The Vitruvian Crisis: On Aesthetical Appraisal of Architecture
Pedro Marques de Abreu, Universidade Técnica de Lisboa
[email protected]
Dis-moi (puisque tu es si sensible aux effets de l’architecture), n’as-tu pas observé, en te promenant dans
cette ville, que d’entre les édifices dont elle est peuplée, les uns sont muets, les autres parlent, et d’autres
enfin, qui sont les plus rares, chantent? – Ce n’est pas leur destination, ni même leur figure générale, qui les
animent à ce point, ou qui les réduisent au silence.
(Valery, 1996: 29)
Problem and Antithesis
Architecture is an odd thing, mysterious in its nature. For some it is just a technique among others,
which enables humankind to perform certain tasks. For others it is unquestionably an art, yet a less pure art, as
it suffers from the fact it has a practical purpose (e.g. Schopenhauer, 1969, §41-52). Still others recognise in
Architecture the utmost expression of human culture (Ruskin, 1989; Broch, 1965), full of poetical
reverberation.
Even amongst architects, the matter is not settled. Hannes Meyer, for instance, says architecture is a
biological, functional process, not an aesthetic process (Meyer, 1928 as cited in Benedetti, 1995:55,145); Le
Corbusier, on the contrary, sees architecture as “the masterly, correct and magnificent play of volumes
brought together under light” (1981: XXVII); Frank Lloyd Wright (1953: 34) presents a rather simple, yet
rich in consequences, portrayal:
“The land is the simplest form of architecture. Building upon land is natural to man as to other animals
[…]. Insofar as he was more than an animal his buildings became what we call architecture.”
In spite of such divergent views, the problem of knowing what the essence of Architecture is, should
not be considered a minor one. Although there is all this confusion about its nature, there have never been any
doubts about its necessity to human living. Architecture belongs to our daily life: we cannot live without it.
Therefore, it would be useful for the common citizen and the architect to know „what architecture is‟,
so the former could make more conscious choices, and the latter could do it better.
Because we cannot be wrong about Architecture...
Architecture‟s problem is an a priori problem, meaning that the knowledge about „what architecture
is‟ seems to have been given to us, in the sense that it dwells in us from the moment we were born, and its
core cannot be changed (although it evolves). But only in the presence of a piece of architecture – using it,
experiencing it – does its quality or the lack of it become quite obvious. One of the most striking episodes,
which prove this, is the Pruit-Igoe event (see Soczka, 2005; Nasar, 1992; Jenks, 1977).
What the Pruit-Igoe event shows is that the architects, the promoters and even, maybe, some of the
inhabitants in the beginning, were not aware of the nature of Architecture; they did not have, at a conscious
level, the knowledge about the expected experience of Architecture.
The Pruit-Igoe scheme was built according to the most sophisticated understanding of Architecture
in the mid-twentieth century in the United States: fourteen-storeyed blocks in purist style, observing Le
Corbusier‟s urbanistic beliefs in „sun, space and greenery‟, with high-raised streets, separated pedestrian and
vehicular services, recreational spaces and several other amenities; its aesthetics and functionalism were
supposed to inspire hygienist behaviour in the inhabitants. And according to that understanding it was such a
successful achievement it won the American Institute of Architects‟ award, in 1951.
But people do not want to be taught about essential things.
Dwelling is an essential natural human activity (Heidegger, 2001), which people are not able to
change (or do not want to change); people want places in which they are allowed to dwell, naturally and
freely. Thus, in spite of all the awards, in spite of all the money spent on the rehabilitation of the Pruit-Igoe
compound, people did not fit into it, and vandalized it to such an extent that it had to be knocked down.
The Pruit-Igoe and likewise events (see for instance Soczka, 2005:115 and Speller et alt, 2002) show
that architecture is not only a well constructed, functional and stylish building. The observance of the
vitruvian principles is not enough.
Vitruvius (first century B.C.) is considered the first theorist of architecture. He presents architectonic
quality as a combination of three aspects: construction quality (firmitas), functional quality (utilitas) and
aesthetical quality (venustas) (bk.1, ch.3, §2). In Modern and Contemporary Age these principles became the
goal of erudite architecture. It is usually assumed that firmitas and utilitas operate as a previous condition to
architecture and that it is venustas that makes the difference between a straightforward building and a piece of
architecture (e.g. Siza, 1987). We know empirically that what distinguishes architecture from non-architecture
does not confine itself to a construction and/or a functional issue: sometimes we prefer – and we label it as
architecture – a less well-constructed building or a less functional one (we can see this clearly, as far as old
buildings are concerned). We assume that this is because of aesthetics – it seems that we have a penchant for
more beautiful items. But it is not so, since occasionally we fancy a less beautiful example. We become aware
of this if we consider traditional or popular architecture: it is frequently the simpler, less erudite, less stylish
buildings that we consider better pieces of architecture, in which we would rather live in.
The vitruvian triad does not define the nature of architecture, it does not help find out what
architecture is or is not – we can think of lots of things that satisfy the vitruvian triad and are obviously not
architecture items: cars, appliances, gadgets, for instance. Pretence architecture, made according to the
vitruvian set of goals, does not accomplish the expected experience of architecture.
No, we all know what architecture is, we all know the difference between a straightforward building
and a piece of architecture, in spite of not being an objective difference: human experience, a specific
identifiable human repercussion, is required. It has nothing to do with constructive, functional or aesthetical
quality. It has nothing to do either with interior space (Zevi, 1977) – huge sculptures can have interior space
without providing architectural experience... The recent trend of “installations”, made with sole artistic
purposes – not with architectonic ones – proves it. We all know what architecture is, but only by experiencing
it.
Because we know what architecture is, and we may not be taught about it, in order to prevent events
such as Pruit-Igoe, we must try to find out some parameters the expected experience of architecture fits into.
Experiencing
Irreplaceableness
The first thing we may notice about experiencing a piece of architecture is its necessity – we do feel
we need that particular piece of architecture (e.g. Milligan, 1998 as cited in Speller, 2005). Architecture, like a
small sort of other objects, does not present itself as a tool – something which serves a purpose, the reason of
existence of which depends on its practical use, and that may be easily replaced by another object which
performs the same task, a tool of the same sort (Arendt, 1970). There is a small sort of objects every one of
which has an individual value and stands for itself in the realm of existence, although it may be included in
one or more categories. Each one of these objects cannot be replaced by another one, even if this one belongs
to the same category. Its disappearance gives rise to a sense of absence, a grief (Fried, 1963 as cited in
Proshansky, Fabian & Kaminoff, 1983). This is the case of art objects and antiques, other than architecture.
A piece of art stands in the realm of human existence, first of all because of the uniqueness of its
form (Pareyson, 2002): a puzzling form, as it serves no purpose, and yet it is required (Arendt, 1970); it has a
“significance” (Langer, 1953) i.e. a repercussion on the inner self of who experiences it, so it has become
irreplaceable – that is how we can identify a piece of art, from experience.
The case of antiques is a bit more complex, since an antique was not, in its primeval being, unique.
An antique belonged primarily to the world of tools: it existed to perform a task. As time went by it occurred
in it an extraordinary evolution – some of this old tools simply became old and ineffective, and were
discarded as trash; but others, after losing its value as a tool, have acquired another value, which gave them an
existential repercussion – like the art objects – and also made them irreplaceable. In the same way as with a
piece of art, a part of us dwells on our antique objects, and if we lose them, if we get outside of its
companionship, a kind of longing will arise in us: a sense that something is missing, something essential,
something required for me to be fully myself.
We cannot know in advance which of the present tools will become antiques. In both cases –
antiques and art objects – it is not a question of material, of a manufacturing process or other, but a question
of a particular existential repercussion, which makes us recognize the irreplaceable quality in them.
When we stand in front of architecture, when we experience a piece of architecture, we sense this
irreplaceable character – that building cannot be replaced by another building which has the same use
(another house or another office, or another street or town) even if we can admit that the new building will be
better built, more functional, and even more beautiful. The place where I teach, even my house
(unfortunately) can be replaced – they are not architecture –; the “Torre de Belém” and the “Jerónimos” (the
most famous sixteenth century Lisbon monuments) or my parents village house (where I used to spent
holidays) cannot be replaced – they are architecture.
352
3 The concept “hearty welcoming” was proposed by Levinas (1988) to explain the effect of the home –
but not necessarily „home‟ as a material thing. Then Crippa (1998:34) argued that the Levinas reasoning about the
„home‟ could be applied to architecture.
Sadly, because the quality that makes architecture is not an objective one (in the sense it cannot be
identified by a machine or an animal [Bergson, 1946]), but depends on a particular subjective experience,
sometimes it is very difficult to know what architecture is and is not (like in the antiques case) and we will
know that such a building, square or garden was a piece of architecture only after it has gone – by the longing
caused by its disappearance (Fried, 1963 as cited in Speller, 2005).
You may have noticed that, if the description we have made of the art, antiques and architecture
phenomena is true, we may say that this sort of objects act upon us in a person-like fashion – its stance is
quasi-human –; they do not matter by what they do but by what they are, and we feel inappropriate to treat
them otherwise. But if that is the case – like in the person issue – we feel obliged to know it in its
individuality, in order to establish the correct intercourse. Like in the person‟s case, the right relation is not
established according to predetermined categories, but it is unique and determined by the uniqueness of the
object of that relation – that person, that piece of art, that antique, that piece of architecture. Therefore, the
next steps towards the definition of the experience of architecture will be to establish the uniqueness of
architecture amongst persons, art and antiques; and to find out the way to discover the irreplaceableness of
each piece of architecture.
Though complex, we cannot avoid this task, and take the secure but passive stance that recognizes
architecture only in the presence of it and by its experience; because in order to produce or to choose
architecture we need to have in advance an idea of what architecture is.
Hearty Welcoming
If I look upon the array of architectural experiences I have made and which I recall, I am able to say
that, other than the experience of irreplaceableness, all those pieces of architecture provide me with another
kind of experience: hearty welcoming, comprehension... 3 And, which is more, I cannot think of another kind
of object (even pieces of art or antiques) from which I get the same kind of feeling. In all those experiences of
pieces of architecture – to which I would return gladly (so the core of the past experience was not a formal
novelty) – there was a physical involvement and a sense of sym-pathy, of understanding, towards a part of my
Self; a feeling of communion with an aspect of my weltanschauung. It could be said it was an experience of
comfort or cosiness, but not exclusively bodily.
Elaborating on this notion, I may say that each intrinsic architectural experience has something of the
Quasimodo experience of the Cathedral. In his unrepeatable words Victor Hugo (1917, bk. IV, ch. III) speaks
acutely of «a certain indescribable bond of intimacy», «a sort of mysterious and pre-existent harmony
between this being and this edifice», a «so profound and instinctive sympathy, so many material affinities», a
«singular union – symmetrical, direct, consubstantial almost – between a human being and an edifice»;
«Notre Dame had been to him [...] the egg, the nest, his home, his country, the universe».
Of course you could argue that this is a rather aprioristic and subjective understanding, which leaves
outside it quite a few buildings usually considered as architecture. It is true but, as we have seen, there is no
possibility of an objective definition of architecture. Architecture is a relation between a space and a human
being, and only by the subjective repercussion of the object can it be recognized. Therefore, the issue here can
only be to identify such a repercussion. It seems to me that the repercussion defined as „hearty welcoming‟
achieves the identification of an experience that belongs to the buildings we call architecture and to no other
objects, to which the quality „architecture‟ would be inappropriate. Moreover, the advantage of this
understanding is that it is precise in stating what the experience of architecture should be, and therefore it is
an effective and useful definition when one comes to choose the place where to live or in stating the ultimate
goal of the architectural design process.
Several authors support this understanding and provide us with some more perspectives, which
enable us to get a more accurate picture of the meaning of Architecture.
To begin with they make us understand that this experience of „hearty welcoming‟ comes from a
physical entity we may call territory or space, and thus architecture is this meaningful relation between a
person and a piece of territory or space (Gregotti, 1996; Heidegger, 2001; Norberg-Schulz, 1996). (This
allows us to consider the gardens and the simplest transformation of the territory – like laying a towel on the
beach – inside the realm of architecture.)
Then there is a set of aspects that state the conditions of the welcoming: the space must make us feel
protected, preserved, safekept (Heidegger, 2001). The sense of protection, though resulting from an action of
space, also affects time: inside architecture we may say that time stops, that time is ours, it totally responds to
us and is no longer felt as a stress factor, as an instrument of pressure upon the person‟s life (Broch, 1965).
This effective sense of protection – a sort of physical and psychological comprehension – Eliade tells us that
his hermeneutics of the History of Religions plunge into the collective unconscious, so they should not be
interpreted as ancient history anecdotes, but as a description of a contemporary human feeling towards space
and territory (Eliade, 1997c). In fact, his descriptions, after getting over the positivistic prejudice against
religion, have an impressive clarifying effect onto the understanding of the relation between man and space.
makes a well-being, a sense of peace and a sense of freedom possible (Heidegger, 2001). The last set
of aspects tells us about the effects on the inner self. The sense of well-being, peace and freedom permits man
to be himself and to find himself (Heidegger, 2001). “Recollection refers to a welcome” (Levinas, 1988:138):
it is the hearty welcoming that allows the recollection, i.e. the contact with the I, the unification of the outer
and inner being (That is why Ruskin [1989:VI,§1] says architecture is a pre-requisite to any aesthetical
experience – since without the feeling of being protected we do not allow ourselves to strip out of our
defences and plunge into the deep commotion art produces.)
The space which permits the hearty welcoming takes then an important place in life – it is, says
Levinas (1988) the pre-condition to the whole living – it is its departing point; it is from it that man launches
himself on the apprehension of the unknown world and it is in it that he lays down and gives reference to the
outside world experiences. It acts as a lighthouse as much as a warehouse of the human experiences.
This kind of expansion of the self onto the territory, which is afforded by the „hearty welcoming‟,
makes it possible to architecture also to act in re-presentation of the self (Cooper, 1971).
The same chain of events was found by Eliade (1990, 1991, 1997a, 1997b, 1999) when he studied
the relation ancient peoples entangled with their own territory4. For those, life is only possible on Cosmos, i.e.
a place with significance; outside there is only Chaos where human beings cannot dwell in, be properly
human. The central place – usually the temple or the totem –, enables communication between the Earth and
Heaven and Earth and Hell. Only in the vicinity of this metaphysical event is man wholly himself, because
human existence requires meaning and meaning is achieved only in the sight of a relation with the whole.
Only this meaningful existential relation provides life with a destiny, a common wholesome destiny to men
and things, i.e. an achievement of sense in time (between Past, Present and Future) and space (among men
and with things). This is Cosmos, which affords meaningful life. The central place, by its intersection of
metaphysical levels of existence, irradiates Cosmos, moulds Chaos into Cosmos, by which men, things, space
and time acquire significance and the actual possibility of being and having mutual intercourse. For that
reason the central place acts as a focus of reference for space, but also for time (since it was by the act of
founding the temple that meaningful time – history – began), and as a model for current dwelling (which
becomes architecture and/or a monument) and for daily life rhythms (which become ordered and ritualized).
It seems to me that the notion of „hearty welcoming‟, and its connected set of experiences, when
related to space and territory, states what is common to all architectural experiences, and identifies them.
Even so, the condition of „irreplaceableness‟ was not yet fulfilled: if each and every piece of architecture only
produced this generic sort of „hearty welcoming‟ it could be argued they were replaceable among them: thus
the sense of „hearty welcoming‟ must be different and humanly required in relation to each piece of
architecture (as with each human relation); each place should provide a specific topological hug. Of course we
cannot state in advance the particularity of each of such hugs, but, to complete the task we commit ourselves
with, we must provide a way to find it.
Gesture and Significance
The first thing to be said about architecture is that it speaks solely through form (Pareyson, 2002).
Then, that form is only perceived by human perceptive systems (Gibson, 1983). Architecture uses the whole
human perceptive systems to convey its message (other than the visual system, the auditory system, for
instance, is very important: it tells us how insulated we really are from the exterior, by the acoustical
insulation of outside sound, and, acting as a kind of sonar, perceiving the echo, gives us information about the
solidity of the material which separates the inside from the outside). Furthermore we must notice a human
experience occurs only when some kind of sense or meaning is attained. In architecture‟s case, because of its
quasi-human repercussion, rather than meaning we should speak of significance or meaning with an
existential character (Langer, 1953).
The meaningful aspect a piece of architecture begins to convey us – by the means of its form and
through the subject-person perceptual systems – is its „tone‟. Like in music, we can immediately identify if it
is a sad or joyful place, if it demands a formal attitude or only a casual one, and so on.
The architectural environment also prompts motions upon the subject-person: it firmly suggests a
regulated walking and looking motion through it – again, like a kind of music rhythm.
When the tone (or tones) and the rhythm of a place merge into each other we get a „melody‟. A
melody tells a story, it already expresses a meaning. In this story, the subject-person is the leading actor.
The subject-person is induced to a sort of a slow dance movement by the melody architecture plays.
Through its tone and its rhythm, a place produces in the human subject who experiences it a complex of
motions and emotions, which, as a series of events in a tale or novel, convey significance. I call this complex
of motions and emotions „gesture‟. „Gesture‟ is specific to each piece of architecture; by it we get its unique
sense and significance. „Gesture‟ allows us to determine why such a piece of architecture is perceived as
irreplaceable (after acknowledging its architectural nature through the sense of hearty welcoming) by
determining the specific human correspondence it conveys, by perceiving its particular human kind of hug.
Of course the making of sense of a piece of architecture is a response and, as so, we have to first
admit a question, or a problem, in the subject-person who experiences architecture: some sort of suffered
absence (a self-sufficient person will not be able to understand the sense or significance of a place because, in
spite of being able to feel the motion and emotion an environment induces, they cannot make sense of it – but
we could also notice that a self-sufficient person, or a person in a self-sufficient attitude, will not be able to
relate with art and antiques; sensibility is always required).
Conclusion
An aesthetical appraisal of architecture is fundamental, and without it we cannot understand the
purpose of architecture and the service it provides amongst all the human activities. Yet it cannot be an
aesthetical appraisal of an indistinct sort. The aesthetical value of architecture is never a surplus adjoined after
the functional requirements have been solved. The identity and reason of being of each piece of architecture
lies firstly in its „hearty welcoming‟, as the pre-condition to all other human activities, and then in its specific
„significance‟, its existential meaning. Without perceiving its irreplaceable character and attaining its
particular welcome sense – aesthetically and empirically – we will not be able to relate properly with
architecture. Thus, the aesthetical appraisal of architecture is to discover the unique and needed human
repercussion a piece of architecture conveys through its form.
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