer Reihung von Hieroglyphen besteht, und dem nur selten zugleich
struktur-symbolischer Sinn innewohnt”, Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 415.
73 See B. A. Sørensen, Symbol und Symbolismus, in den ästhetischen Theorien des 18.
Jahrhunderts und der deutschen Romantik, Copenhagen: Munksgaard 1963, pp. 58–
9. Sørensen’s book offers a thorough presentation of the changing notions of
symbol and allegory in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century aesthetics, with par-
ticular reference to Herder and Goethe.
74 Art, Herder proclaimed, “müsse durch sich selbst bedeuten.” “Andrastea”,
quoted in Sørensen, Symbol und Symbolismus, p. 59.
75 “ . . . sich selbst aussprechende Gestaltsymbol”, Sørensen, Symbol und Symbolis-
mus, p. 109.
76 Über die bildende Nachahmung des Schönen (1788), pp. 49–53, quoted in Sørensen,
Symbol und Symbolismus, p. 82.
77 Semper here echoed Herder, who had lamented how in preclassical art “ . . . die
symbolische Allegorie hatte die Kunst übermannt.” Kritische Wäldern, quoted in
Sørensen, p. 61.
78 See Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 387: “durch barokes unorganisches Verbinden hetero-
gener Bestandtheile animalischer Formen . . . sündigten sie gegen die formellen
Schönheitsregeln”.
79 Greek art is “von jenen Elementen vollständig emancipiert, als Schönes an sich
nur noch sich selbst Zweck. Die Emancipation von den nicht formalen Ele-
menten der Form, in dem angedeuteten Sinne, war das stete Streben der hel-
lenischen Kunst im Grossen und im Kleinen.” Der Stil, vol. 2, p. 142.
80 “Die hellenische Kunst dagegen spaltet diesen Doppelsinn und weiset jeder
Hälfte die ihr gebührende Stelle an. Sie fasst die ornamentalen Symbole
vorzugsweise in struktiv-funktionellem Sinne, mit möglichst gemilderter und
leisester Anspielung auf tendenziöse Bedeutung, die ihnen noch bleibt; der
höheren Kunst weist sie ihre neutralen Felder an, wo sie, von der Struktur und
dem nächsten materiellen Dienste des Systemes unabhängig, sich frei entfaltet.”
Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 386. See also ibid., p. 348.
81 “Die Kunst der Griechen wards gebildet, als Kunst zu sprechen ohne fremde
Attribute.” Zerstreute Blätter, quoted in Sørensen, Symbol und Symbolismus, p. 62.
82 “On Architectural Symbols”, fol. 10–13, p. 64. See also Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 390,
where his debt to Bötticher becomes even clearer: “So werden ‘Strukturschema’
und Kunstschema’ identificirt und der organische Gedanke, der in Hellas seine
ideale Anwendung in der Baukunst erhält, ist hier schon in realer Weise ausge-
sprochen. Alles ist fertig, es fehlt nichts als der belebende Prometheusfunken!”
221
N O T E S T O P P. 1 0 6 – 1 0 9
83 Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 509 (footnote).

84 “Auch hierin bildet sie [Greek architecture] den Gegensatz zu der bar-
barischen Baukunst, in welcher dieselben Elemente, nämlich Struktur und
Dekoration . . . mehr oder weniger unorganisch, gleichsam mechanisch und in
eigentlichster materiellster Kundgebung zusammentreten.’ Der Stil, vol. 1,
p. 225–6.
85 Der Stil, vol. 1, p. 224. The principle of Bekleidung, for instance, was appropriated
by the Greeks in a manner no longer material “sondern nur noch symbolisch
und in vergeistigtester Weise”. Ibid., p. 224. The Kantian background to this
line of thinking will be discussed in chapter 5.
See also “Attributes of Formal Beauty”, p. 241.
87 “Übereinstimmung einer Kunsterscheinung mit ihrer Entstehungsgeschichte,
mit allen Vorbedingungen und Umständen ihres Werdens.” “Ueber Baustile”,
p. 402. In this instance, I do not follow Mallgrave and Herrmann’s translation
in Four Elements of Architecture and Other Writings.
88 Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 183. See also “A Critical Analysis and Prognosis of
Present-day Artistic Production”, p. 259: “A theory of building based on these
principles will therefore be different from the theory of architecture. Reviewing
the field of history, it will not apprehend and explain as facts the monuments of
different countries and different times, but will resolve them as different values
of a variable function of given variable coefficients; it will do this in order to
reveal the law and inner necessity that reigns throughout the world of art forms
as throughout nature.”
89 “The Attributes of Formal Beauty”, p. 241. The theory was presented for the
first time in “Outline for a System of Comparative Style-Theory”, MS 122 and
124.
91 Science, Industry, and Art, p. 136. For more on the discrepancies between
Semper’s different definitions of style, see Mallgrave, “Commentary on Sem-
per’s London Lecture,” RES, Journal of Anthropology and Aesthetics 6, Fall 1983,
pp. 23–31.
92 “Outline for a System of Comparative Style-Theory”, MS 124, fol. 5, pp. 8–9.
94 Ibid., p. 242. Semper was ambiguous in his description of the inner coefficients.
In a draft for “Outline for a System of Comparative Style-Theory” (MS 124),
purpose was presented as constituting the functional relation itself – i.e., making
up the C in the formula (fols. 6–7). In a different version of the same lecture
(MS 122), however, Semper described purpose as one of the inner coefficients;
i.e., exercising a constant influence in the functional expression, but only as
one of several coefficients within it. Hans Semper, when editing Kleine Schriften
after his father’s death, chose to merge the two manuscripts and include in
MS 122 the passages from MS 124 where Semper defined C as purpose. As
Mallgrave has pointed out, this has led to a simplified interpretation of Semper
222
N O T E S T O P P. 1 1 5 – 1 2 0
as a protofunctionalist: “not only has the so-called first class of variables come
to be perceived as exerting a controlling or dominant influence over the second,
but with ‘use’ (Zweck) deposited into this class, Semper’s theory has been read
as blatantly purposeful”, “Commentary on Semper’s November Lecture,” p. 28.
I agree with Mallgrave that Hans Semper’s version is misleading. Yet, Semper’s
notion of ‘purpose’ as an inner coefficient of the work is not without its own
problems, as long as it implies that ‘purpose’ is a product of the immanent in-
teraction of Gestaltungsmomente. I discuss this ‘immanentisation’ more closely in
chapters 5 and 6.
95 The Gestaltungsmomente and the ‘inner coefficients’ of art seem to be two ways
of grasping the same thing: namely, the inherent lawfulness governing form and
matter. Due to the considerable inconsistency in Semper’s presentation of both, it
is difficult to claim that these concepts are identical, yet his seamless transition in
“The Attributes of Formal Beauty” from a discussion of the Gestaltungsmomente
(defined as “the formal law and logic noticeable in the creation of artistic works”,
p. 225) to the formula for style and its ‘inner coefficients’ (defined as what is
“contained in the work itself and that comply with certain compelling natural
and physical laws”, p. 242) should be enough to alert us to their affinity. The
ambiguous role of ‘purpose’ in the discussion of the ‘inner coefficients’ likewise
mirrors Semper’s curious introduction of purpose as a fourth Gestaltungsmoment,
discussed earlier in this chapter.
97 Ibid., p. 242.
98 On the distinction between natural and historical coefficients in Semper’s for-
mula, see F. Piel, “Der Historische Stilbegriff und die Geschichtlichkeit der
Kunst” in Bauer (ed.) Probleme der Kunstwissenschaft, pp. 28–9.
99 “Fundamentalprinzip der Erfindung”, H. Semper: Gottfried Semper, ein Bild,
p. 12.
100 “Outline for a System of Comparative Style-Theory” (MS 124), fol. 6, p. 18: “It
will be said, that an artistic problem is not a mathematical one, and that results in
fine arts are hardly obtainable by calculation. This is very true, and I am the last
to believe that mere reflection and calculation may at any time succeed in filling
the place of talent and natural taste. Also I only wanted this schedule as a crutch
for leaning on it in explaining the subject. I therefore will be kindly allowed to
prosecute my proposition.”
101 “On Architectural Symbols”, fol. 2, p. 61. Further on Semper’s notion of ar-
chitecture as a ‘Lapidargeschichte’ of society, see, for instance, Der Stil, vol. 1,
pp. 212 and 406; Der Stil, vol. 2, p. 3; and Prospectus to Vergleichende Baulehre,
pp. 170–1. See also his late criticism of the potential determinism implied in
this view, in “On Architectural Styles” (Zurich lecture, 4 March 1869), MS 280,
trans. Mallgrave and Herrmann, Four Elements of Architecture and Other Writings,
p. 268.
102 “Diese bedeutungsvollen Formen wurden als solche erkannt, und in Folge dessen
zu religiösen und nationalen Emblemen erhoben”. Der Stil, vol. 2, p. 5.
223
N O T E S T O P P. 1 1 1 – 1 1 5
103 “Wie bedeutsam tritt das schwebende geistige und klare Wesen der quellen-
verehrenden Hellenen schon aus dieser untergeordneten Kunstgestaltung sym-
bolisch heraus, gegenüber der Situla, bei welcher das physische Gesetz der
Schwere und der Gleichgewichts einen ganz entgegengesetzten, aber dem Geiste
des ägyptischen Volks nicht minder entsprechenden, Ausdruck fand! . . . Noch
mehr! – die Grundzüge der gesammten ägyptischen Architektur scheinen in
dem Nilheimer gleich wie im Embryo enthalten zu sein, und nicht minder auf-
fallend ist die Verwandtschaft der Form der Hydria mit gewissen Typen des
dorischen Baustils!” Der Stil, vol. 2, pp. 5–6.
104 For a further discussion on Semper’s notion of correspondence
[Übereinstimmung], see Bauer, “Architektur als Kunst”, pp. 164–5. See
also Michael Podro, The Critical Historians of Art, Yale University Press 1991,
chapter IV, “From Semper to Göller”, pp. 44–58.
105 “An Stelle eines idealen Zweckbegriffs . . . werden die Dinge aus sich selbst
erklärt nach dem Gesetz von Ursache und Wirkung . . . Geschichtsschreibung
wird zur “Géometrie des forces.” Stockmeyer, Gottfried Sempers Kunsttheorie,
p. 29.
THE C O M PA R AT I V E METHOD
1 E. Zitelmann, “Der Materialismus in der Geschichtsschreibung”, Preuss.
Jahrbuch 1876, p. 177, quoted in E. Rothhacker Logik und Systematik der Geis-
teswissenschaften, Munich: Oldenbourg 1965, p. 91.
3 “Outline for a System of Comparative Style-Theory”, MS 122, fol. 3, p. 8.
4 Science, Industry, and Art, p. 133. See also Prospectus, Vergleichende Baulehre,
p. 170: “Out of this chaos, the Descartes and Newtons, the Cuviers, Humboldts,
and Liebigs created a new, so-called comparative form of science, animated by a
worldview [Weltidee].”
5 Second Prospectus to Der Stil, p. 179.
6 “Im 19. Jahrhundert ist die vergleichende Methode geradezu zur Herrscherin
in der Wissenschaft geworden.” A. Harnack: 1907, quoted in Rothhacker, Logik
und Systematik, p. 91.
7 Wilhelm Dilthey, Der Aufbau der geschichtlichen Welt in den Geisteswissenschaften, in
Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 7, pp. 25–6: “Mit diesem grossen Blick der historische
Schule verband sich dann eine methodischer Fortschritt von der höchster Bedeu-
tung. Von der aristotelischen Schule ab hatte die Ausbildung der vergleichenden
Methoden in der Biologie der Pflanzen und Tiere den Ausgangspunkt für deren
Anwendung in den Geisteswissen schaften gebildet . . . Indem nun die historische
Schule die Ableitung der allgemeinen Wahrheiten in den Geisteswissenschaften
durch abstraktes konstruktives Denkens verwarf, wurde für sie die vergleichende
Methode das einzige Verfahren, zu Wahrheiten von grösserer Allgemeinheit
aufzusteigen.”
8 Sebastiano Serlio (1474–1554), VI Libri dell’architettura (1537–51); Andrea
Palladio (1508–80), Quattro libri dell’architettura (1570); Vincenzo Scamozzi
224
N O T E S T O P P. 1 1 5 – 1 2 0
(1552–1616), L’idea dell’architettura universale, (1615). On the emergence of the

comparative method in architecture, see A. Vidler, The Writing of the Walls,
Princeton Architectural Press 1987, pp. 7–33.
9 H.-W. Kruft, Geschichte der Architekturtheorie, von der Antike bis zu Gegenwart,
Munich: Beck 1991, p. 205.
10 Entwurf einer historischen Architektur. In Abbildung unterschiedenes berühmten
Gebäude, des Alterthums und fremdes Völcker, (Vienna 1721), trans. Thomas
Lediard, preface to the first English edition, London 1737.
11 Entwurf, “Vorrede”. Further on the question of relativism in Fisher von Erlach’s
work, see H. Sedlmayr, Johann Bernhard Fischer von Erlach, Munich: Wien 1956,
pp. 39–43: “Begründer des ‘Reichsstils’.”
12 See, for instance, A. A. Sheldon, “Cabinets of Transgression: Renaissance Col-
lections and the Incorporation of the New World”, in J. Elsner and R. Cardinal
(eds.), The Cultures of Collecting, London: Reaktion 1994. Fischer von Erlach was
influenced by Athanasius Kircher, whose work testifies to the emblematic role
of comparison and classification in the baroque period. See Sedlmayr, Fischer von
Erlach, p. 14; and Vesely, “Architecture and the Conflict of Representation”, AA
Files 8 1987, p. 26.
13 Observation sur les Edifices des Anciens Peuples précédées de réflexions préliminaires sur
la critique des “Ruines de la Grèce”, Amsterdam 1767, pp. 7–8. Quoted in Bergdoll,
Léon Vaudoyer, p. 13. See also Lavin, Quatremère de Quincy, p. 16.
14 Les Ruines, second revised edition, Paris 1770.
15 Bergdoll, Léon Vaudoyer, p. 13.
17 “Influence of Historical Research on Trends in Contemporary Architecture”, in
Herrmann, In Search, p. 190. See also Prospectus, Comparative Theory of Archi-
tecture, p. 169; and “Outline for a System of Comparative Style-Theory”, MS
122, fol. 6, p. 9.
18 For Durand’s life and work, see S. Villari, J. N. L. Durand (1760–1834), Art and
Science of Architecture, New York: Rizzoli 1990; and W. Szambien, Jean-Nicolas-
Louis Durand, 1760–1834. De L’imitation à la norme. Paris: Picard 1984.
19 Villari, J. N. L. Durand, p. 55.
20 Durand applied a mixture of historical and typological criteria for classification,
separating, for example, Egyptian temples, Roman palaces, and Moorish details
while also operating with classes like ‘Round temples’. Further on Durand’s
classification system, see L. Madrazo, “Durand and the Science of Architecture”,
Journal of Architectural Education, vol. 48, no. 1, September 1994, pp. 13–14.
21 W. Oechslin has traced some of Durand’s ‘purified’ designs back to their originals,
in “Premises for the Resumption of the Discussion of Typology”, Assemblage 1,
1986, pp. 46–51.
22 Recueil, preface, p. 17, quoted in Villari, J. N. L. Durand, p. 56.
23 J. G. Legrand, “Essai sur l’histoire générale de l’architecture”, preface to the
second edition of Durand’s Recueil, Paris 1809, p. 40. Quoted in Bergdoll, Léon
Vaudoyer, p. 37.
225
N O T E S T O P P. 1 2 0 – 1 2 3
24 Durand himself never used the term ‘type’, but referred instead to genre. For
the changing notion of type and genre in the eighteenth and early nineteenth
centuries, see Lavin, Quatremère de Quincy; and A. Vidler, “The Idea of Type:
The Transformation of the Academic Ideal, 1750–1830”, in Oppositions, no. 8,
1977.
25 See, for instance, Durand’s recommendations for circular plans on the ground of
economy. Précis des leçons d’architecture données à l’École Polytechnique, p. 8. Quoted
from the 1819 edition, in Peréz-Goméz, Architecture and the Crisis of Modern
Science, pp. 299–300.
26 Précis des leçons d’architecture données à l’École Polytechnique, 2 vols., Paris 1802–5.
The “Partie graphique” was added in the 1821 edition.
27 Précis, vol. 1, pp. 29–30. Quoted from the 1823 edition in Villari, J. N. L. Durand,
p. 60.
28 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 81. Quoted from the 1823 edition in Villari, J. N. L. Durand, p. 60.
Durand’s Cartesian approach has been pointed out by, among others, Madrazo,
“Durand”, note 5, p. 22.
29 As he writes: “First of all we shall see how architectural elements should be
combined with one another, how they are assembled each in relation to the
whole, horizontally as well as vertically; and in the second place how, through
these combinations, a formation of such different parts of the building . . . is
achieved. Once we have noted these parts well, we shall see how they combine
in turn in the composition of the entire building.” Précis, vol. 1, p. 29. Quoted
from the 1823 edition in Villari, J. N. L. Durand, p. 60.
30 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 92. Quoted from the 1823 edition in Villari, J. N. L. Durand,
p. 64.
31 The implications of this shift have been discussed, for instance, by Pérez-Gómez,
Architecture and the Crisis of Modern Science, chapter 9, “Durand and Functional-
ism”, pp. 198–326.
32 Précis, vol. 1, p. 28. Quoted from the 1823 edition in Villari, J. N. L. Durand,
p. 59.
33 See “Outline for a System of Comparative Style-Theory”, MS 122, and Prospec-
tus to Vergleichende Baulehre. A student in Paris in the 1820s, Semper probably
knew Durand’s work well, through both his tutor Gau and his contacts with the
École Polytechnique and École de Beaux Arts. See Mallgrave, Introduction to
The Four Elements of Architecture and Other Writings, note 7.
34 “Outline for a System of Comparative Style-Theory”, MS 122, fol. 7, p. 9.
35 Ibid., fol. 7, p. 9.
36 See, for example, Prospectus to Vergleichende Baulehre, p. 169.
37 See, for example, Goethe’s letter from Italy to Frau von Stein: “As I have looked
upon nature, so do I now look upon art, and I am now achieving what I have
striven for so long, a more perfect conception of the highest things which men
have made.” Quoted in Abrams, The Mirror and the Lamp, p. 206. For more on
the ‘aesthetic organicists’, see ibid., “German Theories of Vegetable Genius.”
On Herder’s vitalism, see F. Beiser, The Fate of Reason: German Philosophy from
226
N O T E S T O P P. 1 2 3 – 1 2 7
Kant to Fichte, Harvard University Press 1987, pp. 127–60. On the use of bio-
logical metaphors in historiography, see, for example, A. D. Breck, “The Use of
Biological Concepts in the Writing of History,” in Breck and Yourgrau (eds.),
Biology, History and Natural Philosophy, London: Plenum 1972.
39 For biographical data on Cuvier, see W. Coleman, Georges Cuvier, Zoologist,
Harvard University Press 1964, pp. 5–25. For a discussion of Cuvier’s re-
lation to Aristotelian and Darwinian biology, respectively, see Cassirer, The
Problem of Knowledge, pp. 118–36; W. Coleman, Biology in the 19th Century,
Cambridge University Press 1977, pp. 17–19; and M. Foucault, The Order
of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences, London: Routledge 1970,
pp. 263–79.
40 See Mallgrave, Introduction to The Four Elements of Architecture and Other
Writings, p. 31.
41 Prospectus, Vergleichende Baulehre, p. 170, and “Outline for a System of Com-
parative Style-Theory”, MS 122, fol. 3, p. 8.
42 See Rykwert, “Gottfried Semper and the Conception of Style,” pp. 74–7. In
contrast, Mallgrave has been critical of what he sees as the exaggerated emphasis
on Cuvier in recent Semper research. “A Commentary to Semper’s November
Lecture” RES, Journal of Anthropology and Aesthetics 6, Fall 1983, p. 26.
43 Foucault, The Order of Things, p. 264.
44 Cassirer, The Problem of Knowledge, p. 138, my emphasis.
45 See Coleman, Georges Cuvier, pp. 3 and 98–107.
46 Cuvier, Le régne animal distribué d’après son organisation (1817), vol. II, p. 28,
quoted in Coleman, Georges Cuvier, p. 63.
47 Cuvier, “Animal”, Dictionnaire des sciences naturelles (1816), vol. II, p. lii, translated
and printed in Coleman, Georges Cuvier, p. 74.
48 Cuvier, “Rapport Historique sur le progrès des sciences naturelles”, pp. 329–30,
quoted in Foucault, The Order of Things, p. 270.
49 Georges Cuvier, Discourse sur les révolutions de la surface du globe (Paris 1828),
quoted in Cassirer, The Problem of Knowledge, pp. 130–1.
50 The Order of Things, p. 268.
51 C. Linnaeus, The Elements of Botany, trans. H. Rose, London 1775, p. 231, quoted
in Coleman, Georges Cuvier, p. 20. On ‘artificial’ versus ‘natural’ systems of clas-
sifications, see Cassirer, The Problem of Knowledge, pp. 127–9.
52 As he wrote: “If . . . the Maker of all things, who has done nothing without design,
has furnished this earthly globe, like a museum, with the most admirable proofs
of his wisdom and power; if, moreover, this splendid theatre would be adorned
in vain without a spectator; and if he has placed in it Man, the chief and most
perfect of all his works, who is alone capable of duly considering the wonderful
æconomy of the whole; it follows, that Man is made for the purpose of studying
the Creator’s works, that he may observe in them the evident marks of divine
wisdom.” Reflections on the Study of Nature, London: Nicol 1785, pp. 13–14.
53 Ibid., p. 4.
227
N O T E S T O P P. 1 2 7 – 1 3 1
54 Ibid., p. 17.
55 For a study of the emblematic worldview of early natural history, see W. B.
Ashworth; “Natural History and the Emblematic Worldview”, in D. C.
Lindberg and R. S. Westman (eds.), Reappraisals of the Scientific Revolution,
Cambridge University Press 1990, pp. 303–32. Linnaeus was strongly in-
fluenced by hermetic philosophy, particularly Count Gustaf Bonde, whose
Clavicula Hermeticæ Scientiæ was published in 1732. Further on Linnaeus and
hermeticism, see K. R. V. Wikman, Lachesis and Nemesis: Four chapters on the
Human Condition in the Writings of Carl Linnæus, Stockholm: Almquist & Wiksell
1970.
56 As Linnæus wrote, “Should I not from the perpetual movement and order of
the stars see the Conservator and from the reproduction of animals and plants,
when they are referred back to the unity, see the Creation”? Lachesis Naturalis
quæ tradit Diætam naturalem and Nemesis Divina, quoted in Wickman, Lachesis
and Nemesis, p. 100.
57 Cassirer, The Problem of Knowledge, p. 131.
58 See, for instance, Goethe’s Metamorphosis of Plants, in Scientific Studies, ed. and
trans. D. Miller, New York: Suhrkamp 1988, vol. 12, p. 94. See also Cassirer,
The Problem of Knowledge, p. 156; and Foucault, The Order of Things, p. 140.
59 Further on the idea of a ‘chain of being’, see A. O. Lovejoy, The Great Chain of
Being, A Study of the History of an Idea, Harvard University Press 1964.
60 ‘Biology’ was not introduced as a term until about 1800, when it came to replace
‘Natural History’ as a comprehensive label for botany, zoology, palaeontology,
etc. See Foucault, The Order of Things, p. 269.
61 Immanuel Kant (1724–1804). Cuvier had a thorough knowledge of Kant through
his colleague and teacher in comparative anatomy at the Stuttgart Karlschule,
Carl Friedrich Kielmeyer (1765–1844). Kielmeyer explicitly relied on Kant’s
notion of organic systems when developing his function-based comparative
anatomy, stating that “the organs stand in purposeful relationship to one
another . . . each is the effect and cause of the other, and for us, therefore, the re-
lationship is purposeful and not mechanical”. Gesammelte Schriften, F. H. Holler
(ed.), Berlin 1938, p. 228. Quoted in C. Coulston Gillispie (ed.), Dictionary of
Scientific Biography, vol. VII, New York: Schribner’s 1973, pp. 366–9. For more
on the relation between Cuvier and Kielmeyer’s Kantianism, see Cassirer, The
Problem of Knowledge, p. 128.
62 See, for example, the First introduction to the Critique of Judgement, especially
section IX: “On Teleological Judging”. In Critique of Judgement, trans. W. S.
Pluhar, Indianapolis: Hackett 1987, pp. 421 ff.
63 Critique of Pure Reason, A642–648, B670–676, trans. P. Guyer and A. W. Wood,
Cambridge University Press 1998. Further on Kant’s regulative ideas, see J. D.
McFarland, Kant’s Concept of Teleology, University of Edinburgh Press 1970, p. 25.
64 Critique of Judgement, §77: “On the Peculiarity of the Human Understanding
That Makes the Concept of a Natural Purpose Possible for Use”, pp. 288–94.
65 Critique of Pure Reason, A645–6/B673–4.
228
N O T E S T O P P. 1 3 1 – 1 3 3
66 Ibid., A616–19/B644–7.
67 “In other words, it must be a matter of complete indifference to us, when we
perceive such unity, whether we say that God in his wisdom willed it so, or that
nature has wisely arranged it thus. For what has justified us in adopting the idea
of a supreme intelligence as a schema of the regulative principle is precisely this
greatest possible systematic and purposive unity – a unity which our reason has
required as a regulative principle that must underlie all investigation of nature.”
Ibid., A699/B727.
68 Ibid., A685–7/B713–15: “The highest formal unity that alone rests on concepts
of reason is the purposive unity of things; and the speculative interests of reason
make it necessary to regard every ordinance of the world as if it had sprouted
from the intention of a highest reason. Such a principle, namely, opens up for our
reason, as applied to the field of experience, entirely new prospects for connecting
up things in the world in accordance with teleological laws, and thereby attaining
to the greatest systematic unity among them.”
69 First introduction to Critique of Judgement, part II, p. 393.
70 “What is presupposed [in empirical judgements on nature] is that nature, even in
its empirical laws, has adhered to a certain parsimony suitable for our judgement,
and adhered to a uniformity which we can grasp; and this presupposition must
proceed all comparison, as an a priori principle of judgement”. First introduction
to Critique of Judgement, part V, p. 401.
71 Kant’s principle of the reflective judgement is that nature is purposive for our
knowledge of it. This principle is a transcendental principle and requires as such
a transcendental deduction. See McFarland, Kant’s Concept of Teleology, p. 83.
72 First introduction to Critique of Judgement, part II, p. 394. See also Critique of
Judgement, §75, p. 280.
73 Critique of Judgement, § 62. For a comment on this point, see McFarland, Kant’s
Concept of Teleology, p. 78.
74 See Critique of Judgement, §15, p. 73, and “General Comment on the First
Division of the Analytic”, p. 92.
75 The “purposiveness without purpose” is for Kant the link between the teleolog-
ical and aesthetic judgement. In the latter, the work is purpose only with respect
to our strictly disinterested pleasure in being exposed to “the free play of our
cognitive faculties”. In the former, nature is purposive strictly for our cognitive
demand of wholeness. See, for instance, Critique of Judgement §15, p. 73: “It is
already evident that the beautiful, which we judge on the basis of merely formal
purposiveness, i.e., a purposiveness without a purpose, is quite independent of
the concept of the good.”
76 Critique of Judgement, §64, p. 249.
77 Critique of Pure Reason, B860–1.
78 The full quote is “Jener entscheidende Punct aber, der hier alles aufhellen wird,
ist die innre Structur der Sprachen oder die vergleichende Grammatik, welche
uns ganz neue Aufschlüsse über die Genealogie der Sprachen auf ähnliche Weise
geben wird, wie die vergleichende Anatomie über die höhere Naturgeschichte
229
N O T E S T O P P. 1 3 3 – 1 3 4
Licht verbreitet hat.” Friedrich Schlegel, Über die Sprache und Weisheiten der
Indier, Heidelberg: Mohr & Zimmer 1808, book 1, chapter 3, p. 28.
79 “Die Untersuchung des Organismus der Sprachen, und die Untersuchung der
Sprachen im Zustande ihrer Ausbildung”, Wilhelm von Humboldt, Ueber das
vergleichende Sprachstudium in Beziehung auf die verschiedenen Epochen der Sprachen-
twicklung (1820), in Werke In fünf Bänden, eds. A. Flitner und K. Giel, Stuttgart:
Cotta 1960, Band III, Schriften zur Sprachphilosophie, p. 7.
80 “Wie nun die neueste Sprachforschung bestrebt ist, die verwandtschaftlichen
Beziehungen der menschlichen Idiome zu einander nachzuweisen, die einzel-
nen Wörter auf ihrem Gange der Umbildung in dem Laufe der Jahrhunderte
rückwärts zu verfolgen und sie auf einen oder mehrere Punkte zurückzuführen,
woselbst sie in gemeinsamen Urformen einander begegnen, wie es ihr auf
diesem Wege gelungen ist, die Sprachkunde zu einer ächten Wissenschaft
zu erheben . . . eben so lässt sich ein analoges Bestreben auf dem Felde der
Kunstforschung rechtfertigen, welches der Entwicklung der Kunstformen aus
ihren Keimen und Wurzeln, ihren Uebergängen und Verzweigungen diejenige
Aufmerksamkeit widmet, die ihnen ohne Zweifel gebührt.” Der Stil, vol. 1,
pp. 1–2.
81 New Essays on Human Understanding, trans. P. Remnant and J. Bennett,
Cambridge University Press 1996, book III, chapter 9, §10. For an introduc-
tion to Leibniz’s linguistics, see T. Borsche, “Die Säkularisierung des tertium
comparationis: Eine Philosophische Erörterung der Ursprünge des vergleichen-
den Sprachstudiums bei Leibniz und Humboldt”; and R. H. Robins, “Leibniz
and Wilhelm von Humboldt and the History of Comparative Linguistics”, both
in T. de Mauro and Formigari (eds.), Leibniz, Humboldt, and the Origins of Com-
parativism. Amsterdam: Benjamin 1990.
82 Robins, “Leibniz and Humboldt”, p. 87.
83 Borsche sums up Leibniz’s notion of the Ursprache in “Die Säkularisierung des
Tertium comparationis”, p. 104: “Adam als unmittelbares Geschöpf Gottes erkan-
nte die Dinge und benannte sie mit ihren wahren Namen. In dem Mass, in dem
wir uns von unserem Stammvater entfernen, degeneriert die Erkenntnis, und
mit der Zeit wird auch die Sprache korrumpiert. Erneuerung ist nur von einer
Rückkehr zu den Ursprüngen zu erwarten, zur adamitischen Ursprache”.
84 See, for instance, Court de Gebelin’s Histoire naturelle de la parole (1776), who
asserted that “Only comparison of the greatest possible number of languages
can lead to the primitive language and to the true etymology of each word.”
Quoted in S. Auroux, “Representation and the Place of Linguistic Change Before
Comparative Grammar”, in de Mauro and Formigari (eds.), Leibniz, Humboldt,
and the Origins of Comparativism, pp. 233–4.
85 “ . . . uns gelegenheit gebe, ewige und allgemeine wahrheiten zu finden, so in
allen weltkugeln, ja in allen zeiten, und mit einem worth bey Gott selbst gelten
müssen, von dem sie auch beständig hehrfliessen . . . ” [sic]. G. W. Leibniz, Die
Philosophische Schriften, Berlin 1875–90, vol. VII, pp. 114–15, quoted in Borsche,
“Die Säkularisierung des Tertium comparationis”, p. 110.
230
N O T E S T O P P. 1 3 8 – 1 4 0
86 Friedrich Schlegel described this mode of change as an “innre Veränderung

des Wurzellauts”. Über die Sprache und Weisheiten der Indier, book 1, chapter 4,
p. 45.
87 Ibid., p. 45: “Entweder werden die Nebenbestimmungen der Bedeutung durch
innre Veränderung des Wurzellauts angezeigt, durch Flexion, oder aber jedes-
mal durch ein eignes hinzugefügtes Wort, was schon an und für sich Mehrheit,
Vergangenheit, ein zukünftiges Sollen oder andre Verhältnissbegriffe der Art
bedeutet; und diese beiden einfachsten Fälle bezeichnen auch die beiden Haupt-
gattungen aller Sprache.”
88 The inflectional languages shared a “Gleichheit des Princips, alle Verhältnisse
und Nebenbestimmungen der Bedeutung nicht durch angehängte Partikeln oder
Hülfsverba, sondern durch Flexion, d. h. durch innre Modification der Wurzel
zu erkennen zu geben.” Ibid., book 1, chapter 3, p. 35.
89 See H. M. Hoenigwald, “Etymology Against Grammar in the Early 19th Cen-
tury”, in HEL: Histoire, Épistemologie, Langage, vol. 6, no. 2, 1984, pp. 95–100.
90 In this sense, romantic linguistics anticipated the structuralist view of language as
a set of relations. Further on this affinity, see Cassirer, “Structuralism in Modern
Linguistics”, in Word, Journal of the Linguistic Circle of New York, vol. 1, no. 2,
August 1945, pp. 99–120.
91 The true grammatical form, Humboldt continued, “contains the expression of
the relationship purely, and contains nothing substantial according to which
the understanding could deviate”. In Gesammelte Schriften, vol. IV, Berlin 1903,
p. 304–8, quoted in M. L. Manchester, The Philosophical Foundation of Humboldt’s
Linguistic Doctrines, Amsterdam: Benjamin 1985, p. 138.
92 “In pointierter Wendung gegen die traditionelle Sprachauffassung, wie sie auch
von Leibniz noch vertreten wurde, läßt sich mit Humboldt festhalten: Es gibt
keine ewigen Ideen in den Sprachen oder hinter den Sprachen, es gibt keine
natürliche universelle Bedeutung.” Borsche, “Die Säkularisierung des Tertium
comparationis”, p. 112.
93 “On Dramatic Art and Literature” (1808), quoted and translated in M. H.
Abrams, The Mirror and the Lamp, p. 213.
94 This has been called the ‘inflectional superiority thesis’. See Manchester, The
Philosophical Foundation of Humboldt’s Linguistic Doctrines, chapter 7. The implicit
racism in this line of thinking is investigated by M. Olender; The Language of
Paradise, trans. A. Goldhammer, Harvard University Press 1992.
95 Über die Sprache und Weisheiten der Indier, book 1, chapter 4, pp. 50–1: “In der
indischen oder griechischen Sprache ist jede Wurzel wahrhaft das, was der Name
sagt, und wie ein lebendiger Keim, denn weil die Verhältnissbegriffe durch innre
Veränderung bezeichnet werden, so ist der Entfaltung freier Spielraum gegeben,
die Fülle der Entwicklung kann ins Unbestimmbare sich ausbreiten, und ist
oftmals in der That bewundrungswürdig reich.”
96 Ibid., p. 51: “Daher der Reichthum einestheils und dann die Bestandheit und
Dauerhaftigkeit dieser Sprachen, von denen man wohl sagen kann, dass sie
organisch entstanden sein, und ein organisches Gewebe bilden . . . ”
231
N O T E S T O P P. 1 3 5 – 1 3 8
97 Ibid., p. 51: “ . . . kein fruchtbarer Same, sondern nur wie ein Haufen Atome, die
jeder Wind des Zufalls leicht aus einander treiben oder zusammenführen kann;
der Zusammenhang eigentlich kein andrer, als ein bloss mechanischer durch
äussere Anfügung.”
98 Ibid., p. 44: “kunstreiche Einfachheit”.
T O WA R D S A METHOD OF INVENTING
3 The question whether Saint-Simonian or Comtean positivism had any direct in-
fluence on Semper is controversial, and Semper himself never explicitly referred
to such influence. Yet, given the circumstances of his education and travels,
it is likely that he was familiar with aspects of positivist and utopian socialist
thought. For instance, Semper was present in Paris when Comte resumed his
public lectures on the Cours positive in 1829. As an active supporter and par-
ticipant in the July uprisings of 1830 in Paris, he was undoubtedly informed
about the Saint-Simonian movement (see Quitzsch, Ästhetischen Anschauungen
Sempers, pp. 5–15). As Mallgrave points out, Semper could also have come into
contact with the Saint-Simonians in the circle around the Grand Prix winners
in Rome in the early 1830s (Gottfried Semper, p. 56; see also Bergdoll, Léon Vau-
doyer, pp. 114–19; and R. Middleton, “The Rationalist Interpretations of Classi-
cism of Léonce Reynaud and Viollet-le-Duc”, AA Files 2, Spring 1986). During
Semper’s Dresden period, the circle around Richard Wagner was close to the
Young German movement: the mouthpiece of Saint-Simonism in Germany.
This affinity undoubtedly inspired Semper’s and Wagner’s participation in the
Dresden uprisings of 1848–9 (see E. M. Butler, The Saint-Simonian Religion in
Germany, Oxford University Press 1926; and Wagner, My Life, Part Two, “1842–
1850, Dresden”). During Semper’s Zurich years, he had close contact with the
developments in scientific materialism, the closest German equivalent to posi-
tivism proper. He was a friend of the materialist physiologist, Jacob Moleschott,
whose Der Kreislauf des Lebens (1852) has interesting parallels with Semper’s own
Stoffwechsel theory. For more on Moleschott, see F. Gregory, Scientific Materialism
in Nineteenth-Century Germany, Dordrecht: Reidel 1977, pp. 80–98.
4 For a complete outline of Comte’s hierarchy of knowledge, see Cours de Philosophie
Positive, introduction, chapter 2: “View of the Hierarchy of the Positive Sciences”.
In G. Lenzer (ed. and trans.), August Comte and Positivism, The Essential Writings,
New York: Harper & Row 1975.
5 As Comte wrote: “The means of exploration are three: direct observation, ob-
servation by experiment, and observation by comparison. In the first case, we
look at the phenomenon before our eyes; in the second, we see how it is modified
by artificial circumstances to which we have subjected it; and in the third, we
contemplate a series of analogous cases, in which the phenomenon is more and
more simplified. It is only in the case of organized bodies, whose phenomena
are extremely difficult to access, that all three methods can be employed; and it
232
N O T E S T O P P. 1 3 8 – 1 4 0
is evident that in astronomy we can only use the first.” Ibid., book 2, chapter 1,
p. 132.
6 Ibid., book 5, chapter 1, p. 166.
7 “The historical comparison of the consecutive states of humanity is . . . the chief
scientific device of the new political philosophy.” Ibid., book 6, chapter 3, p. 248.
8 “Plan of the Scientific Operations Necessary for Reorganizing Society” (1822),
in Lenzer, August Comte and Positivism, p. 47. As Comte continued: “This science,
like all others, possesses general recourses for verification, even independently
of its necessary relation with physiology. These recourses are based on the fact
that the present condition of the human race considered as a whole, all degrees of
civilisation coexist on different points of the globe, from that of the New Zealand
savages to that of the French and English. Thus, the connection established by
the succession of epochs can be verified by a comparison of places.” Ibid., p. 65.
9 Ibid., pp. 65–6.
10 The full quote is “Calculation, as it were, commands nature, and determines her
phenomena more accurately than observation can make them known. Experi-
ment forces her to unveil, and observation watches her when refractory, and is
always on the alert to surprise and detect her . . . Mere observation will, however,
avail but little without comparison; we must observe attentively the same body
in the various positions in which it is at different times placed by nature; and
we must compare different bodies with each other, until we can recognise any
invariable relation which may exist between their structure and the phenomena
which they exhibit. Thus may such bodies, when diligently observed and care-
fully compared with each other, be considered experiments ready prepared by
the hand of nature, who may be supposed to add to or subtract from each other
in the manner the experimentalist does in the laboratory with the inert material
subject to his control, and herself to present us with the result of such additions
or subtractions.” Cuvier, The Animal Kingdom Arranged in Conformity with its
Organisation with Additional Description of all the Species Hitherto Named, and of
Many not Before Noticed, trans. and ed. E. Griffith and G. B. Whittaker, London
1827, vol. 1: The Class Mammalia, introduction, pp. 4–6. On Comte’s reliance
on Cuvier, see L. Kolakowski, Positivist Philosophy from Hume to the Vienna Circle,
Harmondsworth: Penguin 1972, pp. 71–7.
11 E. E. Evans-Pritchard, “The Comparative Method in Social Anthropology”, in
Evans-Pritchard (ed.), The Position of Women in Primitive Societies and Other Essays
in Social Anthropology, New York: Free Press 1965, p. 33.
12 For more on the positivist implications of the comparative method in social
anthropology, see L. Holy, Introduction, in Holy (ed.), Comparative Anthropology,
Oxford: Blackwell 1987, pp. 1–3. Further on the experimental role of comparison
in social anthropology, see F. Eggan, “Some Reflections on Comparative Method
in Anthropology”, in Context and Meaning in Cultural Anthropology, Melford E.
Spiro (ed.), New York: Free Press 1965, pp. 357–71.
13 Comte’s debt to enlightenment philosophers such as Montesquieu, Turgot,
and Condorcet is clearly visible in his attempts to formulate a social physics.
233
N O T E S T O P P. 1 4 0 – 1 4 2
See J. B. Bury, The Idea of Progress, New York: Dover 1960, pp. 147–58 and
290–312.
14 On the idealisation implied in experiments and the role of this idealisation in
modern science, see, for instance, E. McMullin, “The Conception of Science
in Galileo’s Work”, in R. Butts and J. Pitts (eds.), New Perspectives on Galileo,
Dordrecht: Reidel 1978.
15 Cours, introduction, chapter 1, p. 88.
16 Ibid., book 2, chapter 1, p. 133.
17 Ibid., book 6, chapter 3, pp. 222 and 239. See also ibid., p. 137: “ . . . The universe
is not destined for the passive satisfaction of man, but that man, superior in
intelligence to whatever else he sees, can modify for his own good, within certain
determinate limits, the system of phenomena of which he forms a part – being
able to do this by a wise exercise of his activity, disengaged from all oppressive
terror, and directed by an accurate knowledge of natural laws.”
18 “Plan of the Scientific Operations Necessary for Reorganising Society”, p. 47.
19 Cours, book 6, chapter 1, p. 210.
20 Ibid., introduction, chapter 1, p. 83.
21 On Comte’s intramundane eschatology, see E. Voegelin, From Enlightenment to
Revolution, Duke University Press 1975, pp. 136–90.
22 Comte’s positive religion prescribed a system for collective and individual com-
memoration and worship, and was set out in Système de politique positive, ou traité
de sociologie instituant la religion de l’humanité (1851–54), in Lenzer, August Comte
and Positivism, pp. 309–458. For more on Comtean religion, see T. E. Wright,
The Religion of Humanity: The Impact of Comtean Philosophy on Victorian Britain,
Cambridge University Press 1986. For a discussion on the relationship between
Comte’s early positivism and his later theology, see Voegelin, From Enlightenment
to Revolution, p. 136. Note also Comte’s own insistence on the continuity between
his early and late work, in the “Preface to the Early Writings” from 1854. This
publication reissued Comte’s early writings (including the Saint-Simonian) and
was “especially intended to demonstrate the perfect harmony that exists between
my youthful efforts and my matured concepts . . . I devoted the first half of my
career to constructing, out of the materials supplied by the sciences, a truly pos-
itivist philosophy, this being the only possible basis of a universal religion.” In
Lenzer, August Comte and Positivism, p. 3.
23 Système de politique positive, vol. 1, chapter 1, p. 328.
24 Ibid., p. 331.
25 Ibid., chapter 6, p. 381.
26 “Outline for a System of Comparative Style Theory”, MS 122, fols. 5–6, p. 9.
27 Both ‘topic’ and ‘invention’ are familiar concepts in classical rhetoric. ‘Topic’
comes from the Greek topos (place) and signifies both the art of finding arguments
and the ‘places’ or ‘commonplaces’ (topi koinoi) where such arguments could be
found. Inventio, correspondingly, denotes “the conceiving of topics either true or
probable, which may make one’s cause appear probable” (Cicero, De Inventione,
trans. C. D. Yonge, London: Bell 1888, book 1.7). With his thorough classical
234
N O T E S T O P P. 1 4 2 – 1 4 4
Bildung, Semper would undoubtedly have been aware of this connection. Yet,
he did not comment on it, reshaping instead these classical concepts in the
mould of modern science by choosing the new comparative sciences of anatomy,
linguistics, and politics as his methodological ideals (Science, Industry, and Art,
p. 133; and Prospectus, Vergleichende Baulehre, p. 170). This tension in Semper’s
thinking between ‘method’ and ‘topic’ – ‘inventio’ and ‘invention’ – was lucidly
discussed by H. Hipp in a lecture titled, “ ‘Eine Art Topik’ zu Semper” (‘Semper’s
Kosmos’, symposium, ETH, Zurich, June 2002), to whom I am indebted. I am
also grateful to D. Leatherbarrow, whose incisive comments on this point have
been helpful. See the latter’s discussion of inventio as an architectural topic in The
Roots of Architectural Invention: Site, Enclosure, Materials, Cambridge University
Press 1993.
28 See, for instance, Prolegomenon, Vergleichende Baulehre, p. 170: “A method anal-
ogous to that which guided Cuvier in his comparative osteology, but applied
to architecture, will by necessity greatly facilitate an overall view of this field
and . . . will also permit an architectural theory of invention to be based on it.”
29 Ibid., p. 171.
30 Voegelin, From Enlightenment to Revolution, p. 95. On the radical utilitarianism
implied in positivist thinking, see Kolakowski, Positivist Philosophy, pp. 158–200.
31 F. A., Hayek, The Counter Revolution of Science, London: Collier-Macmillian 1955,
p. 95.
32 Ibid., p. 97.
33 For a further discussion of this issue, see H. Arendt, “The Concept of History”,
in Between Past and Future, Eight Exercises in Political Thought, New York: Penguin
1993, p. 59: “The comparatively new social sciences, which so quickly became to
history what technology had been to physics, may use the experiment in a much
cruder and less reliable way than do the natural sciences, but the method is the
same: they too prescribe conditions to human behaviour, as modern physics pre-
scribes conditions to natural processes. If their vocabulary is repulsive and their
hope to close the alleged gap between our scientific mastery of nature and our
deplored impotence to ‘manage’ human affairs through an engineering science
of human relations sounds frightening, it is only because they have decided to
treat man as an entirely natural being whose life process can be handled in the
same way as all other processes.”
34 For a presentation of the transition from the Greek theoria, signifying partic-
ipatory observation, to the modern conception of theory as a procedure for
production, see H. G. Gadamer, “What Is Practice? The Conditions of Social
Reason”, in Reason in the Age of Science, trans. F. G. Lawrence, Cambridge: MIT
Press 1981, pp. 69–87.
36 First introduction to Critique of Judgement, part I, “On Philosophy as a System”,
p. 386 (my emphasis).
37 See D. Vesely, “Architecture and the Conflict of Representation”, AA Files 8,
1987, p. 24.
235
N O T E S T O P P. 1 4 4 – 1 5 1
38 As, for instance, Pérez-Gómez has argued. Architecture and the Crisis of Modern
Science, p. 7.

1 Thomas Leverton Donaldson, “On a New Style in Architecture”, AA Papers,
London 1847.
3 The expression is taken from J. M. Crook, The Dilemma of Style, Architectural
Ideals from the Picturesque to the Post-Modern, London: Murray 1987.
4 See, for instance, Filarete’s Treatise on Architecture (Milan, circa 1460), trans. J.
Spencer, New Haven 1965, vol. 1, p. 12. Quoted in C. van Eck, “Par le style on
atteint au sublime: the meaning of the term ‘style’ in French architectural theory
of the late eighteenth century”, in van Eck, McAllister, and Van de Vall (eds.),
The Question of Style in Philosophy and The Arts, Cambridge University Press 1995,
p. 91 and note 8.
5 van Eck, “Par le style on atteint au sublime”, p. 91.
6 Ibid., pp. 94–5.
7 See, for instance, Germain Boffrand’s Livre d’architecture, Paris 1745, pp. 16–24;
and Jaques-François Blondel’s Cours d’architecture, Paris 1771, vol. 1, p. 401. Both
quoted in van Eck, “Par le style on atteint au sublime”, pp. 92–7.
8 For a discussion of ‘absolute’ versus ‘relative’ conceptions of style in the nine-
teenth century, see F. Piel, “Der Historische Stilbegriff und die Geschichtlichkeit
der Kunst”, in Bauer (ed.), Probleme der Kunstwissenschaft, pp. 18–37.
9 Heinrich Hübsch’s (1795–1863) essay, “In Which Style Should We Build” (1828),
is perhaps the most famous of these contributions. For a thorough presentation
of the German debate on style, with translations of its key contributions, see
W. Herrmann (ed.), In What Style Should We Build? The German Debate on Ar-
chitectural Style, Santa Monica: Getty 1992.
10 For a presentation of the German promoters of Greek revival, see M. Schwarzer,
German Architectural Theory and the Search for Modern Identity, Cambridge Uni-
versity Press 1995, pp. 38–47. For a particular investigation of classicism in
relation to German nationalism, see D. Watkin and T. Mellinghoff, German
Architecture and the Classical Ideal 1740–1840, London: Thames and Hudson
1987.
11 “ . . . ein festes Princip für alle Zeiten”. Leo von Klenze (1784–1864), Versuch einer
Wiederherstellung des toskanischen Tempels nach seinen technischen und historischen
Analogien, Munich 1824, quoted in Kruft, Geschichte der Architekturtheorie, p. 350.
12 Karl Bötticher, “The Principles of the Hellenic and Germanic Way of Building
with Regard to Their Application to Our Present Way of Building” (1846),
in Herrmann, In What Style, pp. 147–67. Friedrich Gilly (1772–1800), “Einige
Gedanken über die Nothwendigkeit, die verschiedenen Theile der Baukunst
in wissenschaftlicher und praktischer Hindsicht, möglichst zu vereinigen”, in
D. Gilly, Sammlung nützlicher Aufsätze und Nachrichten, die Baukunst betreffend
(1797–1805), quoted in Kruft, Geschichte der Architekturtheorie, p. 322.
236
N O T E S T O P P. 1 5 1 – 1 5 6
13 Eugéne-Emmanuel Viollet-Le-Duc (1814–79), “The Construction of Buildings,

Continued”, in Discourses on Architecture, Vol. 2, trans. B. Bucknall, London: Allen
& Unwin 1959, pp. 51–100, Lecture XII; Hübsch, “In What Style”, pp. 83–100.
14 Influential spokesmen for the Gothic revival in Germany were Sulpiz Boisserée
(1783–1854), Geschichte und Beschreibung des Domes von Köln (1823); Georg Moller
(1784–1852), Denkmäler der deutschen Baukunst (1830); Karl Schnaase (1798–
1875), Niederländlische Briefe (1834); and August Reischensperger (1808–95), Die
christlich-germanischen Baukunst und ihre Verhältnis zur Gegenwart (1845, 1852).
For more on the Gothic revival in Germany, see Schwarzer, German Architectural
Theory, pp. 48–62.
15 Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin (1812–52), The True Principles of Pointed or
Christian Architecture (1841), London: Academy 1973, p. 76.
16 See Schwarzer, German Architectural Theory, pp. 63–8.
17 See A. Hahn, “Der Maximilianstil”, in H. Gollwitzer (ed.), 100 Jahre Maximil-
ianeum, Munich: Pflaum 1953, pp. 77–167; E. Drüeke, Der Maximilianstil. Zum
Stilbegriff der Architektur im 19. Jahrhundert. Mittenwald: Mäander 1981; and
Vesely, “Architecture and the Conflict of Representation”, p. 30. Semper him-
self expressed his criticism of the Maximilian style in “On Architectural Styles”,
p. 267.
18 “ . . . in voller Freiheit der verschiedenen Baustyle und ihrer Ornamentik zur
zweckmässigen Lösung der vorliegenden Aufgabe bedienen, damit die zu
erwählende Bauart keinem der bekannten Baustyle ausschliesslich und speziell
angehöre.” Brief for Maximilian II’s competition for a new style, quoted in Kruft,
Geschichte der Architekturtheorie, p. 354.
19 For instance, Léonce Reynaud, Léon Vaudoyer, and Hippolyte Fortoul.
See Schwarzer, German Architectural Theory, p. 63; Bergdoll, Léon Vaudoyer,
pp. 114–19; and Middleton, “The Rationalist Interpretations of Classicism”.
20 Kruft traces this approach to, among others, Christian Ludwig Stiegliz (1756–
1836) and his Beiträge zur Geschichte der Ausbildung der Baukunst (1834), in
Geschichte der Architekturtheorie, p. 333.
21 See C. Schorske, Fin-de-siècle Vienna: Politics and Culture. Cambridge University
Press 1979, chapter 2.
22 These categories can be encountered with some variations in many of
Semper’s essays and lectures; for instance, “A Critical Analysis and Prognosis
of Present-Day Artistic Production”, “Influence of Historical Research”, and
Prolegomenon to Der Stil. In the latter he added “Purists, Schematists, and
Futurists” to his list.
24 “Influence of Historical Research on Trends in Contemporary Architecture”,
pp. 193–4.
26 Ibid., p. 257.
27 Preliminary Remarks on Polychrome Architecture, pp. 46–7. See also “On Architec-
tural Styles”, p. 268.
237
N O T E S T O P P. 1 5 6 – 1 6 0
28 “The Attributes of Formal Beauty,” p. 241.

29 Second Prospectus to Der Stil, p. 179.
30 “On the Relation of Architectural Systems with the General Cultural Condi-
tions”, fol. 2, p. 43.
31 Vergleichende Baukunde (Zurich lecture, 1863), MS 264, fols. 1–77, unpublished
manuscript at the Semper archives, fol. 1: “It is downright nonsense when nowa-
days architects want to invent new architectural styles. This would be an enter-
prise like wanting to invent a new language.” Quoted in Herrmann, In Search,
p. 161.
33 “On Architectural Styles”, p. 284.
See also Prolegomenon to Der Stil, p. 182, where he applied the same image.
36 Ibid., p. 245. See also ibid., p. 248, where Semper pondered whether the signs of
crisis experienced by the modern period were “symptoms of a decline brought
about by deep-rooted social causes or whether they point to normally healthy
conditions temporarily brought into confusion . . . whereby sooner and later
the normal state will . . . assert itself . . . to the good and glory of man”. Note
the affinity of this argument with Marx’s hope, in The Capital, of hastening the
disintegration of the bourgeois-capitalist society so that a new social order may
emerge. See K. Löwith, Meaning in History: The Theological Implications of the
Philosophy of History, University of Chicago Press 1949, p. 33.
37 As he writes, “the closer the moment of giving birth to a new system approaches,
the more perceptible becomes the stirring of a society that, though still following
a purely tellurian and unconscious urge to form and shape, strives after a new
identity. In this way society prepares the motif of the art object, without which
the new formation could not arise nor have any significance.” “A Critical Analysis
and Prognosis of Present-Day Artistic Production”, p. 246.
38 Ibid., p. 253 (my emphasis). See also Science, Industry, and Art, p. 144, where he
encourages the cultivation of destructive aspects of modern culture to thus speed
up the disintegration and enable a new synthesis to appear.
39 Science, Industry, and Art, pp. 143–4.
40 Ibid., pp. 143–4. See also “A Critical Analysis and Prognosis of Present-Day
Artistic Production”, pp. 245–53.
43 “The Attributes of Formal Beauty”, p. 225. Mallgrave emphasises the importance
of this idea in Semper’s thinking and presents a lucid discussion of its background
and role in Gottfried Semper. See also K. Eggert, “Der Begriff des Gesamtkunst-
werks in Sempers Theorie”, in Vogt, Reble, and Frölich (eds.), Gottfried Semper
und die Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts, pp. 121–8.
44 Dilthey, Three Epochs of Modern Aesthetics, in Dilthey, Poetry and Experience, Selected
Works, vol. V, p. 214.
238
N O T E S T O P P. 1 6 2 – 1 6 4
HISTORY AND HISTORICISM

1 “On the Task of the Historian”, trans. H. P. Rickman, in K. Mueller-Vollmer
(ed.), The Hermeneutics Reader, Texts of the German Tradition from the Enlightenment
to the Present, Oxford: Blackwell 1984, p. 105. (The insertions of original terms
are mine.)
2 Ibid., p. 105.
3 Ibid., p. 105.
4 Ibid., p. 106.
5 R. Koselleck, Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time, trans. K. Tribe,
Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press 1985, pp. 21–38.
6 Ibid., p. 22.
7 According to Koselleck, the topos of historia magistra vitae remained, until the
eighteenth century, “an unmistakable index for an assumed constancy of human
nature . . . The temporal structure of past history bounded a continuous space of
potential experience.” Ibid., p. 23.
8 Ibid., p. 201.
9 In German, as Koselleck points out, ‘Historie’ signified traditionally an account of
events, whereas Geschichten referred to the events themselves. The new notion
of Geschichte, in contrast, would signify both the content and the account of
historical events. Ibid., p. 27.
10 “On the Task of the Historian”, p. 108.
11 For Kant’s definition of organic systems, see Critique of Pure Reason, A832/
B860–1.
12 In L. White Beck (ed. and trans.), Immanuel Kant on History, Indianapolis: Bobbs-
Merrill 1963, pp. 24–5. For further comments on Kant’s idea of a systematic
history, see Koselleck, Futures Past, p. 30.
13 “Den wirkenden und schaffenden Kräften”, “On the Task of the Historian”,
p. 112. I diverge from Rickman’s translation in this passage.
14 “On the Task of the Historian”, p. 107.
15 Ibid., p. 108. For a discussion of Humboldt’s historical individualism, see
A. Nabrings, “Historismus als Paralyse der Geschichte”, in Archiv für Kul-
turgeschichte, 65. Band, Wien: Böhlan 1983, pp. 157–212.
16 Further on the organic notion of history, see E. Troeltsch, Der Historismus
und seine Probleme, Tübingen: Mohr 1922, chapter 3.3, “Die Organologie der
deutschen historischen Schule”.
17 “Gärung menschlicher Kräfte”, Auch eine Philosophie der Geschichte zur Bildung
der Menschheit (1774), Stuttgart: Reclam 1990, p. 51. Some pages later, Herder
elaborated this organic metaphor further, describing history as a tree: “Von
Orient bis Rom war’s Stamm: jetzt gingen aus dem Stamme Äste und Zweige;
keiner an sich stammfest, aber ausgebreiteter, luftiger, höher! . . . Nicht Stamm
mehr, das sollt’s und konnt’s nicht sein, aber Krone! . . . Eben das Nicht-Eine, das
Verwirrte, der Reiche Überfluss von Ästen und Zweigen; das macht sein Natur!
Da hangen die Blüten von Rittergeist, da werden, wenn der Sturm die Blätter
abtreibt, einst die schönern Früchte hangen.” Ibid., p. 54.
239
N O T E S T O P P. 1 6 4 – 1 6 6
18 See, for instance, F. Meinecke’s description of how Herder’s “splendid sense of

natural growth in history enabled him to arrive at a grandiose historical relativism
which saw every epoch both as a means and as an end in itself, as an individual
entity, and yet as a stage in a further development”; Historism: The Rise of a New
Historical Outlook, London: Routledge & Kegan 1972, p. 346.
19 Stadelmann, Der historische Sinn bei Herder, p. 28, quoted in Meinecke, Historism,
p. 340. Meinecke sees this fusion as the defining characteristic of ‘historism’:
“The historical notion of individuality demands as its complement the quite
distinct concept of development. . . . In this double requirement, necessity and
freedom is everywhere fused together.” Ibid., p. 126.
20 Die neue Rundschau, 1922, p. 573, quoted in C. Rand, “Two Meanings of
Historicism in the Writings of Dilthey, Troeltsch, and Meinecke”, in Journal
of the History of Ideas, no. 25, 1964, p. 512.
21 Historism, p. Iiv.
22 Truth and Method, pp. 218–30.
23 “ . . . mit dem Maßstab einer andern Zeit zu messen”, Auch eine Philosophie,
pp. 17–18.
24 “Ihren Mittelpunkt der Glückseligkeit in sich, wie jede Kugel ihren Schwer-
punkt!” Ibid., p. 35.
25 “Der Geist des Jahrhunderts durchwebte und band die verschiedensten
Eigenschaften – . . . band’s zu dem Ganzen”. Ibid., p. 48.
26 For more on the new notion of epoch and its role in romantic and idealist
philosophy, see K. Löwith, From Hegel to Nietzsche: The Revolution in Nineteenth-
Century Thought, trans. D. E. Green, London: Constable 1964, pp. 201–39.
27 On the Industrial System (1821, written partly by Comte in his role as Saint-
Simon’s secretary), in G. Ionescu (ed. and trans.), The Political Thought of Saint-
Simon, Oxford University Press 1976, pp. 153–86.
28 Saint-Simon’s notion of historical stages was refined by Comte, who described
the three principal stages as the ‘theological’, the ‘metaphysical’, and finally the
‘positive’, or scientific. Of these stages, both the theological and the positive
stages were ‘organic’ in the Saint-Simonian sense, forming coherent and unified
epochs. As Comte described this historical succession: “I believe that this history
may be divided into three grand epochs or states of civilization, each possessing
a distinct character, spiritual and temporal. They embrace civilisation at once
in its element and its ensemble, which, as pointed out above, evidently consti-
tuted an indispensable condition of success.”, “Plan of the Scientific Operations
Necessary for Reorganizing Society”, p. 52.
29 Ibid., p. 29.
30 As Saint-Simon wrote: “The nineteenth century is still dominated by the critical
spirit of the eighteenth; it still has not adopted the organizational character which
really belongs to it. This is the real, primary cause of the frightening prolongation
of the crisis . . . But, of necessity, the crisis will come to an end, or at least will
change itself into a simple, moral movement, as soon as we can bring ourselves
to fill the eminent role assigned to us by the march of civilization, as soon as
240
N O T E S T O P P. 1 6 6 – 1 6 9
the temporal and spiritual forces which must come into play have emerged from
their inertia.” On the Industrial System, p. 153. See also Ibid., p. 175: “So long
as the political order does not conform to this national tendency, society will
necessarily be in a state of crisis.”
31 As Leopold Ranke wrote in his Weltgeschichte: “I imagine the Deity – if I may
allow myself this observation – as seeing the whole of historical humanity in its
totality (since no time lies before the Deity), and finding it all equally valuable.”
IX parts 2, 5, 7, quoted in Gadamer, Truth and Method, p. 210.
32 Mallgrave points out the Saint-Simonian connection and argues convincingly
that Semper’s frequent use of the term ‘organic’ in describing the social, political,
and artistic situation of ancient Greece suggests familiarity with Saint-Simonian
ideas. Gottfried Semper, p. 56.
33 Dilthey, Three Epochs of Modern Aesthetics, in Dilthey, Poetry and Experience; Selected
Works, vol. 5, p. 216.
34 See W. von Humboldt on the affinity between the artist and the historian. “On
the Task of the Historian”, pp. 109–111.
35 On the modern notion of the Gesamtkunstwerk, see R. M. Bisanz, “The Romantic
Synthesis of the Arts: Nineteenth-Century German Theories on a Universal
Art”, Konsthistorisk Tidsskrift, xxxxiv, 1975, p. 39. The notion is also discussed
lucidly in G. Häusler’s unpublished thesis, “In the Artwork We Become One.” The
Problem of the Gesamtkunstwerk in the Visual Arts of the Early Twentieth Century,
Cambridge 1989.
36 “Outline for a System of Comparative Style Theory”, MS 122, fols. 13–14,
p. 10. Mallgrave has an in-depth discussion of the role of the Gesamtkunstwerk
in Semper’s thinking in Gottfried Semper.
38 “The Artwork of the Future”, in Richard Wagner’s Prose Works, trans. W. A. Ellis,
vol. 1, London: Reeves 1895, p. 77.
39 Ibid., p. 71. See also ibid., p. 182: “ . . . our modern art is a mere product of culture
and has not sprung from Life itself; therefore, being nothing but a hothouse plant,
it cannot strike root in the natural soil or flourish in the natural climate of the
present.”
40 Ibid., pp. 69–72 and 77–88. Wagner equated ‘nature’ with ‘necessity’, as the
following passage indicates: “Nature engenders her myriad forms without caprice
or arbitrary aim, according to her need, and therefore of Necessity. The same
Necessity is the generative and formative force of human life. Only that which is
un-capricious and un-arbitrary can spring from a real need; but on Need alone
is based the very principle of Life.” Ibid., p. 69.
41 Ibid., p. 81. Wagner located this discrepancy on political, individual, and aesthetic
levels in modern society. Ibid., pp. 86, 91–4, 182–3, 195, and 207.
42 Ibid., p. 195.
43 Ibid., p. 77.
45 Ibid., p. 130.
241
N O T E S T O P P. 1 7 0 – 1 7 1
46 “ . . . die Poesie lebendig und gesellig, und das Leben und die Gesellschaft po-
etisch machen”. Friedrich Schlegel, Athenäum Fragmente, in Kritische Friedrich
Schlegel Ausgabe, ed. E. Bettler, Munich: Schöning 1967, vol. 2: Charakteristiken
und Kritiken (1796–1801), Fragment 116, p. 82.
47 ‘Aesthetic differentiation’ is an expression coined by Gadamer. It signifies the
enlightenment ideal of a pure aesthetic domain in which art was excluded from
the domain of reason and practical interests: “By disregarding everything in
which the work is rooted (its original context of life, and the religious and sec-
ular function that gave it significance), it becomes visible as the ‘pure work of
art.’ . . . the aesthetic consciousness differentiates what is aesthetically intended
from everything that is outside the aesthetic sphere . . . Thus, through ‘aesthetic
differentiation’ the work loses its place in the world to which it belongs insofar
as it instead belongs to the aesthetic consciousness.” Truth and Method, pp. 85–7.
48 “Art and Revolution”, in Richard Wagner’s Prose Works, p. 56. This was another
essay written immediately after Wagner’s escape from Dresden in 1849.
49 “The Artwork of the Future”, p. 210. Wagner often returned to the reli-
gious significance of the aesthetic revolution. See, for instance, the follow-
ing passage: “Only when the religion of Egoism . . . shall have been mercilessly
dislodged . . . can the new religion step forth of itself to life; the new religion
which includes within itself the conditions of the Artwork of the Future.” Ibid.,
p. 155. Further on the quasireligious significance of art in romantic thought, see
Gadamer, Truth and Method, p. 88.
50 Häusler, “In the Artwork We Become One”, p. 7.
51 “The Artwork of the Future”, p. 77.
52 The Four Elements of Architecture, p. 78.
53 Giambattista Vico, The New Science, trans. T. G. Bergin and M. H. Fisch from
the 3rd edition (1744), Cornell University Press 1994, book 1, section III, p. 96.
54 Futures Past, pp. 35 and 200.
55 For more on Vico’s conception of history, see, for instance, Arendt, “The Concept
of History” in Arendt, Between Past and Future, pp. 57–9 and 77.
56 As Koselleck writes: “While for over two thousand years it was a property of
Mediterranean and occidental culture that Geschichten were recounted, as well
as investigated and written up, only since around 1780 was it conceivable that
Geschichte could be made. This formulation indicates a modern experience and
even more, a modern expectation: that one is increasingly capable of planning
and also executing history.” Futures Past, p. 200.
57 What is novel, Koselleck explains, “is the reference of this determination of
action to the newly conceived ‘history in general.’ This seems to place on the
agenda no more and no less than the future of the world history, and even to
make it available.” Ibid., p. 203.
58 “Allgemeine Übersicht der neuesten Philosophischen Literatur”, Philosophisches
Journal, no. 8, 1798, quoted in Koselleck, Futures Past, p. 202.
59 Ibid., pp. 204–7. Koselleck quotes Robespierre’s speech on the Revolutionary
Constitution, 10 May 1793: “The time has come to call upon each to realise
242
N O T E S T O P P. 1 7 1 – 1 7 6
his own destiny. The progress of human Reason has laid the basis for this
great Revolution, and the particular duty of hastening it has fallen to you.”
Ibid., p. 7.
60 Socialism, Utopian and Scientific, trans. E. Aveling, in Karl Marx and Friedrich
Engels, Selected Works in Three Volumes, Moscow: Progress 1983, vol. 3, pp. 149–
50.
61 For a discussion of this inversion, see Arendt, “The Concept of History”, p. 77:
“Although [Marx’s notion of ‘making history’] is closely connected with Vico’s
idea that history was made by man, as distinguished from ‘nature’ which was
made by God, the difference between them is still decisive. For Vico, as later
for Hegel, the importance of the concept of history was primarily theoretical.
It never occurred to either of them to apply this concept directly by using it as
a principle of action. Truth they conceived of as being revealed to the contem-
plative, backward-directed glance of the historian, who, by being able to see the
process as a whole, is in a position to overlook the ‘narrow aims’ of acting men,
concentrating instead on the ‘higher aims’ that realise themselves behind their
backs (Vico). Marx, on the other hand, combined this notion of history with
the teleological political philosophies of the earlier stages of the modern age,
so that in his thought the ‘higher aims’ – which according to the philosophers
of history revealed themselves only to the backward glance of the historian and
philosopher – could become intended aims of political action.”
62 Semper, “The Attributes of Formal Beauty”, p. 225.
63 “In the Artwork We Become One”, p. 14.
64 Truth and Method, p. 88. See also ibid., p. 70.
65 I borrow this term from G. Bryant (née Häusler) paraphrasing Peter Behrens.
“Art as ‘Precursor of Redemption’ ”, Mac Journal 5, 1999.

1 The proximity between historical individualism, relativism, and determinism in
historicist thought has been explored by I. Berlin, “Historical Inevitability”, in
Berlin, Four Essays on Liberty, Oxford University Press 1969.
2 M. Heidegger, The Concept of Time, trans. W. McNeill, Oxford: Blackwell 1992,
p. 20E.
3 Gadamer follows Heidegger in the use of this term; see Being and Time, trans.
J. Macquarrie and E. Robins, Oxford: Blackwell 1992, division 2, section 5:
“Temporality and Historicality”, pp. 424–55. In the following, I will use ‘his-
toricity’ rather than ‘historicality’ when referring to Geschichtlichkeit.
4 Gadamer, Truth and Method, p. 300.
5 Three Epochs of Modern Aesthetics, p. 204.
6 Dilthey wrote of the historical school: “Its study and evaluation of historical
phenomena remain unconnected with the analysis of facts and consciousness;
consequently, it has no grounding in the only knowledge which is ultimately
secure; it has, in short, no philosophical foundation. Lacking a healthy relation-
ship to epistemology and psychology, this school has not attained an explanatory
243
N O T E S T O P P. 1 7 6 – 1 7 8
method.” Introduction to the Human Sciences (1883), trans. M. Neville et al.,

Princeton University Press 1989, preface, p. 48.
7 Ibid., book 1, p. 75.
8 Dilthey often commented on the dichotomy between a positivist ‘social science’
and the German historical school. See ibid, preface, p. 49, book 1, pp. 74–5, and
p. 139: “Two proud disciplines, philosophy of history in Germany and sociology
in England and France, claim to give us knowledge of this kind.”
9 “Nun tritt uns die Frage nach der wissenschaftlichen Erkenntnis . . . der großen
Formen singulären menschlichen Daseins überhaupt entgegen. Ist eine solche
Erkenntnis möglich und welche Mittel haben wir, sie zu erreichen?”, Die Entste-
hung der Hermeneutik (1900), in Gesammelte Schriften, vol. V, p. 317.
10 Introduction to the Human Sciences, preface, p. 50. For more on Dilthey’s Kantian
ambitions, see M. Ermarth, Wilhelm Dilthey: The Critique of Historical Reason,
Chicago University Press 1978; and Gadamer, Truth and Method, pp. 219–21.
11 Truth and Method, p. 220. My interpretation of Dilthey is much indebted to
Gadamer, especially Truth and Method, part 2.1.2: “Dilthey’s Entanglement in
the Aporias of Historicism”, pp. 218–41.
12 As Dilthey wrote: “In the human world the individual is an intrinsic value –
indeed the only intrinsic value we can establish indubitably.” “Other Persons
and Their Expressions of Life”, trans. K. L. Heiges, in W. Dilthey, Descriptive
Psychology and Historical Understanding, The Hague: Nijhoff 1977, pp. 130–1.
13 Gesammelte Schriften, vol. VII, p. 177, quoted and translated in Gadamer, Truth
and Method, p. 223.
14 Introduction to the Human Sciences, book 1, p. 81.
15 Ibid., book 1, p. 58.
16 Ibid., book 1, p. 61.
17 Gesammelte Schriften, vol. VII, p. 278, quoted and translated in R. Makkreel,
Dilthey: Philosopher of the Human Studies, Princeton University Press 1975, p. 25.
18 Introduction to the Human Sciences, book 1, p. 89.
19 Ibid., book 1, p. 88.
20 Ibid., book 1, p. 158: “These sciences [i.e., the human sciences] have a wholly
different foundation and structure than the natural sciences. Their subject mat-
ter is composed of units that are given rather than inferred – units that are
understandable from within. Here we start with an immediate knowledge or
understanding in order to gradually attain conceptual knowledge.” See also Ideas
Concerning a Descriptive and Analytic Psychology (1894), in which Dilthey wrote:
“Just as the system of Culture – economy, law, religion, art, and science – and
the external organisation of society in the ties of family, community, church, and
state, arise from the living nexus of the human soul, so can they be understood
only by reference to it.” Trans. R. M. Zaner, in Descriptive Psychology and Histor-
ical Understanding, p. 31. Dilthey drew here on Schleiermacher’s notion of the
individual as a manifestation of universal life. See A. Nabrings, “Historismus als
Paralyse der Geschichte”, pp. 70–1.
21 Introduction to the Human Sciences, book 1, pp. 162–9.
244
N O T E S T O P P. 1 7 9 – 1 8 0

23 Dilthey discussed the use of the comparative method in the Geisteswissenschaften
in his Beiträge zum Studium der Individualität, section V: “Gang der vergleichen-
den Geisteswissenschaften bis zur methodischen Bearbeitung des Problems der
Individuation.” Gesammelte Schriften, vol. V, pp. 303–16. In this text, Dilthey
traced the development of the comparative method from antiquity to the mod-
ern period and, more specifically, from its use in biology and anatomy to the
human sciences. His views clearly echo Comte’s idea of epistemological and
methodological evolution.
24 “Die vollendete Wissenschaft der Geschichte . . . die Darstellung und Erklärung
des Zusammenhangs der menschlichen Kultur.” Quoted in Gadamer, “Das
Problem Diltheys. Zwischen Romantik und Positivismus”, in Gesammelte Werke,
vol. 4, Tübingen: Mohr 1987, p. 411. Following Makkreel and Rodi’s translation
in Wilhelm Dilthey Selected Works, vol. 1, p. 505, I have translated Zusammenhang
as ‘system’ rather than the more literal ‘connection’.
25 Gadamer, Truth and Method, pp. 233–4.
26 Ibid., p. 234.
27 Paul Graf Yorck von Wartenburg, Briefwechseln (1923), p. 193. Quoted and trans-
lated in Heidegger, Being and Time, p. 451. The quote continues: “Windelband
assigns patterns to history. . . . For Windelband, history is a series of pictures,
of individual patterns – an aesthetic demand. To the natural scientist, there re-
mains, beside his science, a kind of human tranquilliser, only aesthetic enjoy-
ment. But your conception of history is that of a nexus of forces, of unities of
force, to which the category of ‘pattern’ is to be applicable only by a kind of
transference.”
28 Comte, Cours, book 2, chapter 1, p. 133. Further on the operative am-
bitions of Dilthey’s Geisteswissenschaften, see Gadamer, Truth and Method,
p. 239; and “Das Problem Diltheys: Zwischen Romantik und Positivismus”,
p. 418–19: “die Prognosen und Planungen der Gesellschaftswissenschaften der
Zukunft – wäre das die erfolgreiche Objektivierung jener Selbstbesinnung, die
Dilthey als Ziel vorschwebt? . . . Es ist nicht zu leugnen, daß Dilthey wirklich an
solchem Anspruch festgehalten hat. Er möchte durch die Geisteswissenschaften
die Praxis regeln. . . . Er scheint mir unleugbar, daß Dilthey . . . bis zuletzt an der
Überzeugung seiner Jugend festgehalten hat, daß es in den Wissenschaften und
in der wissenschaftlichen Philosophie auf den ‘Übergang von den Tatbeständen
der Wirklichkeit zu dem Sollen, dem Zweck, dem Ideal’ ankomme. [Dilthey,
Gesammelte Schriften, vol. V, p. 64] Er teilt mit dieser Überzeugung die Ideale
der modernen Aufklärung.” Ibid., pp. 418–19.
29 Gadamer follows Heidegger on this point. See Being and Time, division 2, section
V: “Temporality and Historicality”, p. 428: “The existential-ontological consti-
tution of human historicality has been covered up by the way Dasein’s history is
ordinarily interpreted.”
31 Ibid., p. 240.
245
N O T E S T O P P. 1 8 1 – 1 8 5
32 The comparison between Semper’s starting point in the motifs and Dilthey’s
starting point in the notion of Erlebnis should be made with caution, however.
Erlebnis for Dilthey is a purely psychological phenomenon. Semper, on the other
hand, never approached a psychological understanding of art (as Schmarsow
would do some years later, based on ideas borrowed from Semper), but rather
saw it as a strictly objective phenomenon.
33 Truth and Method, p. 297.
34 Grassi, Kunst und Mythos, p. 115.
35 “Narrated Time”, trans. R. Sweeney, in A Ricoeur Reader: Reflection and Imagina-
tion, ed. M. J. Valdés, University of Toronto Press 1991, p. 345.
37 See Ricoeur, “Metaphor and the Main Problem of Hermeneutics”, in A Ricoeur
Reader, p. 317.
38 See my discussion of this much-misunderstood quotation in chapter 3, note 74.
39 “Vergleichende Baukunde”, fol. 1, quoted and translated in Herrmann, In Search,
p. 161.
40 As Heidegger puts it: “‘Method’ is no longer simply a sequence arranged some-
how into various stages of observation, proof, exposition, and summary of knowl-
edge and teachings . . . ‘Method’ is now the name for the securing, conquering
proceedings against beings, in order to capture them as objects for the subject.”
Heidegger, Nietzsche, trans. F. A. Capuzzi, San Francisco: Harper & Row 1979,
vol. 4, p. 120.
41 “Outline for a System of Comparative Style Theory”, fol. 5, p. 9.
42 Comte, Cours, p. 85.
43 As Ricoeur sums up Dilthey’s project: “At the same time that Dilthey brought
to reflection the great problem of the intelligibility of the historical as such, he
was inclined . . . to search for the key to a solution, not on the side of ontology
but in the reform of epistemology itself.” Hermeneutics and the Human Sciences,
Cambridge University Press 1982, p. 48.
44 J. Habermas, Knowledge and Human Interests, London: Heinemann 1972,
part 2; “Positivism, Pragmatism, Historicism”, p. 67. See also M. Murray, Modern
Philosophy of History: Its Origin and Destination, The Hague: Nijhoff 1970, p. 24,
where Murray argues that historicism is defined by precisely this conflation:
“A source of confusion permeating most discussions of history comes from the
academic conflation of history with historiography, a conflation which ranges
from mere carelessness to an explicit philosophical program. This confusion,
implicit or explicit, we shall call historicism. Epistemologically expressed, his-
toricism claims that all serious questions about history can be reduced to ques-
tions about the methods and disciplines of historiography.”
45 Knowledge and Human Interests, p. 3.
47 “Practical Art in Metals and hard Materials; its Technology, History and Styles”,
introduction, § 8. Unpublished manuscript in the Victoria and Albert Museum
Library. The work was commissioned by Henry Cole in 1852 to give theoretical
246
N O T E S T O P P. 1 8 5 – 1 9 1
support to his reform of British art education, and earned Semper a professorship
in Cole’s new Department of Practical Art. I have not corrected Semper’s English
grammar or his idiosyncratic use of capital letters.
48 On nineteenth-century criteria for the arrangement of art collections, see
Jenkins, Archaeologists & Aesthetes, chapter 4, pp. 56–102.
49 “Practical Art in Metals and hard Materials; its Technology, History and Styles”,
introduction, § 17.
50 Ibid., § 10.
51 Ibid., § 7.
52 Ibid., § 10.
EPILOGUE
1 “Architecture and the Conflict of Representation.”
2 Semper’s letter to Bruckmann, 10 April 1873. Quoted in Herrmann, In Search,
p. 112.
3 I am indebted for this interpretation to W. J. Pluhar, “Translator’s Introduction”,
Critique of Judgement, pp. xxiii–lxxxvi.
4 On determinate versus reflective judgements, see Critique of Judgement, §IV of
the second introduction: “On Judgement as a Power That Legislates A Priori.”
See also Critique of Pure Reason A650–68, B678–96.
5 Critique of Judgement, § 77, p. 293: “On the Peculiarity of Human Understanding
That Makes the Concept of a Natural Purpose Possible for Us”.
6 Ibid., p. 316 my emphasis This inherent limit of reason is valid not only for our
knowledge of nature, but restricts also our knowledge of man, insofar as it means
that our self-knowledge does not encompass the transcendent ego. A science of
man, therefore, is possible only insofar as it limits itself to the empirical ego. As
far as Kant is concerned, thus, as soon as scientific knowledge wants to objectify
beyond the empirical-transcendental reality, our “thinking is mere thinking”.
7 Truth and Method, p. 302.
8 The Ethical Function of Architecture, p. 149.
247
SELECTED SEMPER BIBLIOGRAPHY
A complete bibliography of Semper’s writings will be available in Harry Francis

Mallgrave and Michael Robinson’s forthcoming translation of Der Stil into English:
Style in the Technical and Tectonic Arts; or, Practical Aesthetics: A Handbook for Tech-
nicians, Artists, and Friends of the Arts. Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, in
press.
MS numbers refer to Wolfgang Herrmann’s classification of manuscripts held at
the Semper Archives at the Eidgenössische Technische Hochschule, Zurich. Works
published in Semper’s lifetime, correspondence, and manuscripts held outside the
Semper Archives are not numbered. Titles in bold indicate the form used in end-
note references.
“Öffentlicher Lehrkursus über die allgemeine Geschichte der Baukunst”, Dres-

den Lecture (1834), MS 19. Published as Semper’s “Dresdner Antrittsvorlesung”
in Heidrun Laudel, Gottfried Semper. Architektur und Stil. Dresden: Verlag der
Kunst 1991, pp. 221–34.
Vorläufige Bemerkungen über bemalte Architektur und Plastik bei den Alten, Altona: J. H.
Hammerich 1834. English translation: Preliminary Remarks on Polychrome
Architecture and Sculpture in Antiquity. In Harry Francis Mallgrave and
Wolfgang Herrmann (eds. and trans.), The Four Elements of Architecture and Others
Writings, Cambridge University Press 1989, pp. 45–73.
“Vorwort”, Vergleichende Baulehre (1850), MS 55, fols. 1–13. In Wolfgang Herrmann,
Gottfried Semper, Theoretischer Nachlass an der ETH Zürich, Katalog und Kom-
mentare. Basel: Birkhäuser Verlag 1981, pp. 180–4. English translation:
“Influence of Historical Research on Trends in Contemporary Architec-
ture”. In Wolfgang Herrmann (trans. and ed.), Gottfried Semper, In Search of
Architecture. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press 1984, pp. 189–95.
“Einleitung”, Vergleichende Baulehre (1850), MS 58, fols. 15–30. In Wolfgang
Herrmann, Gottfried Semper, Theoretischer Nachlass an der ETH Zürich, Katalog
und Kommentare. Basel: Birkhäuser Verlag 1981, pp. 185–90. English translation:
249
“The Basic Elements of Architecture”. In Wolfgang Herrmann (trans. and

ed.), Gottfried Semper, In Search of Architecture. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT
Press 1984, pp. 196–203.
“Assyrisch-Chaldäische Baukunst” (Chapter 10, Vergleichende Baulehre, 1850), MS 58,
fols. 94–120. In Wolfgang Herrmann, Gottfried Semper, Theoretischer Nachlass
an der ETH Zürich, Katalog und Kommentare. Basel: Birkhäuser Verlag 1981,
pp. 191–204. English translation: “Structural Elements in Assyrian-Chaldean
Architecture”. In Wolfgang Herrmann (trans. and ed.), Gottfried Semper, In
Search of Architecture. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press 1984, pp. 204–18.
Die Vier Elemente der Baukunst: Ein Beitrag zur vergleichende Baulehre. Brunswick:
Vieweg und Sohn 1851. English translation: The Four Elements of Architecture:
A Contribution to the Comparative Study of Architecture (1851). In Harry Francis
Mallgrave and Wolfgang Herrmann (eds. and trans.), The Four Elements of
Architecture and Others Writings, Cambridge University Press 1989, pp. 74–129.
“Prospectus” Vergleichende Baulehre (1852). MS not given. In Harry Francis
Mallgrave and Wolfgang Herrmann (eds. and trans.), The Four Elements of Ar-
chitecture and Others Writings, Cambridge University Press 1989, pp. 168–73.
“Neue Einleitung”, Vergleichende Baulehre (1852). MS 97. In Wolfgang Herrmann,
Gottfried Semper, Theoretischer Nachlass an der ETH Zürich, Katalog und
Kommentare. Basel: Birkhäuser Verlag 1981, pp. 205–16.
Wissenschaft, Industrie, und Kunst: Vorschläge zur Anregung nationalen Kunstgefühles.
Brunswick: Vieweg und Sohn 1852. English translation: Science, Industry, and
Art: Proposals for the Development of a National Taste in Art at the Closing of the
London Industrial Exhibition. In Harry Francis Mallgrave and Wolfgang
Herrmann (eds. and trans.), The Four Elements of Architecture and Others Writings,
Cambridge University Press 1989, pp. 130–67.
Practical Art in Metals and Hard Materials; its Technology, History and Styles (1852).
Unpublished manuscript, National Art Library, Victoria and Albert Museum,
London.
“Outline for a System of Comparative Style-Theory” (London lecture,
November 11, 1853). MS 122, fols. 1–37 and MS 124, fols. 5–28. In RES, Jour-
nal of Anthropology and Aesthetics 6, Autumn 1983, pp. 5–32. German translation:
“Entwurf eines Systems der vergleichenden Stillehre”, in Hans and Mannfred
Semper (ed. and trans.), Kleine Schriften (Berlin and Stuttgart 1884), Mittenwald:
Mäander Kunstverlag 1979, pp. 259–91.
“The Development of the Wall and Wall Construction in Antiquity” (London
lecture, 18 November 1853). MS 129, fols. 1–24. In RES, Journal of Anthropology
and Aesthetics 11, Spring 1986, pp. 33–41. German translation: “Entwicklung der
Wand- und Wandkonstruktion bei den antiken Völkern”, in Hans and Mannfred
Semper (ed. and trans.), Kleine Schriften (Berlin and Stuttgart 1884), Mittenwald:
Mäander Kunstverlag 1979, pp. 383–93.
“On the Origin of Some Architectural Styles” (London lecture, December 1853).
MS 138, fols. 1–23. In RES, Journal of Anthropology and Aesthetics 9, Spring 1985,
pp. 53–60. German translation: “Ueber den Ursprung einiger Architekturstile”,
250
in Hans and Mannfred Semper (ed. and trans.), Kleine Schriften (Berlin and
Stuttgart 1884), Mittenwald: Mäander Kunstverlag 1979, pp. 369–81.
“On Architectural Symbols” (London lecture, autumn 1854). MS 142, fols. 1–19;
MS 141, unpaginated. In RES, Journal of Anthropology and Aesthetics 9, Spring
1985, pp. 61–7. German translation: “Ueber architektonische Symbole”, in Hans
and Mannfred Semper (ed. and trans.), Kleine Schriften (Berlin and Stuttgart
1884), Mittenwald: Mäander Kunstverlag 1979, pp. 292–303.
“On the Relation of Architectural Systems with the General Cultural Condi-
tions” (London lecture, 29 November 1854). MS 144, fols. 1–39. In RES,
Journal of Anthropology and Aesthetics 11, Spring 1986, pp. 42–53. German
translation: “Ueber den Zusammenhang der architektonischen Systeme mit
allgemeinen Kulturgeschichte”, in Hans and Mannfred Semper (ed. and trans.),
Kleine Schriften (Berlin and Stuttgart 1884), Mittenwald: Mäander Kunstverlag
1979, pp. 351–67.
Inventory of Semper’s Dresden library (incomplete, date unknown). MS 148.
Unpublished manuscript, Archiv Geschichte und Theorie der Architektur, ETH
Höngerberg, Zurich.
“Ueber die formelle Gesetzmäßigkeit des Schmuckes und dessen Bedeutung
als Kunstsymbol” (1856). MS 163–4. In Hans and Mannfred Semper (ed.
and trans.), Kleine Schriften (Berlin and Stuttgart 1884), Mittenwald: Mäander
Kunstverlag 1979, pp. 304–43.
“Vorwort”, Theorie des Formell-Schönen (1856–9). MS 178, fols. 1–29. In Wolfgang
“A Critical Analysis and Prognosis of Present-Day Artistic Production”. In
Wolfgang Herrmann (trans. and ed.), Gottfried Semper, In Search of Architecture;
Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press 1984, pp. 245–60.
“Einleitung”, Theorie des Formell-Schönen (1856–9). MS 179, fols. 1–46. In Wolfgang
“The Attributes of Formal Beauty”, in Wolfgang Herrmann (trans. and ed.),
Gottfried Semper, In Search of Architecture. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press
1984, pp. 219–44.
First Prospectus, Der Stil (1859). MS 195. Unpublished manuscript, Archiv
Geschichte und Theorie der Architektur, ETH Höngerberg, Zurich.
Second Prospectus, Der Stil (1859). MS 196. In Harry Francis Mallgrave and
Wolfgang Herrmann (eds. and trans.), The Four Elements of Architecture and Others
Writings, Cambridge University Press 1989, pp. 174–80.
Der Stil in den technischen und tektonischen Künsten, oder praktische Aesthetik. Ein Handbuch
für Techniker, Künstler und Kunstfreunde. Vol. I and II. Verlage für Kunst und
Wissenschaft, Frankfurt am Main 1860–3, Mittenwald: Mäander Kunstverlag
1977. Prolegomenon and vol. 1, §46–60, translated in Harry Francis Mallgrave
and Wolfgang Herrmann (eds. and trans.), The Four Elements of Architecture and
Others Writings, Cambridge University Press 1989, pp. 181–263.
251
“Vergleichende Baukunde” (Zurich lecture, 1863). MS 264, fols. 1–77. Unpublished

manuscript, Archiv Geschichte und Theorie der Architektur, ETH Höngerberg,
Zurich.
“Ueber Baustile” (Zurich lecture, 4 March 1869). MS 280. In Hans and Mannfred
Semper (ed. and trans.), Kleine Schriften (Berlin and Stuttgart, 1884), Mit-
tenwald: Mäander Kunstverlag 1979, pp. 395–426. English translation: “On
Architectural Styles”, in Harry Francis Mallgrave and Wolfgang Herrmann
(eds. and trans.), The Four Elements of Architecture and Others Writings, Cam-
bridge University Press 1989, pp. 264–84.
“Der Heerd und dessen Schutz” (Introduction to the third volume of Der Stil, ca.
1870). MS 183, fols. 1–42. In Wolfgang Herrmann, Gottfried Semper, Theoretischer
Nachlass an der ETH Zürich, Katalog und Kommentare, Basel: Birkhäuser Verlag
1981, pp. 250–60.
252
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Bambach, Charles R., Heidegger, Dilthey, and the Crisis of Historicism. Cornell University
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267
INDEX
adornment, 20, 44, 48, 66 Cassirer, Ernst, 129

of the human body, 89–92, 89f, 90f, cave
91f, 93 as the origin of architecture, 39, 40f,
see also Gestaltungsmomente 42, 43, 64
allegory, theory of, 103–106 ceramic art, 15, 16
Aquinas, Thomas, 53 situla and hydria, 110–12, 111f, 112f
Aristotle, 21, 23–4, 52, 75–83, 144–5, see also elements of architecture
182 Chambers, William, 41f
Ashurnasirpal II, King, 1, 4, 4f Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 163
authority, 96, 100 comparative method, 24, 112–13, 114,
136, 137, 143, 179–80
Bartas, Guillaume Salluste du, 35 Gadamer’s critique of, 179
Batteux, Charles, 49, 51, 52, 75 in anatomy, 123–132
Bauer, Hermann, 30 in architecture, 115–123, 137, 143,
Baumgarten, Alexander Gottlieb, 34 183, 186–7
Bekleidung, Semper’s theory of, 63, 70–1, in history, 139, 141, 179
72–3, 74f, 185, 213n37 in linguistics, 133–136
Bellori, Giovanni Pietro, 51 in social science, 137–42
Bergdoll, Barry, 37, 42, 117 see also method
Berlage, Hendrik Petrus, 18 Comte, Auguste, 24, 138–42, 143, 145,
Blake, William, 52 166–7, 176, 179, 180
Blondel, François, 33 religion of humanity, 141–2
Bopp, Franz, 134 Condillac, Étienne Bonnot de, 31
Botta, Paul Emile, 1 Cuvier, Georges Baron, 5, 24, 123–30,
Bötticher, Karl, 48, 57–63, 59f, 60f, 61f, 124f, 126f, 132, 134, 136, 140, 166,
74, 106, 151 179
Boullée, Étienne-Louis, 34
Buffon, Georges-Louis Leclerce, Comte dance, 44–5, 66, 70, 76, 80f
de, 124 Darwin, Charles, 124
269
INDEX
Descartes, René, 30, 33–4, 46 Gadamer, Hans-Georg, 25, 79, 165, 173,
Dilthey, Wilhelm, 25, 168, 176–80, 183, 175–6, 177, 179, 180, 191,
184, 191 242n47
on Semper, 16–7, 160, 176 on Wirkungsgeschichte, 181–2
directionality, see Gestaltungsmomente Gau, Frans Christian, 11
Donaldson, Thomas Leverton, 149 Gesamtkunstwerk, 160–1, 167, 168–70,
Dresden, 9–12, 12f, 18, 43 172–3
Durand, Jean-Nicolas-Louis, 23, Gestaltungsmomente, 91–102, 93f, 94f,
117–123, 119f, 121f, 122f, 129–30, 97f, 98f, 101f, 107, 109, 110,
136, 143 136
Gilly, Friedrich, 151
Eck, Caroline van, 35, 63 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 23, 31,
Eisen, Charles, 32f 52, 54–7, 56f, 58, 62, 74, 76, 103,
elements of architecture, 13–14, 15, 35, 151
159, 185–6 on imitation, 52, 54–57
corresponding techniques, 15, 185 organic theory of art, 54–6, 95, 123
enclosure, 14, 70–1 Grassi, Ernesto, 77, 78
hearth, 13, 71, 80, 94
mound, 14 Habermas, Jürgen, 184
relation to motifs, 13, 71, 196n21 Harries, Karsten, 191
roof, 14 Hasenauer, Karl von, 17f
see also ceramic art, tectonics, masonry; Häusler, Gabriele, 172–3
textile art Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 60
Engels, Friedrich (see also Marx), 171–2 Heidegger, Martin, 79, 80, 175, 183
epistemology of art, 10, 14–15, 18, 19, Herder, Johann Gottfried, 25, 30, 38,
22, 184, 187 103, 106, 123, 164–6
epoch (see also historicism), 149, 166–7, Herrmann, Wolfgang, 16, 20
168–70, 171, 173, 174 Hirt, Aloys, 151
etymology (see also comparative method: historicism, 9, 17, 22, 25, 37, 145, 161,
in linguistics), 134 162–7, 168, 170–4, 175, 180, 181,
eurythmy, see Gestaltungsmomente 184–5
experiment, 137, 138–42, 143, 166, 180, aporias of, 5, 25, 165–7, 175–6, 180,
230n33 181, 185, 187
in architecture (see also style), 150–4,
Fischer von Erlach, Johann Bernhard, 154–7
115–6, 116f historicity (see also Gadamer on
formal beauty, Semper’s theory of, Wirkungsgeschichte), 175–6, 180–5,
88–102, 105, 107, 114, 187, 191–2
183 Hittorf, Jaques-Ignace, 11
Foucault, Michel, 127, 129 Homer, 77–78
Fröhlich, Martin, 20 Hübsch, Heinrich, 151, 154
functionalism Humboldt, Wilhelm von, 25, 134–6,
in anatomy, 125–6 162–4, 165, 168
in architecture, 7, 21, 144 Hume, David, 31
270
INDEX
hut, the primitive, 41f Linnaeus, Carl, 125–30, 128f

Klemm on, 43, 46 Lipp, Wilfried, 34
Laugier on, 30–35, 32f London, 12, 14, 152
Quatremère de Quincy on, 39–42, British Museum, 1, 2f
43 Great Exhibition of 1851, 35, 87, 185
Semper on, 14, 29–30, 35–37, 36f, Lorrain, Claude, 50f
64–72
Vitruvius on, 29–30 macrocosm (see also microcosm), 94–6
Hutcheson, Francis, 31 making, Semper’s theory of, 20–1, 80–3,
182–3, 187–8
imitation, 23, 44, 46, 47–63, 64, 95, 144 Mallgrave, Harry Francis, 12, 14, 20–21,
classical theory of (see also mimesis), 168, 198n59, 241n32
47, 75–83 Marx, Karl (see also Engels), 7, 194n3,
neoclassical theory of, 47, 48–51, 52, 238n36, 243n61
62, 73, 75 marxism, 7, 19, 21
romantic theory of, 48, 52–6 masking, Semper’s ideas on, 20–1, 83,
Semper on, 9, 47–8, 52, 63, 64–5, 70, 182, 215n74
72–5, 80, 90, 102, 191 masonry (see also elements of
inflection, theory of (see also comparative architecture), 15, 16
method: in linguistics), 134–5 Maximilian II, King, 153
Meinecke, Friedrich, 164, 165
Kames, Henry Home, Lord, 37 metalcraft (see also elements of
Kant, Immanuel, 144, 177, 184, 198–91 architecture), 16
on organic systems, 24, 102, 130–132, metamorphosis (see also Stoffwechsel;
133, 135–6, 164 motifs: transformation of), 3, 10, 11,
Klemm, Gustav, 42–46, 44f, 45f, 66–7 56, 74, 107, 181, 185
Klenze, Leo von, 151, 152f, 154, methexis, 77
155f method, 175, 178–9, 180, 183–4, 191
knots, see textile art Semper’s method of inventing, 15, 25,
Koller, Hermann, 75–6 83, 87, 88, 107, 123, 137–8, 142–5,
Koselleck, Reinhart, 163, 171 173–4
see also comparative method
Lamarck, Jean-Baptiste, 124 microcosm (see also macrocosm), 53, 66,
Laudel, Heidrun, 18, 198n59 93–6, 100, 102
Laugier, Marc-Antoine, 23, 30–35, 32f, Mill, John Stewart, 176
38, 39, 40, 42, 46, 47 mimesis, 23–4, 35, 44, 45, 75–7, 78, 79,
Lavin, Sylvia, 42 82–3, 95, 102, 107, 145, 182, 192
Layard, Austen Henry, 1 Montesquieu, Charles de Secondat,
Ledoux, Claude-Nicolas, 34 Baron de, 37–9, 43, 165
Legrand, Jaques-Guillaume, 119–20 Moritz, Karl Philipp, 103–4
Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 132, motifs of art, 2–3, 10, 13–14, 30, 35, 45,
133–5 66–72, 80, 83, 88, 89–90, 102, 107,
Leroy, Julien-David, 24, 117–118, 122, 158–9, 160, 181, 183,
118f 193n4
271
INDEX
motifs of art (cont.) poetics (see also poiesis), 20–1, 75–80, 144,
transformation of (see also Stoffwechsel; 182
metamorphosis), 3, 10–11, 13–14, Semper’s poetics of architecture, 21,
67–70, 73–75, 107, 159–60, 23–5, 79–83, 175, 181–2, 183, 188,
181–2 191–2
relation to elements of architecture, poiesis, 21, 79–83, 142, 144, 182
13, 71, 196n21 (see also elements of polychromy, the controversy of, 11, 13
architecture) Pope, Alexander, 51
Muthesius, Hermann, 18 positivism, 22, 25, 138–42, 167, 173,
mythos (see also Ricoeur on emplotment), 175, 176, 177, 184
24, 75, 78–9 practical aesthetics, Semper’s theory of
(see also method: Semper’s method
nature (see also organic systems), 31, 48–9 of inventing; science of art), 14, 19,
as inner power, 53–4, 56, 58 24–5, 83, 87–8, 107–8, 114, 137–8,
as rational axiom, 34–5, 38 142–5, 149, 161, 162, 167, 173–4,
la belle nature, 48–51, 52, 56 175, 176, 181, 182–8, 192
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 9 praxis, 23–4, 75, 77–8, 79–83, 102, 107,
136, 144, 175, 182, 192
ontology of art, 10, 21–2, 183–4, proportionality, see Gestaltungsmomente
187 Pugin, Augustus Welby Northmore,
organic systems, 130, 132, 135–6 152, 153f, 154
art as, 5, 54–6, 95, 102, 123, 130, purpose, 5, 13, 112, 125, 131–2
169–70 as fourth Gestaltungsmoment, 99–102
history as, 140, 164–5, 166–7, 172, (see also Gestaltungsmomente)
175 purposiveness without purpose (see also
Kant on, 24, 130–32, 133, 135–6 Kant on organic systems), 107, 131
language as, 133–6 Pythagorean philosophy, 77
see also historicism
origin theory, 23, 29–46, 47, 64 Quatremère de Quincy,
origin types, see cave, tent, hut Antoine-Chrysostome, 23, 35, 46,
Semper on, 2, 10, 13–14, 16, 18, 21, 150, 165
29–30, 35–7, 42–3, 64–72, 73–5, 88, on imitation, 48–51, 52, 53
90, 138, 142, 181–2, 185, 192 on origins, 39–42, 43, 64
querelle des anciens et des modernes, 33
Palladio, Andrea, 115 Quitzsch, Heinz, 18–9, 184
Paris, 11, 12, 14, 138
École polytechnique, 117, 120, 143 rhetoric, 142, 150, 234–5n27
Jardin de Plantes, 124, 124t rhythm, 44–5, 66, 70, 181
Pevsner, Nikolaus, 14 Plato on, 76–7
Piranesi, Giovanni Battista, 40f Ricoeur, Paul, 78–81
Plato, 73, 76–7 on emplotment, 78–9, 80, 83, 182
play, 46, 65, 66 Riegl, Alois, 17–18, 44, 194n3
plot, see mythos; Ricoeur on ritual: as the origin of art, 13, 20, 21,
emplotment 65–7, 80, 92, 181
272
INDEX
Rousseau, Jean-Jaques, 31 “On the Origin of Some Architectural

Rykwert, Joseph, 20, 69 Styles”, 13, 71
“On the Relation of Architectural
Saint-Simon, Claude Henri, 153, 166, Systems with the General Cultural
169, 170 Conditions”, 103, 157
Scamozzi, Vincenzo, 115 “Outline for a System of Comparative
Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph, 56, Style-Theory”, 5, 14–15, 88, 109,
98, 171 110, 115, 123, 142, 144, 160, 183,
Schiller, Friedrich, 46, 47 187
Schinkel, Karl Friedrich, 151, 154 Practical Art in Metals and Hard
Schlegel, August Wilhelm, 23, 52–4, 57, Materials, its Technology, History and
62, 74, 95, 135 Styles, 185–7, 186f
Schlegel, Friedrich, 24, 133–6, 170 Preliminary Remarks on Polychrome
Schopenhauer, Arthur, 59, 96 Architecture and Sculpture in
science of art (see also method; practical Antiquity, 11, 156
aesthetics), 15, 19, 25, 114 “Prospectus” Vergleichende Baulehre,
seam, see textile art 11–12, 87, 114, 117, 123, 124,
Semper, Gottfried, writings by 224n4
“A Critical Analysis and Prognosis of Science, Industry, and Art, 14, 70,
Present-Day Artistic Production”, 87, 108, 115, 138, 159, 160,
47, 73, 107, 154, 157, 158–9, 168, 238n38
182, 237n22 “The Attributes of Formal Beauty”,
Der Stil, 2–4, 14, 15–18, 30, 33, 35–6, 48, 52, 58, 66, 92, 95, 96, 99, 100,
36f, 47, 48, 58, 64, 65, 66, 67, 67f, 101, 108, 109, 149, 156, 160, 172,
68, 68f, 69f, 70, 70f, 71, 71f, 72–3, 218n27
74f, 80f, 82f, 87, 88, 89f, 90f, 91f, “The Basic Elements of Architecture”,
92, 93, 93f, 94, 94f, 96, 98, 99, 100, 29, 60
101f, 102, 103, 104f, 105, 106, 107, The Four Elements of Architecture, 13,
108, 110–11, 111f, 112f, 133, 145, 70, 71
185, 189, 212n23, 220n57, 220n63, “Ueber die formelle Gesetzmäßigkeit
220n66–7, 237n22, 238n34 des Schmuckes und dessen
First Prospectus, Der Stil, 16; Second Bedeutung als Kunstsymbol”,
Prospectus, Der Stil, 15, 115, 89–92, 96, 98, 220n62
156 “Vergleichende Baukunde”, 157,
“Influence of Historical Research on 183
Trends in Contemporary Vergleichende Baulehre, 11–12, 42, 117,
Architecture”, 117, 154, 237n22 124, 143
“Öffentlicher Lehrkursus über die Serlio, Sebastiano, 115
allgemeine Geschichte der St.-Hilaire, Étienne Geoffrey, 124
Baukunst”, 9–10, 66 stereotomy, see masonry
“On Architectural Styles”, 79, 108, Stockmeyer, Ernst, 112
157, 237n27 Stoffwechsel (see also metamorphosis;
“On Architectural Symbols”, 102–3, motifs: transformation of), 11, 56,
106, 110 73
273
INDEX
style, 149–50 Troeltsch, Ernst, 165

dilemma of, 61–2, 150–4, 156, 157, type
158, 166–7 in Cuvier, 125, 130
Semper’s formula for, 15, 88, 107–10, in Durand, 119–21, 226n24, 129–30
112–13, 114, 130, 142, 144, 149, 183 in Leroy, 117
Semper’s theory of, 4, 15, 87, 108, in Linnaeus,127–9
112–13, 114, 154–7, 158–61, 174, in nineteenth century linguistics,
183–4, 188 134–6
see also historicism in Semper, 130
Sulzer, Johann Georg, 51
symbols, theory of, 88, 102–7 Vesely, Dalibor, 189
symmetry, see Gestaltungsmomente Vico, Giambattista, 171–2, 178, 243n61
Vienna, 16, 17f, Ringstrasse, 153–4
taxonomy Viollet-le-Duc, Eugéne-Emmanuel,
in Cuvier, 125–30, 132 151
in Linnaeus, 125–9 Vitruvius, 29–30, 31, 34, 65, 71, 117
in Semper, 129–30, 132 Voegelin, Eric, 143
Taylor, Charles, 54 Volksgeist, 38, 165–6
tectonics (see also elements of
architecture), 15, 16, 48, 58, 62, Wagner, Otto, 18
57–63, 193n7 Wagner, Richard, 11, 168–70, 172, 173
tent, as the origin of architecture (see also weaving, see textile art
origin theory), 39, 42, 43, 64 Winckelmann, Johann Joachim, 51, 150,
textile art, 2, 16, 67, 67f, 71f, 74f, 185 151
knots, 44–5, 67–8. 68f, 102 Wordsworth, William, 52
seam, 67–9
weaving, 15, 67, 70–1, 70f, 80, 181 Yorck von Wartenburg, Paul Graf, 179,
see also elements of architecture; 187
Bekleidung
Thucydides, 163 Zeising, Adolf, 95
topic (see also method; rhetoric), 15, 142, Zeitgeist, 18, 166–7, 168
234–5n27 Zitelmann, Ernst, 114
Toulmin, Stephen, 30 Zurich, 15–16, 20
274

Hvattum, Mari) Gottfried Semper and The Problem of Historicism

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Hvattum, Mari) Gottfried Semper and The Problem of Historicism

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GOTTFRIED SEMPER AND THE

Mari Hvattum is Senior Lecturer in architectural history and the-

AND THE PROBLEM OF

Cambridge University Press

© Mari Hvattum 2004

This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of

First published in print format 2004

isbn-13 978-0-511-16624-2 eBook (NetLibrary)

isbn-13 978-0-521-82163-6 hardback

List of Figures page xi

Introduction – Gottfried Semper: Texts and Interpretations 7

1 The Cult of Origins 29

2 The Doctrine of Imitation 47

Tectonic Imitation: Karl Bötticher and the Autonomy

3 Semper and the Poetics of Architecture 64

4 Semper and Practical Aesthetics 87

5 The Comparative Method 114

6 Towards a Method of Inventing 137

7 Semper and the “Style of Our Time” 149

8 History and Historicism 162

The Artwork of the Future 168

9 Between Poetics and Practical Aesthetics 175

Selected Semper Bibliography 249

1 The Assyrian Central Saloon at the British

16 Studies of Ionic capitals. Karl Bötticher, Die Tektonik

36 Gottfried Semper, sketch from Karl Bötticher’s Die

In October 1848, the British Museum received a remarkable shipment

Figure 1. The Assyrian Central Saloon at the British Museum, c. 1854.

Semper must have studied the new acquisitions of the British

Semper explained, crowning and completing the harmonious composi-

This correspondence was a key concern of Der Stil, constituting (as we

strangely immanent – attributed to the chair qua formal composition,

GOTTFRIED SEMPER : TEXTS

A few months after his sudden appointment as a director of the

. . . because architecture does not have its ideals for imita-

These otherwise unremarkable musings contain an important def-

The Early Writings

Vergleichende Baulehre. The project remains a voluminous but unﬁn-

The London Writings

the opportunity to systematise his reﬂections on art. Die Vier Elemente

The ﬁrst sign of human settlement . . . is today, as when the

The hearth – the “earliest and highest symbol of civilisation and

factors. The aim was to establish a scientiﬁcally sound method by which

The Mature Writings

established an all-encompassing comparative matrix within which an

anyone.”37 However, with an emerging polarisation between material-

The Dresden School

an aesthetic, but also a political ideal.44 His criticism of contemporary

Semper’s “Return from the Second Exile”48

The artistic appropriation of the mask with all its sugges-

The signiﬁcance of art, thus, resides in its theatrical essence: its

This study interprets Semper’s writings in the context of nineteenth-

assertions. It should be remembered that Semper was not an architec-

Semper’s notion of artistic making in light of Aristotle’s notions of

for the intellectual framework that allowed Semper to insist on the

S emper’s emphasis on the origins of architecture linked him to a

It is suggested here that the origin of architecture is part and parcel

UNIVERSAL ORIGINS: LAUGIER AND THE

The eighteenth century can be characterised in part by the grow-

face of a faltering tradition.9 So whereas Hutcheson inquired into the

Such is the course of simple nature; by imitating the natu-

Figure 7. “Allegory of Architecture Returning to its Natural Model”. Charles Eisen,

These paradigmatic ‘buildings’ were seen to embody transcendental