Abstract
The dialectical relationship
between 'theory' and 'practice' is perhaps nowhere as rich,
ambiguous and complex as it is in the field architecture. This is only natural
for a discipline that is very broad in scope, encompassing everything from
highly abstract geometry to the most primordial and basic of human needs.
Nevertheless, in contemporary architecture it is becoming increasingly possible
to perceive a widening split or polarization into either ‘theoretical’ or
‘practical’ modes of operation. On the one hand, there is a rarefied ‘art
world’ architecture that is highly theorized and geared toward the consumption
of images in the media or the museum; on the other is a more typical ‘real
estate’ architecture geared to more direct material consumption. However, when
studied in a larger context, these polarized realms can actually be seen to be
intricately bound within an ‘economy’ in which the value of prestige and
distinction is traded. A problem in this order of things is that architectural
theories and ideas attempting to address pressing social and environmental
issues, for example, are not in a viable position to be ‘put into practice’ as
they do not lend themselves quite so readily to commodification in the form of
symbolic or material goods.
This paper will examine the
polarization of architecture into seemingly autonomous specializations within
the global context of the cultural pressures of postmodernism and late
capitalism. Using Pierre Bourdieu's model of ‘cultural’ and ‘economic’ forms of
capital, it will show that ‘theoretical’ and ‘practical’ modes of architecture
are not as independent as they appear, but are in fact interdependent. Finally,
the paper will briefly discuss some relevant concepts from the ‘pragmatic
theory’ movement in the field of philosophy, which calls for an end to theory
itself, as well as Donald Schön's concept of ‘reflection in action’ in order to
explore some possible options.
Two Architectures
The word ‘architecture’ is becoming
used increasingly as a metaphor in the general language while, at the same
time, ironically, the institution of architecture is itself becoming more and
more invisible. Today, we are more likely to hear about the ‘architecture’ of
computer software than that of our cities, or to read about the ‘architect’ of
a political treaty rather than that of a building. Within the institution of architecture,
meanwhile, we hear chiefly two refrains, each by now a cliché: that of the
architectural practitioner complaining that architecture schools are not
teaching students skills that they need to know in order to ‘survive in the
real world’, as it were; or, conversely, we hear the refrain of the student or
instructor of an architecture school in which a local practitioner is berated
as an unimaginative ‘hack’ who ‘can’t design’. There are clearly two sets of
values in operation here, each with their own aesthetic. Indeed, it can be
quite striking sometimes to compare the kinds of images produced in schools
with those that circulate in the profession, let alone the public. One almost
has to ask if there aren’t essentially two architectures: one being that of
professional practices while another is that of academies; or one whose main
concern is that of securing a contract for another office building in Edge
City, while the other is concerned more with recent debates in the Sorbonne or
the latest publication from Éditions de Minuit. The architectural glossies,
meanwhile, attempting to cover a middle ground, are busy portraying the latest
celebrity architect’s overdesigned art museum, usually a spectacular signature
piece that doesn’t even look remotely similar to what gets built for the most
part today. The question this paper asks is whether there are essentially two
architectures, and if there is a polarization between the two along some
definable axis?
‘Architecture’ is not easy to
define. It is often used in opposition to the word ‘building’ to discuss a
difference such as that between Lincoln Cathedral and a bicycle shed, to use an
oft-quoted example. Miriam Gusevitch interestingly points out that “the term
‘architecture’ is a word of Greek and Latin provenance; ‘building’ on the other
hand, has Anglo-Saxon roots. In common parlance both have the same referent
(structure, construction, edifice); they are synonyms. Nevertheless, they have
different connotations, architecture meaning something superior to
building...[and] referring to the canon.”[i] Thus architecture as canon, or effect
of architectural criticism, implies a basis in discourse and scholarship,
whereas building is craft-based. What emerges is an association of architecture
with academia and theory; and ‘building’ with the so-called ‘real world’ of
practice. But officially, in fact, an architect is a registered, professional
practitioner of architecture, so we are back to two architectures. Might we
then speak of a ‘theoretical architecture’ and a ‘practical architecture’?
Tha Nature of Architecture
While this may seem somewhat
trivial or obvious, there is, in the case of the field we are investigating, an
awkward relationship between theory and practice that is compounded by the very
complex and unusual nature of architecture. To begin with, the realization of a
built work of architecture is a relatively expensive undertaking, and so there
exists in schools of architecture an unusual situation wherein students of a
design studio inevitably produce, for the most part, only representative
drawings and models, rarely actual, realized examples. At least in the world of
filmmaking, which is also prohibitively expensive, a film school student can
begin by making a short instead of a
feature film, and still get a feel for the craft involved in producing a film:
a short film nevertheless involves scriptwriting, scenario development,
directing, editing, etcetera. There is no equivalent for an architecture
student: realizing an outhouse or a piece of furniture is simply nothing like
the work involved in realizing even a small house. Furthermore, in architecture
school, where the myth of the hero-architect continues to be very strong, there
is a great deal of emphasis on individual students becoming talented designers,
when in fact ‘design’ is typically only a fraction of the highly collaborative
effort that goes into the realization of a work of architecture. A building
project is also extremely contingent upon particular political and economic
circumstances, the client, financial institutions, government authorities and
building trades; aspects which cannot easily be addressed in the design studio.
It is therefore perhaps understandable why a different sort of architecture
would be practiced in school than outside of it.
Is it fair, however, to say that
the knowledge gained in architecture school is useless to the ‘real world’?
Should educational institutions exist merely for acquiring practical and
tactical techniques of survival, as much as my generation, it seems, could have
made use of them during recent recessions, and as much as employers would like
to have a supply of ready-trained automatons at their disposal? The pressure
toward a smooth, seamlessly integrated economic machine in which persons are
trained not to question and just to do
is obviously present, which entails precisely why there is perhaps a need for
autonomous institutions that rest on ‘higher ground’, so to speak. This should
include architecture schools whose role is not limited exclusively to that of
training architects, but also to reflect and comment upon the role of
architecture in society. One problem, however, is whether this can be done
through architecture itself, since, even when practiced ‘on paper’,
architecture’s abstract language is not the ideal medium for conjuring empathy
in the way that, say, visual art or written text can. A work of architecture
therefore has an inherent difficulty in claiming to be ‘resistant’ --let alone
‘critical’-- to the commercial imperatives of the marketplace even, or perhaps
especially, when it is purely theoretical, and by extension unbuildable, since
the cultural institution of architecture is socially legitimated in the first
place precisely by virtue of architecture being an applied art.
Yet, there is a whole ‘art-world’
around so-called ‘theoretical’ architecture, complete with stars, galleries in
major cities, journals that are usually published through the academies, even
collectors of napkin sketches and patrons who commission a work of architecture
precisely because the architect is one of ‘signature’. Here, it is not the
material value of the building that matters, but the symbolic value, the caché.
It is the image of a rarefied object
that is consumed, not the object itself. This is an architecture whose
discourse lays claim to transcending the commercial imperatives that drive
mainstream building production, addressing the marketplace of ideas instead.
The art of architecture here becomes celebrated apart from its less glamorous,
practical side. This can be seen to represent a separation of issues of
‘quality’ from those of ‘quantity’, or of mind from body, separations that are
highly problematic, I would argue. Nevertheless, it seems so natural and
convenient, and so one has to wonder: is the widening separation of the
symbolic role of architecture from its industrial role not perhaps for these
very reasons of convenience, since each can then get on unencumbered with its
own business? I would like to question if it is in fact constructive to
separate the two, and if it does not present other problems in turn.
The Art of Collusion
The Dutch critic Ole Bouman,
sounding a bit like Noam Chomsky, has said that the celebration of a rarefied,
highly theorized and overdesigned ‘art-world’ architecture actually functions,
in the end, as “an alibi for the building industry”[ii]
since it is effectively functioning as a distracting sideshow, or spectacle,
behind which industry is able to concern itself almost exclusively with a crass
and uninspired commercial agenda. The implication is almost that there is a
sort of collusive association at work between the two architectures, that a
cartel has been formed, albeit unwittingly, of course. While this notion itself
makes for an entertaining ‘conspiracy theory’ of architecture, it is a
compelling argument given the kinds of global market pressures that have come
to bear upon the practice of architecture. We might therefore look to a
socio-economic model that encompasses these architectural practices, one that
traces the exchange of value across these seemingly separate realms in order to
see if there is in fact a relationship present.
The French sociologist Pierre
Bourdieu has developed an analytical method and a model that might be useful
here.[iii]
Bourdieu describes society, especially cultural production, from a very wide
perspective as a system of diverse ‘fields’ within each of which is played a
game where winners gain power and authority. All fields are themselves
inscribed within a larger field, so the power game is played out between
different fields as well. Each field possesses its own ‘habitus’, or set of
dispositions and inclinations that shape perceptions and form the unspoken
rules of the game. Bourdieu distinguishes between two fields within the field
of cultural production that are especially relevant to this discussion: the
‘field of restricted production’ and the ‘field of large scale mass
production’. Restricted production, or ‘high art’, is a field in which
prestige, consecration, and artistic celebrity are valued, and in which
production occurs purposefully in small quantities in comparison to the field
of large scale mass production. Because the restricted field involves
‘production for producers’, economic profit is typically disavowed and frowned
upon, and so there is an inversion of the principles of ordinary economics
within this field. An example of this inverted economy is the hero-myth of the
starving artist(or architect) who lives by his or her principles and refuses to
‘sell out’. Indeed, Bourdieu writes:
[T]his does
not mean that there is not an economic logic to this charismatic economy based
on the social miracle of an act devoid of any determination other than the
specifically aesthetic intention. There are economic conditions for the
indifference to economy which induces a pursuit of the riskiest positions in
the intellectual and artistic avant-garde, and also for the capacity to remain
there over a long period without any economic compensation.[iv]
In the field of large scale mass
production, it is precisely financial gain that is valued, but interestingly,
this field occasionally borrows ideas from the restricted field in order to
renew itself. In each field, a mix of different kinds of capital is accumulated
in order to wield power and authority: in the restricted field, it is mainly
‘cultural’ and ‘symbolic’ capital’ that are acquired; whereas in the field of
large scale mass production, it is mainly ‘economic capital’, or simply
financial gain, that is accumulated. Cultural capital takes the form of
knowledge: it is accumulated over time through inculcation and education, and
so it is not easily bought. ‘Symbolic capital’, as prestige, honour and
consecration, “is to be understood as...a ‘credit’ which, under certain
conditions, and always in the long run, guarantees ‘economic’ profits”[v].
Certain forms of capital are therefore convertible to one another under certain
circumstances, but never reducible. All fields, according to Bourdieu, are
sites of competition for power. In the restricted field, this competition
concerns the power, or authority, to in turn consecrate honour and prestige,
and thereby shape the canon governing the field itself. ‘Position-taking’ in a
field makes it dynamic, with struggles usually occurring between the orthodox
and the avant-garde heretics, or between the ancients and the moderns.
If we use Bourdieu’s model to look
at the two architectures we are studying here, it becomes apparent that the
more ‘theoretically’ inspired architecture corresponds to Bourdieu’s restricted
field, where it is cultural capital based on knowledge that is accumulated, and
where honour and prestige are more valuable than profit, even if eventually
this honour may be traded in for financial recompense; whereas the more
‘practically’ orientated architecture corresponds more with the field of large
scale mass production and the value of economic and political capital.
Furthermore, just as the field of large scale mass production is known to
borrow ideas from the restricted field, so ‘practical’ architecture is known to
superficially appropriate the ideas of ‘theoretical’ architecture in order to
rejuvenate itself. The perfect example of this phenomenon is, of course, Philip
Johnson.
Bourdieu’s model not only describes
a relationship between the systems of value, and therefore beliefs, that
establish authority in a given field, but also accounts for the more subtle
roles that charisma, taste and distinction play in legitimizing the very
existence of each field within the larger field. The fact that architecture is
seen by the general population as an aesthetic discipline, (an applied art) and moreover one of luxury means that any
elite-theoretical or populist-practical posturing becomes less significant in
the larger context, since architecture on the whole becomes so marginal that it then falls entirely into
a restricted field. In this sense, it becomes useless to distinguish between
‘theoretical’ and ‘practical’ architecture. In fact, at this point, all
architecture becomes theoretical, even commercial architecture.[vi]
So just what, exactly, do the words ‘theory’ and ‘practice’ mean then? Is one
that which we learn in school and the other that which we do afterward, so that
the former hopefully becomes the knowledge base that informs the latter; or is
‘theory’ the ‘thinking’ that accompanies ‘doing’? If ‘theory’ is defined as
thought and ‘practice’ as action, [vii]
then architecture, indeed most professional endeavours, must always consist of
a balanced mix of both.
Reflective Practice / Pragmatic
Philosophy
Here, Donald Schön’s concept of
‘reflection-in-action’ can be instructive. Schön argues that professions are
rooted in an outmoded tradition of technical rationality. “Technical
rationality is the positivist epistemology of practice. It became
institutionalized in the modern university”.[viii]
In fact, it is interesting to note, in light of our look at the university
affiliated ‘art-world’ architecture of today, that “according to the positivist
epistemology of practice, craft and artistry had no lasting place in rigorous
practical knowledge.”[ix]
The problem for Schön, however, is that positivism cannot deal with the
situations in the ‘swampy lowland’ of ‘confusing messes’: “Increasingly, we
have become aware of the importance of phenomena --complexity, uncertainty,
instability, uniqueness, and value-conflict-- which do not fit the model of
technical rationality.”[x]
Reflective practice, which involves reflection in action, is a way of thinking
not before or after any act, but precisely during action. The problem I see
here is that the ‘action’ implied here is then presumably limited to one of
problem-solving, and does not account for an architecture that might be
inspired by a theoretical idea. But then, maybe we shouldn’t be building
theories either.
Another option that presents itself
is the negation of theory altogether. The so-called ‘pragmatic philosophers’
Steven Knapp and Walter Benn Michaels have put forth a compelling theoretical
argument calling for theory to stop altogether. While this might be seen as
either the ultimate in altruism, or an attempt to have the last word in
theoretical discourse, it is in fact the separation between theory and practice
they are also problematizing, and so I will quote here the final paragraph of
their provocatively entitled essay “Against Theory”:
The
theoretical impulse, as we have described it, always involves the attempt to
separate things that should not be separated: on the ontological side, meaning
from intention, language from speech acts; on the epistemological side,
knowledge from true belief. Our point has been that the separated terms are in
fact inseparable... theory is nothing else but the attempt to escape practice.
Meaning is just another name for expressed intention, knowledge is just another
name for true belief, but theory is not just another name for practice. It is
the name for all the ways people have tried to stand outside practice in order
to govern practice from without. Our thesis has been that no one can reach a
position outside practice, that theorists should stop trying, and that the
theoretical enterprise should therefore come to an end.[xi]
Concluding Questions
So should architecture theory
‘end’? What would be the basis, then, for architectural criticism, unless that
were to end too? Without criticism, there is no history; without history, no
canon; and, as noted at the beginning, without a canon, no architecture, at
least in contradistinction to building. But can one even build, however
pragmatically, without any knowledge of history, or at least precedent? The
polarizing of architecture into distinctly theoretical and practical modes
reflects today’s tendency toward specialization, toward more narrowly defined
and limited areas of expertise. This runs very much against the grain of architecture
as a form of general knowledge, an art that is ‘applicable’ in many different
environments, sites and contexts. Instead, architecture is increasingly being
used only for certain kinds of programs, such as, ironically, museums, the
ultimate mortuary. There has even been a recent proliferation of museums
dedicated to architecture where representations, means to an end, are viewed as
ends in themselves. Architecture cannot exist for its own sake alone, as “l’art
pour l’art,” or art for art’s sake. Perhaps it takes precisely an artist to
remind us of this: to quote Sol LeWitt, from his seminal text “Paragraphs on
Conceptual Art”: “Architecture, whether it is a work of art or not, must be
utilitarian or else fail completely.”[xii]
[i] Miriam Gusevitch, “The Architecture of
Criticism” in Andrea Kahn, ed., Drawing, Building, Text (Princeton Architectural Press, 1991), p.8.
[vi] see Carol Willis, Form Follows
Finance: Skyscrapers and Skylines in New York and Chicago (New York: Princeton Architectural Press, 1995) for
an interesting theorization of one kind of commercial architecture.
[viii] Donald Schön, The Reflective
Practitioner: How Professionals Think in Action (New York: Basic Books, 1983), p. 31.
[xi] Steven
Knapp and Walter Benn Michaels, “Against Theory” in W.J.T. Mitchell, ed., Against
Theory (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1985), pp. 29-30.
[xii] Sol LeWitt, “Paragraphs on Conceptual
Art” in Charles Harrison and Paul Wood, eds., Art in Theory 1900-1990 (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1992), p.836.
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