Much like art, architecture is essentially a matter of ability or willingness to empathize; therefore, a responsibility far greater than what might commonly be assumed rests on those who engage in one or the other. An artistic creation as well as a building can either uplift and ennoble people or accomplish the opposite: depress and coarsen them. It depends on the mindset of the artist or architect. Both have the power to shape the mind and behavior of people. If you yourself are unable to experience human closeness and share feelings, or if you fundamentally perceive your fellow human beings as speechless animals without insight or self-awareness, it invariably reveals itself in the artistic or architectural expression. To show compassion is to be decent; upon this attitude towards fellow human beings rests civilization in its noblest forms.
In parallel with the self-denying renouncement of our religious and political-moral traditions as Europeans (and North Americans), we have distanced ourselves from the familiar ideals of classical (Greco-Roman) architecture, i.e. the centuries-old backdrop to both historical dramas and everyday events; not long ago, it formed an integral part of our culture. It used to be our preferred idiom, so to speak, when we set up in the public space, the mother tongue of our creative emotions. (READ MORE: The Amazing Architect Behind Big Ben)
Needless to say, the way we build our houses and decorate them is not a random expression of technological development; it is highly contingent and nourished by myths, historical legends, and shared experiences reflecting basic self-perception of a culture, including the will to survive and thrive. The houses that line the streets and squares in our cities, the monuments and parks, the fountains and statues to a large extent help determine our expectations of society and ourselves. Beauty in our surroundings affects us all, whether we ourselves are creators or simply enjoyers. In its absence (e.g. the concrete high-rises of the suburbs), people are reduced to rotting barnyard animals.
The Swiss-French architect, designer, and urban planner Charles-Édouard Jeanneret, known as “Le Corbusier,” famously characterized a house as a “machine for living in.” To mark the transition from yesterday’s beauty-cultivating architecture to the solipsistic preoccupation with geometric phantasies and large-scale, playful experimentation (i.e. without regard to the fact that real people are still expected to make use of the products of the design studios), it seems appropriate to coin a new term for the profession: “mechano-architecture” or simply “mechanotecture” (i.e. derived from the Greek “mechané” and “técton,” meaning “machine” and “builder,” respectively). (READ MORE: The Architecture of Anxiety)
The two world wars of the twentieth century were hard on the building stock in Europe, not least the civilian bombardments from the air typical of World War II (e.g. the Blitz). However, civilians have undoubtedly perpetrated the greatest damage to the pieces of architecture handed down to us from the periods of the Renaissance, Baroque, and Industrialism (including the Victorian era). Since the interwar period, without a degree of resistance worthy of the purpose, we have allowed the disrespectful, revolutionary schools of “machine” designers (e.g. Bauhaus) — and their countless imitators (i.e. driven by the urge for profit rather than rebellion) — to take over the layout of our cities. Whereas classically educated architects, preoccupied with proportions and harmony, were once responsible for the design of our private homes, temples, and palaces, the 1920’s saw the formation of a culturally hostile, so-called “functionalist,” and increasingly powerful opposition to the beauty-cultivating tradition. Under the influence of politically subversive currents, characterized by a pronounced dislike of tradition (dismissed as reactionary sentimentalism, nostalgia etc.), everything changed in a surprisingly short time. Thus, control over our immediate surroundings, our home in the widest sense, could be seen to be handed over to social engineers who never produced anything but history-less, expressionless, and soulless machines rather than beautiful buildings of lasting importance. It was like a gigantic experiment conducted by theoretically deluded individuals with no true understanding of what is human or a love for others.
Ever since its birth, modernism has thus had an unmistakable touch of experimental totalitarianism.
Unfortunately, the traditionalists lost the culture war in the field of architecture. Truth be told, the poverty of architecture has been tantamount to nothing short of a tragedy for the West. Unimaginable cultural values have been destroyed in the past century, not only iconic buildings (e.g. the Pennsylvania Station designed by McKim, Mead & White), but also neighborhoods and entire cities. The world has become a poorer place to live for the same reason. That enlightened people for so many years were content to look on instead of rebelling against the cultural onslaught is, strictly speaking, a mystery, but also disheartening: Why did we allow ourselves to be seduced into silence by those who never bothered to heed the desires of our senses and aesthetic emotions? Why did we bow to the iconoclasts and give up celebrating beauty? How could it, in truth, ever occur to us to abandon our European home, painstakingly built by our ancestors over centuries, to an entirely self-inflicted disaster resembling the destructive effect of a hostile invasion from outer space? Whence this excruciating self-deprecation, this self-doubting cowardice? (READ MORE: The Architecture of Self-Hatred)
The situation today is altogether frustrating. It would take a modern spin doctor with absolutely no morals to lie the problem away. Cultural pessimism tempts the grieving heart. In the Amazon, the old giants of the rain forest are burning, while in Europe and North America, the traditionally designed houses are being demolished — both at an alarming speed. The destruction of cultural heritage on the European and North American continents is extensive. What we may term “mechanotecture” for the occasion, i.e. an approach to building design completely stripped of aesthetic aspirations, organic sensuality, and refined symbolism, has obviously taken the place of traditional or classical architecture. The beauty-blind mechanotects, originally an international brotherhood of (war-)traumatized autistics and socialist avengers, have ravaged Europe and North America, turning the cultural (urban) landscapes that expressed our origin in Greco-Roman civilization into an alienating wasteland of concrete, steel, and glass. The so-called “international” style that has characterized building fashion in the West since the postwar period is neither stylish nor culturally enriching; it is absolutely nothing in itself other than the denial of beauty. Ignoring the element of organic recognizability in the buildings we decide to add to our cities is an attack on civilization itself, whether the reckless behavior is due to eccentric indifference or revolutionary contempt for human nature. Ever since its birth, modernism has thus had an unmistakable touch of experimental totalitarianism.
The urban landscape left behind by modern mechanotects is a new world, a world without history or any basis of cultural belonging, a world without a home, an uninhabitable shadowland, a sterile science-fiction habitat created by aliens for other aliens, by autistics for other autistics, or by cynics for virtually everybody but themselves. The fact is, however, that most Europeans and North Americans love beauty as much as people in other parts of the world. There is no reason why we should settle for less. (READ MORE: Despite the Left’s Vapors Over Florida, Classical Education Is Nothing New)
The standards and organic motifs of classical architecture amount to a complete language of symbols. Formerly integrated with the design of public buildings and monuments throughout the Western world, it is the timeless language of human greatness and beauty. It is neither accidental nor replaceable, but has historical roots similar to our precious concepts of morality, personal freedom, and democracy. They have developed in parallel. By unwisely banishing classical forms and symbols from our cities as if they have become somehow obsolete, we risk undermining the ancient institutions that underlie our civilization. It all originates in the human urge to be decent and caring, considerate, and humble. The outer world should ideally reflect the inner one. Strictly speaking, we cannot do without either. Infinitely much is at stake. Civilization as we know it has a unique architectural expression that we need to recognize and protect.
Reflecting on his observations from the “New Penn Station” (an underground, air-polluted maze from a nightmare), art and architectural historian Vincent Joseph Scully wrote the following words, equally sad and unforgettable, that capture the transformation of our society in the twentieth century:
“One entered the city like a god; one scuttles in now like a rat.”
That is it! Modernism, introducing mechanotecture at the expense of architecture, has in fact reduced human beings to rats. As a reliable instrument of totalitarianism, it has tried to break down all that is beautiful and good around us; it has impoverished our culture in the West and contributed to the corruption of civilization.
