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Article submitted to the editor of Architecture Research Quarterly (2015-02-03), by recommendation of the
organisers of AHRA 16 conference: currently undergoing peer-review

Anthroposophy, Postmodernism and the Spirit of Capitalism

Catharina Gabrielsson

The allegedly timeless, spiritual and holistic architecture in Järna serves as a focal point for
exploring the connection between architecture, place and ideological change.

How does one begin to entangle the close-knit agglomeration of sectarian spiritual beliefs,
oddly shaped buildings, avid entrepreneurialism and hard-wrought resistance that characterize
the ‘genius loci’ in question here; the intentional community in Järna1, centre for the
anthroposophic movement in Sweden? Echoing that hackney-eyed expression from the 80’s is
of relevance here, not only because questions of identity and place are still deemed as
important in framing and explaining architectural qualities (Caldenby 2014), but also because
the pseudo-philosophical nonsense from which this slogan derives is integral to how the
architecture of Järna has been conceived. Re-visiting the recent past, as part of the project of
reappraising postmodernism in architecture (Scott 2007; Martin 2010; Kaminer 2011), one
inevitably runs into confrontation with the postmodern as such – “a complicated story of
anticipations, displacements and inversions, that can at times look arbitrary or enigmatic, yet
possesses its own underlying logic” (Andersson 1998:xi). This article strives to add the
nuance and detail of a particular case, “Nordic” in so far as it’s located in Sweden, but telling
for evolvements at a much greater scale.

Järna is a strange and ambiguous place, in many respects an anomaly to mainstream society.
Located in rural surroundings some 50 km south of Stockholm, the anthroposophic
colonisation goes back to the mid 30’s with a small private enterprise in “healing pedagogy”,
run by émigrés from Nazi Germany (Ritter 2000). The community has enjoyed a steady
expansion during the 20th century. Today, the local municipality publishes folders to market
the area; over a hundred small-scale actors involved in biodynamic farming, arts and crafts,
graphic design, publishing, public communication, Waldorf schools, health and care centres
for the sick, elderly and the mentally disabled – all sharing a common ethos in anthroposophy.
Supported by EU-grants for agriculture, entrepreneurship and regional development, it is a
unique example of a local culture with links of affiliation spreading across the globe. Based
on the holistic teachings of Rudolf Steiner (1861-1925), not least his “building impulse”
embodied in the Gesamtkunstwerk of Goetheanum I and II (1924-28), architecture plays a
pivotal role for this movement. By use of essentialist architectural means – ‘organic’ forms,
‘natural’ materials and ‘authentic’ pigment-based hues – activities in Järna are held together
by a common language; a ready-identifiable architectural brand, that seemingly untroubled by
post-utopian or post-theoretical concerns explicitly represents, enables and disseminates the
Weltanschauungen of anthroposophy.

The core of this geo-spiritual development is the Rudolf Steiner Seminar, established by
acolytes in the late 60’s and incessantly expanding during the next thirty years. Most
buildings here are the work of one man, Erik “Abbi” Asmusson (1913-1998) made possible
through his close relationship with “an unusually architecture-conscious commissioner”
(Caldenby 1998:163). Characterised as a synthesis between vernacular building traditions and
the sculptural, organic forms of early German Expressionism, Asmussen’s work has been

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celebrated for its “compassion and humility”, its “holistic” and “spiritual” qualities, but could
equally be dismissed on the grounds of its “nostalgic romanticism, mysticism and aesthetic
clumsiness” – perhaps even lacking in “architectural taste” (Pallasmaa 2000: 281).
Notwithstanding this ambiguity, it is a remarkable example of architecture fused with the
spirit of place. But what precisely is this spirit, and how far does it reach? To me, the
ambiguity inherent to the architecture of Järna signals an even deeper uncertainty: the role of
architecture in materializing and generating that change in sensibilities which is that of an
ideological shift.

The configuration of postmodernism in Sweden

Tracing the history of Swedish postmodernism – here, at the outset, addressed as “both a
stylistic movement and an intellectual sea change that germinated in the post-war period, took
root in the 70s and flourished in the 80s” (Otero-Pailos 2010: xiv) – what rises to the surface
is complexity and contradiction, denial and rejection, and yet a curious albeit involuntary
correspondence between what happens in Sweden and elsewhere at the time. Although
postmodernism was rejected by leading architects (Cf. Pech 2011; Blundell-Jones 2014;
Caldenby 2014: 238, 242), the new ideals that sprung forth during this period confirm, rather
than defer from, the defining traits of postmodernism. Take, for instance, den frihetliga
traditionen (“the libertarian tradition”), launched by the architect Jan Gezelius [year] to
capture a hidden consistency in ‘serious-minded’ Swedish architecture: attention to detail, the
use of natural materials and craftsmanship, paired with a respect for a ‘human scale’, history
and context. Gezelius’ mobilisation was directed against the technocratic, bureaucratic and
industrial machinery answering for the mainstream of Swedish architecture – most notably as
made manifest in the million house programme – but it was also in overt opposition to “Post-
Modernity” and its “flurry of –isms” (Caldenby 1998:161), denounced as a superficial
invasion of academic jargon, artificial formalism and foreign ideas. The libertarian tradition
summed up the band of brothers of Swedish architects – such as Ralph Erskine, Carl Nyrén
and Erik ‘Abbi’ Asmussen – seen as united by their engagements in architecture as a ‘socially
responsible’ art form.

Gezelius’ approach, much as Ralph Erskine’s ‘responsive architecture’ (Blundell Jones 2014),
serve as examples of a re-vitalisation from within, an architecture inspired by local traditions
and contexts. This position sits uncomfortably with, for instance, Charles Jencks’s favouring
of a Neo-Classical style and his emphasis on the double-coded, ironic and hybrid as the
defining elements of postmodern architecture. But disregarding questions of appearance and
style – which were something of an obsession within the Swedish discourse (Hultin 1981:6) –
Jencks’s framing of postmodern architecture as “a living language”, balancing between a
break from modernism and as emerging from it, something that “grows out of previous
traditions even as it criticizes the recent past” (Jencks, 1977:x) makes the Swedish response
look distinctly postmodern. Moreover, Jencks declaration on how postmodern architecture
synthesized professional concerns with public liking in order to forge “a relevant, public art”
(1981:5), involving attention to historical memory, local context and vernacular traditions,
shows how the Swedish resistance to postmodernism in fact served to confirm it. If anything,
the rejection of “categories” and “-isms” that united architects like Erskine, Gezelius and
Nyrén – an attitude confirmed by later historians in reducing postmodernism to a squabble
over style – reveal an anti-intellectual tendency, and a paradoxical inability to go beyond the
surface in interrogating the position of architecture in late-modern welfare society, already in
a state of demise.

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Declared as a return to another, lost and as yet “uncompleted” functionalism, building
activities in Järna peaked during the 70’s and 80’s. Claiming to offer a way out of the
dominant culture, the community evolving around the Rudolf Steiner Seminar was living
proof for how ‘alternative’ ideas on social organisation could provide the grounds for a new
‘meaningful’ architecture. A self-organised micro-utopia, aspiring to self-sufficiency in
everything from food production to education, health, culture and the arts – even
encompassing its own system for wastewater and sewage handling – Järna had already
advanced from the structural logic of the welfare state. I remember being taken here on a
fieldtrip as an architecture student in the late 80’s, and the deep sense of awe, paired with
discomfort, most of us felt in encountering its distinct sectarian atmosphere. Holding hands
before the communal meal and partaking in ritual chanting was not what we had expected.
The exchange with KTH had in fact been on-going since the 70’s, with students collaborating
on the exhibition Miljö som ger liv (“A Life-Nourishing Environment”, 1974-75) on Waldorf
pedagogy, and the hugely successful Den ofullbordade funktionalismen (“The Uncompleted
Functionalism”, 1980) both at Liljevalchs Konsthall in Stockholm. Linking Steiner’s
architectural ideas to a “forgotten” strand of expressive organic modernism – represented by
e.g. Bruno Taut, Erich Mendelsohn and Antonio Gaudí – the latter exhibition forged a context
for the architecture at Järna. By re-writing the history of modern architecture and proposing a
path for the future, Asmussen’s architecture was presented as part of an evolutionary process
of cosmic proportions towards the spiritual fulfilment of humankind. Architects, artists and
(more generally) people who were tired of the “materialism” of mainstream society
pilgrimaged to Järna, and some even settled there for good.

This was also a time of upsurge for Waldorf pedagogy, especially amongst the post-68’
generation. Disappointed with the outcome of political struggles, weary of orthodox Marxism,
these were people yearning for apolitical myth and a new spirituality (Bergom Larsson 2004).
Importantly, anthroposophy differed from other ‘alternative’ life styles in the 70’s, such as the
hippies or the green wave movement, in claiming a scientific foundation for their practices.
The attempt at establishing a “cosmic socialism” in Järna, based on Steiner’s ideas on social
organisation, showed how anthroposophic techniques and everyday practices were part of a
grander vision – that of changing society, little by little, but directly and hands-on (Cf.
Carlgren 1978). Under the charismatic leadership of Arne Klingborg, Fritz Fuchs and Erik
‘Abbi’ Asmussen, Järna maintained a vital exchange with the outside world, not least with
architects and other practitioners keen to “escape standardisation”, most notably Ralph
Erskine and Jan Gezelius (Ferring 2011:103-107, Caldenby 1998:161). Many of them had
met or shared connections to Kristofferskolan, the pioneering school in Waldorf pedagogy in
Stockholm whose first ‘proper’ building had been designed by Asmussen in the late 60’s. It
proved pivotal for his future career.

Järna had a significant influence on the architectural culture during the 70’s and 80’s (Ferring
2011; Pech 2011). Albeit anthroposophy rejects historical periodization – or, truer to fact,
abides to a system of cosmic evolution, passing from a distant age of Saturn into the age of
the Sun, the Moon and the Earth – it was a central element in the configuration of Swedish
postmodernism. By the early 90’s, Erik ‘Abbi’ Asmussen was declared “the hottest architect
in Sweden” (Tarschys 1993). Through journal and newspaper articles, special issues of
Arkitektur, architectural prizes, public exhibitions and series of international workshops and
seminars, anthroposophic ideals were made widely popular and inspired a generation of
Swedish architects. The spiritual content was sometimes met with suspicion, yet Asmussen’s
architecture was widely acclaimed – save for a few, who questioned it as a universal recipe

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for a ‘humanist’ revelation, insisting that the real task at hand was to counter-act the building
industry and its detrimental effects on Swedish architecture (Eriksson 1976).

The architecture of Järna, its ontology and affect

In his monograph on Erik Asmussen (1997), Gary J. Coates stresses the unique character of
his work – predictably said to defy descriptions, categories and labels – and explains how the
buildings must be experienced on site in order to be properly understood. Spatially integrated,
rooted in the landscape, holistic, sculptural and carefully modelled forms, tactile and
kinaesthetic are some of the keywords used. Tracing Asmussens background and Steiner’s
influence on his architecture, Coates succumbs to labelling it as a fusion between “Nordic
Modernism and Organic Functionalism”. The cluster of buildings that had mushroomed
around the Rudolf Steiner Seminar – student dormitories, library, a house for eurhythmics and
music rooms, studios, refectory, hospital, school, garden centre, private housing and, finally,
the large culture house inaugurated in 1992 – are portrayed as members of a family, each one
with a unique character but intimately connected. Asmussen had made a master plan for the
area already in 1966, and was able to work on its gradual completion as the needs and funding
for each new building emerged (Lundahl 2004: 59) – token for an exceptionally permissive
approach taken by the local municipality. Besides formal aspects – vertical windows,
irregular angles, sculptural gestures, anthropomorphic motives (faces and bodies) along with
the characteristic plant-like detailing – the particularly striking aspect of this architecture is
the use of colour.

Colour is an essential element in Steiner’s architectural ideas. His ‘building impulse’ –

alluding to the necessity of linking inspiration to agency, words to deeds, as an individual
response to cosmic summons – posits architecture as a powerful medium for the individual’s
spiritual progression (Cf. Grey 2010; Klingborg 1977, 1986). Anthroposohic architecture
purports to go beyond representation, in that the ‘organic’ means to adhere to principles of
natural growth, structure and metamorphosis rather than copying vegetative motifs. The
importance of inside and outside, inward and outward acting forces, weight and lightness,
heaven and earth, are all formative factors in an exceedingly gestural architectural language
with majestic ontological pretensions (Cf. Coates 1997). According to Steiner, architectural
creation provides a means to unite the material and spiritual worlds and make them
correspond as inscribed in a cosmos of combatting forces. Architectural space does not
merely allow for certain uses, but creates impressions and experiences with the potential to
reveal the spiritual core of objective reality (Grey 2010). In her article on the enduring
relevance of Steiner’s ideas, rhetorically entitled “Rudolf Steiner: Occult Crank or
Architectural Mastermind?”, Fiona Grey refers to a publication emanating from Järna as one
of the few scholarly sources that provides “an intelligent base upon which to build a broader
understanding of Steiner’s relevance for contemporary architecture” (2010: 53-54). But she
foregoes colour in her mention, which arguably was were Järna’s attained its greatest
achievements – not merely applying Steiner’s ideas but considerably improving them
(Wagner 2015). Theories on colour and techniques for painting were transmitted repeatedly at
numerous workshops and seminars in Järna during the 70’s and 80’s. Collaborative
experimentations in colour and painting were integrated with the on-going, volunteer-based
building activities. Materials were supplied by Robygge, a company established for the
production and distribution of pigments, waxes and other binding ingredients that still has a
shop in Järna. Colour in architecture is perhaps the most powerful evidence for the migrant

  4  
capacity of Järna’s aesthetics. For a time, it set the standard for every ‘homelike’ or
‘humanist’ institutional environment – hospital, school, or office – in Sweden.

In her thesis, Ferring analyses in detail how the colour scheme applied to Asmussen’s
buildings relates to Steiner’s principles. Clearly, the notion of a correspondence between
spiritual and material dimensions translates literally into the multifaceted nature of colour as
simultaneously light, matter and sensation. The idea is that by use of pigments and hues one is
able to “tune” spaces and forms in ways that support their “agency”, their capacity to hinder
or enable certain activities – an element that is particularly important for the design of
Waldorf schools. Understanding colours as corresponding with essential existentialist
conditions within an anthropomorphic cosmic order clearly goes beyond the pragmatic
capacity of colour to create sensations or emotions. Explaining the reasons behind the
“strange forms” in Järna, Arne Klingborg wrote:

“Thus one may experience how the architecture speaks to a more reflective, intellectually
observing and awaken layer of our consciousness, how it speaks to a more emotional,
atmospheric layer, perhaps a more dreamy one, and how it speaks to a dynamic field of will
and agency-engaged, where it oftentimes operates directly into something unconscious.”
(Klingborg 1977:20)

Testament to the significance of “forms stimulating initiative” so important for Steiner

(Ferring 2011:112), Klingborg’s words ties in with the logic of affect: the power of sensations
to generate impulses, to enforce or weaken our agency, as elaborated on by Spinoza. There
are elements in Steiner’s thinking that resonates with the vitalist, post-humanist philosophy of
Deleuze and Guattari, and it shows how Steiner in many ways was ahead of his time – albeit
with radically different pre-occupations, frameworks and outsets. His favourite colour of
pink, for instance – denoted as the colour of skin, the essential ‘human’ colour, and an active
demon-balancing force – has explicit racist connotations and opens up to the exceedingly
problematic relationship between anthroposophy and Nazism (Staudenmaier 2003; 2014).
That deeply troubling connection must be foregone in this context, but there is one further
point on to be made. According to Ferring, whose work is based on extensive fieldwork and
interviews in Järna, a ‘correct’ application of colour in architectural space is believed to
conjure up spirits in the room. That is, spiritual entities, of which there are purportedly
numerous different kinds with different allocations, organised at hierarchical levels between
nature and cosmos (Ferring 2011: 116). Given the efforts devoted to colour in Järna,
Asmussen’s architecture was not only performative but literally, spiritually alive.

Colour was in the spirit of postmodernism. Promoted as a return to ‘another’ modernism, a

‘completion’ rather than a critique, the architecture at Järna presented a notion of
advancement by going backwards to an absolute and ahistorical source. This movement was
articulated as a resistance to postmodernism and (in Gezelius’ words) its “superficial
pirouettes”, but even for Jencks, postmodernism was never merely a matter of style but
ultimately a question of regaining architectural “plausibility” (Jencks 1986:7). Striving for
plausibility was central to the numerous activities emanating from Järna, and its means for
doing so were in broad alignment with architectural phenomenology. Framed as a historical
turn, understood as the first phase of postmodernism, Otero-Pailos stresses the political
ambiguity of architectural phenomenology in seeking ground and legitimacy in a “pre-
political discourse” (Otero-Pailos 2010: xxvi). Emerging within a generation of architects in
the post-war years, architectural phenomenology strived for an architecture able to provide
“the stable setting of authentic human experience […] grounding [people’s] sense of self,

  5  
their identity, in particular places” (Otero-Pailos 2010: xviii). As a school of thought, he sees
it as held together by a search for an ahistorical constant with an emphasis on experience as
the essence of architecture – a deeper structuring reality remaining constant over time – thus
ultimately rejecting architecture as formed by the socio-historical context. The inherent
paradoxes to this position – seeking the ‘origins’ of architecture, yet marked by a resistance to
history and theory; prioritizing sensorial experience as a source of knowledge, yet ambivalent
in having to intellectualize it – are partly explained by the fact that it was largely maintained
by architects who saw themselves as practitioners, keeping a distance to professional
academic analysis.2 Moreover, again mirroring occurrences in Järna, Otero-Pailos traces the
religious dimension underpinning architectural phenomenology. Both Norberg-Schulz and
Frampton shared a relation to Catholicism that “remained muted under philosophy”, and
resting on a conviction that the senses are not historically determined, essentialized bodily
experience served as “a point of entry for spiritualist and religious interpretations of
architecture …[against modernism’s] secular objectivity” (Otero-Pailos 2010: xviii). This
“muting” throws light on how the architecture of Järna could have such an influence despite
its underpinning beliefs.

If postmodernism in architecture, as it is often understood, was generated by a crisis in

architectural meaning, Järna responded to this crisis by revitalising a metaphysical,
‘humanist’ and purported ahistorical aesthetics – seen to offer a way out of production-
centred, corporate system and technology-driven late-modernist abstraction. Similar to how
Frampton’s critical regionalism served as a rappel à l’ordre, a derrière garde, anthroposophic
architecture partook in the creation of a postmodernism that, according to Felicity Scott,
served to legitimize architecture’s status quo by constituting “a defensive demarcation, or
reterritorialization, of disciplinary boundaries … aiming to render architecture once again
recognizable” (Scott 2007:3). Yet, defining the cultural position of Järna is complicated once
more in that it was far from the “distinctly post-utopian turn” in a culture driven by
“disenchantment” (Scott 2007:3). In response to a late-modern crisis, Järna was anchored in a
system of eternal and universal values, one where architecture played a seminal role in
preparing the passage towards the dawning age of Vulcanus. An exceptional case of an
architecture fused with ideology, the explicit intension behind Asmussen’s work was to bring
about a shift in sensibilities – and by so doing, little by little, transform society. But did it
succeed?

Järna in context, heralding and succumbing to the neoliberal shift

I have used the term intentional community to characterise Järna – implying a sharing of
senses for which co-housing plays a central role3 – but the cluster of buildings encompassing
the Rudolf Steiner Seminar holds very few permanent residents these days. With the
withdrawal of Waldorf education rights in 2008 – national policies slamming down hard on
spiritual science – much has changed. Buildings intended for a variety of practices, as
founded on Steiner’s numerous ‘impulses’ – mixing work and leisure, merging categories of
private and public, allowing for a variety in volumes – now stand mostly empty. The recently
launched website (www.ytterjärna.se) serving as a portal for visitors to local stakeholders – an
attempt to market the site and commercialize its contents – makes very little mention of the
anthroposophic background, nor of the fact that what binds these enterprises together is the
sharing of a common belief. With the demise of its ‘founding fathers’, the spirit seems to have
gone out of Järna. One would think that the ethics and aesthetics of anthroposophy have been
reduced to a business plan, and that the spiritual and metaphysical aspects of its architecture
have been transformed to devices aimed to manipulate the well-being-seeking urban middle
classes. Dwindling membership to the anthroposophic association points to a movement in

  6  
decline, thus sharing the fate of many other idea-based grass-root movements, like the
scouting association, temperance societies or the Swedish social democrats. Yet for a
movement established on values that have become central in late-capitalistic democracies –
such as individual growth, anti-intellectualism, and sensual experience – this present period of
decline comes as something of a surprise.

If Järna simultaneously confirms and negates ideas about postmodern architecture, it points to
the need to widen the framework of reference for how postmodernism is defined. For neo-
Marxist thinkers, like David Harvey and Fredric Jameson, ‘postmodernism’ constitutes a
historical period characterised by the advancement of capitalism that, through its fusing with
technology and neoliberal politics, brings about a fundamentally new experience of time and
space. Jameson famously calls onto architecture as witness for a foundational turn in the
political economy; a manifestation of the cultural logic of late-capitalism (Jameson 1984).
Even Jencks, early on, hints at an alignment with capitalism, referring to the rise of global
communications, post-industrial society, and the politics of the Third Way (Jencks 1977:43-
44). In Hardt and Negri’s Empire (2000), postmodernism is undoubtedly a neoliberal
phenomenon in breaking down boundaries, celebrating consumption and promoting the
presumed freedom of choice through the provisions of an unregulated market. Mapping its
apparitions across the terrain, postmodernism is thus brought a par with observations that
signal the state of society at large. Whether seen as constituting an epistemological shift
(Lyotard) or as a sign of impotence, a loss of autonomy (Castoriadis), it is mounted as a
prerequisite for and congenial with the coeval process of dismantling the welfare state.
Situating postmodernism within its socio-economic framework allows us to discern how Järna
operates in the midst of a process of social transformation.

Here, we need to remind ourselves that neoliberalism is embedded with ideas of democracy,
freedom, the decentralization of power and the advent of ‘civic society’. As a close-knit and
autonomous community, Järna epitomises these values. In accordance with the principles of
biodynamic farming, the goal had always been set at self-sufficiency as a ‘closed’ social
organism, independent from ‘big society’ – but a closure united with a radical openness in in
that Järna served as a node in a global network of affinities. Despite its strong social bonding,
anthroposophy is not a collective order per se but one strongly centred on the individual, on
freedom of choice and personal enlightenment. In so doing, anthroposophy maintains
practices and carries ideals that were once untimely but are now very timely; such as social
(ethical) banking, ecological (biodynamic) farming, and commercial entrepreneurship. It has
always been dependent on volunteers, ‘crowd-funding’ and private donations, operating
outside the realms of the state and without public funding. The historical development of
Järna is lined by stories of miraculous last-minute salvations and the writing out of blank
checks, consequential with how the vast property around the Rudolf Steiner Seminar was
donated by an inheritor to an industrial fortune.

This intimacy with money has echoes in Steiner’s life, who was accused by Marxists and
socialists in the Weimer republic as “the witch doctor of a rotting capitalism”. On invitation
by the director, he set up his school for workers at the Waldorf factory “after the German
revolutionary workers rising had been crushed” (Staudenmaier 2003:81). Steiner conceived of
money as an essentially spiritual phenomenon, a medium for individual enlightenment. In
distinction to other synthesizing systems (e.g. Marx or Freud) anthroposophy has remained
faithful to its origins, the particular fusion of Christianity, Romanticism and occultism that
was Steiner’s spiritual science (Ambjörnsson & Thörn, 2004; Löfström 1979/2002). To a
large extent, it has failed to advance through self-critique but remains as first written,

  7  
reducing later readings to mere exegetes and commentaries. Therefore, the compatibility
between Steiner’s ideas and the ethos of neoliberalism is anachronistic but not insignificant;
both are intensely individualistic projects, both involving a rejection of class and political
struggles. But the scheme is complicated, yet again, for as based on a critique of mainstream
society, offering an alternative channel for social engagement, anthroposophy constitutes a
model for much of today’s anti-capitalistic practices (in terms of community building, peer-
to-peer economies, ecological farming etc.). It’s difficult to discern between the reactionary or
revolutionary impetus of Järna, much as one may question the strength and extent of
contemporary political struggles. Tracing a line into the present, interrogating the identity and
reach of its spirit, what rises to the fore is a process in alignment with capitalism.

In post-industrial, aestheticized and neoliberal societies, spaces that were once ‘other’ to the
world of production are now ubiquitous, providing the grounds for an economy of affect and
experience. Anthoposophic values and practices that were once a critique, posited as an
alternative to dominant society, have gradually become accepted, assimilated and even
mainstream to a point where the theoretical foundation – its spiritual core – has grown
redundant. Järna has attained tourist value for its “wonky windows, irregular angles and
faceted roof lines”, elements that Grey regards as stereotypical for a banal “Steinerized”
architecture, produced by architects merely “inspired” by anthroposophy rather that abiding to
its doctrines (Grey 2010:47). But things are far more complex. Many of the small-scale
enterprises scattered across the region may be identified by their use of colour and paint,
materials and tectonics, details and shapes, and graphic design. This is a practice unhinged
from theory – an aesthetic practice – that is instrumental in maintaining the coherence of the
community visually, symbolically as well as spiritually. Saying to be “inspired” by
anthroposophy is code word for people engaged in these practices. Rather than implicating a
distance from, or even a reservation towards, central anthroposophic ideas it signifies one’s
belonging to a movement – a culture of ‘doing’ rather than ‘being’.4

But why is the core of this movement in such despair, succumbing to a process of neoliberal
transformations with which it holds so much in common? Järna is more than an absurd
singularity, an exception to the structural rule: it allows us a view on the system itself. My
hypothesis is that evolvements in Järna during the past 50 years correspond to the two phases
of neoliberalism: flourishing during the first, “rollback” phase of dismantling welfare policies,
and succumbing to the second, “rollout” phase of new institutional regulation (Peck et al
2009). At an earlier, “destructive” stage of neoliberal implementation, Järna profited from the
lapses in the welfare state and partook in the process of its dismantling; at the concurrent
“creative phase”, it succumbs to the intensified regulatory mechanisms that rose from its
ashes. The Waldorf schooling system, which explicitly made way for the Swedish free school
reform in 1992, set forth what is now a risk-capitalist funded education market in which it
cannot compete – it’s now a pedagogy in decline. The anthroposophic clinic in Järna is
constantly in conflict with state authorities, the bio-dynamic milk farm was burnt down by
arsonists, and the Rudolf Steiner Seminar runs occasional workshops in Stonehenge
cosmology. Organised anthroposophy has a hard time surviving in the 21st century, and that is
because the outcome of neoliberal policies is not decentralisation, but an increase of corporate
and institutional power through massive bureaucracy. Neoliberalism creates an extreme
centralisation of power, a capitalist apparatus of state, operating beyond the realms of
representational democracy through process of totalising commodification.

Metamorphosis, again

  8  
But rather than addressing Järna as a linear process of rise and decline, there is evidence to
show that Järna is ahead of its time, yet again. Consider, for instance, the new flagship-store
of Saltå kvarn, located in one of the most intensely gentrified parts of inner city Stockholm, in
what – according to Vogue (September 2014) – is “the third hippest neighbourhood in the
world”. Once a local mill for organic grains, whose massive yellow storage house announces
the anthroposophic presence in Järna to by-passers along the E4. Previously sporting a system
of solidarity wages set in agreement amongst the workers; now a registered trademark for the
packaging and distribution of ecological products, with a yearly turnaround of over 155 M
SEK. And what is the story behind Hilma af Klint, the early 20th c Swedish artist, whose work
is now entrusted to a foundation in Järna? Celebrated worldwide as the previously unknown
female pioneer of abstract painting, Hilma af Klint described her work as “maps and manuals
for beginners in the spiritual world”, made in accordance with instructions transmitted by
spirits during séance. The vast collection has been stored in an attic in accordance with the
artists’ last will, until the time was deemed ripe for people to understand its spiritual content.
Although Hilma af Klint’s was more generally into theosophy – she actually stopped painting
after meeting with Steiner in 1908 – evidently there is enough of an overlap here to make it
work also for anthroposophic purposes. A few of her paintings recently featured as T-shirt
prints by the fashion brand Acne. The spiritual content may remain obscure, but after having
been exhibited widely during the last few years its monetary value is considerable. Some sort
of deal has evidently been struck with Acne, presumably to raise money for a higher end: to
salvage the collection and house it permanently in its own private museum. Following the
wildly successful Hilma af Klint exhibition at Moderna Museet (2013), drawing a record-
breaking audience, newspapers were replete with speculations and accusations that her legacy
was being exploited by anthroposophic interests to pour fresh capital into its dying spiritual
movement.

Both cases display a logic of late capitalism – if that term is still applicable to describe the
speed and intensities of the contemporary global market, where values long since have been
unhinged from their original sources and fluctuate in relation to incessantly shifting contexts,
expectations and affects. But maybe the commercialisation characteristic of Järna is not so
much a matter of an emptying out its ideals, but of merging with a greater flow. Now
capitalism works from within, on our senses, hopes and dreams using strategies of
imagineering and experience; rhizomatic and nomadic, on a subliminal level, generating
affect – or “impulse” as Steiner would put it. Perhaps now is when anthroposophy reaches its
full potential for affecting the masses. As plans are taking shape for the Hilma af Klint
museum in Järna – a crystal-like architecture, designed by Snöhetta, intended to express
timeless and universal existentialist values – it will be funded by private donors, in line with
local traditions, and serve to re-ignite the spirit of place.

References

Perry Andersson, introduction to Fredric Jameson, The Cultural Turn: Selected Writings on
the Postmodern 1983-1998 (London and New York: Verso 1998)

Ronny Ambjörnsson & Kerstin Thörn, “Rudolf Steiner – sökare i sin tid”, Birgitta Fritz (ed.)
Inspirerad av antroposofi (Stockholm: Natur och kultur, 2004)

Maria Bergom Larsson, “Waldorfpedagogik – ny tid kräver nya tankar”, Birgitta Fritz (ed.)
Inspirerad av antroposofi (Stockholm: Natur och kultur, 2004)

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Peter-Blundell Jones, “Ralph Erskine – an Organic Architect?”, Architecture Research
Quarterly 18:3, 2014

Claes Caldenby, “A Loyal Architecture? Ralph Erskine and the Nordic Way”, Architecture
Research Quarterly 18:3, 2014

Claes Caldenby (ed.) Att bygga ett land: 1900-talets svenska arkitektur (Stockholm:
Byggforskningsrådet, 1998)

Frans Carlgren, “Vad gör vi när vi slängt Marx överbord?” Balder 1978:11

Gary J. Coates, Erik Asmussen, Architect (Stockholm: Byggförlaget, 1997)

Eva Eriksson, “Sinnliga träpaneler – modenyck för köpstarka?” DN 760403

Mari Ferring, Den levande väggen: färg och arkitektur i svenskt 1970-tal (Möklinta: Gidlunds
förlag 2011)

Maria Gerlofsson, ”Människor är viktigare än pengar”, DN 860814

Fiona Grey, “Rudolf Steiner: Occult Crank or Architectural Mastermind?”, Architectural

Theory Review, 15:1 (2010), p. 43-60

Mikael Hagner, ”Levande hus som talar naturens språk”, DN 860927

Michael Hardt & Antonio Negri, Empire (Cambridge Mass: MIT University Press, 2000)

Olof Hultin, ”Funktionalism, modernism, manierism, neo-neo-klassicism, postmodernism,

rationalism, postmodern klassicism… Rapport från symposium i Helsingfors:
funktionalismen i framtiden?”, Arkitektur 1981:6

Fredric Jameson, “Postmodernism: the Cultural Logic of late Capitalism”, New Left Review
146 (July-August 1984)

Charles Jencks, The Language of Postmodern Architecture (1977) [to be completed]

Tahl Kaminer, Architecture, Crisis and Resusciation: the reproduction of post-Fordism in

late-twentieth-century architecture (Routledge 2011)

Arne Klingborg, Några bilder från Ytterjärna: landskap och verksamheter (Järna: Järna
Tryckeri 1977)

Arne Klingborg, “Rudolf Steiners byggimpuls”, Arkitektur 1984:6

Josefin Larsson, Aiming for Change: Intentional Communities and Ideology in Function
(Örebro universitet: Örebro studies in political science, 2004)

Gunilla Lundahl, “Arkitektur och växande”, Birgitta Fritz (ed.) Inspirerad av antroposofi
(Stockholm: Natur och kultur, 2004)

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Berit Löfström, Fragment av en världsbild: en introduktion till antroposofi (Järna:
biodynamiska föreningen, 1979/2002)

Reinhold Martin, Utopia’s Ghost. Architecture and postmodernism, again (Minneapolis:

University of Minnesota Press, 2010)

Felicity D. Scott, Architecture of Techno-Utopia: Politics after Modernism (Cambridge Mass:

MIT Press 2007)

Peter Staudenmaier, “Antroposofin och ekofascism”, Jesper Jerkert (ed.) Antroposofin: en

kritisk granskning (Stockholm: Leopard förlag, 2003)

Peter Staudenmaier, Between Occultism and Nazism: Anthroposophy and the Politics of Race
in the Fascist Era (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2014)

Rebecka Tarschys, ”Maffigt hus med plats för kultur” DN 930610

Jorge Otero-Pailos, Architecture’s Historical Turn: Phenomenology and the Rise of the
Postmodern (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2010)

Juhani Pallasmaa, book review of Gary J. Coates, Erik Asmussen, Architect (Stockholm:
Byggförlaget, 1997), in Architecture Research Quarterly 4:3 (2000) p. 281-282

Christina Pech, Arkitektur och motstånd: om sökandet efter alternativ i svensk arkitektur
1979-1980 (Stockholm: Makadam, 2011)

Jamie Peck, Nik Theodore and Neil Brenner, “Neoliberal Urbanism: Models, Moments,
Mutations”, SAIS Review vol. XXIX no. 1 (winter-spring 2009)

Christhild Ritter, Annons om ett ledigt hus: hur Järna blev ett centrum för antrosofiska
alternative och verksamheter (Hölö: Vida Vinge förlag, 2000)

Non-published sources (interviews)

Ulf Wagner, artist and member of board of the Hilma af Klint foundation (2015.01.16)

Christoffer Amundin, Asmussens arkitektgrupp, Järna (2013.01.20)

Håkan Zätterlund, Asmussens arkitektgrupp, Järna (2013.01.20)

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1  Järna, here, is not referring to the small town that carries the name but to a regional

development dominated by people “who have chosen to come together, who adhere to a
common ideology or set of values, goals or visions, and who share properties and/or
activities” (Larsson 2004:17).  
2  According to Otero-Pailos, the success of this approach within architectural education as

well as amongst ‘serious-minded’ practitioners served to enforce a divide between theory and
practice and “sowed the seeds of anti-intellectualism into contemporary architectural theory”
(2010: xii).  
3  As defined by the Fellowship for Intentional community:  “Intentional Community include

eco-villages, cohousing, residential land trusts, income-sharing communes, student co-ops,

spiritual communities and other projects where people live together on the basis of explicit
common values.” www.ic.org accessed 2015-01-23  
 
4  Cf. Inspirerad av antroposofi (2004), (in English translation: “Inspired by anthroposphy”),

one of the most recent publications with contributions by leading Swedish scholars and
intellectuals who emphasize the enduring values of anthroposophy, much in defence of the
relentless persecution carried out by the association Vetenskap och Folkbildning (“Science
and Public Education”) http://www.vof.se/ accessed 2015-01-23

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