Architect versus Engineer:
Monumentality versus
Dematerialization
Berthold Hub
In his 1910 polemic entitled “Ingenieurästhetik” (“En-
gineering Aesthetics”) the Austrian publicist and
architectural critic Joseph August Lux praised iron
construction as the “complete fulfilment of our
dreams of beauty, power and joy,” and hailed the en-
gineer as the “true architect of the modern age.”  1  Lux,
J. A. (1910) Ingenieuraesthetik. München, Gustav Lammers,
pp. 3, 14.  Through the use of iron as a building material,
“the concept of beauty […] has undergone a revolu-
tion”.  2  ibid., p. 8.  For the modern human being, beau-
ty reveals itself only “in practicality, in the economy
of rational design and in the fundamental circum-
stances of the new building material.” Lux goes on
to say: “Only through the material and its design cir-
cumstances are we able to find our way – our way not
only to the aesthetic of steel construction and tech-
nical design, but to the aesthetics of both architec-
ture in general as well as that of its subjugate arts.”  3  find their artistic expression in specific correspond-
ibid., p. 19.
To this day, however, “two worlds” stand enmeshed in
a veritable cultural battle. On the one side, the repre-
sentatives of “architecture” – the architects and their
devotees, the “old aunties from the outlying provinc-
es” and the “learned ones of archaeology and history,”
who insist upon “massive monumentality”.  4  ibid.,
p. 6, cf. 29.  On the other side, the champions of “iron
architecture” (architecture!) – the engineers and
their followers, who believe in the “principle of de-
materialization,” and “whose highest law” exists “in
the greatest mastery of space using the least possible
material.”  5  ibid., pp. 19-20.  While architecture is first
and foremost a spatial art, which “articulates itself
in rhythmic spatial sizes and surfaces, and expresses
proportions that are determined both by the nature
of the material as well as by a harmonious experience
159
of beauty,” iron architecture is about “naked contour
lines, bare skeletons or open frameworks; in a word:
it is about the support, which transmits the energies
and represents lines of force […]. These lines exhibit
beauty insofar as they correspond absolutely to the
conditions of stability and thus comply completely
[…] with the terms of harmony.”  6  ibid., p. 23, cf. 25.
For quite some time, the role of iron in architecture
had been that of a subordinate auxiliary material; it
wasn’t until the mid-19 th century that its “purposeful
architectural application” was realized. As always
with the discovery of a new building material, the
events here took place in such a way that the famil-
iar shapes, which had been passed down through
the years, were reproduced until “the new material’s
immanent laws of style were recognized and able to
ing forms.”  7  ibid., p. 10.
Lux includes bridges, factories and train stations
among these “first significant architectural iron struc-
tures”; he also includes the immense structures for
the world exhibitions, from Joseph Paxton’s ­Crystal
Palace in London, built in 1851 (“the official hour of
birth of the new style”), to the Vienna Rotunda in
1873, to the Gallery of Machines and the Eiffel tower
at the world exhibition in Paris in 1889.  8  ibid., p. 14-15. 
It was only in these “technical structures, which were
not influenced by architects and for which the engi-
neer did not have think about the architects, but could
rather follow his technical genius, that iron developed
its own language of style. Without people noticing
overly much, a new epoch in the development of style
was ushered in, and we have no choice but to bow
down in wonder before its artistic dictum.”  9  ibid.,

pp. 13-14. Lux is aware, of course, that “it is not true that the
material content, the bare skeleton, is the final word on beauty.”
The “precise engineer” is “free from stylistic-historical influ-
ence.” Nevertheless, “technical genius does (not) work with-
out consideration of the aesthetic or artistic appearance, as it
were.” The constructions of the engineer owe their shape not
only to mathematical calculation, but also to “an intuitive sense
of form”, a “sense of a certain external harmony.” In place of
the academically sophisticated architects, the engineer ap-
pears as a “technically sensitive artist.” ibid., pp. 3, 14 & 46.
This praise of iron places the Austrian architectural
critic in line with the French architects – Viollet-le-
Duc and his successor August Choisy, for instance. As
early as the second half of the 19th century, these men
professed that structure should be the reason for all
architectural forms. As a result, they concluded that
the architecture of the future would be the architec-
ture of iron, since iron was simply the best structural
medium. However the majority of the architects in
the German-speaking realm turned against open iron
construction Their objections were grounded in a
common belief: its lack of unifying mass – in short, the
lack of monumentality. The very engineering-based
structures that were so praised by Joseph ­August Lux
as the prototypes of a new architectural style were re-
jected by the German architects; they even refused to
use the term “architecture” to refer to them.
As early as 1849 the iron structure of the reading room in
the Bibliothèque Sainte Geneviève (by architect Henri
Labrouste) served as occasion for Gottfried Semper to
voice his concerns about iron–specifically, he object-
ed to lattice construction, while accepting the solid
web girder, or, at best, the box girder, as architecture.
Iron, in his opinion, was too thin to afford the eye and
the spirit of aesthetic satisfaction. He warned against
iron construction because of the lack of mass, or, in
other words, the lack of monumentality.  10  Semper,
G. (1949) Der Wintergarten zu Paris. in: Zeitschrift für
praktische Baukunst 9, pp. 515-525, printed in excerpts in:
­G ottfried Semper, Wissenschaft, Industrie und Kunst – und
andere Schriften über Architektur, Kunsthandwerk und
Kunst­u n­terricht, Ed. Hans M. Wingler. Mainz & Berlin, Florian
Kupferberg, 1966, pp. 22-23: “The failure of these attempts to
offer an expression adequate for serious architecture – does
it actually result from our inexperience with the material?
Perhaps! One thing is certain, however: iron--and with it, ev-
ery hard and ductile metal used as a construction material
in the form of weak bars and partly in cables, according to
its nature, which it represents in these forms – evades the
eye more completely the more complete the structure. This
is due to the minimal surface area it offers in these forms;
also, it is true that for this reason, architecture, which renders
its effects on the soul through the organs of the face, must
160
Berthold Hub
not allow this so-to-speak invisible material when it comes
to mass effects and not just a light accessory structure. As
latticework in enclosures, as a delicate network, beautiful
architecture may and should apply and show the metal in
bars as a beneficial building material, but not as a bearer of
large dimensions, not as a support for the structure; not as
the fundamental tone of the theme.” Cf. Semper, G. (1963)
Der Stil in den technischen und tektonischen Künsten, oder
praktische Ästhetik. Ein Handbuch für Techniker, Künstler
und Kunstfreunde, Vol. 2: Keramik, Tektonik, Stereotomie,
Metallo­technik für sich betrachtet und in Beziehung zur
Baukunst. München, Bruckmann, pp. 263-264: Metal bar-
based construction may “vindicate some motives of formal
evaluation, e. g. the motives of joining and ligatures that
arise in metal connections; but ultimately, affords one only a
­m eagre foundation for art! One cannot speak of a monumen-
tal steel style; the idea of this is invisible architecture! For the
thinner the metalwork, the more perfect its nature.” pp. 550-
551: „Ironwork cannot be monumental. The dangerous idea
that a new style of construction can be derived from iron has
already led some talented architects down the wrong path.” 
Near the end of the century, this argument would
be echoed by the Munich architect and art histo-
rian Richard Streiter, who for instance believed that
the human eye demanded ‘tectonics’ from archi-
tecture, and that because iron is lacking the dimen-
sions for this, that it is unsuitable for architecture.  11 
Streiter, R. (1898) Architektonische Zeitfragen. Berlin,
­C osmos; printed in: Streiter, R. (1913) Ausgewählte Schriften
zur Aesthetik und Kunst-Geschichte, Ed. Franz Reber and
Emil Sulger-Gebing. München, Delphin-Verlag, pp. 55-149, cf.
pp. 105-113 & 110: “Wherever iron construction is exposed to
a significant extent and stands on its own, there is an abso-
lute antagonism to artistic design. The hope that the future
will bring the as-of-yet unachieved can surely be described
as deceptive; for the possibility of forming an iron construc-
tion through the structurally-symbolic formation of the
whole – specifically by forming the parts into an organism
that is no longer abstract and numb, but alive and concrete,
and whose limbs allow us to feel a state of “happy balance,”
through the expression of their corporality – this sole possi-
bility of tectonic “idealization” of the work’s form is excluded
through the nature of the material and by the way in which it
is composed. The naked thinness and stiff brittleness of the
construction’s parts, which, through the static calculation of
the given connectedness of the sequencing, the external uni-
formity of the parts, which generally do not show variances
in their capacities (resistance versus tension and compres-
sion); the confusing mass of lines in large constructions that
are nearly without a body, that cross each other at all angles,
whose sense and purpose is known only to the technically ed-
ucated understanding, but is not perceptible with simple feel-
ing: all of these factors make us view iron construction with
apathy.”  OttoWagner too, disapproved of iron, a view
that is particularly evident in his 1898 work ‘Modern
( figure 1 )

( figure 2 )
( figure 3 )

( figure 4 )

Architecture’: here, he stresses the impossibility of
iron’s architectonic design, i. e. on the monumental,
physical, spatial effect in the urban realm, which it
intrinsically lacks. “The engineer whose focus lies not
in the creation of artistic form but only in the calcula-
tions of forces and budget, an unappealing language
for humanity”  12  Wagner, O. (1898) Moderne Architektur.
Seinen Schülern ein Führer auf diesem Kunstgebiete. Wien,
Anton Schroll (printed in: Graf 1994, Vol. 1, pp. 263-287;
Fourth edition in 1914 as “Die Baukunst unserer Zeit”, printed
in: Graf 1994, vol. 2, pp. 692-723), p. 71.  Art, therefore, must
always meet the constructions of the engineer; the
Architect, likewise, the Engineer.  13  ibid., pp. 105-106,
where Wagner laments the “vanishing” of modern ­b ridges
from the streetscape – a circumstance that is due to the non-
monumentality of iron. “Here also,” Wagner states, “it is abso-
lutely necessary that art and artists have a critical say, so that
the forgotten or rejected image of the bridge, from its axis,
achieves designed perfection, in which the aesthetics are
considered necessity. The artistic and structural perfection of
bridges will have to demonstrate accented bridgeheads and
more richly designed bridge railings.”
The engineer may be “able to make static calculations,
and […] to create structures that are suited to human
dwellings and gatherings. Whether or not these struc-
tures are works of art, however, is a question for art-
ists only.”  14  ibid., pp. 24-25.  For this reason, the title
“architect” is a title “deserved only by the building art-
ist (Baukünstler).”  15  ibid., p. 22. The goal in the end is the
harmony of the engineer and the architect in one person, the
“building artist (Baukünstler),” who represents the “crown of
the modern human” in his “fortunate unity of idealism and re-
alism.” ibid., p. 14. Cf. ibid., pp. 71-72: “Seeing that the engineer
is rarely born an artist, and the building artist (Baukünstler)
must be made into an engineer as well, it can be assumed
with some certainty that art must eventually be successful
in expanding its influence into the areas occupied by the en-
gineer so that aesthetic demands are met.”  Similarly,
in
1910, Walter Gropius turns vehemently against purely
engineering-based design.  16  Gropius, W. (1911) Monu-
mentale Kunst und Industriebau, unpublished, speech given
at the Folkwang-Museum in Hagen on the 29th Januuary 1911,
cited excerpts in: Weber 1961, pp. 24 & 27f., and in: ­W ilhelm
1983, pp. 25-26;  Gropius, W. (1912) Sind beim Bau von In-
dustriegebäuden künstlerische Gesichtspunkte mit prak-
tischen und wirtschaftlichen vereinbar?, in: Der Industriebau.
Monatsschrift für die künstlerische und technische Förderung
aller Gebiete industrieller Bauten, einschliesslich aller In­
genieurbauten, sowie der gesamten Fortschritte der Tech-
nik 3, pp. 5-6;  Gropius, W. (1913) Die Entwicklung moderner
Industriebaukunst, in: Jahrbuch des Deutschen Werkbundes
2: Die Kunst in Industrie und Handel. Jena, Diederichs, pp. 17-
22;  Gropius, W. (1914) Der stilbildende Wert industrieller
Bauformen, in: Jahrbuch des deutschen Werkbundes 3: Der
163
Architect versus Engineer
Verkehr. Jena, Diederichs, pp. 29-32; cf. Wilhelm, K. (1983)
Walter Gropius – Industriearchitekt. Braunschweig, Vieweg,
cf. pp. 23-26.  Pure
iron construction damages humans’
natural aesthetic sense. Structural materials and tech-
nical knowledge can only form the foundation of cre-
ative design; the mere use of these materials does not
guarantee the production of art.  17  Gropius, W.: Der stil-
bildende Wert …, p. 31: „The rational, mathematical calculation
of the stability of a material differentiates itself significantly
from the instinctually conceived geometrical harmony of the
structural components, the construction form from the art
form. If one compares the technical and aesthetic functions
of multiple materials of various stabilities, it becomes clear
that the fulfilment of mathematical demands does not ensure
the fulfilment of aesthetic ones. A wide wooden beam, sup-
ported by two thin iron bars, satisfies mathematical calcula-
tion. The artistically sensitive eye, however, is insulted by the
disharmony in the supporting and supported elements, since
the quiet characteristic of the material (that being the iron) is
invisible, harmonious and evenly proportioned, but only com-
prehensible in the sensory perception of the optical surface
image.”  According to Gropius, one can only speak of a
“work of art” if the structure’s design is removed from
the natural and presents itself as “conscious beauty,”
or as an “artistic” object, thus finding an expression
that outstrips utility.  18  Gropius, W.: Monumentale Kunst
und …; cf. below note 26 .  Gropius takes the “monumen-
tal power” of American industrial superstructures as
a model not only for the artistic design of engineer-
ing-based structures, but also for modern architec-
ture itself. These superstructures, Gropius claims,
“almost bear comparison to the structures of ancient
Egypt.” 19  Gropius, W.: Die Entwicklung moderner …, pp. 21-22. 
Elsewhere, Gropius designates these American in-
dustrial buildings as “harbingers of a coming monu-
mental style.”  20  Gropius, W.: Monumentale Kunst und …,
cit.: Wilhelm 1983, p. 36.  The basis of their “monumental
effect,” however, is not based on simple magnitude;
“rather, their builders seem to have maintained the
natural sense of size, concise form kept independent,
healthy and pure.”  21  Gropius, W.: Die Entwicklung mod-
erner …, pp. 21-22; cf. 19f.: “Precisely characterised form, every
contingency laid bare, clear contrast, the arrangements of el-
ements, the sequence of equal parts and the unity of form and
colour, become the aesthetic tools of the modern building
artist (Baukünstler), corresponding to the energy and econo-
my of our public life.” – Cf. also the Hamburg art historian and
teacher Alfred Lichtwark, who passionately criticized German
building culture as a “dispersal of mass” which stood in the
way of the “consistent unity” of the structure. See Lichtwark,
A. (1901) Realistische Architektur. in: Alfred Lichtwark, Palast-
fenster und Flügelthür. Berlin, Cassirer, pp. 65-66. “Keeping
the masses together” was for him the “key to the understand-
ing of all misery and confusion in our architecture” and “the
upper-most law of art. Only this fundamental principle could

lead to “simplicity,” and “peace,” i. e. “monumentality.” See
Lichtwark, A. (1917) Die Massen zusammenhalten (1909), in:
Wolf Mannhardt (ed.), Alfred Lichtwark. Eine Auswahl seiner
Schriften. Berlin, Cassirer, pp. 164-165, p. 164, cf. Schilling, J.
(1997) Monumentalität der Wahrheit – Lichtwark und der
Neubau von 1906-1919, in: Die Hamburger Kunsthalle: Bauten
und Bilder, Ed. by Uwe M. Schneede and Helmut R. Leppien.
Leipzig, Seemann, pp. 61-77.
These are just a few brief examples of the reaction to
the challenge of “iron architecture” among ­G erman
architects. In the following, the position of Peter
­B ehrens will be examined in more detail, insofar
as it demonstrates the most differentiated argu-
mentation and lends the conventional demand for
monumentality a surprising, modern reasoning. As
­B ehrens developed his position essentially through
his work on the turbine hall (erected in 1908/09 in
Berlin-Moabit), and from its critics, we will first
spend some time describing this structure, which is
critical to architectural history.
The hall, erected for the production of steam turbines
at the corner of Huttenstrasse and Berlichingenstrasse
and a figurehead for AEG, is regarded as a kind of in-
cunable for modern architecture. No history of mod-
ern architecture can overlook it as a breakthrough
to a new style of building corresponding to the 20 th
Century: a language of form that is factual, that cor-
responds to mechanical production, and one that
is functional, structure- and material-oriented.  22  girders – only externally, however, wherever a pillar is
Buddensieg, T. (1979) Industriekultur. Peter Behrens und
die AEG 1907-1914. Berlin, Mann;  Anderson, S. (2000) Peter
­B ehrens and a New Architecture for the Twentieth Century.
Cambridge/Mass., MIT Press.
Whoever steps naively out of the Berlichingenstraße to
stand before the turbine hall, however, first sees a clas-
sical temple. The front facade is dominated by two cor-
ner pillars, or “pylons,” which lean slightly inward and
frame a centre window and carry a seven-fold broken
gable, or “tympanum.” The horizontal structure of the
pylons gives the impression of a load-bearing mason-
ry of cyclopean dimensions – a result of the distance
between the joints, which exceeds each mass of stone.
Only when one looks more closely does one notice a
small band of steel resting in each of these depressions.
Likewise, it takes closer inspection to notice that the
polygonally broken tympanum is enclosed by an angle
iron. At this point, however, we have already ventured
beyond a hurried passer-by’s first impression.
The façade facing Berlichingenstraße is character-
ised by evenly spaced pillars, or “columns,” which
164
Berthold Hub
hold up a mighty beam – a structure that is rein-
forced by the deep play of shadows created by the
internal inclination of the windows, which follows
the gradient of the corner pylons. At the lower end of
the pillars, we see a joint, and thus the actual struc-
ture. However, as much as this element could be read
as the base of a pillar, a sockel emerges immanently
under it in a pedestal-like way.
So much for the impression. It is deceptive, but inten-
tional. Each of these carefully considered associations
is actually an illusion, an untruth. For the described
elements are neither structurally necessary nor ap-
propriate to the material, as the ground plan, the
cross-section and the interior view demonstrate. The
corner projections, described as “pylons,” carry noth-
ing whatsoever. They consist of thin layers of concrete,
applied to steel lattice work; they bend at the corners
and taper upwards, filling the space between the win-
dow and the first pillars on the side facades. Corre-
spondingly, the tympanum, likewise constructed of
thin concrete, does not weigh down upon the “pylons,”
but rather on the framework structure of the centre
window. The same is true for the entablature(truss):
this is actually a hollow box superimposed onto the
structure. Similarly, the “pillars” that appear to carry
the truss are simply parts of the three-hinged arch that
encompasses the space. Their dimensions are made
so as to project more strongly than necessary; struc-
turally sufficient iron latticework is replaced by web
meant to be simulated. If one enters the interior of the
hall, one notices that the windows, separated outside
by powerful supports with stark shadow play, actually
emerge as a continuous wall of windows.
However, what we have just unearthed here as decep-
tion actually has a positive sense. Behrens’ first critic –
his own engineer, Karl Bernhard – described the archi-
tect’s project very well in 1911, when he characterized
the result disparagingly as a “relapse into certain artis-
tic efforts to disguise the structure of large engineer-
ing constructions by veiling, thus creating an effect
through large, smooth surface masks.”  23 ­Bernhard, K.
(1911) Die neue Halle für die Turbinenfabrik der Allgemeinen
Elektricitäts-Gesellschaft in Berlin, in: Zeitschrift des Vereins
deutscher Ingenieure 55, 1625-1631 and 1673-1682 (printed in:
Buddensieg 1979, D 307-312); cited in Buddensieg, T.: Indus-
triekultur. Peter Behrens …, D 311.
One year prior to this, Behrens himself had already
insisted on this differentiation between architecture
and engineering in a lecture on the relationship be-
tween “Kunst und Technik” (“Art and Technology”);
in it, he had objected to “a certain school in our mod-
( figure 5 )
( figure 6 )

ern aesthetic, which seeks to derive artistic form
from the intended use and technology.”  24  Behrens, P.
(1910) Kunst und Technik, in: Elektrotechnische Zeitschrift 31,
pp. 552-555; and in: Der Industriebau. Monatsschrift für die
künstlerische und technische Förderung aller Gebiete indus-
trieller Bauten, einschliesslich aller Ingenieurbauten, sowie
der gesamten Fortschritte der Technik 1, 1910, pp. 176-180
and LXXXI-LXXXV (printed in: Buddensieg, T. (1979) Indus-
triekultur. Peter Behrens und die AEG 1907-1914. Berlin, Mann,
D pp. 278-285), lecture held at the 18th annual meeting of the
Association of German Electrical Engineers in Braunschweig
on 5/26/1910; cited here from the revised and more concise
version from Behrens, P. (1914) Über den Zusammenhang des
baukünstlerischen Schaffens mit der Technik, in: Kongress
für Ästhetik und Allgemeine Kunstwissenschaft, Berlin, 7.-
9. Oktober 1913, Bericht. Stuttgart, Enke, pp. 251-265, here
p. 253. cf. in particular Behrens, P. (1908) Was ist monumen-
tale Kunst?, in: Kunstgewerbeblatt 20, pp. 46-48; Behrens, P.
(1914) Einfluss von Zeit- und Raumausnutzung auf moderne
Formentwicklung, in: Jahrbuch des deutschen Werkbundes
3: Der Verkehr. Jena, Diederichs, pp. 7-10; Behrens, P. (1920),
Werbende künstlerische Werte im Fabrikbau, in: Das Plakat 11.
pp. 269-273.  Following “constructive laws” solely could
only lead to a “pseudoaesthetic.” This is so because the
system of laws for mechanical construction are the
same as the “system of laws for the organic process of
creation, which nature reveals in all her work. Nature
is not culture, however; thus, the exclusively human
fulfilment of solely utilitarian and material intentions
cannot create it.”  25  Behrens, P. (1914) Einfluss von Zeit-
und Raumausnutzung auf moderne Formentwicklung, in:
Jahrbuch des deutschen Werkbundes 3: Der Verkehr. Jena,
Diederichs, p. 252.  Therefore, art can never be derived
from technology alone; it cannot be achieved as the
automatic result, as it were, of the intended use, the
material, the tools, or the manufacturing procedure.
In the work of art, Behrens saw rather – citing Alois
Riegl – “the result of a specific, purpose-oriented
Kunstwollen […], which prevails in the struggle with
intended use, raw material and technology.” It should
be said that these three factors are awarded only the
function of “coefficients of friction within the total
product.” In the end, they only serve; they are mere
means in the “fulfilment of psychic urges.” True archi-
tecture “occurs not by chance, but through creation,
according to the intensive and conscious will of the
liberated human mind. It is the fulfilment of psychic
goals, i. e. those that are translated into the mental
realm.”  26  ibid., p. 253. cf. Walter Gropius, in particular his
lecture “Monumental Art and Industrial Building” in which the
student of Behrens and his colleague on the AEG turbine hall
project, with similar words – and likewise with reference to
Alois Riegl (and Wilhelm Worringer) – contrasted nature and
art. “Art is made by humans and for humans; it is the oppo-
site of nature. It attempts to transform the absolute, intrinsic
167
Architect versus Engineer
beauty of nature into conscious, relative beauty. This trans-
formation is carried out by the will of form or ‘Kunstwollen’.
Humankind attempts to achieve via the will that which is wit-
hout will in nature.” “Monumental art” provides an “intended,
subjective re-evaluation of reality”; it is not limited, therefore,
to what exists, in that it meets material needs. Rather, it is
rooted “in psychological needs and satisfies mental needs in
human beings. In principle, then, it has very little to do with
material needs. Its task is the representation of higher, trans-
cendental ideas with material means of expression, which are
a part of the sensual world of space and time. The material is
the element from which the work of art is to come--it is not
the work of art itself. The material in and of itself is dead and
incorporeal; only the form lends the life, which comes from
the creative will of the artist. […] The value of the work of
art exists only in the psychological satisfaction of an inter-
nal desire for release--not in the value of the material. For its
creator and viewer, the work of art represents a rest from the
confused state of the worldview … […] Thus, we believe that
the beauty of a work of art rests in a conformity internal to
the creative will, and not in the natural beauty of the materials,
and that all material things are only means to an end--they
lend sensual expression to a higher psychological state. The
more manifest this means of expression is, the more monu-
mental the effect must be, i. e. the effect that is emitted by the
work of art. For, bound to the senses, we cannot demateria-
lize ourselves.” Gropius, W.: Monumentale Kunst und …, p. 26.
What, then, are the demands of the modern “Kunst-
wollen” and/or the modern “psychic drive”? What
does this drive ask of architects? Behrens provides
us with the first step to finding an answer: Architec-
ture, he asserts, is “body design,” and thus demands
“the consistency and unity of form”; in short, it de-
mands “monumentality.” This monumentality is to be
achieved through “uninterrupted, even wall surfaces,”
or at least “surfaces that are as calm and consistent as
possible,” as well as by “the rhythmic principle of uni-
form sequence.” Because construction based purely on
engineering cannot achieve this, it is to be rejected.  27 
Behrens, P.: Einfluss von Zeit …, p. 257.
On the other hand, Behrens also turns against the
architects, who close themselves off from modern
construction and materials, either by avoiding them
altogether, or by concealing their use. Behrens him-
self uses iron and glass in a visible manner, but he
does so in a nuanced fashion, according to “architec-
tonic,” i. e. bodily points of view. In other words, iron
and glass should not lead to transparency and orna-
ment, as would be dictated by their materiality; rather,
they should be alienated from their material being,
and should exude physicality and mass. The turbine
hall demonstrates this deployment: the walled unity
of the externally visible iron parts allows that which

is intrinsically unphysical material to enter a state
of physicality; despite the transparency of the mate-
rial, the even arrangement of glass in large surfaces
presents the consistency and monumentality of form.
These measures are supplemented by the even repeti-
tion and rhythmic sequence of the elements. Only by
observing these principles can one avoid the “flat-
tering effect” and create in its place a “calming ef-
fect.”  28  Behrens, P. (1920), Werbende künstlerische Werte
im Fabrikbau, in: Das Plakat 11. pp. 269-273, see p. 272.
For Behrens, these “architectonic,” physical, monu-
mental principles are realized in Greek classical ar-
chitecture, which represents to him the beginning
of a tradition that continues to this day. He believes
that the “noble task of our time” is to „make the mod-
ern materials and constructions subservient to ar-
chitectonic laws […], a system of laws for art, which
have been in place since the beginning of all human
culture as a continuous tradition that maintained its
relevance and […] can “not lose its right for our time”
either.  29  Behrens, P.: Einfluss von Zeit …, p. 254.  For: “The
constructions of the engineer are the result of math-
ematically oriented thought. No one would doubt its
stability from a mathematical point of view. It is some-
thing different, however, whether or not a dynamic
equilibrium appears to the eye and thus an aesthetic
demand is fulfilled, as it is fulfilled completely in the
case of the Doric temple.”  30  ibid., p. 258. The temple
like qualities of the turbine hall were also acknowledged by
Behrens’ contemporaries; for some, they were an occasion
to criticize, while others praised them. For example: Osthaus,
K. E. (1910) Ein Fabrikbau von Peter Behrens, in: Frankfurter
Allgemeine Zeitung, 10.2.1910; Mannheimer, F. (1911) Arbeiten
von Professor Peter Behrens für die Allgemeine Elektrizitäts-
gesellschaft, in: Der Industriebau. Monatsschrift für die küns-
tlerische und technische Förderung aller Gebiete industrieller
Bauten, einschliesslich aller Ingenieurbauten, sowie der gesa-
mten Fortschritte der Technik 2, pp. 122-138; Hoeber, F. (1913)
Peter Behrens, München: Müller & Rentsch, especially p. 81.
As stated above, Behrens was not alone in his view in
the decade before 1914. For one thing, his demand for
“physicality” through “consistency and unity of form”
stood in the context of the contemporary consensus
of his guild – the architects – who, in their confronta-
tion with the new challenges of engineering and iron
construction in particular (with Lux’s “Ingenieuräs-
thetik”), found fault with its insufficient “monumen-
tality”; for another, his recommendation to hold fast
to the “architectonic laws” of Greek classic architec-
ture was also part of the general classical movement
in architecture, which by 1910 had spread through-
out Europe. Examples of this include the Heinrich
­Tessenow’s Educational Institute for Rhythmic Gym-
168
Berthold Hub
nastics in Hellerau (1911/12), and Josef Hoffmann’s
P­ avillon at the Werkbund Exhibition in Cologne (1914).
Still, Behrens presents his own reasoning for this con-
ventional demand for classical monumentality. For
my part, I believe this reasoning reflects the contem-
porary discussion on the subject of “nervousness” or
“agitation” (“Reizsamkeit”) among the inhabitants of
large cities.  31  The popular German terms of “Nervosität”
and “Reizsamkeit” replaced the term “neurasthenia,” which
came out of the Anglo-American world around 1900. It was
not the impoverishment of the working classes, the disap-
pearance of the private sphere in the overfilled rental tene-
ments and recreational zones within the dense built fabric,
the noise, or the poor air or food, but rather “a previously
unknown visualisation of life,” in the words of Willy Hellpach
(Hellpach, W. (1902) Nervosität und Kultur. Berlin, Räde, p. 15),
or the “the rapid condensation of changing images,” in the
words of Georg Simmel (Simmel, G. (1903) Die Großstädte
und das Geistesleben, in: Karl Bücher et al. (eds.), Die Groß­
stadt. Vorträge und Aufsätze zur Städteausstellung. Dresden,
Zahn & Jaensch, pp. 185-206 (and in: Simmel, G. (1995) Auf-
sätze und Abhandlungen 1901-1908, Vol. 1., Gesamtausgabe
Vol. 7. Frankfurt am Main, Suhrkamp, p. 117), which was cited
as the original cause of the “increasing nervousness of our
time” (Wolfgang Eckart). Above all, it was the fragmentation
of visual perception that was either bemoaned or celebrated:
the overflow of images to be processed, pictures and scenes,
which permanently and shockingly affected humans and of
which only a “moment’s” perception can be had; the constant
movement and rapid sequence of uninterrupted impressions,
multiplied by the increased individual movement. The visual
shock was identified as the foundation of the city experience
and the mark of modernity. Cf. Steiner, A. (1964) Das nervöse
Zeitalter – Der Begriff der Nervosität bei Laien und Ärzten in
Deutschland und Österreich um 1900. Zürich, Juris; Müller, L.
(1987) Modernität, Nervosität und Sachlichkeit. Das Berlin der
Jahrhundertwende als Hauptstadt der “neuen Zeit”, in: Ulrich
Baehr (ed.), Mythos Berlin. Zur Wahrnehmungsgeschichte
einer industriellen Metropole. Eine Szenische Ausstellung auf
dem Gelände des Anhalter Bahnhofs, Exhibition catalogue.
Berlin, Ästhetik und Kommunikation, pp. 79-92; Müller, L.
(1990) Impressionistische Kultur. Zur Ästhetik von Modernität
und Großstadt um 1900, in: Steinfeld, T. & Suhr, H. (eds.), In
der großen Stadt. Die Metropole als kulturtheoretische Kate-
gorie. Frankfurt am Main, Hain, pp. 41-69; Eckart, W. (1997)
Die wachsende Nervosität unserer Zeit – Medizin und Kultur
um 1900 am Beispiel einer Modekrankheit, in: Hübinger, G.
et al. (eds.), Idealismus und Positivismus. Stuttgart, Steiner,
pp. 207-226.
In fact, Behrens still owes us the critical part of the an-
swer to his question about correct form; as of yet, he
has only explained to us how, in his opinion, the mod-
ern “psychic desire” is to be satisfied. However, we still
do not know where this psychic desire comes from. In
( figure 7 )
( figure 7 )

other words, the question remains unanswered as to
how classical monumentality, such as that introduced
by the turbine hall, is not only a fundamental demand,
but a modern demand – a demand that springs from
the specific, modern human situation, from the spe-
cifically modern “psychic drive.”
And this so, because “the way of life is now different”
as “we sense in our time a different rhythm to that of
the past.” A sense of urgency has overtaken us, a sense
which does not afford us the luxury of delving into de-
tails. When racing through city streets in high-speed
vehicles, we can no longer be aware of the finer aspects
of buildings. In the same way, cityscapes we see from
high-speed trains, glimpsed in the rush of passing by,
have an effect through their silhouettes only.  32  Beh-
rens, P.: Kunst und Technik …, p. 256.  The acceleration of
all movements (included here are the acceleration of
one’s own movement, and thus the eye’s movement as
well) demands an architecture that is both easily as-
certainable and arresting. Fragmentary perception is
only effectively countered by “an architecture which
manifests very closed, quiet surfaces, and which of-
fers no hindrances through its unity.” It is necessary
to have “a clear contrast between jutting features and
wide open surfaces, or to have an equally spaced row
of necessary details, which, in turn, lead back to a uni-
fied togetherness.”  33  ibid., p. 257; cf. especially Behrens,
P. (1914) Einfluss von Zeit- und Raumausnutzung auf moderne
Formentwicklung, in: Jahrbuch des deutschen Werkbundes
3: Der Verkehr. Jena, Diederichs, pp. 7-10. Cf. Asendorf, C.
(1998) Die Kräfte der Straße. Das Problem des Stadtrau-
mes in der Klassischen Moderne, in: Breuer, G. (ed.), Neue
Stadträume zwischen Musealisierung, Medialisierung und
Gestaltlosigkeit. Frankfurt a. M. & Basel, Stroemfeld, pp. 33-
54, esp. pp. 37f. – At the beginning of the century, the social
psychologist Willy Hellpach presented the architects and
engineers as the best assistants to the doctor, in the fight
against nervousness. While the former worked on advancing
a modern technique (at its heart, healthy), the latter worked
on pushing through a new building style, indeed, an “archi-
tectonic culture” which would help people become stable and
healthy again in the “transition period of nervousness.” Work-
ing against the nervousness of Jugendstil and historicism, the
sought-after character of the new art must be one of “quiet.”
We do not know what Hellpach thought of Behrens; of all the
styles he had seen up to that point, though, classicism – spe-
cifically, the Empire style – seemed to best embody quietness,
and to correspond most closely to the “need for quiet” of the
stressed resident of the modern metropolis. See Hellpach,
W. (1906) Nervenleben und Weltanschauung. Ihre Wechsel-
beziehung im deutschen Leben von heute. Wiesbaden, Berg-
mann, pp. 72ff. As an aside, Thomas Mann saw things similarly:
at the same time, in his Tristan (1903), he has the hero of his
narrative lecture on the Empire style’s calming effects on his
171
Architect versus Engineer
nerves. The Westend Sanatorium in Purkersdorf near Vienna
(built by Josef Hoffmann in the years 1904/05) is evidence
that a new language of form was used in the architecture and
furnishing to calm the guests. Cf. Topp, L. (1997) An Archi-
tecture for Modern Nerves: Josef Hoffmann’s Purkersdorf
Sanatorium, in: The Journal of the Society of Architectural
Historians 56, pp.  414-437.
At this time, only Otto Wagner was making similar
propositions when he called for “large effects, […] a
certain large characteristic” for the modern metropo-
lis; he justified this call with “the demands of the as-
yet-unrealized gathering of people in large cities.”  34 
Wagner, O.: Moderne Architektur. Seinen …, p. 53.  In the cha-
os of appearances, the modern eye seeks out “points
of quiet and concentration […], since otherwise, pain-
ful uncertainty – an aesthetic anxiety– will arise.”  35 
ibid., p. 60.  He explained the necessities of monumen-
tality thus: “At first, the general picture is perceived
unclearly; only a few moments later does the gaze
and one’s impression begin to slowly concentrate on
a point, whereby silhouettes, borders, overall disposi-
tion, etc, continue to affect the viewer. Visual peace
has come into play. Only then does the need arise to
take in the effects of the individual features and of
detail, through a constantly changing viewpoint. Sat-
isfying such human demands through artificial crea-
tion is one of architecture’s most difficult tasks.”  36 
ibid., p. 61.
Apart from the few indications of Otto Wagner,
­Behrens seems to be the sole pre-World War I archi-
tect to reflect in detail and in this sense the new con-
ditions of perception in a metropolis. And I am only
aware of one other architect before 1914 who takes
them into account in another way. Shortly before the
outbreak of the First World War, into which he enthu-
siastically ventured and died, the futuristic architect
Antonio Sant’Elia asked his colleagues to finally turn
away from “that bewildering bloom of idiocy and im-
potence that bears the name Classicism”; one could
only do justice to the new state of movement through,
first, the use of “reinforced concrete, iron, glass, plas-
tic, textiles and all those replacement substances for
wood, stone and brick with which one can achieve the
greatest elasticity and lightness.”; second, by choosing
angular and ellipsis-shaped lines, which, in contrast to
straight lines, are “dynamic” and “possess an emotive
power”; finally, by the demonstrative integration of all
elements of traffic, roads, escalators and elevators.  37 
Sant’Elia, A. (1914) Die futuristische Architektur printed in:
Schmidt-Bergmann, H.: Futurismus. Geschichte, Ästhetik,
Dokumente. Reinbek bei Hamburg, Rowohlt, pp. 230-235. 
In short, architecture itself was to become “full of
movement and dynamic in every way” – the whole
 Berthold Hub

city an ephemeral, ever-changing entity. All of this

stands in the sharpest opposition to Behrens (and
Wagner), who wanted to place monumentality – a
calming and ever-valid static structure – opposite the
dynamic of movement. In contrast to Sant’Elia, reflec-
tion on the conditions of perception in a metropolis
did not lead the turbine hall’s architect to that sort of
new formal solution, rather to a more classical one:
namely, monumental effect through a distinct system
of (seemingly) load-bearing and supporting elements,
which span large, quiet areas, with even proportions
and in repetitive rhythm.

With this view, Peter Behrens may well have disap-

pointed the prophets of a new aesthetic born of iron,
of a new beauty, of a revolutionarily new general style
of architecture; still, the further development of archi-
tectural history proved his rightness. While Engineer-
ing Aesthetics, emerging from engineering structures
(especially the iron constructions from the second
half of the 19th century) and affecting the whole of
modern architecture, the “Ingenieurästhetik” as it
was avowed by Joseph August Lux, have not proven
to come true, Behrens came to a promising solution
with his turbine hall: for the first time, he found an
“architectonic” way of dealing with iron; this solution
neither clothed the iron nor laid it bare, but instead
rather formally “integrated” it. To conclude, let us give
the final word to Behrens’ student and colleague on
the turbine hall, Walter Gropius: in a lecture he gave
in 1911 on “Monumental Art and Industrial Buildings,”
he described his teacher’s work as “for the time being
[…] probably the only example of an artistic will com-
pletely mastering, in a sovereign way, modern engi-
neering construction and modern building materials
(iron and steel). Ridiculing the unsubstantial charac-
teristics of these materials, he created a monumental
construction in the best sense.”  38  Gropius, W. (1911)
Monumentale Kunst und …, p. 24. Cf. note 26 above.  While
Behrens created a prime example of how an architect
might appropriately deal with iron under the central
concept of monumentality, this example would only
find its continued expression in the works of his pu-
pils in the era following the First World War.

172