WILLIAM H.
HAYES
Architectural Criticism
Criticism is always an affront, and its only justification lies in its usefulness, in making its object available to just
response.
I state of architectural criticism still seems just.
It seems only common sense that we should
want our buildings to be (at least) functional,
structurally sound, and aesthetically pleasing.
Indeed, that triad has a long history in writings
on architecture. At the beginning of the first
century of our era, Vitruvius asserts in De
Architectura: “Now these [constructions of pub-
lic and private buildings] should be so carried
out that account is taken of strength . . . util-
ity . . . and grace . . . ”;2 Alberti in De re
aedificatoria (c. 1450), renders this as “appro-
priate to its use, lasting in structure, and graceful
and pleasing in appearance” and adds that the
third is “the noblest and most necessary of all”;3
Sir Henry Wotton, in The Elements of Architec-
ture (1624), writes, “Well-building hath three
conditions: Commodity, Firmness, and De-
light”;4 and Geoffrey Scott opens The Architec-
ture of Humanism (1914; 2nd ed. 1924; re-
printed 1954, 1974) by quoting Wotton and then
adding, “From this phrase . . . a theory of archi-
tecture might take its start.”5 However, he goes
on to claim that “between these three values the
criticism of architecture has insecurely wavered,
not always distinguishing clearly between them,
seldom attempting any statement of the relation
they bear to one another, never pursuing to their
conclusion the consequences which they in-
volve. It has leaned now this way and now that,
and struck between these incommensurable vir-
tues, at different points, its arbitrary balance.”6
Scott’s essay has achieved classic status, in
part because his diagnosis and assessment of the
The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 60:4 Fall 2002
—Stanley Cavell1
Consider an ambitious contemporary attempt to
stabilize architectural criticism, that of Roger
Scruton in The Aesthetics of Architecture. He
lists five features of architecture that distinguish
it from the other arts and that furthermore, he
says, determine our attitude toward it. Architec-
ture is distinguished by its (1) utility or function,
(2) highly localized quality, (3) technique,
(4) character as a public object, and (5) continu-
ity with the decorative arts and corresponding
multiplicity of aims.7 To put these in a standard
terminology, architecture is: (1) functional, that
is, buildings are designed to meet a need; (2) site
specific, that is, buildings are located at a partic-
ular place and in a particular environment;
(3) technical, that is, architecture is a science as
well as an art; (4) buildings are public objects
(even private homes are usually in public view);
and (5) architecture is a vernacular art with mul-
tiple aims.
All of the items in this list are relevant to ar-
chitectural criticism, and 2 and 4 make explicit
features that are only implicit in the historical
triad of Commodity, Firmness, and Delight
(hereafter C, F, and D). Nonetheless, Scruton’s
list is logically skewed: 1, 2, and 4 refer to build-
ings; 3 refers to the practice of architecture; and
5 refers to the art of architecture. Here Scruton
may be the victim of an ambivalence about the
term “architecture” that even our dictionaries
exhibit. “Architecture” is variously defined as a
science and/or an art, as buildings, as a profes-
sion. The term will be used here to mean “build-
ings” and modifiers will be added when using it
326
in any other sense—as has been done already in
the paraphrase of Scruton’s list.
This logical defect demonstrates at least one
sense in which the elements of the list are, to use
Scott’s term, “incommensurable.” But cannot
items 3 and 5 be rephrased so as to refer to the
features of buildings, as do 1, 2, and 4? There
would seem to be no problem about 3; rephrase
it as “structurally sound” or as what soundness
implies, “durable.” However, 5 resists rephras-
ing as either “delight” or “aesthetically pleas-
ing.” These expressions may have problems of
their own, but they will not serve as substitutes
for a general claim about the nature of the art of
architecture. Moreover, should a claim that ar-
chitecture is one of the decorative arts be in-
cluded in a list of the “features” of buildings at
all? It is a metastatement about the list itself.
II
Although C, F, and D have been hallowed by his-
tory and affirmed by common sense, the terms
have been loosely used in architectural criticism;
and when their interrelations are examined,
exact meanings often cannot be made out. Con-
sider “firmness,” the notion of structural sound-
ness, which would seem clearly to be a matter of
engineering, a matter of science. Architectural
students do take courses in the strength of mate-
rials, which are often taught by faculty of the
university’s engineering school. A building’s
standing up implies endurance, and so one can
ask, “For how long?” which has no essential
connections with firmness. An architect might
suggest that buildings ought to be designed with
the expectation that they be dismantled once the
mortgage had been paid off. And this need not be
merely a jest if it were intended to draw attention
to the facts that over time buildings do deterio-
rate, that building codes and zoning ordinances
do change, that “grandfathering-in” older build-
ings when they would violate new rules perhaps
ought not be automatic. F also connotes that
buildings shelter us against vagaries of nature:
heat and cold, wind and storm, pests and decay,
tremors and avalanches. Structurally, these are
problems that usually have technical solutions.
Yet, the Pyramids are extraordinarily firm (and
durable) edifices and they offer a certain delight,
but only a limited commodity.
Turning to C, understood in its ordinary sense
The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism
of being adapted to a particular function or use,
it seems clear enough; and a common example
of this sense is the expression, “functional archi-
tecture.” But notice the disjunct, function or use.
Modernist criticism in architecture generally
treats the “or” as inclusive, but the critics of
modernism often decry this as reducing function
to mere utility. The notion of function in archi-
tecture was originally adopted from biology, but
its use in modernism looks to the functionality
of machines. And in another twist, Frank Lloyd
Wright, usually classified as a modernist, re-
jected that title and insisted his architecture was
“Organic.” Another problem that “function”
presents, whichever its analogical source, con-
cerns the kind and degree of value implied in its
use. What sort of praise is it to say that a hunting
knife is sharp, that is, cuts cleanly and easily;
and what sort to say it is solid, firm, and easily
grasped; and finally what sort to say of a certain
style of hunting knife that it is “beautifully
handmade,” of “remarkable beauty,” has a blade
“with a remarkable mirror polish [and] appears
to have been sculpted from solid steel,” the han-
dle of which is (your choice) “India Stag (the
most desirable of handle materials), and Coco-
bolo (one of the most beautiful and useful
woods used for knife handles)” and overall “its
elegance never fails to catch the eye.”8 John
Austin once remarked that aestheticians might
get further if they would abandon attempts to
analyze “beauty” or “sublimity” and wrestle
with “dainty” or “garish,” which have ordinary
uses. The philosophical task here might be to
work out the differences between fit and fitting,
between measuring and measuring up.
In architectural criticism, Delight has been
construed in a number of different, not always
clearly compatible ways. For example, it has
sometimes meant that the overall design of a
building (1) conforms to classical ideals of sym-
metry, order, and scale; (2) expresses romantic
notions of spirituality or, contrariwise, natural-
ness; (3) is determined solely by an extra-archi-
tectural program that it is to serve. Perhaps the
compatibility (or incompatibility) of these senses
might be shown, but the more usual procedure
has been to exhibit presumably fatal flaws in
some pair of them, thus clearing the field for the
critic’s favored and uncriticized view.
Another problem concerning D is the fact that
while buildings may be delightful (or not), it is
Hayes Architectural Criticism
we who are pleased (or not). This is an instance
of a standard problem in aesthetics, but there are
certain aspects of the problem of expressiveness
in architectural criticism that ought to be men-
tioned. In earlier times D never seemed to be a
problem, that buildings are expressive appar-
ently needed neither explanation nor argument.
But in both classical and gothic revivals and in
modernism, social programs and the moral char-
acter of individuals were thought to be either
supported or undercut by the “right” or “wrong”
kind of buildings, and arguments raged concern-
ing which was which. However, the influence of
architecture on us is so pervasive that we notice
it no more than, presumably, a fish notices that it
is surrounded by water. Or, if a house is a ma-
chine for living, we ought not forget Thoreau’s
dictum that we become the tool of our tools. Ar-
chitecture is expressive whether that fact seems
worth noting or not.
Scott is correct in holding that architectural
criticism has not been based on any clear, much
less uniform, conception of the interrelationship
of C, F, and D. No one disputes that buildings
that are C and F can be erected without concern
for D. Examples are the Quonset Hut and most
developer-built tract housing including high-
end, gated complexes. Santayana has asserted
that C and F having been satisfied, D will fol-
low.9 Indeed, this is the credo of modernism, the
dominant style of twentieth-century architecture
in this country and western Europe. Central to
modernism is the concept of functionalism,
most memorably expressed in Le Corbusier’s,
“The house is a machine for living in.”10
On the other hand, buildings can be D yet fail
with respect to C and F. Neither Frank Lloyd
Wright’s nor Frank Gehry’s Guggenheim is
art-viewer friendly. Some glass-sheathed office
buildings require air-conditioning for cooling
even in winter months. And the observation, “I
know it’s beautiful, but I’d hate to live in it,”
makes perfectly good sense.
Robert Venturi claims that buildings are ei-
ther “ducks [iconic and look like, e.g., derby
hats or oranges] or decorated sheds [tarted up C
and F buildings].”11 Yet there is an architectural
adage: Architects do not construct decorations,
they decorate constructions, which denies Ven-
turi’s ducks while affirming his sheds.
It was noted earlier that Scruton makes ex-
plicit two notions that were only implicit in C, F,
327
and D, namely, that buildings are site specific
and public objects. Yet Wotton, like his prede-
cessors, having asserted the principles of C, F,
and D, immediately turns to issues of site and its
setting, treating them as aspects of C or F. Mod-
ernists generally treat F as part of C; and if they
do not entirely ignore issues about setting, they
generally want to reshape the environs into a
planned community to suit the building rather
than the other way around. Postmodernism
would seem to hold that D is the architect’s sole
concern, as if his or her work begins and ends in
the studio. Scott holds a less exclusive view of D
but does argue that since there are different
ways of satisfying the requirements of C and F,
the particular adjustments between them should
be determined so as to maximize D.
III
In short, our talk about buildings rests on no
secure foundation, so to speak. Architectural
criticism seems to employ an open-ended set of
complex and variously incompatible principles.
Architecture would seem to be not only a mixed
art, but also a mixed-up one. Nonetheless, there
are buildings that have achieved classic status
even if none compels universal acclaim; and ar-
chitects are able, apparently, to practice their art
despite its imperfect theoretical condition. How
might all this be rationalized?
One can start simply by accepting that archi-
tecture is a mixed art, an art whose objects are
both useful and fine. The practice of architecture
is not just one kind of specialty in the building
trades. Second, as a mixed art, it does have mul-
tiple aims: we do want our buildings to be C and
F and D, as well as appropriately sited and pre-
senting a suitable face to the world. Finally, ar-
chitecture is nonetheless the art that it is: it is not
music, painting, sculpture, or decorative art.
Ada Louise Huxtable has expressed these points
more gracefully: “Of all the arts, architecture
alone is not a studio or audience art; it is a bal-
ance of structural science and aesthetic expres-
sion for the satisfaction of needs that go far be-
yond utilitarian. The essential mix of efficiency
and delight, the quality of the balance, give ar-
chitecture its beauty, strength, and style.”12 How
do these sentiments move us toward a theory of
architecture? They do so by insisting on the
exact diversity for which such a theory must ac-
328
count. And the observations offered so far about
architectural criticisms should demonstrate that
the move toward theory must be made warily.
I have three suggestions to make concerning
that move. The first is a point made by Anthony
Skillen in his review of Scruton’s Aesthetics of
Architecture. He writes,
But we ask: what stands to architecture as looking at
and listening to [stand to] paintings, sculpture, and
music? The answer, which should determine our aes-
thetics, must be something like: living with. And that
should convey that “using” is an inadequate contrast
to “looking” and “listening.” People get to love and to
hate places. Some of them are horrors which have
been contrived to assume pleasing shape. But when
the “shape” of a building does please those who know
what is behind it, it does so in a way different from the
way it might please or fail to please those who come
to visit and take photographs—especially for those
glossy architectural journals.13
This is also Steen Eiler Rasmussen’s position in
his excellent book on the appreciation of archi-
tecture, Experiencing Architecture. He writes
that “architecture means shapes formed around
man, formed to be lived in, not merely seen from
the outside.”14 And again: “It is not enough to
see architecture, you must experience it.”15 The
architectural historian, James Marston Fitch, in-
sists that no critique of a building should be
proffered until the building has been “lived in,
experienced—in short tested.”16 One “lives
with” a building and in so doing comes to appre-
ciate (or finds one cannot appreciate) the C, F,
and D of it, that is, its functionality, structural
soundness, beauty, siting, and setting.
My second suggestion is to denominate the
quality of a building, which we come to appreci-
ate (or not) in living with it, as performance. I
use this term in the sense of “the manner in
which or the efficiency with which something
reacts or fulfills its intended purpose.”17 I take
both of the disjunctions in the definition to be in-
clusive, so it can be read as “manner” and/or
“efficiency,” “reacts” and/or “fulfills.”
The notion of a building performing may
seem strange, but the term resists the sort of re-
duction to mere utility that “function,” for ex-
ample, suffers. Furthermore, we find nothing
strange about asking whether a building serves
(acts in ways?) to shelter us, facilitate our activi-
The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism
ties, or enhance our lives. The use of “perfor-
mance” makes it easier to ask also whether it
does so gracefully, even beautifully.
If we restrict our judgment to a building’s
looks, we are treating it as if it were simply a
monument, a rather specialized product of archi-
tectural practice. In eighteenth-century England,
there were buildings constructed just for their
looks, and they are called “follies.” “Perfor-
mance” aids us in avoiding the sort of aestheti-
cism in architectural criticism that restricts its
attention to the formal qualities of a building,
viewing it as nothing but a composition of
masses, spaces, lines, and colors. Is there no
beauty in a building’s smooth functioning or in
the security and durability of its structure? To
put this the other way round, does the function-
alism of modernism require that its buildings be
brutal, its forms gracelessly inflected, its sur-
faces without interest, its siting determined
without regard to the changing play of light and
shade? Think rather of the marvels of efficiency
like clipper ships, sailplanes, streamlined trains,
Jaguar sedans, and even Gothic cathedrals!
“Performance” also permits, even encourages,
the application to buildings of the traditional
“bodily” image of the work of art as an organic
whole, an organism, a kind of individual. The
burden of proof should rest on those who attempt
to dissociate C, F, and D, as if all buildings were
victims of multiple personality disorder.
C, F, and D (hereafter CFD to mean “func-
tional, structurally sound/durable, a composed
whole, appropriately sited in its setting”) are
certainly aspects of a building that ought to be
considered in judging its performance, and they
may even be a sufficient set. However, a more
prosaic account of the joint nature of CFD needs
to be given. Huxtable points out the issue here in
her phrase, “mix of efficiency and delight and
quality of the balance” (my emphasis). I take it
for granted that the elements of CFD must be
mixed and balanced, but attempts to prescribe
balanced mixtures that I am familiar with are
logically empty (e.g., significant form), psycho-
logically suspect (e.g., einfuhling), or transcen-
dental metaphysics (e.g., architecture as space,
as space–time, as culturally imperative).
I have no resolution of this issue to offer, but
my third suggestion concerns how to deal with it.
Every building presents us with a particular bal-
ance of the mix that we can discover by living
Hayes Architectural Criticism
with it to determine its performance. The quality
of the balance is simply our rating of the build-
ing’s performance. But on what scale? How do
we rate the balance? This is a request for theory,
but Wotton, again, has the appropriate response.
The first two sentences of The Elements of Archi-
tecture are: “In architecture as in all other opera-
tive [practical] arts, the end must direct the opera-
tion. The end is to build well.” The next sentence
(quoted earlier) names the conditions of building
well. Does this mean that function is, after all, the
ur-feature of the CFD mix? Modernism does
hold that form follows function, but this should
be understood as a maxim of architectural prac-
tice: The client’s needs set the architectural prob-
lem; they do not solve it. CFD is a set of features;
it is the architect’s task to order them.
Yet exactly how does the judgment of perfor-
mance reveal the balance of CFD? My sugges-
tion is that it simply “emerges” from the survey
of CFD. This suggestion may seem not only un-
helpful but contentious as well. Nonetheless, I
offer it as a way of resisting the rush to theory that
has disfigured so much of philosophical specula-
tion concerning architecture. The best that we
can do now is to be radically empirical, that
means that only by living with a building can we
determine its performance and that any general
claims beyond that are no more than and no less
than inductions from experience. Percepts with-
out concepts may be blind, but Kant also said that
concepts without percepts are empty.18
WILLIAM H. HAYES
Department of Philosophy
California State University, Stanislaus
Turlock, California, 95380
329
1. Stanley Cavell, “The Availability of Wittgenstein’s
Later Philosophy,” Philosophical Review 71 (1962): 67–93.
2. Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, On Architecture, trans. F.
Granger (Loeb Library, 1931), p. 35.
3. Leon Battista Alberti, On the Art of Building in Ten
Books, trans. J. Rykwert, N. Leach, and R. Tavernor (MIT
Press, 1988), p. 155.
4. Sir Henry Wotton, The Elements of Architecture, fac-
simile ed. for the Folger Shakespeare Library (University
Press of Virginia, 1968), p. 1.
5. Geoffrey Scott, The Architecture of Humanism (Gar-
den City: Doubleday Anchor, 1954), p. 15.
6. Ibid.
7. Roger Scruton, The Aesthetics of Architecture (Prince-
ton University Press, 1979), pp. 5–17.
8. A. G. Russell, Catalog of Knives (1998), p. 46.
9. George Santayana, Reason in Art (New York: Scrib-
ner’s, 1942), p. 127.
10. Le Corbusier (Charles Edouard Jeanneret-Gris), To-
wards a New Architecture, trans. F. Etchells (New York:
Praeger, 1960), pp. 10, 101, 112 ff.
11. Robert Venturi, Learning from Las Vegas (MIT Press,
1972), p. 64.
12. Ada Louise Huxtable, “Inventing American Reality,”
The New York Review of Books, December 3, 1992, p. 28.
13. Anthony Skillen, “The Foundations of Roger
Scruton’s The Aesthetics of Architecture,” The British Jour-
nal of Aesthetics 20 (1980): 261.
14. Steen Eiler Rasmussen, Experiencing Architecture
(MIT Press, 1962), p. 10.
15. Ibid., p. 33.
16. James Marston Fitch, “Architectural Criticism:
Trapped in Its Own Metaphysics,” Journal of Architectural
Education 29 (1976): 3.
17. Random House Dictionary, 2nd ed., unabridged (New
York, 1987).
18. I offer my special thanks to the anonymous JAAC ref-
eree whose thoughtful comments made me rethink certain
issues.
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