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Introducing Game Theory A Graphic Guide 2nd Edition
Building on the success of the first edition, an engaging and reader-friendly work on complex ideas, Introducing Architectural Theory: Expanding the Disciplinary Debate, broadens the range of themes, voices, and geographies represented to provide a more comprehensive and contemporary theory book.
This book presents major discourses in architectural theory and design in a debate-like format, integrating a series of edited texts across architectural history with context and newly written commentaries by the authors. This new edition has been fully revised, updated, and expanded to include long-standing debates, such as simplicity vs. complexity or the relationship between form and function, as well as newer discussions on innovation, globalization, and social equity. Authors Smith and Guitart provide a comprehensive means and conceptual framework for readers to compare multiple points of view. The chapter structure, discussion questions, and additional resources allow teachers to facilitate in-class discussions and writing assignments.
This book remains the most accessible architectural theory textbook, written for beginning architecture students and those outside the discipline. Its reflective and critical approach will equally engage the minds of upper-level students and experts.
Korydon Smith is an architecture professor and cofounder of the Community of Excellence in Global Health Equity at the University at Buffalo—The State University of New York, where he has served as department chair and associate dean. Smith holds an EdD in higher education leadership and a professional MArch degree and has taught a wide range of undergraduate, graduate, and doctoral courses, as well as study abroad—receiving international recognition for his students’ work and seven awards for outstanding teaching. Drawing together expertise in the learning sciences, creative problem-solving, design, and social justice, Smith has conducted collaborative, applied research throughout the Global South. He is the author/editor of eight books—including four with Routledge—garnering two international book awards.
Miguel Guitart is an architect, author, and academic. He is currently an Assistant Professor at the Department of Architecture at the University at Buffalo-SUNY, Buffalo, New York. Guitart obtained his PhD in Architecture from ETSAM, Polytechnic University of Madrid, and a professional MArch degree from the
Graduate School of Design at Harvard University as a JW Fulbright Scholar. His research focuses on the experiential intersections between matter, perception, and memory. Guitart has been awarded by the Association of Collegiate Schools of Architecture (ACSA), the Architecture + Design Program at the New York State Council for the Arts (NYSCA), and the UB Humanities Institute as a Faculty Fellow. He is the author of Behind Architectural Filters: Phenomena of Interference (Routledge, 2022) and editor of Approaching Architecture: Three Fields, One Discipline (Routledge, 2023).
Introducing Architectural Theory
Expanding the Disciplinary Debate
Second Edition
Korydon Smith and Miguel Guitart
Cover image: Bruder Klaus Chapel. Mechernich, Germany. Peter Zumthor, 2007, Photo by Seier+Seier
Second edition published 2024 by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 and by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
The right of Korydon Smith and Miguel Guitart to be identified as authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice : Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.
First edition published by Routledge 2012
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Smith, Korydon H., 1977- author. | Guitart, Miguel, 1973- author. Title: Introducing architectural theory : expanding the disciplinary debate / Korydon Smith and Miguel Guitart.
Description: Second edition. | New York, NY : Routledge, 2024. | Includes bibliographical references and index. |
Identifiers: LCCN 2023024966 | ISBN 9780367335175 (hardback) | ISBN 9780367335229 (paperback) | ISBN 9780429320361 (ebook)
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023024966
ISBN: 978-0-367-33517-5 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-0-367-33522-9 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-0-429-32036-1 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/9780429320361
Typeset in Univers by KnowledgeWorks Global Ltd.
Appendix 1: Guide to Reading Comprehension
Appendix 2: Guide to Descriptive, Analytical, and Disputational Writing
Appendix 3: Guide to Citation Styles
Appendix 4: Guide to Library-Based Research
List of Figure Captions
Chapter 1
Fig. 1.1 Çatalhöyük. Neolithic and Chalcolithic proto-city settlement in southern Anatolia, Turkey. 7500–6400 BC. Photo by Omar Hoftun, Wikimedia Commons. 18
Fig. 1.2 Dome over Manhattan. Richard Buckminster Fuller, 1959. Rendering by TC Howard of Synergetics, Inc., Richard Buckminster Fuller Estate. 23
Fig. 1.3 Instant City. Ibiza, Spain. José Miguel de Prada Poole with C arlos Ferrater and Fernando Bendito, 1971. Photo by S ami Wirkkala (Domus 509, April 1972). 26
Chapter 2
Fig. 2.1 Guaranty (Prudential) Building. Buffalo, New York. Louis Henry Sullivan, 1896. Photo by Jack. E Boucher. Photo courtesy Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division. 38
Fig. 2.2 Selfridges Building. Birmingham, United Kingdom. Future Systems, 2012. Photo by Bs0u10e0. Wikimedia Commons. 41
Fig. 2.3 Great Workroom. SC Johnson Administration Building. Racine, Wisconsin. Frank Lloyd Wright, 1939. Photo by Carol M. Highsmith, photo courtesy Library of Congress. 45
Chapter 3
Fig. 3.1 Church of Saint George. Lalibela, Ethiopia. Thirteenth century. Photo by Bernard Gagnon. Wikimedia Commons. 52
Fig. 3.2 Zimmerman House. Manchester, New Hampshire. Frank Lloyd Wright, 1950. Photo by Magicpiano. Wikimedia Commons. 56
Fig. 3.3 Glass Pavilion. Toledo, Ohio. SANAA, 2006. Photo by Adam C. Nelson. Wikimedia Commons. 60
Chapter 4
Fig. 4.1 House 17. German Werkbund Exhibition. Weissenhof, Stuttgart, Germany. Walter Gropius, 1927. Harvard Art Museums/BuschReisinger Museum, Gift of Walter Gropius, BRGA.23.4. 68
■ List of Figure Captions
Fig. 4.2 Guggenheim Museum. Bilbao, Spain. Frank Gehry, 1993–1997. Photo by unknown author. Wikimedia Commons. 74
Fig. 4.3 Self construction. Social Housing Chubi. Toma de Peñalolén, Chile, 2006. Photo by Loestamosgrabando. Wikimedia Commons. 7 7
Chapter 5
Fig. 5.1 Project for a concert hall in iron. Paris, France. Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc, nineteenth century. From his book Entretiens sur l’Architecture, Volume 2, 1872. 88
Fig. 5.2 Extension to the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. Kansas City, Missouri. Steven Holl, 2007. Photo by Charvex. Wikimedia Commons. 90
Fig. 5.3 Virtual reality installation 10,000 Moving Cities-Same but different. National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art. Seoul, South Korea. Marc Lee, 2013. Photo by Marc Lee. Wikimedia Commons. 95
Chapter 6
Fig. 6.1 Kolumba Museum of Art. Cologne, Germany. Peter Zumthor, 1997–2007. Photo by Seier+Seier. Wikimedia Commons. 10 3
Fig. 6.2 Sainte Chapelle. Paris, France. Pierre de Montreuil, thirteenth century. Photo by Grunt XIII. Wikimedia Commons. 107
Fig. 7.1 Villa Rotonda. Vicenza, Italy. Andrea Palladio, 1567-1580. Photo by Quinok. Wikimedia Commons. 12 2
Fig. 7.2 Dimensions of the human figure. Ernest Irving Freese, 1934. Published in American Architect and Architecture 145 (July 1934): 57–60. 125
Fig. 7.3 Sagrada Familia. Barcelona, Spain. Antoni Gaudí, 1882–present. Photo by Bernard Gagnon. Wikimedia Commons. 132
Chapter 8
Fig. 8.1 Précis des leçons d’architecture. Jean-Nicolas-Louis Durand, 1805. 141
Fig. 8.2 House and Studio. Mexico City, Mexico. Luis Barragán, 1976. Photo by Francesco Bandarin. Wikimedia Commons. 144
Fig. 8.3 Tingbjerg Social Housing. Copenhagen, Denmark. Steen Eiler Rasmussen, 1950–1972. Landscape design by C. Th. Sørensen. Photo by Seier+Seier. Wikimedia Commons. 147
Chapter 9
Fig. 9.1 Maison Carrée. Nîmes, France. (4–7 AD). Photo by Martin Kraft. Wikimedia Commons.
15 6
Fig. 9.2 Threshing floor. Near Sanctuary of Flerio, Naxos, Greece. Photo by Zde. Wikimedia Commons. 16 0
Fig. 9.3 Rockefeller Empire State Plaza. Albany, New York. Harrison & Abramovitz, 1965–1976. Photo by UpstateNYer. Wikimedia Commons.
Chapter 10
16 5
Fig. 10.1 Nôtre-Dame du Haut. Ronchamp, France. Le Corbusier, 1955. Photo by Ben Ledbetter. Flickr. 175
Fig. 10.2 Biosphere. Montreal, Canada. Richard Buckminster Fuller, 1967. Photo by Philipp Hienstorfer. Wikimedia Commons. 181
Fig. 10.3 Kaufmann House (Fallingwater). Bear Run, Pennsylvania. Frank Lloyd Wright, 1935. Photo by Miguel Guitart.
Chapter 11
18 8
Fig. 11.1 Church of Sainte-Genevieve or Panthéon. Paris, France. Jacques-Germain Soufflot, 1755–1792. Photo by Maurice Terrien (1912). Wikimedia Commons. 201
Fig. 11.2 Market. New Gourna, Luxor, Egypt. Hassan Fathy, 1946–1952. Photo by Marc Ryckaert. Wikimedia Commons. 208
Fig. 12.1 Iron-frame house with glazed earthenware cladding. Eugène Viollet-le-Duc, 1871. Courtesy of the Musée d’Orsay. 222
Fig. 12.2 Children playground. Bertelmanplein, Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Aldo van Eyck, 1947. Photo by unknown author. Courtesy of the Amsterdam City Archive. 225
Fig. 12.3 Kalungu Girls Secondary School. Masaka, Uganda. Photo by unknown author. Courtesy of Sustainable Sanitation Alliance. Wikimedia Commons. 231
Acknowledgments
This book is inspired by the work of many architects, authors, and thinkers who have contributed to architectural theory. Our work is indebted to them.
We would also like to thank Nicholas Eichelberger for his help in the research, editing, and drafting of key parts of new chapters; Rose Orcutt, Architecture Librarian at the University at Buffalo, for bibliographic support; and Adam Jacob Levin for his editing support.
At Routledge/Taylor & Francis in New York and London, thanks go to Krystal LaDuc Racaniello, Christine Bondira, Lydia Kessell, and Jake Millicheap for their insights, patience, and responsiveness.
We would like to express gratitude to the seven anonymous reviewers of the book, for providing helpful comments and suggestions, which helped improve the final quality of the manuscript.
Special thanks go to architecture students and instructors who will venture into the pages of this book and find this work inspirational in the exploration and advancement of the architectural discipline.
Finally, we are grateful to our families—our biggest supporters and enthusiasts.
Preface To Architectural Educators: The Impetus for this Book
Korydon Smith and Miguel Guitart
The formal study of architectural theory remains absent from many architectural design programs, or, if present, the structure of many academies and curricula places architectural theory as an autonomous, peripheral course. This is especially the case in undergraduate curricula, often composed of a triad—architectural history, architectural technologies, and architectural design. Together, these areas promote a comprehensive understanding of the discipline. Even though theory is often paired with history, the impetus for this book stems from the premise that architectural theory underpins all facets of the discipline—space making, site design, programming, structures, mechanical systems, user experience, precedent study, and design process.
If architectural theory is both broad in scope and synonymous with the discipline, then why has it become merely a side-show in design education? As architectural educators, we might impugn accrediting agencies for ever-expanding requirements; or we might blame the emergence and rise of a variety of prominent issues of our time, such as the expansion of digital design tools; or we might admonish ourselves for atomizing architectural education into fragmented, specialized knowledge areas.
But, it is architectural theory that helps to bridge and integrate these domains. Without proper knowledge of the fundamental debates on architectural theory, it seems not only an impossible task to offer a comprehensive understanding of the complex discipline that architecture is but also a dubious strategy for educating future architects.
If the importance and vitality of architectural theory is to be regained in the minds of students—amidst a crowded, evolving, and competing set of courses— creative pedagogies are needed. What might they be? There is no doubt that design educators across the world have been discussing this question for years. The same question is at the core of this book, which results from the development and implementation of an alternative to the teaching and learning of architectural theory. This book, Introducing Architectural Theory: Expanding the Disciplinary Debate, is much more than a second edition of the first work. This new edition is an authored volume with a renovated ambition: to improve readability and applicability, while expanding the content and “voices” represented. If the first edition, published in 2012, stemmed from curricular and pedagogical conversations the authors had with colleagues near and far, the new book decidedly aims to provide a more concise and timely sequence of chapters, and a more open set of perspectives.
The first volume was, in part, conceived in department curriculum conversations, as a significant number of colleagues, especially those teaching design studios, expressed interrelated concerns about students’ conceptual and critical thinking abilities. There was obvious frustration about the tendency of students to “compartmentalize” knowledge, a kind of amnesia regarding concepts or principles learned in previous architectural history, technology, or studio courses. There was also anxiety that students lacked skills in both vertical thinking, “intellectual discipline,” and lateral thinking, “intellectual agility.” There was concern that students tended to embrace fashionable trends or dogmatic positions too quickly and, commensurately, dismiss historically based or more subtle architectural theories or propositions. Presumably, these same concerns have been voiced for decades in faculty meetings around the world.
With these discussions, there was speculation regarding the sources of perceived deficiencies: Were these propensities cultural or generational? Were the problems developmental? Was the curriculum to blame? Was it some combination of these? Or was it simply undue expectations or misperceptions on the part of the faculty? Like the first volume, the current work contends that architectural theory is vital to undergraduate and beginning graduate design education, and that the absence or marginalization of architectural theory exacerbates the problems stated above.
We had two goals in mind in writing this new edition. First, the content had to fit within common semester structures in order to best integrate the work into not only history and theory courses but also into the core studio and other courses. Second, the content had to be developed for undergraduate students. The first goal set a general structure of 12 chapters, flexible to different pedagogical approaches and learning environments, and easily reordered and deepened (see the expanded bibliographies in each chapter) to suit different course and student needs. The second was to promote accessibility to, interest for, and usefulness to the reader, hopefully of use and interest to both experienced professionals and general readers.
For instructors using this text, we envision four major goals and 13 learning objectives. With these goals and objectives arise three assertions regarding the structure and content of this book. First, the book (and allied course) is not comprehensive; it is not a “survey” of architectural theory, but a selected set of texts. Second, it is not chronologically organized, nor does it provide deep historical context; rather, the book puts forth a set of architectural issues that cut across architectural history and remain relevant in contemporary practice. Third, the book does not delve deeply into texts by philosophers, social theorists, and literary critics; it focuses predominantly on the writings of architects, from Palladio to Pallasmaa.
Goals and Learning Objectives Allied with this Book
1. Advance students’ abilities to understand the various trajectories of architectural thinking today and across history, including the ability to:
a. discern the similarities and differences of various theoretical texts, be they contemporaneous or separated by vast amounts of time
b. understand the relationship between disparate positions in architectural theory
c. understand the difference between architectural theory and other forms of theory, e.g., philosophy and art.
2. Advance students’ abilities to be more self-aware about one’s architectural predilections and be able to contextualize them relative to other architectural theories, including the ability to:
a. understand the relationship between one’s positions in architectural theory/ideology and other similar and disparate views
b. better understand the implications of one’s ideas and work
c. incorporate new architectural ideas/theories into one’s thinking/work
d. adapt one’s own architectural thinking and predilections
3. Advance students’ critical thinking skills, including the ability to:
a. more critically engage the content of studio courses
b. more critically question the work of one’s colleagues and the profession
4. Advance students’ reading and writing skills, including the ability to:
a. clearly identify the meanings and value of various architectural texts
b. more effectively seek out and identify texts that help one to strengthen your future studio (and future professional) work
c. clearly articulate the ideas of others in written form
d. more clearly articulate one’s own ideas in written form
All three assertions signal a paradigmatic shift in architectural theory education (maybe a risky one). We are aware that these premises diminish the number of texts covered. We have, however, addressed this in the second volume by shortening the excerpts included and incrementally increasing the range of voices. We also forfeit a deep understanding of the cultural, economic, and technological contexts in which a particular architectural idea arose. Again, we offset this by including a list of further readings that augment those that have been cited directly. Lastly, we recognize that we are sacrificing writings from other disciplines—literary criticism, biology, etc.—that have gained momentum in the discipline of architecture over the past five decades.1 Instead, the 12 chapters are organized around major themes in architecture that have multiple viewpoints and are highly relevant to the discipline today. These themes respond to a series of critical dimensions of architectural theory in general, also engage specific contemporary issues, such as the chapter on “Exclusivity and Inclusivity.” The book also enables a significant pedagogical shift to be implemented: using the dialectic as the organizing structure for critical thinking, writing, in-class debates, and design. The questions at the beginning and end of each chapter reinforce this.
In its colloquial form, the dialectic is a dialogue. 2 It arises as a dichotomy, a debate among two opposing positions, ideas, or theories. But, through the desire to reconcile the debate, the dialectic transcends the dichotomy. Through negation, compromise, aggregation, or transformation of one or both sides of the debate, a third…fourth, fifth…proposition emerges. The dialectic, as such, possesses three parts: thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. These three elements set the arc for each chapter in the first volume, and it remains the case for the current volume, while additional points of view, even small tangents, are integrated in order to broaden the works cited and views expressed.
We clearly understand that there are many excellent books on architectural theory, including an array of anthologies and compendia. Likewise, there are a variety of ways in which architectural theory compilations are organized. Some books are organized geographically, 3 some are organized chronologically,4 and some are organized thematically.5 There are benefits and drawbacks to each organizational strategy.
The organization of the present work is closest to the thematic strategy, with an overlay of the dialectical structure. Each chapter contains readings from several authors, representing different viewpoints, including both an introduction and interludes by us, the authors of this volume. It needs to be noted that, for pedagogical reasons, introductions to each chapter are kept brief. Likewise, opening questions and images throughout each chapter are intended to stir the reader’s mind and spark dialogue; the aim is not to provide a deep, interpretive history. In teaching from this text, therefore, we have found it useful to have students complete self-reflective writings or group discussions about each topic prior to starting each reading to assess their understanding and disclose their preferences and presumptions. The introduction to each chapter then serves as a transition between students’ initial thoughts and the deeper, more critical discussion that arises while reading the dialectical set of texts. Along the way, our voices (the authors) enter like narrators in a play, providing context for each “actor” who enters, offering summaries of otherwise long excerpts, and drawing connections and new meanings across the selected works. Each chapter concludes with a series of analytical, synthetic, self-reflective, and prospective questions.
These questions might be coupled with other critical thinking objectives and exercises. Though tremendously overused in higher education today (and at risk of oversimplification here), we wanted this imagined course to provide students with strategies for critical thinking. Architectural theory would simply be the medium. We aspire for students to not only understand the origins and trajectories of various architectural theories but also to verbalize and re-conceptualize their own predilections of architecture.
Principles of Critical Thinking in Architecture: An Integration and Translation of the Educational Literature
a. Non-neutrality: Understanding that planning, design, and construction are neither neutral nor singular in their impacts.
b. Paradigms of Thought: Understanding disciplinary canons, standards, conventions, and norms, as well as recognizing the implications of adopting, transforming, or replacing dominant paradigms.
c. Methods of Inquiry: Comparing and contrasting the methods and tools for gathering historical, technical, cultural, spatial, and other information; judiciously assessing the sources and transmitters of information; and knowing the strengths, limitations, and biases that reside within each source and method.
d. Types and Sources of Information: Analyzing and synthesizing disparate sources and kinds of information about built environments, understanding
relative hierarchies and vectors of influence, and identifying and interpolating gaps in knowledge.
e. Implications: Not only making logic-driven and intuition-driven decisions that aim to achieve stated goals but also anticipating secondary and tertiary implications of design decisions, particularly those with potentially negative ecological, economic, social, or health impacts.
f. Value Systems and Awareness: Engaging in comprehensive, methodical critiques of historical and contemporary works, the work of peers, and one’s own work, including differentiating between objective and subjective assessments, widely held value structures vs. personal preferences, and established best practices vs. ideal future practices.
g. Self-regulated, Life-long Learning: Improving self-awareness and conscious metacognition, reflectively integrating new knowledge with prior knowledge and experiences, and actively pursuing learning opportunities.
In utilizing this text, consider the dialectical structure as a pedagogical tool, more than as an empirical representation of architectural theory. The reasons for this are, first, that the dialectical structure is readily accessible to students. Students do not need a full understanding of Socrates,’ Fichte’s, Hegel’s, or other philosophical works to understand the basic idea of dialectical thinking. The structure of the dialectic possesses both a binary construct—thesis and antithesis which is developmentally and culturally consistent with a majority of beginning architecture students, and a means by which to transcend the binary— synthesis The structure provides both a normative foundation and an investigative springboard for critical inquiry.
Second, the dialectical structure provides a means to analyze architectural theories outside of a historical continuum. This frees the curriculum and pedagogy of the course from the chronological system in which history and theory are often delivered. Such freedom allows for a thematic approach, contemporary and prospective in its trajectory, which better resonates with students’ own careers and future views of themselves. In short, Introducing Architectural Theory: Expanding the Disciplinary Debate is an attempt to bring architectural theory back to the center of the architectural education experience. The book aims to support students in finding and questioning their own critical positions in the learning and practice of architecture.
NOTES
1. In recent years, architectural theory has been criticized for borrowing too heavily from peripherally related disciplines (e.g., semiotics), which draws focus away from the historical centers of the discipline. Similarly, popular media (and architects themselves) often rely on metaphorical or analogical language when discussing various architectural works. The reliance on allegories is problematic for undergraduate design education, because it obfuscates the essential, complex, and interwoven components of the discipline: context, space, use, tectonic expression, building performance, etc. The pilot course taught using the structure and content of the first volume of this book, therefore, focused primarily on texts written by architects rather than on texts written by philosophers or theorists who discuss architecture more obliquely. Texts like Deleuze’s
“Postscript on the Societies of Control” are highly influential to the discipline of architecture, but, in our view, are more appropriate at the graduate level.
2. The dialectic is a Socratic concept, but saw advancement from a number of philosophers, including Johann Fichte in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The dialectic is more fully explained in Part 1 of this book.
3. This is the case of books such as K. Michael Hays, ed., Architecture Theory Since 1968 (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998) and Joan Ockman, ed., Architecture Culture 1943-1968: A Documentary Anthology (New York, NY: Rizzoli, 1993), as well as Barbara Borngässer and Veronica Biermann, eds., Architectural Theory from the Renaissance to the Present (Los Angeles, CA: Taschen, 2002).
4. For example, both K. Michael Hays, ed., Architecture Theory since 1968 (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998) and Joan Ockman, ed., Architecture Culture 1943–1968: A Documentary Anthology (New York, NY: Rizzoli, 1993) are organized chronologically. Architectural Theory from the Renaissance to the Present (Los Angeles, CA: Taschen, 2002) is organized geographically. Hanno-Walter Kruft, A History of Architectural Theory from Vitruvius to the Present (New York, NY: Princeton Architectural Press, 1994) is a combination of both of these strategies—which two? Chronological and geographic?— as is the case for Harry Francis Mallgrave, ed., Architectural Theory: Volume I: An Anthology from Vitruvius to 1870 (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006) and Harry Francis Mallgrave and Christina Contandriopoulos, eds., Architectural Theory: Volume II: An Anthology from 1871-2005 (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2008).
5. As is the case of Kate Nesbitt, ed., Theorizing a New Agenda for Architecture: An Anthology of Architectural Theory, 1965–1995 (New York, NY: Princeton Architectural Press, 1996) and Jay M. Stein and Kent F. Spreckelmeyer, ed., Classic Readings in Architecture (New York, NY: McGraw-Hill, 1999).
DEBATE IN ARCHITECTURE
Introduction
To Students: Why Architectural Theory Is Vital to Your Education and Your Career
As a student, architecture reviews and critiques can be both invigorating and stressful. You share the work you have done over the past weeks, months, or years. You present your goals, process, and results. You present various drawings and models, as well as some written text or verbal remarks. Likely, the final review is a requirement given by your professor or program, and, maybe for some of you, you would prefer not to go through with it. On the other hand, you might truly look forward to this opportunity to candidly present what you believe are the strengths and weaknesses of your work, and to gain insights from an esteemed group of critics. Maybe some of you are hopeful to receive praise for your hard work and commendations for your successes. In any case, the excitement and stress of final reviews, in our experience, often stems from the unpredictability of the discussion that ensues. As you prepare to present, several questions are likely in mind: What will and won’t be said? What students will receive accolades and what students will be derided? How will the flow of the conversation evolve? Part of the seeming randomness is surely caused by the interests and expertise of the critics, but what appears to be random might well be within your control.1
Many students are unaware of or lack confidence in how they can direct their own reviews, rather than standing by as passive observers. This book provides a foundation for gaining authority of your work and your reviews, as well as preparing you for discourse in professional settings.
When you stand in front of a panel of critics and embark on a discussion of the goals, methods, and outcomes of the work, knowingly or unknowingly, you are launching a theoretical position. This position—and all the aesthetic and pragmatic judgments it contains—becomes more and more tangible as critics lean forward with enthusiasm, shift uncomfortably in their chairs, or slump with boredom. Named or unnamed, it is then from a similar or distant theoretical stance that the subsequent critique materializes. As such, theory is central to architectural education. Understanding this is essential.
DEFINING ARCHITECTURAL THEORY
Consider several questions: What is “theory?” How is it useful? What excites you about theory? What scares you about it?
Many students are enthusiastic about theory and what it connotes— ruminating on the significance of this or that architect or architectural work.
To many other students, theory is seen as a set of puzzling texts written by obscure authors—boring, heady, and impractical. You might feel alienated. Contributing to this feeling, architectural theory may be marginal to your educational experience, often reserved for elective courses, graduate study, or as a supplement to undergraduate history, technology, or design courses. As such, it is difficult to see how theory is useful, much less seeing why studying architectural theory is necessary.
Defined another way, architectural theory is neither formal nor textual, neither cryptic nor pretentious. Theory may be the most vital component of the architecture curriculum. Explicit or implicit, architectural theory is the means by which architects and architectural scholars situate themselves in the world. This positioning is not merely based on embracing fashionable discourses but is part of clarifying one’s architectural line of thinking. It is how the discipline of architecture began and has evolved. Theory is what underpins all aspects of architecture— technological, cultural, economic, environmental, and aesthetic. It is through theories that architects align with or dispute other architects or architectural works. This book is about this ongoing debate.
Humans make theories to explain the world around them. “Theory building develops out of our need to make sense out of life.”2 Philosophy, religion, and science are three examples of this human desire to explore and explain the meaning of life. As such, “theory” and “philosophy” are often synonymous. 3 In fact, many library databases use the term “architecture philosophy” rather than “architecture theory.”4 The term “philosophy,” however, may be misleading, as it suggests something ephemeral, hypothetical, or non-concrete. In actuality, architectural theory serves a practical role. Though “practice” is often seen as the complement to “theory,” architectural theory is often most evident in the design and construction of buildings and places. Architectural theory fulfills a rational, pragmatic, and concrete purpose.
Written architectural theory began with Marcus Vitruvius’ Ten Books on Architecture, from the first century BCE.5 The book was a practical guide to the design and construction of towns, infrastructure, public buildings, and private residences. The book also included discussions of material properties and their usage, proportion and geometry, and site orientation, all of which remain relevant to architecture today. Published architectural theory remained absent until the Renaissance, when Alberti published the On the Art of Building in Ten Books in the late fifteenth century, which closely modeled Vitruvius’ work.6 Since that time, architects, architectural critics, and architectural historians have published thousands of articles and books on a range of architectural topics, largely with quite practical implications—cost, functionality, ecology, etc. It is important to understand that, unlike the natural sciences or the social sciences, theories in architecture often emerge from less formalized, more individualistic views.7 Many architectural theories are the writings of individual architects. These writings are frequently subjective opinions, not necessarily rooted in objective, empirical research. As well, architectural theory is not just found in books but is part of the ongoing conversations that take place in architecture academies and practices around the world—in public lectures, in blogs and social media, in private conversations, and, yes, in final reviews.
Scientific theories usually focus on the explanation or prediction of causal relationships. They can be explanatory —deductive and verifiable, such as the Pythagorean Theorem in mathematics—or exploratory —inductive and speculative, such as the String Theory in physics. This concept possesses both a common ground and a divergence from social science theories, where the focus is on human behavior rather than natural phenomena.
Compared to other disciplines, architectural theory is less easily circumscribed. 8 Architectural theory is vast and diverse and encompasses at least three main areas:
Theories of architectural design : such as spatial concepts, organizational strategies, aesthetic guidelines, design methods, etc.
Theories of architectural history : such as social phenomena and patterns, linguistic analyses, analyses of physical artifacts, etc.
Theories of architectural technology : such as principles of structure, lighting, ventilation, drainage, etc.
Likewise, some architectural theories are scientific (e.g., Daniel Bernoulli’s principles of fluid dynamics); some are sociological (e.g., Edward T. Hall’s concept of proxemics); and some are ideological (e.g., John Ruskin’s assertions of truth in The Seven Lamps of Architecture ).
In all cases, the merits of a theory are based on its reliability, validity, repeatability, application, and adoption, i.e., the number of followers. “To be useful, theories must exhibit certain qualities: comprehensiveness, clarity and explicitness, consistency, parsimony, and heurism.”9 Theories evolve over time in order to better achieve these criteria. Theories also change for two other, complementary reasons: (1) empirical substance and (2) cultural resonance. Empirical substance is the extent to which a theory is accepted by experts in a given discipline; cultural resonance is the extent to which a theory is accepted by society. For example, heliocentrism, the theory that the planets revolve around the sun, was asserted multiple times throughout history, beginning with scholars in ancient Greece. The concept was scientifically proven by Copernicus and his contemporaries in the sixteenth century, but it did not gain social acceptance until well after Copernicus’ death, as the theory conflicted with the dominant religious beliefs of the time. Parallels may be drawn in architecture to contemporary issues like environmental stewardship, social justice, and aesthetic taste, where the views and knowledge of architects might be out of step with those of clients or society.
In short, architectural theory is part science, part history, part ideology, part sociology, and part aesthetic judgment. Therefore, we have developed the following definition of architectural theory: The evolution of the objective principles and subjective values that guide individual and collective decisions about and assessments of one’s own and others’ architectural works.
The definition consists of three complementary pairs. The first pair stems from the notion that architectural theory encompasses a wide range of empirical, cultural, and ideological premises. “Objective principles” refers to scientific theories, such
as structural, lighting, or acoustic phenomena; “subjective values,” on the other hand, are belief systems, such as political agendas or concepts of beauty.
The second pair illustrates that architectural design decisions may be “individual” or “collective.” “Individuals” include architects, clients, critics, and so forth; “collectives” include architectural academies, groups of architects sharing similar beliefs, or groups in society who possess a common cause.
The last pair points to the tension between self and other, “one’s own” and “others’” architectural works. This is especially important for students developing their own identities as architects, seeking to situate themselves in the larger discipline of architecture. Students have often voiced to us the tension they see between asserting their own burgeoning theories of architecture and the more matured, often conflicting, views of their instructors.
The final piece of the definition is the introductory phrase: “the evolution of.” Architectural theories are part of a continuum, an ongoing debate, which guides the structure of each chapter in this book.
ARCHITECTS’ ASPIRATIONS, IDEALS, AND DEBATES
According to architectural philosopher Karsten Harries, throughout history architects have pursued the “dream of the complete building.”10 For centuries, architects have sought a synthesis and reconciliation of form and function, tradition and innovation, context and building, and other issues. Vitruvius, in the first century BCE, stated that architecture must be durable, convenient, and beautiful; while Wright, in the twentieth century, argued for an “organic architecture.”11 In both cases, and in the 2,000 years of architecture between them, the aspiration was a complete, integrated whole, where nothing could be added or taken away. Yet, “despite the efforts of…generations of architects, the dream of the complete building remains unrealized.”12 Nevertheless, like the residents of Italo Calvino’s mythical city of Zobeide, architects keep pursuing the dream.13
As each architect pursues her, his, or their aspirations, the discipline of architecture evolves. The course of architectural theory is changed by each generation of architects as they debate the relevance of current and historic ideals. These debates take many forms. Some architectural debates were staged in front of an audience, like the 1989 debate in Chicago between Peter Eisenman and Léon Krier titled “My Ideology Is Better than Yours.”14 Other debates were between contemporaries and played out through built works, e.g., Bernini vs. Borromini during the Roman Renaissance, or occurred through written works, e.g., Ruskin vs. Viollet-le-Duc in nineteenth-century Europe. Yet other debates took place between architects that were separated by centuries, such as Le Corbusier’s refuting of the canons of Classical architecture.
The case of Le Corbusier is indicative of the morphology of architectural theory. In an era of rapid advances in technology and changes in social structures, Le Corbusier set out to create a new architecture. He sought to dismantle Classical tenets of architecture—symmetry, firm grounding, etc.—and replace them with his own. Systematically, Le Corbusier developed his own “five points”—free plan, piloti, etc.—each a direct counterpoint to Classical doctrine.15 Le Corbusier’s
extensive built and written work influenced both his contemporaries and innumerable designers thereafter. Le Corbusier’s principles of city planning, however, were later criticized by a variety of scholars who touted the importance of contextualism.16 Contextualism, in turn, was met by a “f**k context” mantra at the end of the twentieth century.17 This string of ideas—from Classical tenets, to Le Corbusier’s five points, to Jane Jacobs’ critique of Le Corbusier’s urban ideals, to Rem Koolhaas’s interrogative uncertainty—is one example of how architectural theory evolves. This is an exemplary dialectic, the flow of each chapter in this book.
THE CONCEPT OF THE DIALECTIC
Centuries after the rediscovery and republication of Vitruvius’s Ten Books on Architecture during the Renaissance, non-architectural philosophers, such as Johann Gottlieb Fichte and Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel in the nineteenth century, fundamentally altered the logic systems of the Western world. As a result, various disciplines, including architecture, were radically transformed by the notion of the dialectic. In essence, dialectical philosophy, which built upon the premises put forth by Socrates and Plato in the fifth and fourth centuries BCE, eclipsed Vitruvius’s theoretical triad of “firmness, commodity, and delight.”18 The dialectic was a tool of categorization and critical analysis, or what Fichte regarded as wissenschaftslehre, “the science of knowledge.”19
According to Fichte, the dialectic contained three parts: thesis, antithesis, and synthesis. 20 “Thesis” referred to an originating idea, position, or argument; “antithesis” was the opposite or counter-argument to the thesis; and “synthesis” was the reconciliation or transformation of the thesis and antithesis. Put together, the dialectic provided philosophers with a strategy for writing and evaluating philosophical concepts. 21
The concept of the dialectic is often used as a teaching tool. In a sociology or psychology class, for example, the teacher might ask: Which plays the greatest role, “nature” or “nurture”? Students then debate with one another (and in their own minds) what is more significant nature, a person’s biology and genetic makeup, or nurture, a person’s life experiences and upbringing. Students typically opt for one or the other and begin formulating arguments to support their opinions. At this phase, they are working either in the thesis (“nature”) or the antithesis (“nurture”). As students debate further, however, they begin to realize the roles that both genetics and upbringing play. They integrate the two sides of the debate, discussing how nature and nurture are related and how both nature and nurture affect human psychology and sociology, what would be called “synthesis.”
Teachers might ask similar questions regarding race, religion, or gender: For example, who has a more difficult adolescence, boys or girls? The dialectic appears simple on the surface, but the process of the debate reveals the complex and diverse factors involved in answering the question. Often, the question is not about gender at all; it is a discussion about parenting, schooling, brain or body development, or other issues.
Similarly, a political science class might engage subjects about federal spending: Where should more money be spent, on education or healthcare? One
objective might be for students to understand how federal funds are spent in each of these areas. Another objective might be for students to know the quantitative and qualitative outcomes of these expenditures. A third objective might be for students to verbalize their own views and opinions, to better understand their own political affiliations. This is often a primary goal of dialectical questions, to foster students’ consciousness about their own assumptions, values, and ideals. It is a primary reason for the structure of this book.
DIALECTICS IN ARCHITECTURE
Architecture is filled with dialectics: mass and void, light and shade, inside and outside, movement and repose, enclosure and opening, natural and constructed, etc. Although there is a degree of opposition between the terms in each pair— e.g., inside vs. outside—it is not about choosing one side of the dialectic over the other; both are necessary. Likewise, many dialectics in architecture operate along a continuum or gradient, such as transparent, semi-transparent, translucent, semi-opaque, and opaque.
There are also dialectics that intersect. For example, enclosure and opening have a direct effect on light and shade, which, in turn, influences movement and repose. Architectural design is a process of making incremental, though interrelated, decisions. This is the inherent complexity of architectural design, the cyclical integration of diverse, sometimes conflicting, issues: tectonics, use, and site (the three major topics covered in this book).
In 1982, at the Graduate School of Design at Harvard University, a debate was staged between renowned theorists and architects Peter Eisenman and Christopher Alexander. 22 What emerged was nothing short of entertaining, as Alexander accused Eisenman of “f**king up the world.” Entertainment value aside, the debate serves as a clear example of the dialectic. Alexander, building on a mathematics background and a precedent-based approach to architecture, discussed the importance of “harmony” in architecture, the proportional relationships among the spaces and elements of a building or urban design. Eisenman challenged these views and stated that, for “harmony” to be recognized and appreciated, “discord” was essential.
Similarly, in 1999, Harvard hosted another debate, this time between wellknown urban theorists Andres Duany and Rem Koolhaas. 23 Although it did not gain the same publicity as the Eisenman-Alexander debate, the dialectic was equally at play. Duany argued for a return to well-established processes and principles of urban design, a heightened sensitivity and control over public and private planning, infrastructure, space, and use. Koolhaas, on the other hand, made a case for reduced urban design control and for encouraging happenstance. While these two events exemplify the ongoing debate of architecture, the discipline of architecture is full of debates, and few of them take place in front of a captive audience. 24 Discussions between students and teachers, between clients and architects, and between critics and theorists contribute to these ongoing debates. What is the most significant building in architectural history? What dissatisfies you most about the architecture of the past ten years? What is the
most pressing issue in architecture today? How does the discipline of architecture need to change in the future? These questions prod us and they cause architecture to change. New materials are invented. New spaces and forms are made. New uses are accommodated. Architects form new ideals (and ideas) about what architecture could be and must be.
You have the opportunity to participate in this debate, and the chapters ahead will facilitate this. As a dialectic or triptych, the various texts we include in each chapter cover both a broad span of history and a wide range of philosophies. The goal is to open up questions that have relevance to you now, as a student, and that will remain significant as we continue debating issues in our discipline.
THE CHAPTERS AHEAD
Each of the 12 chapters ahead explores a particular dialectical topic in architecture, a debate with multiple points of view. Each chapter provides a way of seeing how architectural theories originate, transform, and evolve. The excerpts included in each chapter follow Fichte’s thesis-antithesis-synthesis organization. 25
The 12 chapters in this book cover a wide range of dialectal themes in architecture. Each chapter begins with a set of questions intended to stir the reader’s thinking. This is followed by a brief introduction to the topic and the set of texts that follow. For example, the chapter on “Simplicity and Complexity” opens with a consideration of the terms “simplicity” and “complexity” as they apply to architecture. The introduction then offers a path into the relevance and challenge of architects’ debates about simplicity and complexity. The chapter then draws excerpts from architect-authors like Marcel Breuer, Robert Venturi, and Vittorio Gregotti. We, the authors of this book, provide context, transitions, integrations, and new interpretations of the works cited. Like the other chapters, “Simplicity and Complexity” concludes with a set of writing/discussion questions, as well as a list of additional texts for readers particularly interested in the topic.
At the end of the book, you will also find several resources. These appendices are intended to provide added advice about (1) reading comprehension and analysis, (2) different genres of writing, (3) different citation styles, and (4) conducting library-based research. You are urged to consult these appendices before, during, and after you have completed reading each chapter.
A FINAL NOTE ON THE FUTURE OF ARCHITECTURAL THEORY
It is an exciting time to study and practice architecture. While the primary subjects of architecture two millennia ago—tectonics, use, and site—remain central to the discipline, new materials and technologies are emerging every day and environmental, social, and economic challenges grow more complex and diverse. These are not easily solved problems, making it a vital time to study architectural theory. Undoubtedly, as architects of the future, you and your peers will question your roles relative to other emerging challenges and opportunities. The debate will likely center on the ways that structure, space, form, material, program, and context are transformed to address these issues. Debates in architectural theory
will be transformed. You will participate in that transformation. And, in hindsight, end-of-semester reviews will seem tranquil by comparison.
NOTES
1. Final reviews—or “juries”—in architectural education have come under criticism. See Kathryn Anthony, Design Juries on Trial: The Renaissance of the Design Studio (New York, NY: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1991); Helena Webster, “The Analytics of Power: Re-presenting the Design Jury,” Journal of Architectural Education Vol. 60 (2007): 21–27.
2. Quotation from W.B. Walsh, Theories of Person-Environment Interaction: Implications for the College Student (Iowa City, IA: American College Testing Program, 1973), 5. For further definitions and purposes of “theory,” see Robert Dubin, Theory Building, Revised Edition (New York, NY: The Free Press, 1978); Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1962); Paul D. Reynolds, A Primer in Theory Construction (New York, NY: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1971); and W.B. Walsh, Theories of Person-Environment Interaction
3. Theory stems from three Greek terms: theoros (spectator), theorein (to look at), and theoria (contemplation). For a discussion on the Greek origins of theory, see Andrea W. Nightingale, Spectacles of Truth in Classical Greek Philosophy: Theoria In Its Cultural Context (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). For other definitions of theory, see Robert Dubin, Theory Building, Revised Edition (New York, NY: The Free Press, 1978); Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1962); Paul D. Reynolds, A Primer in Theory Construction (New York, NY: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1971); and Walsh, Theories of Person-Environment Interaction. The prefix “theo,” common to the aforementioned Greek terms, is also worth noting, because it is common to the term “theology,” the study or philosophy of religion. In early Eastern Christian theology, theoria was the enlightenment given by God, the highest form of knowledge. This concept is paralleled in other Western and Eastern religions as well. Putting aside any particular religion, it has been said that primitive and advanced religions originated for any number of reasons—social, political, biological, legal, technological, metaphysical, etc. See, for example, Émile Durkheim, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). Trans. Carol Cosman. First published 1912; E.E. Evans-Pritchard, Theories of Primitive Religion (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965); F. Max Müller, Anthropological Religion: The Gifford Lectures Delivered before the University of Glasgow (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1892); Daniel L. Pals, Eight Theories of Religion (New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2006); and J. Samuel Preus, Explaining Religion: Criticism and Theory from Bodin to Freud (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987).
4. This includes individual libraries, as well as major classification schemas, such as the Universal Decimal Classification (UDC) used throughout Britain and much of Europe.
5 In essence, what we now call architecture emerged from various interpretations of Vitruvius’s Ten Books on Architecture, as asserted by a number of authors of architectural theory anthologies. This includes Bernd Evers, “Preface,” in Architectural Theory from the Renaissance to the Present (Los Angeles, CA: Taschen, 2002), 6; Hanno-Walter Kruft, A History of Architectural Theory from Vitruvius to the Present (New York, NY: Princeton Architectural Press), 21–29; Harry F. Mallgrave and Christina Contandriopoulos, Architectural Theory, Volume II: An Anthology from 1871-2005 (Maldwell, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2008), xxix; and Cristof Thoenes, “Introduction,” in Architectural Theory from the Renaissance to the Present (Los Angeles, CA: Taschen, 2002), 8–19. Vitruvius is essential to an understanding of architectural theory not merely for etymological reasons but also due to ties with a diverse range of concepts that contemporary theory addresses. Many of the themes discussed by Vitruvius—philosophy
and ethics, tectonic expression, urban planning, and other issues—cut across architectural history. Marcus Vitruvius, Ten Books on Architecture (New York, NY: Cambridge, 1999), 72–75, 84–86. Trans. Morris H. Morgan. First published ca. 25 BCE.
6 Leon Battista Alberti, On The Art of Building in Ten Books (1486) (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1988). Trans. Joseph Rykwert, Neil Leach, and Robert Tavernor.
7 Many architectural theories are less strongly rooted in positivistic inquiry and more commonly stem from a wide range of constructivist, deconstructivist, critical theory, phenomenological, and other paradigms. A paradigm possesses several facets: (1) the assumptions one makes about the world around them, (2) the questions one chooses to ask about that world, and (3) the methods one uses to pursue answers to those questions. As stated by Hatch: “When you are standing within the circle of logic created by the assumptions of your paradigm, the positions taken by those working in other paradigms simply do not make sense. Paradigms are indeed completing ways of thinking about how the world is or is not ordered, what counts as knowledge, and how and if knowledge can be gained.” For discussions of the concept of paradigms and the relationship to theory, see J.A. Hatch, Doing Qualitative Research in Education Settings (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2002), 19; and Thomas S. Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1962). For further discussion of architectural paradigms, see Linda Groat and David Wang, Architectural Research Methods (New York, NY: John Wiley & Sons, 2002), 73–98.
8 For further definitions of architectural theory and the diverse range of theories, see Paul-Alan Johnson, The Theory of Architecture: Concepts, Themes, and Practices (New York, NY: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1994).
9 For information on student identity development, see Nancy J. Evans, Deanna S. Forney, and Florence Guido-DiBrito, Student Development in College: Theory, Research, and Practice (San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass, 1998), 17.
10 Karsten Harries, “The Dream of the Complete Building,” Perspecta Vol. 17 (1980): 36–43.
11 Marcus Vitruvius, The Ten Books on Architecture (New York, NY: Dover Publications, 1960). Trans. Morris H. Morgan; and Frank L. Wright, An American Architecture. Edgar Kaufmann, ed. (New York, NY: Horizon Press, 1955).
12 Harries, ibid, 36.
13 Italo Calvino, “Cities and Desire 5,” Invisible Cities (San Diego, CA: Harcourt, Inc., 1974), 45–46. Trans. William Weaver.
14 Peter Eisenman and Léon Krier, “Peter Eisenman versus Léon Krier: My Ideology Is Better than Yours,” Architectural Design Vol. 59 (1989): 6–18.
15 Le Corbusier, Towards a New Architecture (1923) (New York, NY: Dover Publications, 1986). Trans. Frederick Etchells.
16 “Contextualism” was developed at Cornell University in the 1970s by Colin Rowe and others, including Thomas Schumacher. See Tom Schumacher, “Contextualism: Urban Ideals and Deformations,” Casabella Vol. 35 (1971): 78–86.
17 “Fuck context” is a phrase seen in Office for Metropolitan Architecture, Rem Koolhaas, and Bruce Mau, Small, Medium, Large, Extra-Large (New York, NY: Monacelli Press, 1995), 640. It also appears in Forty’s analysis of the term “context” in Adrian Forty, Words and Buildings: A Vocabulary of Modern Architecture (New York, NY: Thames & Hudson, 2000), 135.
18 Vitruvius, ibid.
19 Johann G. Fichte, The Science of Knowledge (Philadelphia, PA: J.B. Lippincott & Co., 1868).
20 Among German philosophers, Kant, Hegel, and Heidegger, arguably, have had the most significant influence on architecture. For discussions on the three aspects of the dialectic—thesis, antithesis, synthesis—see Fichte, The Science of Knowledge
21 It should be noted that the both forms of the dialectic—Fichte’s and Hegel’s—are merely two means of categorization. Other systems of thought and categorization may be
equally useful. See, for example, Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (New York, NY: Random House, 1970). Nevertheless, it is also worth noting that the tripartite dialectical system directly parallels the works of contemporary architectural scholars. See, for example, Alan Colquhoun, “Three Kinds of Historicism,” in Kate Nesbitt, ed., Theorizing a New Agenda for Architecture: An Anthology of Architectural Theory, 1965-1995 (New York, NY: Princeton Architectural Press, 1996), 200–210.
22 The debate between Peter Eisenman and Christopher Alexander took place in November 1982 and was later published by Harvard as “Discord over Harmony in Architecture: Peter Eisenman and Christopher Alexander in Discussion,” Studio Works Vol. 7 (2000): 48–57.
23 The debate between Andres Duany and Rem Koolhaas, mediated by Alex Krieger, was later published by Harvard as “Exploring New Urbanism(s),” Studio Works Vol. 7 (2000): 134–145.
24 Another good example of an architectural dialectic is discussed in Andreas Huyssen, “The Hidden Dialectic: Avantgarde—Technology—Mass Culture,” After the Great Divide (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1986), 3–15.
25 Fichte’s dialectical structure is often attributed, erroneously, to Hegel, i.e., the “Hegelian dialectic.” The reader should note that Hegel’s tripartite system of “original,” “reflective,” and “philosophical” was developed for different purposes than Fichte’s dialectic. Hegel used these terms to define three different approaches to historical research. Fichte’s and Hegel’s constructs are described in this book as parallel simply for pedagogical purposes. See Georg W.F. Hegel, The Philosophy of History (New York, NY: The Cooperative Publication Society, 1900). Trans. J. Sibree.
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need expect nothing to come of it. To-day I am in doubt.... I desired to hold myself free from—er—such things as marriage. Doubtless that, also, was a mistake.... I am open-minded.”
“You—you—are open-minded!” Carmel gasped out the words.
“Exactly. I have determined to allow the emotion to follow its natural course, without interference by myself. Even if it results in marriage with you, I shall not interfere.”
“Of all things,” said Carmel.
“Meantime, while the more important matter is working itself out, let us endeavor to be friends.” As he said this there came into his voice a wistfulness, a humility which touched her. Her eyes filled. She held out her hand.
“Friends!... Of course we shall be friends! You must overlook my bad temper. I have so many faults.”
His eyes glowed, his face became animated. “You,” he said, eagerly, “are very lovely. You are—er—wonderful....” He stared at her as if she had been an apparition. Carmel caught her breath and turned away abruptly
So much for Evan Pell’s effort to break through his chrysalis shell.... The fates had not determined if he were to become a moth or a butterfly....
At that very hour Abner Fownes was opening his mail. His frame of mind was not of the pleasantest, though he had succeeded in tiding over the day before a situation financially threatening. The condition of his affairs was wearing upon him. Constant calls for money, demands upon his shiftiness to prevent a débâcle, never-failing watchfulness, bore heavily upon the man. It was not easy to maintain his attitude of high-spirited public citizen. It was not simple to keep beneath the surface the man who lurked under the skin of the fatuous cat’s-paw. It was difficult to maintain the pretense of being used by smaller men, when constantly he had to twist smaller men to his own ends.
Now he opened with trepidation a letter from a lumber concern with which his dealings had been extensive.
We have received yours of the 20th with respect to renewing your note for $18,750 which falls due two weeks from to-day. We regret that in present conditions this is impossible, and must ask you to take up this paper without fail.
Fownes crumpled the letter in his hand and stared at the paneling of his office as if he hoped by the mere venom of his look to reduce it to ashes. His pudgy, beautifully tailored shoulders moved upward so that his short neck disappeared and his ears rested upon his collar. Then he expelled his breath. He arose and went to the safe, which he opened—to which he alone possessed the combination—and took from its resting place the red leather book in which he kept the true record of his and his company’s condition. This he carried to his desk, and for many minutes he studied it, hoping against hope for some expedient to make itself apparent.... There was no expedient.
He returned the book to its place and locked the safe; then he twisted the handle of the telephone insistently, and gave Central the number of the Court House.
“Deputy Jenney,” he said, arrogantly.
The deputy answered.
“Come to my office immediately,” he said. “Never mind who sees. This is imperative.... At once.” Following that, he waited.
Deputy Jenney entered, breathless, and stood panting.
“Jenney,” said Fownes, “I’ve determined to make another investment.”
“Eh? Already.... Why, we hain’t hardly got the last off’n our hands. It’s takin’ a chance, says I, and crowdin’ the mourners.”
“I’m running this business, Jenney.... This next is to be no retail deal, either. It’s wholesale.”
“You—you want to go easy By golly! Mr Fownes, so much stuff comin’ in is goin’ to git somebody mighty curious.”
“If you’re sheriff, Jenney, what will the curiosity amount to?”
“Federal officers!”
Fownes shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll see to your appointment as sheriff. You attend to organizing everybody to receive the shipment. We’ll need all available space and all outlets. I’m going to fetch in enough this time to flood the county.”
“You know what you’re doin’,” Jenney said, sullenly, “but what with that damn paper a-peckin’ at us all the time——”
“Nobody reads it, Jenney. And you’ll be sheriff.”
“I’ll do my dumdest—but I don’t like it.”
“And I don’t care whether you like it or not. And that’s that. Better see Peewee first.”
“When’s it comin’?”
“Inside of ten days.... And, Jenney, I don’t believe the paper’s going to bother much longer.”
“Eh?”
“I’m going to—er—give that girl a hint of our plans.”
“What?”
“I’m going to give her a tip, as they say. She’ll investigate, and that professor will investigate.”
“Like Sheriff Churchill did?”
“The result,” said Fownes, “will be similar.”
CHAPTER XVI
“YOU are not,” said Evan Pell to Carmel Lee, “familiar with laboratory practice—er—with chemical analysis, for instance.”
“I know nothing about it?”
“I judged not,” he said, unwittingly reverting to his patronizing manner. “However, it seems to me the individual who searches for truth—in the happenings of the day—would be better fortified for his labors if he applied the methods of the chemist.”
“As, for instance?”
“Let us suppose there has been a crime. The crime is a result. An inevitable result of the combination of certain elements. Given the crime, the chemist should be able to analyze it and to separate its elements.”
“I believe that is the method of story-book detectives.”
“No.... No.... This is science, logic. A simple example. You hold a substance in your hand. You moisten it with iodine. If the substance turns purple you know starch is present. Do you see?”
“I’m sure I don’t see.”
“What do you think of Abner Fownes?” he asked, with uncharacteristic swerving from the subject.
“I think he is abominable.”
“Possibly.... But impersonally, as an individual—what then?”
“He is a pompous, self-deceiving, hypocritical poseur.”
“Uh!... As to intelligence?”
“As your chemist would say—a trace.”
“I fear,” he said, “you have neglected to moisten him with iodine.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, “that you have utterly failed to comprehend what you are facing—what it is you have to do in this headstrong crusade of yours against the liquor smugglers.”
“What has that to do with Abner Fownes?”
“That,” he said, “is the big question.”
“But why should he? That is absurd. Perhaps the smugglers are using him as a cat’s-paw in some manner—but he’s rich. There’s no need. These men take the risks they must for profit.”
“Miss Lee,” he said, “you—er—challenged me to investigate this affair. I promised to do so.... I have set about it in an orderly manner.”
“So I imagine,” she said, a trifle wearily.
“I have started with the compound itself—with the fact that we know there exists a wholesale traffic in liquor, from which a huge profit is derived. This is compounded of many small elements. I think we may take it as fact that the hunchback, Peewee Bangs, is an element; that his hotel is another element; that Deputy Jenney is a rather important ingredient. For myself, I am satisfied numerous citizens of Gibeon are involved—in the distribution and marketing of the liquor. I am quite certain, for instance, that the business of taking photographs is not the sole means of livelihood followed by Lancelot Bangs.... He is, I believe, a cousin to the proprietor of the Lakeside Hotel.... These things are present in the compound, but they could not, joined together, cause the result we see. The principal ingredient is missing.”
“And what is that?”
“A daring, ruthless intelligence. Able leadership. The brain capable of conceiving of bootlegging as an industry, and not as a matter of petty retailing.”
Carmel Lee was impressed. Evan Pell possessed the quality of holding interest, of seeming to speak from sure knowledge.
“I think you are right so far. What we need is to find this intelligence.”
“I rather fancy I have found him. In fact, I have had little doubt as to his identity for a considerable time.”
“Abner Fownes?” She shrugged her shoulders. “I dislike him—he is insufferable—but the idea is absurd. Bumptious little men like him, secure in their wealth and position, do not jeopardize it.”
“That,” said Evan, “is dependent upon their security. What would you say if I were to tell you Abner Fownes has been on the brink of bankruptcy for months? What would you say if I told you this rum running commenced only after his finances became tangled? What would you say if I told you the major part of the profits from this liquor business went to maintain Abner Fownes in the character he has assumed, and keep his imperiled business out of the hands of his creditors?”
“I would say,” she said, “that you are crazy.”
“Nevertheless,” he said, “I am convinced of the fact.”
“But he has no brains. Look at him. Observe him.”
“Miss Lee, it takes a man of tremendous resolution and of very keen intelligence to invent for himself a character such as he has exhibited to Gibeon for years.... If the world supposes you are a nincompoop— a vain figurehead—a puppet set up by other men—you are little in danger of arousing suspicion as to yourself. When a man is commonly admitted to be a fool, he is safe. Fownes has been at infinite pains to prove himself a fool.”
Carmel was far from dull. Her mind flashed to the keystone of the arch Pell was constructing “Show me he is on the verge of bankruptcy and maybe you can convince me of the rest.”
He told her. He itemized the contracts Fownes had made for the purchase of lumber, and the prices at the time of sale. He showed how the market had declined, and the total sum of Fownes’s losses.
“These,” he said, “are facts—not public, but easy to come by.... I first found the trail of them when the cashier of the bank asked me to assist him in an audit of the books. That was some months ago when I occupied my official position.”
“But if you are right, then Abner Fownes is a murderer, or an instigator of murder.... Nobody can look at him and credit that.”
“Abner Fownes,” said Pell, “is capable of any crime to preserve Abner Fownes. I have watched him, studied him. I know.”
“I can’t believe.... It is incredible. No. You must be mistaken.”
“Miss Lee,” said Pell, solemnly, “if you wish to continue to exist, if you hope to come through this affair with your bare life, you must believe. If you cannot believe, pretend it is a fact and act accordingly. Forget everything else and concentrate upon Abner Fownes.... But take this warning: The moment he suspects you suspect him—you will doubtless join Sheriff Churchill.... I believe Churchill was on the road to the discovery. He would not have disappeared otherwise.”
Carmel remained silent, considering. At length she spoke. “You are right,” she said. “One does not insure his house because he believes it will burn, but in case it shall burn. I shall make believe you are right about Abner Fownes—as an insurance policy.... But where does that lead us?”
“To the sheriff’s office,” said Pell.
“What?”
“If Jenney is appointed sheriff to succeed Churchill, where is the machinery to fight Fownes? He could laugh at us. Therefore Jenney must not be appointed.”
“But how can that be averted?”
“I think,” he said, “the sole hope lies in yourself.”
“In me!”
“You must find a man, a man of courage, of public spirit. You must find a man who can be relied upon and whose name will carry weight with the Governor.... When you find him, you must go to the Capitol and make the Governor appoint him—and you must act at once.”
“I?... I go to the Governor?”
“You.... If you could carry a petition, signed by a number of citizens, it would strengthen you, but I don’t see how that can be done.... And yet—and yet——”
“It must be done.... Secretly.”
“To approach one man—who would talk, who was on the other side —would be to ruin the whole project.”
“Nevertheless, it must be done.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “First find a man worthy to hold the office,” he said.
“I shall find him.... I know Mrs. Churchill. She will know her husband’s friends and supporters—the men who worked for his election and whom he trusted.”
“The idea is good,” said Evan. “Suppose you act without delay.”
Carmel found Mrs. Churchill in the kitchen, giving a hearty welcome, in spite of her baking, to the visitor.
“Set,” said Mrs. Churchill, “and lemme pour you a cup of tea. Always keep it simmerin’ on the back of the stove in case of headache.” This was a favorite fiction of Mrs. Churchill’s—that she suffered with her head and that tea was the only remedy. It would appear, however, that she used the beverage as a preventive instead of a cure.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t time to sit this morning. I’ve come to you because you’re the only person in Gibeon who can help me—and because you are the one most interested in helping me.... I want to know whom to trust.”
“Eh?... Trust? Speakin’ of young men, be ye?”
“No.” Carmel smiled as she saw the fire of matchmaking light Mrs. Churchill’s motherly eyes. “I want to know whom your husband trusted. I’ve got to find a man.... Deputy Jenney is going to be appointed sheriff,” she said.
Mrs. Churchill’s eyes flashed. “In my man’s place! That critter!”
“If,” said Carmel, “I can’t find an honest man—one like your husband —and get there first.”
“Uh huh....” said Mrs. Churchill, ruminatively “He wa’n’t much give’ to talkin’, but more’n once he says to me, says he, ‘The’ hain’t many in this place I’d trust as fur’s I could throw ’em by the horns,’ he says. But I call to mind that whenever he got kind of out of his depth like, and had to talk things over with somebody, he allus went to spend the evenin’ with Jared Whitefield. Him and Jared was close. I don’t calc’late you’d make no mistake goin’ to Jared and statin’ your case.”
“Thank you,” said Carmel. “There’s not a moment to be wasted. Good-by.”
She did not return to the office, but walked out the main street, past the village cemetery, to the rambling, winged house from which Jared Whitefield ruled his thousand-acre stock farm—a farm he had carved himself out of the forest, cleared, stumped, and planted. She knew the man by sight, but had never held conversation with him. He was not an individual to her, but a name. She opened the gate with trepidation, not because she feared the reception of herself, but because she was apprehensive. Mr. Whitefield, when studied at close range, would not measure up to the stature of the man she felt was needed.
A dog barked. A voice silenced the dog. Carmel noted how suddenly the dog quieted when the voice spoke. Then a man appeared around the corner of the house, an ax in his hand, and stood regarding her. He did not bow, nor did he speak. He merely stood, immobile, as if some cataclysm of nature had caused him to burst through the soil at that spot, and as if there still remained embedded roots of him which anchored him forever to the spot. He was big, straight, bearded. At first glance she thought him grim, but instantly decided it was not grimness, but granite immobility. She approached and greeted him.
“Good morning, Mr. Whitefield,” she said. He inclined his head and waited.
“I am Miss Lee, proprietor of the Free Press,” she said.
“I know ye,” he said.
Surely he was difficult; but for all that, she felt herself drawn to the man. There was a feeling that if she could scale his granite sides and sit upon the shelf of his shoulder she would be safe—that nothing could topple him from the spot where he had taken root.
“I want to talk to you, Mr. Whitefield. It is a matter of great importance —almost of life and death,” she said.
“Say it,” said Jared Whitefield.
“They’re going to appoint Deputy Jenney sheriff,” she said.
“Know it.”
“It mustn’t be.”
“Why?”
“Is it safe to speak here. A word overhead——”
“This is my yard,” said Jared, and there was much, much more in the words than the mere statement of the fact. It was a declaration of independence. It was a guaranty. It lifted Jared out of the commonplace and made a personage of him—the unquestioned ruler of a principality. Where he was, he ruled.
“You know what my paper has done.”
“Lighted matches nigh a powder keg.”
“I believe, and I hope to prove, there is an organization here for the purpose of wholesale dealing in smuggled liquor. I believe that organization murdered Sheriff Churchill. I believe Jenney is a part of it and that his appointment as sheriff is a move to give the criminals safety in their work. I know there are huge profits. At the top is some man of intelligence who directs. I want to get that man.”
“Who?”
“I think Sheriff Churchill knew—or guessed. That’s why he is dead.”
“Uh!... Wa-al?”
“Our only chance is to block Jenney’s appointment. To get first to the Governor with the name of another man—a man whose name and personality carry weight. If we can get the office of sheriff we are halfway to success.”
“Will Abner Fownes back the man you pick? Go to the Governor fer ye?”
She looked at him briefly, moved a step closer, and lowered her voice.
“Abner Fownes,” she said, “is the man I believe to be the chief of the rum runners. I believe he gave the word to kill Sheriff Churchill.”
Whitefield moved for the first time. He ran a hand through his beard and drew a breath like a sigh.
“Life insured?” he asked.
“You will be my life insurance.”
She took him by surprise; his features actually changed for an instant. “Me?” he said.
“When you are sheriff,” she said.
“I’m fifty. By mindin’ my business I got twenty-odd year to live.”
“He was your friend,” she said.
There was a long silence while she watched his face, and he, looking over the top of her head, stared at the field and woodland stretching to the horizon.
“He was my friend,” said Jared Whitefield.
“Then you will?”
“Can’t be done. Fownes has the say.”
“I think it can be done. Will you let me try?”
He considered in his ponderous way. Then he turned without a word and walked away. He proceeded half a dozen steps and then halted.
“Yes,” he said, over his shoulder, and continued on his way.
CHAPTER XVII
CARMEL walked back rapidly, but her pace did not interfere with the activities of her mind. She had many things to reflect upon, and not the least of these was a sudden realization that Evan Bartholomew Pell had, of a sudden, as it were, taken command. It was he, rather than herself, who had risen to the emergency. He had seen the necessities of the situation. He had comprehended the situation itself as she had never done. While she had been obeying impulse he had been acting intelligently. It was true he seemed to have little tangible evidence to work upon, but, somehow, she felt he would be able to find it. The amazing thing was that, without effort, without seeming to do so, he had moved her into secondary place. He had told her what to do, and she had done it without question.... Evan was a surprising person, a person of submerged potentialities. She wondered just what kind of man he would be if he ever came to himself and came into his own personality. In addition to which, Carmel, like all other women, could not but give careful consideration to a man who had declared his love for her.
Then there was Jared Whitefield to appraise. She liked him, but found herself somewhat in awe of his granite impassivity. She felt he had looked through and through her, while she had not been able to penetrate the surface of him. She had talked; he had listened. He had made his decision, and wholly without reference to herself, or to what she had said to him. But, on the other hand, he seemed to have washed his hands of the responsibility for his appointment as sheriff. If it could be managed—well and good. He would serve. But that seemed to be all. He offered no assistance, no suggestion. He had said “Yes” and walked out of the boundaries of the matter.
Jared Whitefield was a personality, of that she was certain. He was a man to impress men, a man to rule, a man never to be overlooked.... Why, she wondered, had he remained inactive in Gibeon. Apparently he had rested like a block of granite beside a busy thoroughfare,
negligent of the bustle of passing traffic. What, she wondered, did Gibeon think of Jared. How would he appeal to Gibeon as its candidate for sheriff?
She reached the office and found Evan Pell waiting for her.
“Well?” he said.
“I’ve found the man, and he has agreed to serve.”
“What man?”
“Jared Whitefield.”
He nodded, almost as if he had known it from the beginning. It irritated her.
“You’re not surprised at all,” she said sharply “No.”
“Why?”
“Because it would have required colossal stupidity to choose any other man—and you are not stupid.”
She looked at Evan with curiosity, and he sustained her gaze. He was changed. She saw that he had been changing through the days and weeks, gradually, but now he seemed to have made some great stride and reached a destination. He did not look the same. His face was no longer the face of an egoistic pedant. It was not alone the laying aside of his great, round spectacles. The thing lay rather in his expression and in his bearing. He seemed more human. He seemed larger.... She was embarrassed.
“The petition,” she said. “I must have that.”
“Signatures would be easy to get. There are a hundred men who would sign any petition with Jared Whitefield’s name on it. Men of standing. But to approach one man who would go to Abner Fownes with the story—well——” he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t suppose one man in a hundred realizes what is going on under the surface in Gibeon.”
“We must take the risk.”
“I’ll prepare the petitions and have Tubal print them—at once.”
She sat down at her desk and wrote a moment, then got up and walked with steady steps into the composing room. Evan Pell stood looking after her with a queer expression; it was a look of loneliness, of yearning, of self-distrust, of humility. He was thinking about Evan Pell and of what a failure he had made in the handling of his life. He was considering how little he knew, he who had fancied himself of the wisest. He weighed the value of book knowledge against the value of heart knowledge, and found himself poverty-stricken.... It seemed so hopeless now to turn himself into the sort of man he wanted to be; the sort of man he had come to comprehend it was worth his while to be.
“I never would have found it out,” he said to himself, “if I had not loved her.”
The door opened stealthily and a barefoot urchin entered whose clothing consisted of trousers many sizes too large and a shirt so dirty and torn as not to resemble a garment at all. He glared at Evan and snarled:
“Where’s she?”
“Where’s who?” said Pell.
“The editin’ woman.”
“What do you want of her?”
“None of your business.... Hey, leggo of me, damn you! I’ll bite ye! Leggo!”
Pell had the child by the nape of the neck and held him so he could not escape. He noticed a paper crumpled in one grimy hand and forced the fingers open. It fell to the floor, and as he reached for it the boy wriggled free and darted out to the sidewalk, where he grimaced horribly and twiddled his fingers at his nose. “Ya-aaa-ah!” he squealed, and fled down the street.
Pell smoothed out the paper and read, in cramped, printed letters.
They hain’t treated me square and I’m getting even. They’re fetching it in to-night. Truckloads. You can git evidence at the Lakeside. Eleven o’clock.
That was all, no signature, nothing to indicate the identity of the writer. Evan folded the paper and thrust it into his vest pocket. He looked through the door of the composing room and frowned. The line of his mouth was straight and narrow. Eleven o’clock, at the Lakeside Hotel!... Queerly enough, the thought flashed into his mind. What drew Sheriff Churchill out of his house on the night of his disappearance?... Evan passed through the swinging gate and sat down at his table just as Carmel re-entered the room.
“Who was in?” she asked.
“Nobody,” said Evan Pell. “Just a kid asking for blotters.”
She would go to the Lakeside Hotel. It was not in her character to do otherwise. She would go, she would place herself in peril. Had the note come into her hands, he had no doubt she would have concealed it and have gone alone.... Well, she did not receive it. She would not go. That much was sure.
Carmel spoke. “There goes Abner Fownes,” she said, and, turning, he saw the well-known equipage with the coachman on the front seat and Fownes, pompous, making a public spectacle for the benefit of an admiring public, bolt upright in the rear seat.
“He’s going some place,” said Carmel. “See. He has a bag.”
“Yes,” said Pell. He remembered that Fownes had been absent from Gibeon on the night Churchill had disappeared. “Yes, he’s going some place.”
They watched the equipage until it disappeared, making the turn toward the railroad station.
“Tubal will have the petitions in ten minutes,” she said. “How will we go about getting signatures?”
“I don’t think that matters,” he said, absently
“What?”
“I—I beg your pardon.... Er—signatures. Of course. Signatures.”
“What ails you, Mr. Pell. Of course, signatures. We weren’t speaking of potatoes.”
His manner was strange, she thought. He seemed a trifle pale. Was he ill?... No, he said, he was not ill, he was afraid he had been a trifle absent-minded. Carmel eyed him sharply. The thing did not look like absent-mindedness to her.
He arose and went to the telephone. “Give me the station, please,” he said, and then waited. “Is this the station? This is the Free Press.... Yes.... No news? Um!... Just saw Mr. Fownes going past with a bag. Thought he might be going away. We like to print something when people go away.... Bought his ticket?... To the capital, eh?... Thank you.” He hung up the receiver, and there was a look of profound relief on his face. This was surprising to Carmel. Why he should be relieved by learning Fownes was on his way to the capital was beyond her comprehension.
“Miss Lee,” he said, “there will be no time to get signers to a petition.”
“Why?”
“Because you must start at once for the capital.”
“But the train is leaving. It will be gone before I can get to the depot.”
“Abner Fownes is going to see the Governor,” he said. “There can be but one reason for it. He has decided he needs a sheriff. He’s gone.... It is a six-hour trip by rail, with the change at Litchfield.”
“What of it?”
“By automobile one can make it in five hours—or less.”
“But——”
“If you will go to your hotel, please, and dress and pack a bag, I will have a car waiting for you here.”
She frowned. This was giving orders with a vengeance.
“I’m still owner of this paper,” she said.
“Please, Miss Lee,” he said, and there was humility, pleading in his voice. “Don’t be unreasonable now. This must be done. Nobody can do it but you. Please, please make haste.”
She did not want to obey. It was her desire to rebel, to put him once for all in his old subordinate place, but she found herself on her feet in obedience. He compelled her. He had power to force her obedience. She was amazed, angered.
“I shan’t——” she began, in a final effort to mutiny.
“Miss Lee,” he said, gravely, gently, and she was touched and perplexed by the gentleness of his voice, “you have spoken to me of service, of forgetting oneself to be of service to others.... Please forget yourself now. You are not doing this for me or for yourself.... It is necessary.... I beg of you to make haste.”
There could be no refusal. She passed through the gate and found herself walking with rapid, almost unladylike strides, to the hotel. Up the stairs she rushed and into her room. In five minutes she was redressed in a gray tailored suit. Then she set about packing her bag, and, singularly enough, the first thing she put into it was an evening gown, the gown which she had worn but once, and that to the final ball at the time of her graduation. Why she included this dress she could not have said, unless feminine vanity were at work —a hope that an opportunity to wear it might present itself.
In fifteen minutes she re-entered the Free Press office. A touring car stood at the door, with a young man, strange to her, behind the wheel.
“I’m ready,” she said to Evan Pell.
“Thank you,” he said, quietly. Then: “Don’t let anything prevent you from coming to the Governor. You will know what to say. See him before Abner Fownes gets his ear ... and ... and come back safely.” His voice dropped, became very low and yearning, as he spoke these final words. “Come back safely—and—try not to think of me as —harshly as you have done.”
“I—have never thought of you harshly,” she said, affected by his manner.
He smiled. “I am very glad I have loved you,” he said “Will you please remember I said that, and that it came from my heart.... It is the one fine thing which has come into my life.... It might have changed me—made me more as you would—less the man you have criticized.”
“Why, Mr. Pell!... You speak as if I were never to see you again. I shan’t be gone more than a day.”
He smiled, and there came a day not far distant when she remembered that smile, when it haunted her, accused her—and gave her a strange happiness.
“One never knows,” he said, and held out his hand. She placed her hand in his, and then he performed an act so out of tune with Evan Pell, pedant and egoist, that Carmel gasped. He lifted her hand to his lips. The gesture was not artificial, not funny. There was a grave dignity, a sincerity in the act which made it seem quite the right thing to have done. “Good-by,” he said. “You are very lovely.... Please make haste....”
He helped her into the car, and she turned. “Mr. Pell——” she said, but he was gone, had returned to the office and was invisible.
“Ready, miss?” the driver asked.
“You know where you are to go?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Whose car is this?”
“Mr. Whitefield’s,” said the driver, as he threw in his gear and the machine moved up the street.
Carmel’s mind was not on the car, nor on its destination, nor upon her errand. It was upon Bartholomew Pell.... Could she have seen him seated before his table, could she have read his thoughts, have comprehended the expression of happiness upon his face, she would have thought even more urgently of him.... For he was saying to himself: “Thank God she’s out of it. She’s safe. I’ve done that much, anyhow.”
He drew the mysterious note from his pocket and studied it attentively. “She would have gone,” he said, “so I shall go.... Doubtless it is a trap of some sort—but it may not be.... And she is safe—she is safe.”
CHAPTER XVIII
CARMEL wondered how one went about it to obtain a private interview with a Governor. She was still young enough and inexperienced enough in life’s valuations to regard a man in that position as necessarily above the ordinary run of men. His office invested him with a certain glamour, a fictitious greatness. Governors, Senators, Presidents! Youth invested them with a terrific dignity. It is somewhat difficult, even for the wise and prudent, to see the man apart from his vestments; to understand that there is, in reality, very slight difference between human beings, and to approach those in authority with the sure knowledge that, no matter how lofty their position, they have, at best, but two arms and two legs, a fondness for mince pies, and a failing for colds in the nose. Governors quarrel with their wives, and have ingrowing toe nails. The forty-eight of them, heads of the several states of the Union, remind one of the main street in a boom town—two stories on the sidewalk, but a ramshackle shed in the rear....
No sooner did the dome of the Capitol appear through a break in the wheels than Carmel began to dress herself mentally for the meeting. She had a horrible fear she would become tongue-tied and thrust her thumb in her mouth like an embarrassed little girl who has forgotten her piece.... She glanced at her watch. It was five o’clock.
How late did Governors work at governing?... She directed her chauffeur to drive to the Capitol, and there she alighted because she had no idea what else to do. She climbed the imposing steps and entered the building. It was a repellent sort of place; a mausoleum of assassinated ambitions, and it chilled her. The corridors were all but deserted.
Leaning against a column adjacent to a brass cuspidor was an old man in a uniform which might have been that of a prison guard, a janitor, or a retired street car conductor. Carmel approached him.
