The early twenty-first-century reader is accustomed to the classificatory thinking that separated philosophy into three divisions (Kant’s three critiques). He or she would therefore expect architectural theory to present a similar systemic approach. But this is not so. This is because much in architectural theory, especially since the eighteenth century, is a polemic rather than a system of thought. An architectural polemic corroborates, propagates, or opposes other positions regarding a region of architecture without encompassing the comprehensiveness or completeness of the architectural sphere. This is not to say that a polemic is of superficial depth, for a polemic may elaborate an aspect of a system that has been categorized but not developed. An architectural theory that is systemic will elaborate the essential nature of this art, the purpose or ends for which it is made, and the means that it ought to use in order to fulfill its nature and attain its purpose.¹ A system also identifies the principles which are the very source of rules, as well as develops the rules which underlie the basis of conventions—a customary way of making or doing something. Principles, rules, and conventions are at once the province of the individual architect, as well as the collective experience of architects in their societal role. This is, after all, the very purpose of the architectural treatise in its three principal aims: the philosophical, didactic and technical. Finally, a system explains the relations (these relations include autonomy, commonality, and differences) between architecture and the other arts. All of these concern the phenomenological specificity of architecture.

Thus a theory that is systemic aims at a certain level of completeness, for it establishes the internal organization of architecture as a discipline, and it explains its external relations to other arts, to techniques, to social factors. Put differently, the interior individual realm concerns the intellectual freedom, the inner reflection of the architect-maker. The exterior individual pertains to the thoughts resulting from one architect reflecting upon another architect’s work, as well as the individual architect’s reflections on the suitability of her or his building to a context. The interior collective bears upon the conscious or unconscious contents of culture which thrive within the images of operative myths that inform architectural production. The exterior collective designates that commonly built sense regarding the suitability of architecture (decorum) within its milieu par excellence, the city. The above concerns the scope of an architectural theoretical system, on the urban, architectural, aesthetic, social, and practical levels.

Very few are the architects who elaborated such a systemic architectural theory, or what G. Scott called “a fully reasoned theory,” for systems remain mostly in the domain of philosophers. Vitruvius, in his divisions of architecture and his enumeration and brief definitions of architectural concepts, gave one of the most complete outlines of architectural theory, but did not develop it to a sufficient depth. For an in-depth treatment of the subject, architectural theory had to wait for the embracing systems of Leon Battista Alberti and A.C. Quatremère de Quincy.²

As the mind constructed, and reflected upon itself in the act of constructing, theorizing probably developed from early adumbrations regarding whether the building satisfied necessity or not. This led to a comparison between what has been built and what could or should have been built.³ Such a judgment later gave rise to more developed concepts concerning aesthetics and tectonic representation. Thus, architectural theory and its terminology probably developed side by side—but slightly behind—with the construction of buildings. It flourished in subsequent times as architects wrote and debated about the rules (kanon, measure) of their art. Here we see where the study of architectural terminology, especially its etymology, is useful, because through the act of naming, an object and the making of this object are invested with meaning. For example, symmetria designates the relationship between elements; tectonics designates those elements of form, assemblage of parts, and material properties that lift mere construction to the level of architecture; and decor, or propriety, designates a suitability between the building’s disposition, the purpose for which it is made, and the context within which it exists.

There is, of course, no guarantee that word-concepts have been or will be used consistently by theorists, and with the same meaning. Some word-concepts have retained their meaning for centuries. Consider for example the word mimesis or imitation, which was used uninterruptedly from antiquity until the middle of the nineteenth century and further, to designate the relationship between the idea of a model (natural or human) and a particular work. Recently, however, it has become confused with copy, as if the two words were synonymous. This confusion allowed for the concept of imitation to be displaced by simulation, thus impoverishing our theory and our understanding. Yet other word-concepts experience a gradual change which allows for enriching shades of meaning to occur; for instance, the Latin word decorum has been rendered as propriety, aptness, suitability, convenance, and bienséance. Other words still have come to be used indiscriminately with such multiple meanings that they became meaningless—a brief observation of the current uses of the word creativity is a case in point. Herein resides an important point for the architectural theorist to consider: a word that accepts a few meanings enriches the architectural dialogue, whereas a word that accepts any meaning given at any whim becomes meaningless, thus harming the exchange of ideas. The above concerned that special rhetorical art of philosophical narration which we call the architectural theoretical discourse.

To define the nature of architectural theory amounts to explaining the reasons for philosophical inquiry in architecture. There is much philosophy in architectural theory, but what usually passes unnoticed by architects is how much philosophy itself has relied on architecture. Since Descartes, architecture has been metaphorically used by philosophers as a model for the foundations of their systems and of the hierarchical and harmonious relations between the various parts of these systems. Philosophy is thinking about thinking, or the mind reflecting upon itself in the act of reflecting. This partially characterizes architectural theory when thinking considers making and dwelling as a single activity: to dwell as a maker. The mind of the maker-dweller considers two orders: the order found in Nature (natural laws) and in nature (natural products); and the order inherent to the mind that builds a world within the world (from the humble hut to the opulent city) in imitation of or in opposition to the first order.

Architectural theory derives from the dialectical movement between these two orders. On the level of knowledge, this thinking links truths of reason, or first principles or axioms, with realities of fact, which are contingent on sense-based experience for their justification. The theoretically inclined mind reflects on two mental states: those involving sensory qualities, the qualia; and those involving content or intentionality (artistic will). In other words, intentionality and qualia pertain to the mind-body relationship. For this reason, architectural theory not only concerns the principles behind the manifestation of architectural forms, but also the quality of intellectual consciousness that instantiates these principles. Theory is also charged with value judgment because it reflects on what architecture or architectural elements are, on what they could or ought to be, and also on what they should not be. It is at this level that theory begins to occupy a causal role vis-à-vis architectural practice. In this way, theory as the reasoning about experience concerns things within the contingencies of the historical context (the way things are), but also outside such a context (the way things should be, the enduring aspects of experience). The above concerned the nature of architectural theory on mental and epistemological levels. Taken as a whole, our discussion of the scope, discourse, and nature of architectural theory stands as its definition as a mental discipline.

We are now in a position to link theory, poetics, and practice—a triplicity that proves to be a more fecund set than the usual dualist opposition between theory and practice. Theory can be a contemplation of the world of action without necessarily taking a definite course of action that will effect representations. Still, theory in architecture is not an end in itself, because its purpose is not limited to reflecting about the different architectural representations, but also to transform⁴
them, even if this transformation remains on paper. This transformation is at its best when it answers to necessity. However, when theory and transformation become ends in themselves and when this transformation proliferates, then the very nature of the architectural field (or any field for that matter) is imperiled. The ensuing outcome is a situation where there is no internal stability to the field in question that will enable knowledge and judgment of the resulting forms, and whether they answer to a public Good, a private whim, or no good at all. Here is where practice, or rather practical reason,5 enters, because practice is not simply the assembling of means in view of achieving a planned action. The faculty of a free mind, to use reason practically, requires criteria which can be every rational agent’s criteria, with the rational and ethical assumption that supposes that such criteria can function on a universal level.⁶ Here, poetics (Greek poesis) as the creative artifice that produces objects based on a certain technique or art (Greek techné) based on rational rules, takes a mediatory stand between theory and practical reason.

Theory has been polyvalent. Some of its emphases continued throughout history, while other emphases changed at different times and contexts, but it never had a single set of concerns. For example, although sixteenth-century theory exhibited a keen occupation with columnar types (the orders), and although parts of twentieth-century theory bore the strong mark of functionalism, especially for architects who sought to derive aesthetic principles from functionalist concerns, it would be reductive to conclude that the architectural theories of those centuries were about the orders and functionalism. Theory has worn many faces, and those who influenced it have not always been architects or practicing architects. Claude Perrault was a medical doctor; Jacques François Blondel was a diplomat, mathematician and military engineer; Marc Antoine Laugier was a priest and a diplomat; Francisco Algarotti was a writer and collector; Johann Joachin Winckelmann was an art historian; A.C. Quatremère de Quincy was an art theorist, and John Ruskin was an art critic and political thinker.

Theory can be prescriptive, finding its later fulfillment in practice, e.g., when a set of theoretical tenets are used as a pedagogical basis, based on the wisdom of past generations. Theory can be descriptive of operative rules derived empirically. Theory can even be proscriptive when it is unaccepting of other views, or when it heralds only one possible approach.⁷ Moreover, as a corrective to some of the aspects mentioned above, theory can be normative—in the sense of establishing rational norms—without being restrictive or proscriptive. Theory can address buildings the way they can and should be, but also it develops criteria for judgment between what has been and what will be built. For if theory is only descriptive, then it allows for no criteria for conceptual judgment. Theory can also take refuge in remote or private intellectual regions where the result is a complete detachment from applicability. This is the theory that Vitruvius termed the pursuit of shadows at the expense of substance. For example, despite its illustrious intellectual heights, Florentine Neoplatonism added to the rift between theory and practice by so excessively exalting the idea that the design itself became the most valued thing and the realization of this design came to be seen as a degraded version. The excess of theory can also be inhibitive of practice, as in the example of someone whose theoretical views have become so inflated that they inhibit action. Theory can give itself the task of understanding that which in construction exceeds the reality of construction, in other words, the aesthetic values which elevate mere building to the level of architecture. The same theory sometimes informs and can be used to explain different forms of tectonic plasticity. For example, the imitation of nature occupies the same paradigmatic importance for the classic and the Gothic. Finally, theory can enhance practice by sharpening the architect’s intellectual skills, and revealing connections that had hitherto been overlooked. Ultimately, the architect is necessarily concerned with general principles that endure throughout centuries and contexts, as well as the empirical lessons of daily practice. Both of these spheres should not be seen as disconnected bodies of knowledge, for it is within the lessons of contingency that the enduring is experienced.

Architectural theory and its terminology have various provenances: the didactic treatise (including the course books), the technical treatise, the précis, the parallèle, the receuil, the mémoire, the essay, the dictionary, and even some pattern-books. To these, one naturally adds philosophical, theological, artistic (e.g., fine arts theory, aesthetics), historical, socio-political, literary, and technical works. The latter disciplines exert peripheral—though significant—influence on the practice of architecture and the shaping of its theory, for obviously architecture is not philosophy or politics, although it involves profound thinking, and contributes to the larger Good of a city. All of these sources of differing values, which bear on architectural theory directly or indirectly, have to be assessed with a clear understanding of the boundaries of architecture as an art that synthesizes other arts. In other words, a caution should be kept in mind, that the confluence of many a discipline within the architectural endeavor involves two risks: eroding architecture’s clear boundaries, or treating it as symptomatic of these disciplines.

Architectural theory emerges from within a historical context, but it also transcends this context, acquiring validity and applicability in cross-temporal and cross-cultural ways. In other words, although theory, as all productions, emerges within a historical context from which it should not be divorced, it is also irreducible to this context. The historicist aim to study human productions only within the context of their historical development brought about a useful understanding of a certain context for its own sake, its own spirit, based on a thorough examination of the development of factual material. But in considering all cultural phenomena as historically determined within a unique and changing context, historicism helped to establish relativism as soon as comparisons between contexts were made. Relativism recognizes the role of varying socio-political forces in determining diverse individual or collective values of cultural phenomena. It maintains that a cultural phenomenon may or may not have value in itself. It is only significant for an individual or for a society.⁸ Such a view rejects cultural—or cross-cultural—universals in an a priori manner. Herein lies a source for many a problem in the study of art and architecture, for relativism erects barriers between contexts. A case in point is the writing of a history of architecture where the set of concerns of one period is seen as separated from other contexts or periods, followed by the assumption that such a position is universally applicable to the story of architecture. This is a view of history as a history of separate forces that develop through ruptures. For example, some architectural historians have equated changes in style with the will to realize rupture from a context. But is the history of architecture and urbanism not laden with both continuities and ruptures? And does continuity not thrive within a variety of architectural types, characters and styles?

Clearly then, the writing of a history is the writing of a view of history according to certain ideological underpinnings. Here, the student of architectural theory will find it beneficial to differentiate between a discipline’s aim to carve its own academic territory (historiography) and the resulting transformation of its very subject of study (architecture). Views of history are changed by the very writing of history. Like the philosophers who saw patterns and projected patterns within history, such as the explanation of events based on teleological arguments, so theorists and historians of architecture since the nineteenth century have written histories of architecture according to various historiographical paradigms. Put differently, the definition and study of architectural theory according to the historian is not necessarily the same as that of the architect, who intends to put to use some theoretical positions deriving from various contexts.

What has been said above pertains to architectural theory in general, including written theory. Still, there is no causal relation between written architectural theory and creative production and good architecture. Nor is the proliferation of architectural theories a guarantee of architectural quality. Compare, for example, the building of great cathedrals in the middle ages, with the scant presence of written theoretical material.⁹ Conversely, contrast the recent explosion of architectural theory with the symbolic poverty of much in contemporary architecture. Certain periods, e.g., antiquity and the middle ages, also pose problems of documentation, and their architectural theory has to be inferred mostly from the buildings. These buildings, in the final analysis, constitute the measure of fulfillment or failure of the architectural endeavor. Conversely, at times we have both the text that specifies certain characteristics and the building which is supposed to embody these characteristics, and yet the actual building may diverge from the text. A case in point is the work of Palladio. However, that theory and practice do not always coincide should not evoke surprise, because in the movement between conceptualization, the enunciation of principles and their application, architects posit what architecture ought to be, and practice what it can be, depending on a myriad contingent factors which fall partially under their influence. A comprehensive view of architectural theory cannot neglect the buildings themselves, for therein lies the confluence of the many factors that make architecture the collective work that it is. Architectural theory does not simply stay written, it has to be built.

Originally published in American Arts Quarterly, Volume 20, number 3.