Nordisk arkitekturforskning, vol. 15, nr. 4, 2002.
Lars Marcus
The epistomological field of architecture is not one that is easily comprehended or generally agreed upon, not even by people working within it. On the contrary it is a field where various forms of knowledge meet and where their specific art and relations seldom is investigated. This often leads to dichotomic statements from advocates of different standpoints, let us say between representatives for an artistic or a scientific approach to the subject, for instance. To deepen the understanding of architectural knowledge and its internal entities and relations as to, among other things, reconcile such unproductive conflicts, can in many ways be said to be the theme in the work of Bill Hillier. I will thus in this first part of my paper, heavily relying on the two first chapters of Hilliers ‘Space is the machine’, called ‘What architecture adds to building’ and ‘The need for an analytical theory of architecture’, try to sort out some of these entities and their relations in the epistomological field of architecture.[1] First, as to point out the poignant need for scientific research within architecture, second, as to point to exactly where such knowledge is useful in architectural practice.
The century of architectural building
As the century closes it is possible to look back on what must be regarded as the most tremendous period in the history of mankind. This is the century when man can be said to finally have conquered the world and totally changed the face of the earth. In a way we can say that man in the beginning of this century inhereted a natural world, where most of its content was so to say given, but in the passing of time transformed it so that what we now are leaving for future generations, is to a very high degree an artificial world, a world constructed by man. Thus, it is possible that if this century in many respects was the century of natural science, the next will be the century of what Herbert Simon calls the science of the artificial.[2] We have learned so much about the given natural world in the passing of this century, but as the artificial to an ever growing degree becomes part of that world we also need to learn more about the artificial.
        One of the major fields in this science of the artificial, is the field of construction and building. Never before has man built as much as in this century, but the difference is not only one of quantity but also one of quality. One of the most noticeable features of construction in this century is the degree of architectural building. By architectural building I simply mean a building that is the result of the work and specific competence of architects. In earlier historical periods such buildings have been marginal phenomena, even if very often it is just the architectural building that has become permanent and noticed by posterity. During previous centuries, the majority of buildings have instead been of the type that can be called traditional or popular or, to use a better expression, vernacular buildings. This means a building that is not based on the type of specialist knowledge represented by architects, but knowledge that is part of a more general cultural tradition. The purpose underlying this distinction is not to make a value judgement of the type that architectural building is qualitatively better than vernacular, but rather to make an important observation following Hillier, namely that the different kinds of buildings derive from different types of knowledge.[3] It is namely first when we become conscious of this fundamental difference that we can begin to understand what is specific to the building of our epoch and furthermore why this entails special problems.
        Another noticeable feature of building during the twentieth century is that for the first time in history, building can be said to have been a failure, naturally not in its entirety, but remarkably often. This may sound like a dismissive remark, but in the following argument I hope to make it less startling. To begin with it is simply difficult to find examples of vernacular building during history that can be alleged to have been a failure. This is virtually a necessary consequence of the very definition of vernacular building, which is a direct spatial answer to local needs and values in the cultural context from which it emerges. Purely technically, there have certainly been flaws that were experienced as problematic, but it is difficult to talk about functional or aesthetic failures in a more fundamental sense. The architectural building of this century, by contrast, has been continuously criticised on both the functional and aesthetic planes, and has even been accused of being a strong contributory cause of many of the social problems shared by the western welfare states. By this I do not wish to make the reverse value statement, that vernacular building is more natural and therefore better than architectural. What I want to do is to draw attention to these facts, as I maintain that it is necessary to take them seriously if we want to develop our knowledge in the science of the artificial when it comes to the special field of construction and building.
The characteristics of architectural building
The reason that architectural building sometimes, but indeed not always, can be said to fail while the vernacular per definition almost never does, is derived from the fact that they emerge from different kinds of knowledge. If we begin by looking more closely at these types of knowledge, it also becomes possible to arrive at a better understanding of what I mean by failure in this context.
        The vernacular building can be described as a type of knowledge that derives from handwork which is slowly developed over generations through the utilisation of a bank of practical knowledge that is transferred from individual to individual through practical expression. Proven solutions with a known outcome are transferred over time with changes being introduced slowly, the practical expression of which is tested so as to be adopted or rejected. This does not mean that developmental leaps dependent on impressions from outside or on internal innovations do not occur, but rather that to an overwhelming extent it is a question of a slow development of knowledge based on proven experience. The development of such knowledge furthermore occurs in a given social and cultural context, which entails a direct reflection of the needs and values established within it. The social order, in this way, receives a physical expression in the spatial order and the opposite, the spatial order supports the social order. We can even say that the spatial order is one of the more important means by which the social order reproduces itself.[4] The close ties between both of these orders in vernacular building enable me to dare to claim that in principle the vernacular building is never a failure, but in its given context is always satisfying. We thus see great similarities between knowledge in the vernacular building which we usually call skills or techne, that is, knowledge of how one does something.[5]
        To be reliant on given traditional forms is nevertheless almost a negation of architecture, since architecture to so great a degree is valued on the basis of its capacity for innovation and the formulation of new solutions. Architectural knowledge is expressed almost in the opposite way compared to the vernacular, namely in its capacity to be creative rather than derivative. As Hillier points out, to copy is one of the greatest tabus in architecture — he is not speaking of conscious loans — while it in many cases is exactly what is looked for in the vernacular.[6] At a deeper plane this difference is concerned with a greater consciousness in architectural knowledge with the ideas from which it emerge. We can very well imagine that even architects work through deriving ideas from older types of buildings; the difference being that they are conscious of what they are doing. For them it is thus a question of a conscious choice among various approaches. Such conscious choices between different theoretically possible options are, however, just what does not occur in vernacular building.[7]
        This also tells us something about the way that architectural knowledge is transmitted. It differs namely from the vernacular in the way that it is not transmitted through practical experience from individual to individual, even if this also takes place, but largely with the assistance of theoretically formulated ideas. Underlying practically all greater architectural innovation during the twentieth century are more or less interlinked theories, which function to inspire architectural work to take new directions — even if perhaps the realised constructions related to these theories plays an even greater role. What is typical for such theories or constructions is a lack of ties to a clear social context. On the contrary, what is innovative often consists of transferring and applying ideas from one context to another, or setting parts of different contexts into new wholes. Architectural knowledge is thus based on ideas or theoretically based in a way that we cannot say applies to the vernacular. To put it in Bill Hilliers unhesitating words: ‘architecture is theory applied to building’.[8] This means that architects can be said to work at a theoretical level, that they make innovative choices that do not simply emerge from the cultural context in which they exist or from the practical tradition to which they belong, but that they also borrow from other contexts or develop solutions along new principles. We can thus, in distinction to the vernacular, see how architectural knowledge resembles what we usually call scientific knowledge or episteme, that it is not simply knowledge of how one does something, but also of why one does it.[9]
The problem with architectural building
At the same time it is exactly here where the problems arise with a building based on architectural knowledge. It is, as we saw, a form of knowledge that is proficient at generating new spatial orders or setting existing ones into new contexts. Nevertheless, for obvious reasons, there is a lack of an experiential basis for such solutions of the kind that exist in vernacular knowledge. This makes it difficult to predict how the solutions that architects work with will be accepted and function in the social orders in which they are applied. The links between these two orders is thus, in contrast to the situation in the vernacular, very weak. This is the reason I think that buildings during the twentieth century, which have to such a high degree been of the architectural type, have encountered so many failures. In the social and cultural contexts in which such buildings have been erected, the aesthetic ideals which they represent have often been obscure and their functional solutions directly unsuitable. The strength of architectural knowledge thus lies in its generative capacity, while it demonstrates a noticeable weakness in foreseeability or predictive capacity.[10]
        In vernacular building, the opposite condition tends to apply. As we saw, it avoids predictive problems largely through relying on known solutions with familiar outcomes. The internal development, which nonetheless takes place, is simultaneously characterised by slow and small steps, so that what is new and its outcome can be tested by degrees and become known. However, vernacular knowledge has difficulties in being generative, or in renewing and developing itself in a more radical sense and often has conservative features. As we saw, it relies on knowledge that in principle is unconscious of its theoretical base and thus has difficulties in discovering alternative possibilities and ways of relating. Knowledge in the vernacular building thus, in direct contrast to architectural knowledge, has its strength in its predictive capacity and its weakness in the generative.
        It is, however, important to recognise that these lines describe general conditions. There is a quieter development of knowledge, like that in the vernacular, even in architectural building, just as developmental leaps occur in the vernacular and not only in the architectural. My intention in this discourse is to point to the general differences though, not to describe the nuances.
The need of theory for architectural building
Something which architectural knowledge appears to lack is thus better knowledge, or even a theory, of the relations between spatial orders and social orders. This may appear to be surprising with regard to Hilliers statement, that what distinguishes architectural knowledge is precisely its theoretical approach. Yet theory can imply many things; there is thus reason to look more closely at what is meant by theory in this context.
        Hillier distinguishes between two types of theory within architecture, which in addition are closely linked to two elements of what architects actually do and are expected to be good at, two elements which we further have already touched on.[11] We can with an explanatory simplification say that architects in design processes primarily do two things, on the one hand they derive architectural solutions — the generative phase — and on the other they make predictions about the outcomes of these solutions — the predictive phase. In practical work a continuous interaction naturally takes place between these elements. What is important is to see that architects need theoretical support in both these elements, but above all that the theory in both cases must be of different types. In the first case, it is theory that helps architects to see how the architectural solutions they are working with can be developed, renewed, put together in another way or be replaced by new ones. Such theories can be characterised as speculative theories in a positive sense, that is theories that attempt to see the assumptions in a new way — or theories of possibility as Hillier puts it.[12] Such theories we know amongst other things from art, where the various manifests of modernism are good examples.
        Yet architects also need theories to help them with the other elements, namely the predictable outcome of the architectural forms and solutions which they suggest. To make such predictions, there are only two ways to take, either to refer to previous examples, or to refer to some principle.[13] Here we can see the strengths of vernacular buildings: they can always follow the first path and refer to earlier examples within the building tradition to which they belong. In principle, the outcomes of the solutions which are used are always known. Within architecture this is impossible as one generally wants to create exactly that which one has not seen before. Nevertheless, to a great degree, architectural work also refers to previous examples, but this is problematic since it is only possible in relation to details which can be checked and transferred from one situation to another. Architectural buildings as a whole are per definition virtually unique, especially if we weigh in the fact that they are often executed in very varied contexts. This means that as soon as we come to situations that are a little more complex, it is difficult to refer to earlier examples since they simply do not exist. What remains is to refer to a principle, that is to say, to some form of architectural theory.
Traditional architectural theory
Hillier further points to the fact that if we look more closely at what is generally called architectural theory, we shall see that it predominantly consists of theories which are intended to be supportive during both processes described above, but which above all have had success in the generative phase while having serious problems in the predictive.[14] This is because architectural theory such as we know it from Alberti to Koolhaas has generally been of a speculative type, which as we have seen can provide support particularly in the generative phase of the architects’ work. Yet speculative theories cannot be a support in the predictive phase since we are no longer interested in how something might be, but want to know how something actually is or will become. This phase in the work of the architect quite simply needs the support of theory in a more rigorous sense, namely scientifically based or analytical theory.[15] Such analytical architectural theory is, however, unusual and has often come to be replaced by speculative theory extended beyond its limits. We can thus say that architectural knowledge often acquires a pseudo-epistemic character, which means that it tries to explain why something is done, but on the whole does this on shaky grounds.
        To exemplify somewhat, we can take Louis Sullivan’s sentence form follows function as an example of a compressed type of theory that has had great significance for architectural building during the twentieth century. This sentence is of a clearly speculative type, as it helps us to look at architectural form in a special way. This makes it a theory that can provide very sound support to an architect who is concerned with generating ideas for suitable forms for an architectural problem; as such it has also been particularly fruitful. However, it has very little to tell us when it comes to predicting the outcome of these forms even if this sentence can beguile us into believing that a function almost automatically leads to a relevant form, and that this form in turn leads to the desired function. This, however, would be to stretch the theory beyond its carrying capacity. Should this occur, its limits in these respects are revealed.
        To take an example from the world of artefacts, we can see how the idea of differentiating between the functions of walls into two systems: on the one hand bearing and on the other spatially dividing — in the form of pillared decks and light walls — has been a particularly fruitful idea that has facilitated freer forms and new opportunities emerging within the building trade during the twentieth century. Yet to link this idea with predictability of the outcome, namely that such a separation in some way will lead to greater flexibility, which is often maintained, is something that experience has shown to be considerably more problematic. Such potential flexibility has seldom acquired the significance for which one had hoped. We face once again a speculative idea, which in a generative respect has been very successful, but which in a predictive respect has created both misunderstanding and mistakes.
        In a predictive respect, traditional architectural theory has thus generally been weak and has not managed to provide suitable support. With the lack of both previous examples to be embedded in and reliable theory, it is just in the predictive respect that architectural building can more specifically be said to have failed.
The relation of theoretical knowledge to the architect’s experiential knowledge
Despite the obvious lack of knowledge in this regard, there is considerable scepticism, not least among architects, querying whether the building up of such knowledge and theory development is possible or even desirable. That such a build-up does not seem to be possible, may quite simply depend on our seeing so little of a successful theory; that it is not desired, may depend on it appearing as though the intention behind such theoretical development would be to replace the architect’s creative work with researched norms and algorithms. This is, however, a naive perception and again involves the confusion of different kinds of knowledge. Scientific knowledge always speaks at the level of principles or how something relates in general, while the architect’s knowledge is, to a great degree, experiential knowledge, which identifies what to do in a specific case. Here we are talking of a third form of knowledge then, namely discernment or fronesis, that entails knowledge which does not deal so much with how or why one does something, but rather when one should do it.[16]
        This means that no kind of knowledge can be replaced by any of the others, on the contrary, they are remarkably dependent on each other. Though each individual case is unique, this does not mean that in these cases knowledge of a more general kind cannot be applied. At the same time, general knowledge cannot show us how it should be applied in the individual case. In practice, architects always work at both these levels, as what they actually do is to apply generally applicable knowledge in a specific form in the individual case; the relevant question being how well-founded the general or theoretical knowledge actually is. Scientific knowledge thus provides support in the form of principles of knowledge when one’s own experience of earlier examples no longer suffices to give the requisite answers. Responsibility for how such knowledge is applied in the individual case rests with the architect and as always, it is exactly here where his/her skills are revealed.
        The development of scientifically based knowledge and theory building concerning the predictive phase in architectural work is thus, not least against the background of the many failures of this century, a necessity to be able to promote the architects’ competence in the future. Such a development ought in no way to hamper the creative freedom of the architect, but only to define the field of what is possible, that is, to give the architect’s creativity precision and strength.
References
Bill Hillier: Space is the machine, Cambridge 1996.
José Luis RamÃrez: Skapande mening (Creative Meaning), (Nordplan Dissertation 13:2), Stockholm 1995.
Herbert Simon: The Science of the Artificial, Cambridge Mass. 1969.
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Notes
[1]Â Bill Hillier: Space is the machine, Cambridge 1996.
[2]Â Herbert Simon: The Science of the Artificial, Cambridge Mass. 1969.
[3]Â Hillier, 1996, 15-53.
[4]Â Hillier, 1996, p. 43.
[5] Here and in the following I use these concepts of knowledge as used by José Luis RamÃrez: Skapande mening (Creative Meaning), (Nordplan Dissertation 13:2), Stockholm 1995, p. 49-110.
[6]Â Hillier, 1996, p. 17.
[7]Â Hillier, 1996, p. 46.
[8]Â Hillier, 1996, p. 51.
[9]Â RamÃrez, 1995, p. 17-48.
[10]Â Hillier, 1996, p. 65.
[11]Â Hillier, 1996, p. 59-65 and 441-445.
[12]Â Hillier, 1996, p. 63.
[13]Â Hillier, 1996, p. 62.
[14]Â Hillier, 1996, p.65-68.
[15]Â Hillier, 1996, p. 57.
[16]Â RamÃrez, 1995, p. 111-186.