On Perfection in Architecture

The concept of perfection has always had a privileged role within the ambit of architecture. In comparison to ‘beauty’, which constitutes an aesthetic category of value highly determined by the specificity of the paradigmatic theoretical frameworks from which it arises, perfection exhibits a more objective character, related to notions of internal consistency, coherence, and completeness. The will of articulating a whole, by means of the definition of a certain law of configuration that imprints an order to matter and space, is a meta-principle of architectural design that transcends styles, cultural contexts, and epochs. The overarching character of this meta-principle is rooted in physiological aesthetics: the perception of integrity, the pulsion towards visual coherence in any given system composed by differentiated parts, is the projection of an ideal state of plenitude that arises from our natural organic pulsion towards integrity. The maximum degree of perfection corresponds to the achievement of the maximum degree of complexification within the bounds of integrity and correspondence between part and whole. “Perfectio est consensus in varietate” (Wolff, Ontologia, §503, p. 390.). This consensus is a command, which in the case of architecture finds its clearest expression in the plan view, which is not a mere medium of graphic representation, but an imperative sign of correspondence; a decree not written in words, but traced in axes, lines, and measurements. The mastery in the definition of these relationships is the measure of the excellence of an architect, a mastery that evokes demiurgic undertones. Playing the role of ‘semi-gods’, giving form to our projects as consistent (micro)cosmos, is certainly a driving purpose behind our architectural endeavours, whether confessed or not. In words of Cesariano, “quilli Architecti che sano producere li sollerti effecti pareno come semidei perche cercano che larte si asimiglia & supplisca a la natura.” (Cesariano, Di Lucio Vitruvio Pollione de Architectura, etc., Como 1521, lib. I, fol ii v. Quoted in Wittkower, Rudolf. Architectural principles in the age of humanism., p. 14.).

Back to things themselves #4: Humans

From all the things that populate our vital horizon on a daily basis, humans seem to be one of the most intriguing and fascinating. Just as animals, they move by their own will. But they also speak. A lot. Language has been regarded as the primary way of distinction of what being-human means. But the human figure predates this attribute. Erect position. A head on top of the shoulders, a torso, four limbs. Frontal symmetry ruled by laws of proportion. Forward motion. A physiologically determined set of bodily movements and actions: sitting, standing still, walking, running. Grabbing objects with their hands. And the possibility of expressing emotional states like joy, grief, anger, or fear, that can be understood without words. Phenomenologically speaking, this is the basic grammar of the conditio humana, and it has a universal character that transcends any culturally determined boundaries. From the elements of this grammar, emotional expressiveness constitutes a main factor of differentiation between humans and animals and is in direct proportion to their level of organic complexity. The lower forms in the zoological scale like amoebas or unicellular organisms have no expressive qualities, apart from movement. A snake or a frog, neither, but their index of expressiveness is comparatively higher. Closer to us, some pet dogs can eventually smile, or cry. Chimpanzees are at the verge of humanness; they resemble rustic humans, without the gift of intelligible language, and this is what makes them appear comical. At the top of the zoological scale, we are certainly the most expressive entities around. The conscious dominion of emotional expression constitutes one step further in the assertion of the human condition, and it means temperance.    

About continuous surfaces in contemporary architecture

Contemporary architecture exhibits a certain predilection for continuous surfaces. Volumes are conceived not in tectonic-additive terms, but rather as continuous, seamless envelopes without joints. These are conveniently (and deceptively) hidden, giving the impression that the transition between elements like walls and windows is just a subtle change of materiality within a continuous surface. Implicit in this fashionable trend is a certain form of “progressive optimism”: we can get rid of any form of resistance, and, quoting Byung-Chul Han, of “negativity”. But we can go deeper with this critical analysis. The Kosmos, as a whole, is phenomenologically perceived as an articulation between discrete elements defined by limits. These elements are brought together as an assemblage of parts mediated by joints. The horizon is the joint between the sky and the earth. The beach shore is the joint between the sea and the land. The knee is the joint between the upper and lower portions of our legs. And so forth. The will of suppression of tectonic joints in architecture is the will of negating a fundamental trait of Nature. It stems out from an abstract, utopian-progressive conception of a world made up of a single material, without limits, without gravity, and without time. In the end, it is the will of suppressing the tragic dimension that is inherent of our experience of being-in-the-world.