NORBERG-SCHULZ, Christian. Intentions in architecture.

Cambridge, Massachusetts: The M.I.T. Press, 1965.

The present situation of architecture is confused and puzzling.
From the client we hear constant complaints about the
architects lack of ability to satisfy him, from a practical as well
as from an aesthetical and economical point of view.1 The
authorities give us to understand that it is often doubtful whether
the architects are qualified to solve the problems which society
poses.2 And the architects themselves disagree on issues so
fundamental that their discussion must be interpreted as an
expression of groping uncertainty. The disagreement does not
only concern the so-called aesthetic problems, but also the
fundamental questions of how man should live and work in
buildings and cities.3 It is also characteristic that architectural
education has been under revision for a long time. New
didactical principles are wanted, but the ends and means are in
dispute.4 All these symptoms unite to indicate a confusion in our
environment which we do not agree about how to unravel. The
unified character we know from the cities and architectural layouts of the past is becoming a dying memory.5
The result of this situation is that the architect is hardly
accorded the same recognition as other specialists with an
equally high education. Many look upon him as a necessary
evil, with the sole task of trimming the ideas of the client. And
in writing and speech he is pointed out as responsible for the
inconveniences and monotonous confusion of our present-day
environment. Many architects, on the other hand, pay scanty
respect to the taste and wishes of the client, and maintain that
he has to be educated.6
The situation is very unfortunate. The absence of mutual
confidence between the parties and the lack of opportunity to
co-operate on a common basis will of course reduce the
*
chances that new buildings and lay-outs
3

may fulfil their purposes in a satisfactory way. For the

architects themselves it is depressing to have to work
without any objective criticism and self-criticism. Let us
consider the single points in more detail.
THE client
When the client criticises, words like unpractical, ugly, and
expensive* are frequent.
The practical or functional criticism is due to a lack of
correspondence between the current way of life and the
existing architectural frame. This lack of correspondence
may of course stem from shortcomings in the architectural
frame, inasmuch as it does not allow certain functions to be
carried out. But it also often happens that man prefers an
antiquated way of life, although he thereby comes into
conflict with the environment and misses new values. 7 And
we know that particular environmental needs may induce
man to accept highly impractical* living conditions. 8 This
suggests that the architect should not as a matter of course
satisfy the functional or environmental wishes of the client.
The aesthetic criticism is also directed against deviations
from the habitual. Without further justifications most new
solutions are deprecated and labeled as architects fancies.
Or the critics go to the other extreme and talk about
greyness and monotony.9 The layman thus asks for an
architecture which is at the same time normal* and unusual.
In any case he surely does not find satisfaction in the socalled modern architecture*. But at the same time it is
rather obscure what he sees in the beloved architecture of
the past.10 His point of view hardly coincides with that of the
art historian, but shows itself on closer scrutiny to be based
upon a few characteristic attributes with which he associates
particular meanings.11 These meanings will generally appear
superficial and primitive to the architect, and it is a fact that
both architects and artists react against following the ruling
taste*.12 The problem, however, is not made more simple by

saying that the aesthetic criticism of the client is due to

prejudices.
The economical criticism is connected with what one gets for
one's money. We are willing to pay more if we obtain
satisfaction of our subjective environmental needs. 13 The
economical conditions, therefore,
are relative, rather than absolute (within certain limits). Thus
even economy does not give us any clear directions how to
build. And in most cases we can also choose between many
different solutions which cost the same.
Although the clients criticism of the architects and their
products is imprecise and subjective, we should not call it
irrelevant. It has sprung from concrete situations, and shows
better than any other symptom that our present-day
architecture does not participate naturally in a unified and
ordered environment. But we may assert that the criticism in
most cases has a certain narrowness of view. Generally the
client will criticise on the basis of his personal needs without
recognizing that his project in many ways forms a part of a
larger whole. He is therefore not conscious of and amenable to
the new possibilities the architect can offer him, possibilities
which may only become manifest after a long period of getting
accustomed to the finished product. Man has a conservative
character,14 and we experience today a communication-gap
between the larger part of the public and those architects who
go, if only very slightly, beyond the most conventional solutions.
At the same time it is a fact that an ever-increasing number of
architects are forced to find new solutions on technical and
economical grounds.15
The relationship between the client and the architect will of
course differ from place to place, and depends upon the roledistribution within the society concerned. Generally, however,
we may assume that the architect should not only fulfil the
needs of which the individual client is conscious.
*
3

THE society
The criticism of the society or of the authorities differs from that
of the client, although it is also offered by individuals. The
authorities may to a certain degree free themselves from purely
personal interests, mainly by pointing out a lacking fulfilment of
common needs, such as an inadequate number of dwellings.
The authorities can, for instance, give their opinion on solutions
they do not know from direct experience, but which they
recognize as unsuccessful on the grounds of practical and
economical information. Their criticism is therefore more
objective, as it takes into consideration factors concerning many
individuals with different attitudes,

and as it aims at common measures. We should remember,

however, that this criticism necessarily reflects prevailing
political and economic theories, and therefore also particular
interpretations (conscious or unconscious) of what suits
society better.16 The subjective environmental needs of the
public may also influence these theories in such a way that
the common measures reveal themselves through a closer
scrutiny as a mere satisfaction of habitual wishes. 17 The
authorities thus rarely realize that common needs frequently
have to be satisfied in unconventional ways in order to make
the solution effective.
We often hear that present-day society is chaotic, and that
this fact must lead to architectural disorder. The argument is
superficial. Any society necessarily has a particular
structure which should find a corresponding physical frame.
Its chaotic aspects are often due to the lack of this
correspondence.18
In general we may say that society makes demands which
transcend the understanding and wishes of the individual;
but these demands are usually badly formulated and not
distinguished from the ruling taste. This also holds true for
those building tasks where society confronts the architect
with aesthetic and environmental problems.19
THE ARCHITECTS
It is no excuse for the architect that the client and the society
confront him with imprecise and one-sided problems,
because it is one of his main tasks to formulate the problems
on the basis of the various and often contradictory needs
which are brought forth. Very few present-day architects
have a secure grip on this task. Most of them dispute the
functional problems because they disagree on what is a
desirable way of life, or because they fail to understand how
a * way of life may be formulated or f translated into an
architectural frame.20
We all know that buildings and architectural lay-outs serve
*
practical purposes, and we may recognize that much has
3

been done to satisfy different interpretations of these

functional needs. It is natural that this aspect came to the
fore under the pressure of the modern idea of efficiency. The
functionalism of the twenties and thirties took this as its
point of

departure, and gave us the first systematic attempt at an

examination of the actual building tasks. Its investigations
usually aimed at finding the correct minimum measures
(sizes), on the assumption that architecture above all means
efficiency and economy.21
As time passed, however, many architects recognized that
the classical functionalism was based upon too narrow a
definition of the building task. They understood that it is not
enough to adopt the most economical solution, and lately
another problem has come steadily to the fore. It has presented
itself in many different ways, but in general we may say that
interest has begun to grow in the milieu-creating function of
architecture. Environment influences human beings, and this
implies that the purpose of architecture transcends the
definition given by early functionalism.22 For the present,
however, we know very little about how this influence works,
and the new point of view is therefore subject to disagreement
and misunderstanding.23
The question whether we need a new monumentality has
also been considered. Through giving a visual expression to the
constitutive ideas of a community or to the social structure,
architecture becomes symbolic or monumental. 24 In other
words, one tries to make manifest a common basis which may
counteract the lonelines of modern man and the separation of
the artist from the public.25 The misunderstandings created by
this problem are closely related to the confusion within the
aesthetic dimension of architecture. The styles and formal
ideals of the past have been exposed to increasingly strong
attacks, on the grounds that new problems demand
fundamentally new solutions. Schinkel, deeply impressed by the
new industrial buildings he saw in England in 1826, exclaimed:
Should we not try to find our own style? ,26 Afterwards,
however, he went on building both in the neo-classical and the
Gothic styles.27 The style had become a mask covering the real
structure of the edifice.28 During the great epochs of the past
certain forms had always been reserved for certain tasks. The
classical orders were used with caution outside churches and
palaces, and the dome, for instance, had a very particular

function as a symbol of heaven.29 In the nineteenth century

these forms were transferred to completely new types of
buildings, and a devaluation of the forms resulted. 30 The
reaction against this confusion of styles happened in two
different ways. In some places an attempt was made to
establish a new contact with the past, in the belief that this
would bring architecture closer to life. 31 Elsewhere, what is
fundamentally new in the problems of our day was stressed, all
kinds of historicism was eschewed, and neue Sachlichkeit
propagated instead.32 This movement found its inspiration in
abstract art, and in the possibilities offered by new building
materials, such as iron, concrete, and glass. 33 Little by little new
characteristic forms developed, displacing the devaluated
clichs of historicism. But the public remained without
understanding of this radical new orientation, which also
created a split among the architects themselves.
Since the second world war, architecture has obviously
entered a new phase. Instead of seeing historicism as an
alternative, many want to make modern architecture human
by softening or enriching its naked elementary forms. The
enrichment, so far, has mostly had the character of fancies,
degenerating into an ever more forced play with strange forms
and effects.34
We are here faced with basic problems which involve a
revision of the aesthetic dimension of architecture. How can
architecture again become a sensitive medium, able to register
relevant variations in the building tasks, and at the same time
maintain a certain visual order ? A new aesthetic orientation
transcending the arbitrary play with forms is surely needed,
although it is not claimed that the result should resemble the
styles of the past. Undoubtedly we need a formal differentiation
of the buildings corresponding to the functional differences of
the building tasks.35 But so far we have not found any answer
to the question whether the differentiation should also acquire
a symbolizing aspect by the assignment of particular forms to
particular functions with the purpose of representing a
cultural structure. So far modern architecture has had the

character of a belief, rather than a worked-out method based

upon a clear analysis of functional, sociological, and cultural
problems.
The lack of agreement among the architects has deprived
architectural education of its stability. It has undergone
transformations which correspond to the phases of the
aesthetic debate.36 After the teaching of styles in the
academies came the Bauhaus, and a complete break with all
historicism. The history of art and architecture was dropped
from the curriculum. Instead, a free experimenting with
materials and forms was introduced: everything should be
invented anew.37 The purpose was not to create a new style,
but to establish a free approach to the tasks. It was said that
this implied a new contact with reality. 38 Today we may say that
the Bauhaus initiated a cleaning process which freed us from
the blind copying of obsolete forms. But we also realize that the
Bauhaus method ought to be supplemented and developed on
the basis of a better understanding of psychological and
sociological factors.39 Education in this field should above all be
founded upon an understanding of the nature of the architectural totality, and it may be doubted if the free experiments
and artistic activities of the Bauhaus will retain their
importance in future. It is also interesting to notice that
generally the history of art and architecture has again been
introduced into the curriculum, not for the purpose of copying,
but because it seems somewhat imprudent to throw the
experiences of several thousand years overboard.40
These reflections show us that the debate among the
architects is related to and yet differs from the criticisms of the
client and the authorities. The architects often react too, of
course, because of habits and prejudices, and may with more or
less justification accuse each other of building ugly or
unpractical houses. But they also discuss problems on a higher
level, at which the layman would hardly be able to participate.
The public does not easily understand that issues such as the
relations between technics and form, or form and function,
really are important. As long as the house looks like a beloved

prototype and does not cost too much, the problem of the
layman is solved. Any closer scrutiny of the ideas of the last
hundred years, however, shows that the new architecture is not
a result of the wish for lArt pour I'Art, but has sprung from the
strivings of idealistic individuals to make mans environment
better.41 Hence the architects seem to believe that the
satisfaction obtained when fulfilling the wishes of the individual
is only apparent.
Another reason for the existing difficulties in bridging the
gaps between the architect and the layman and between the
architects themselves, is the lack of a precise terminology. Our
confused debate on architectural matters is a demonstration of
imprecise use of language and meaningless formulations. 42 This
loose terminology adds to the disorder, and makes sound
discussion difficult even among the architects themselves.
THE situation
In spite of all the confusion there seems to be one point of
agreement: the situation is impossible. Who would defend the
chaos of the modern metropolis, the destruction of the
landscape through characterless building, or the split in
conflicting opinions on basic architectural problems? But the
disagreement becomes deep and fundamental as soon as we
question whether the modern movement in architecture and
planning really shows the way out of our muddle. On the one
hand, the view is advanced that modern architecture regains
basic human values and opens up a new phase of sound
creative activity. Design for life has become the slogan of this
movement. On the other hand, it is said that modern art and
architecture are debasing humanity and killing the real artistic
values.43 Although the public shows a tendency to support the
latter view, we may point to the fact that no alternative to
modern art and architecture has so far been offered.
In any case we should take both views seriously. Let us hope
that modem architecture has contributed to solve essential
human problems. The actual situation, however, makes us
understand that the solutions are still rather defective, not least

because of the omission of fundamental environmental and

symbolical factors. We must realize that the main responsibility
for this state of affairs is the architects own. Our highly
complicated new world demands new professional methods,
but while the engineer and the scientist have adapted their
activities to the changes in the social structure, the architect
has isolated himself and clung to obsolete ideas and methods.
Often he still supports the romantic nineteenth- century idea
that the artist should only express his autonomous
personality.44 This point of view really makes art become a
luxury without direct contact with or purpose in society, and
architecture, being both a practical tool and an art, becomes
involved in a grave internal dissension. While the planning is
governed by practical and economical considerations, the
buildings are decorated afterwards to give them the status of
works of art. The lack of a common basis has made it possible
for the architects to take all kinds of liberties. We might not
always agree with the common criticism of art and literature,
but at least we must acknowledge that it undoubtedly has
created an increased respect for these fields. For architecture
we hardly find any respect whatsoever, either from the public
or from the architects. In discussing architectural matters we
rarely achieve anything but a quarrel about what you like and
what I like. As soon as the problems go beyond the purely
physical functions, the architects are completely lost and fall
back upon haphazard improvisations. But the concrete
problems they are facing cannot be solved in this way. In the
long run it also becomes highly unsatisfactory that the formal
language of architecture is not differentiated in relation to the
different building tasks. Today it is often impossible to
distinguish visually between a cinema and a church. One of the
reasons why the public reacts against modern architecture, is
simply that it does not offer any new visual order as a substitute
for the devaluated styles of the past. It has certainly created a
new vocabulary, but so far no hierarchy of meaningful signs

which may serve the purpose of expressing the way of life of

the society.45
On this background we may sketch the programme of the
present study.
THE problem
What we need is a conscious clarification of our problems, that
is, the definition of our building tasks and the means to their
solution.
The architect does not work in a vacuum. His products are
solutions to problems coming from the environment, and the
solutions also have a retroactive effect. 46 We therefore have to
inquire what the environment asks from the architect, or rather,
what it ought to ask from him, and also how a good solution is
defined. The architect works in situations which are composed
in particular ways and which explicitly or implicitly pose
particular questions. The situations are for instance made up of
economical, political and social conditions, of cultural traditions,
of physical conditions such as climate and topography, and not
least of human beings who see the environment in very
different ways.47 The situations are not static, but always
changing: the political organization of the society changes, the
economical conjunctures oscillate, and the climate hardly offers
constant conditions. These fluctuations are always more
submitted
to human predictions and control, and the architect has to
participate in the planning which should secure stability through
the changes.
In general we may say that architecture is a human product
which should order and improve our relations with the
environment. It is therefore necessary to investigate how
human products are brought forth. Hence we should ask: What
purpose has architecture as a human product? The functionalpractical, the milieu-creating and the symbolizing aspects constitute three possible answers to the question, all of which have

to be investigated more closely, and which should, if necessary,

be supplemented with other factors.48
If we return to the layman, we may assert that architecture
undoubtedly concerns him in many different ways. Our life
consists of changing activities which demand changing
surroundings. This implies that the environment will look
different according to our immediate state or role. 49 To take
into consideration this relative and variable relation between
man and his environment, it is necessary to stress the question:
How does architecture (the environment) influence us? It is a truism
to say that the environment influences us and determines our
mood. That architecture is a part of our environment is just as
evident. If we take this point of departure, architecture has not
only an instrumental purpose, but also a psychological function.
The question could also be put in this way: In what outer
circumstances do we have this or that particular experience ? 50
And further we shall ask: Do we always have the same
experiences in similar outer circumstances? From everyday
experience we know that the last question has to be answered
in the negative. We do know that we might have very different
experiences although the surroundings remain the same. A
known object may suddenly appear completely different, and
we may say that we have become alive to another of its
aspects. Does this relativism mean that architecture only plays
a minor role as a background for our daily activities, and at the
most, may induce certain sentiments? And if this is the case,
does it necessarily have to be like this? Anyway it is evident that
the relationship between man and his environment is not as
simple as it may seem at first sight. We therefore have to
investigate more closely how we really perceive the world
around us.51 A better understanding of this process may also
help us to grasp what it means to experience architecture in
the changing situations of daily life. It is possible to learn to
experience architecture, and the architects need such a
training. That the public * learns to see is also necessary if we

want to increase the respect for architecture and to bridge the

gap between the professional man and his client.
To give the questions about the purpose and effects of
architecture a basis, it is necessary to inquire whether particular
forms ought to be correlated with particular tasks. We thus have
to ask: Why has a building from a particular period a particular form ? 52
This is the central problem in architectural history as well as in
architectural theory.53 We do not intend that the study of history
should lead to a new historicism based on a copying of the forms
of the past. The information given by history should above all
illustrate the relations between problems and solutions, and thus
furnish an empirical basis for further work. If we take our way of
putting the problem as a point of departure for an investigation
of architectures (changing) role in society, a new and rich field
of study is laid open.54 Today the so-called analytical
explanations of works of architecture are usually rather
dubious.55
To render an account of why a building looks as it does, we
should first have to describe it in an accurate and illuminating
way. We here again return to the demand for a well-defined and
coherent terminology. This terminology should not only have a
logical structure; it should also be empirically founded to enable
us to order our subject-matter in a convenient way.56 We thus
have to develop a conceptual scheme which makes it possible to
answer the question: What does *architectural form mean? This is
logically related to the preceding question. In both cases we
have to study the relations between corresponding structures in
different fields. Firstly we should translate a practicalpsychological-social-cultural situation into architecture, and
subsequently the architecture into descriptive terms. 57 In doing
this, were are treating the relation between building task and
architectural solution, which is the core of our problem.
On a purely theoretical level we gain knowledge about the
relation between task and solution. But this knowledge may also
be incorporated into a method which helps us in solving concrete
problems, and which might facilitate the historical analysis going
from the solution back to the task. The historical analysis orders

our experiences and makes the judgment of solutions possible.

All in all, we arrive at a theory treating architectural problems.
That does not mean that architecture is reduced to this theory.
Architectural solutions are not brought forth by intellectual
analysis alone. On the other hand it is not possible for
responsible architects to base their solutions on the arbitrary
tastes and wishes of the public. We may actually claim that the
visual chaos of our day stems above all from the architects
attempts to satisfy isolated or misunderstood needs. The
responsibility of the architect as the one who more than
anybody else gives form to our environment, can only be based
upon a clarification of the purpose and means of architecture.
The questions we have taken as a point of departure for the
present study belong to three different categories. Firstly we
have the questions concerning the relationship between
buildings and those who use them, that is, the prerequisites
and effects of architecture. Subsequently follows the question
about the organization of the means, seen independently of
their effects. Finally we question whether particular means
correspond to particular prerequisites and effects. Taken
together the questions cover all aspects of architecture as a
human product.58 The theory thus becomes complete, if we
succeed in answering these questions.
The nature of architecture* is not something which has to be
added to our questions. The nature of architecture* can only
be characterized by combining the answers to the three kinds
of questions we have indicated, and does not consist in any
unknown metaphysical factor. The term is, by the way, a
characteristic symptom of the lack of clear thinking still
common in architectural aesthetics. We should stop freezing
architecture into abstract dimensions which only rarely have
any contact with actual reality.
The logical skeleton of our architectural theory will always
remain valid because it is purely analytical. This does not mean
that architecture is always the same, only that the theory is
capable of covering all possible historical contents. Hence we
do not want to present a textbook, but to establish a
convenient method of architectural analysis. At the centre of our

investigation we put the work of architecture, and we understand

this as a human product, that is, we study the conditions under
which it appears.
II Background

l.

Perception

PHENOMENA AND OBJECTS

Our immediate awareness of the phenomenal world is
given through perception. We are highly dependent upon
seeing our surroundings in a satisfactory manner. Not
only do we have to find our way through the multitude of
things, but we should also understand or judge the
things to make them serviceable to us. The judgment is
just as important when we drive a car as when we search
for a partner for life, because it enables us to make
decisions and act appropriately. In daily life we generally
act on the basis of our spontaneous perceptions, without
trying to classify or analyze our impressions. Nevertheless
we manage surprisingly well, due to the fact that the
phenomena appear (are perceived) with form. But it also
happens that we err. The small problems of daily life we
usually manage without much trouble, but when the
problems become less transparent, we often run the risk
of being fooled. It may for instance happen that we judge
(perceive) another person wrongly. We may believe that
he is better than he is, and be disillusioned. That is, we
had expected a different behaviour from him in certain
situations. Particularly often our expectations fail when
the conditions are unusual. It is difficult to recognize a
Chinese among other Chinese, and to judge his character
is still more difficult, even after a closer acquaintance. We
may say that we do not attain the real object of our
perception. It may also happen that a situation makes us
feel completely lost. A common case is an exhibition of

modern abstract art. Many do not see anything but a

confusing array of coloured spots, although knowing that
something more has been intended, that a better
performance is requested from perception. But mostly we
have to take our position and act on the basis of such
insufficient perceptions. Brunswik says strikingly that the
motto of perception ought to be: Besser unsicher als gar
nicht1 In general we may say that the purpose of
perception is to give us information which enables us to
act in an appropriate way, but we already understand
that perception is an unreliable companion who does not
mediate an objective and simple world.
Spontaneously, the world consists of the phenomena,
or our experiences.2 We define according to Jorgensen:
The word phenomenon designates every something
which may be experienced, and its contrary nothing
does not designate anything, but expresses that I do not
experience anything, that is, that nothing is present to
me.3 But it would hardly be satisfactory to consider the
world as an aggregate of accidental phenomena. We
know from daily experience that the phenomena are
united in particular ways, we talk about causes and
effects, meaning and order. Les us look at an example.

We meet a girl. This girl has certain properties of which we

spontaneously become aware. She may seem very beautiful
because she corresponds to our idea of how a beautiful girl should
look. Being asked after the first meeting if we know the girl, we
should have to answer both yes and no. We do know some of her
properties, but some thought tells us that she certainly has other
qualities which are hidden to us. For the present, her beauty
represents her to us. We say that her beauty is one of her
manifestations. Through a closer acquaintance we may discover
other manifestations of the girl, and we say that we know her
better. Perhaps the first property we recognized recedes,
becoming less important and convincing. Generally we may say
that any object is represented by its manifestations, that is, by
mediating phenomena or lower objects. We may also call these
phenomena properties because they are not a tiling, but belong to
the thing in such a way that they directly represent or symbolize
the thing for us; and we cannot be sure that some day we may not
discover (i.e. will experience) new phenomena which have the
character of being properties of the same thing. What we call the
thing, is thus not only the collection of its known properties, but
the collection of its known and unknown properties. 4 From this it
follows that a phenomenon is present (appears), while an object
exists.^ The phenomena do not exist, as they are characterized by
a lack of permanence. That the objects exist, means only that
they are constituted as the most permanent
relations between phenomena. Thus they have no
independent existence
and it is meaningless to talk about das Ding an sich.6 When
we say
that an object has unknown properties, this does not mean
that it has
an independent existence, only that our conception of the
object is
insuffi-

e
>i
.

cient and has to be revised through future experiences.

We use the word object* in the widest possible way in
accordance
with Carnap, who defines the object as alles worber eine
Aussage
gemacht werden kann.7 Both the things of our daily
life and the less intelligible concepts of science, such as
atom, are objects. Works of r* is I art, social groups,
political parties, and even the State itself, are objects,
although they are not physical things.
OBJECT LEVELS
Generally we judge and act on the basis of a few
representing phenomena, that is, we have an
incomplete and superficial idea of the world of
objects.
This may, of course, be dangerous, and may lead to
unfortunate
actions.
If we marry the girl because of her beauty, it may bring
along unpleasant surprises. If we experience or judge a
work of art on the basis of an accidental but
conspicuous property, we are guilty of an injustice,
disregarding the more essential properties of the
object. Generally the objects are represented by diffuse
totality-phenomena or by particularly pronounced
properties. It may of course happen that this gives a
satisfactory basis for our behaviour, but in front of
works of art this is hardly the case. Works of art are
generally very complex objects and therefore not easily
accessible. Thus we generally do not advance beyond
the perceiving of secondary properties. It is a
fundamental misunderstanding to believe that a good*
work of art is characterized by being easily perceived.
3
1

We show the tendency to abstract single properties and

regard them as if they were the whole object.8
It is also important to underline that the phenomena
receive their representative function through ourselves.
Thus we have to learn that a certain phenomenon is
mediating a particular object, and through experience
we have to discover the relations between the
phenomena, and build up a world of objects. We have
to learn a foreign language, just as we
have to learn that the sight of a pencil indicates something we
can pick up for writing.9
Obviously the representing phenomena do not have the same
importance for the object. This holds true both in spontaneous
perception and when we have made a closer acquaintance with
the object. Objects are built up through generalizations and
ordering of experiences, and we have already suggested how the
hierarchy of phenomena may change through further
experiences. The nature* of the object is defined as the
properties appearing more frequently, and forming the simplest
relationships. Properties characterized by irregularity are
generally of minor importance. While the visual phenomena are
highly dependent upon the conditions of observation
(illumination etc.), touch is more invariant. Therefore
palpableness is the most primitive and common criterion of
reality.10 It follows that the object which is represented seems to
be more remote than those representing it. According to
Jorgensen we may talk about object levels. A cultural object is
thus on a higher level than a physical one. From what has been
said above, we understand that the lower phenomena do not as a
rule appear first, mostly they are only accessible through a
certain analytical attitude. Generally perception grasps an
intermediate level, and only through a change of our attitude can
we reach the lower or higher objects.11

e
ATTITUDE
>i
.

Perception is not only problematical because we may judge the

situation unsatisfactorily. It is a paradoxical but common
experience that different persons at the same time have a similar
and different experience of the same environment. That we do
manage to participate in the activities of daily life, proves that we
have a common world. We do all see a house in front of us, we
may walk by it, look through the windows, knock at the door and
enter. Obviously we have all seen the house, nothing indicates
that somebody believed he was standing in front of a tree. But we
may also with justification say that we all have different worlds.
When we judge the house in front of us, it often seems as if we
were looking at completely different objects. The same holds true
for the judgment of
persons, and not least, works of art. Fortunately it often happens
that we agree, but the idea that taste should not be discussed is
well established. How has- this to be understood ? So far we may
say that the classifications upon which we agree are generally
rather superficial, and that the agreement usually finishes when
we have to see the things of everyday life as manifestations of
higher objects.
This implies that we have a different attitude (orientation) to
the same things. We have all experienced how the same thing
may change according to our attitude. If we are in a bad mood
even known and dear things may seem repulsive. The
psychologists have studied this aspect of perception and have
found that the attitude plays a much more important role than we
generally believe. Thus Brunswik has shown that we have a
tendency to overestimate the size of things we consider valuable,
as for instance coins,12 and another experiment shows that the
same coins appear larger (relative to a neutral scale of
comparison) to poor than to rich children.13 Hence we have to
realize that our attitude does not only mean a more or less friendly
3
3

outlook on things, but that the attitude directly determines the

phenomena. We may even say that it is nonsense to talk about
phenomena independently of an attitude. 14 Naive realism,
therefore, is the victim of a fundamental misunderstanding, in
believing that a similar world is given, a priori, to all of us.
The attitude is often dictated by the situation. When we read,
the letters are given with form, as well as size and colour. But the
task demands that we direct our attitude towards the form,
whereas the size and the colour are irrelevant, or even disturbing,
if they are not omitted in the perception. 15
Perception, therefore, is anything but a passive reception of
impressions. We may change the phenomena by changing our
attitude. Brunswik used the word intention instead of attitude, to
underline the active character of the act of perceiving. We have
suggested that our common everyday intentions are simple
classifications (such as fish, flesh, or fowl) which enable us to
master the situations of daily life. 16 When a more unusual attitude
is requested, a greater intentional depth is needed, or let us say,
when we have to study the thing more closely and judge it more
actively, our everyday classifications fail, and we do not fully
grasp the situation.
This expresses itself through disagreements, or through our
falling back upon the superficial, everyday concord. That we
nevertheless use the same names for the things shows that
language in general serves to describe our everyday world. One
could very well ask if we should not be content with this simple
world, and avoid complicating things unnecessarily. But we know
that everything we consider particularly valuable, like nature, art,
social solidarity, scientific insight, and religious belief, is
characterized by going beyond the level of everyday life.
We have to conclude that it is of the greatest importance to
investigate how and to what degree we attain the higher objects.

I>i
NTERMEDIARY OBJECTS
.Egon Brunswik was the first to formulate a psychology which
integrates the organism with its environment. 17 His work,
however, has gained too little attention, both because of its
forbidding degree of complexity, and because psychologists often
suffer from the prejudice that psychology has to be studied by
peeping into the organism. 18 Brunswiks point of departure is the
question to what degree and by means of what mechanisms we
are able to perceive the objects which constitute our relevant
environment. 19 We quote one of his examples: Let us suppose
that a spider only reacts to movements in the visual field. Flies are
biologically important objects to the spider, but it is only able to
perceive the object fly by assuming that all movements in the
visual field represent (are manifestations of) flies. We may take it
for granted that the spider often erres, and that it only in a very
unsatisfactory way attains this vital object. Another animal, for
instance a fish, may also react to the form and colour of the fly,
and thus attains a more satisfactory perception (it does not err as
often as the spider). But the fish does not perceive the fly
perfectly either, and is easily fooled by an imitation which has
certain properties in common with the fly. 20 This example shows
that it is not at all certain that perception reaches its real goal.
The biologically important objects usually lie deeper than those
perceived. Rather than grasping the thing directly we perceive a
situation where the thing is included as a possible component.21
One may object that the impertect perception of animals
does not prove anything about human beings. But we have already
mentioned the suitor
who chooses his bride because of her beauty, and we
understand that
object-world of man is also known through
its more or less reliable mani-

2
0

festations. When the bride is chosen because of financial

considerations,
the whole thing becomes still more complicated. The
suitors love, so to
say, is a function of the girls money, in
other words, his attitude is not
only directed towards her personal properties, but also
towards her
and the rich bride therefore seems more interesting, better,
and more
beautiful than a corresponding poor girl. The suitor thus
sees a girl
who is conditioned by something extraneous, her
personality is
by her money.22 If this perception is beneficial remains to be
seen, but
we may at least say that the suitor does not attain the
pure object, is represented by an objective description of the
girls personality. The
suitor only perceives an 'intermediary object between some
of the girls
properties and her fortune. His perception could
even be conditioned by the weather on the day he met her. 23 We have
all experienced
that similar intermediary objects are easily formed between
a person and
his nationality, social position, title, or family name. The
formation of
intermediary objects is characterized by our believing that
we perceive
pure objects, without, however, attaining them. We may, for
instance,

e
>i
say
.
ability,
the

that the suitor tried to judge his bride to the best of his

judgement, however, becoming defective because of the

unavoidable ;. disturbing factor of the money.
The formation of intermediary objects also holds true for
the perception
of simple physical situations.24 If we try to estimate the real
length of a small stick appearing at a certain distance by
comparison with a series of sticks near at hand, we will
exhibit a tendency to underestimate it. This is called
imperfect size-constancy. At the same time it is evident
that the projection on the retina of the distant stick is much
smaller than
the projection of a similar stick near at hand. But the
relative difference between the projective lengths (which is
proportional with the distance) is always much larger than
the relative difference between estimated and real length
(approximative size-constancy). If we instead intend the
projective length of the distant stick on a stick at hand, we
will generally
overestimate it. We see that the perception in both cases is an
intermediary object: the length is found between the two possible
extremes, the real length and the projective value. If we intend the
real length, the intermediary object will approach this; if we
instead intend the projective length, the intermediary object will
move in this direction. In both cases the intermediary object is a
product of the two possible intentions, with the intended one
dominating.25
The objects which constitute the intentional possibilities we call,
in accordance with Brunswik, * intentional poles*.26 All the poles may
be of importance to the attained intermediary object, but the
intended one is primary. One may also say that we simultaneously
intend different poles, but with varying intensity. The perception of
3
5

ambiguous figures clearly shows that our experiences are

conditioned by the pole-objects, and may not be derived
univocally from the stimulus-situation. When the aspect* of an
ambiguous figure shifts, the stimulus remains the same. And still
the figure looks completely different. We may say that the
aspects are possible interpretations of the situation. To perceive is
to interpret, that is, to choose between the intentional
possibilities.27
What is said above illustrates the thesis of Gestalt psychology
that the parts are conditioned by the whole M, only formulated
more precisely by taking the attitude into consideration. Brunswik
expresses this when he says that the poles influencing a particular
perception form a * coherence- system 9 29. It is not said that all the
possible poles which may be connected with the stimulus-situation
really contribute to the intermediary object. A variation of poles
not belonging to the coherence-system does not influence the
experience.30 The coherence-system is a more precise designation of the relevant aspects of the situation and expresses, as
suggested, that we do not perceive isolated (discrete) absolute
objects, but relativistic totalities, such as a 6 cm long stick at 5 m
distance, and not a *6 cm long stick 31 The coherence-system
defines under which conditions we (imperfectly) attain an object.
The less extensive and the simpler the coherence-system is, the
greater is the chance that we may attain an approximately correct
perception of a single object. In most cases the intermediary
object lies close to one of the poles. This effect is so striking
that we generally have the illusion of perceiving pure objects. It is
also normal that the contribution of the poles to the perception
is unequal; 33 B
34 T
the intermediary object indicates the share of each. 32

e
>iWe have mentioned
.
intentional depth to

that Brunswik has introduced the term

express that the intentional poles may He

on different
levels, and represent each other.33 Difference in intentional depth
is not the same as what we called object levels, as it is not
certain that the
lowest object is more easily perceptible. The situation at the
moment will determine if a near or distant pole is the right goal for
the perception,
Thus it would be to intend a dangerously distant object if WC
Start to
philosophize about the transformations of our visual world while
driving
a car; and it would be just as dangerous to intend too near an
object, such as a minor detail of the visual field.
The lower objects which mediate the relevant object also offer
problems.
It is characteristic that many representing objects do not clearly
mediate
one particular object, while an object on the other hand
may be represented in many different ways. Brunswik says
that the mechanism of perception is characterized by
Mehrdeutigkeit or vicarious mediation. Thus any shape
within the projectional pattern on the retina may be caused
either by a distant but large object, or by a small object
close by.34 Any hypothesis about reality therefore has to
be based upon at least two mediating objects to be fairly
safe.35 In spontaneous experience the mediating objects
(for instance the projectional pattern on the retina) are
swallowed by the process of perception, and a particular
attitude is needed to make us aware of the mediation. In
the same way the physical manifestations of a work of art
may be swallowed in certain types of art experience. 36
The State, on the contrary, is an object which we can
3
7

hardly perceive, but have to imagine through its

manifestations.37 It is very common that a higher object
forms an intermediate object with its own mediation. The
perceived quality of a work of art will thus often be
influenced by the fineness of the materials employed.
Intentionally distant objects are usually difficult to attain
(especially when we lack special training in perceiving
them), because the mediation always becomes more
complicated.38
In daily life our imperfect perceptions are usually adequate,
and we also rarely have time to control the perceptions on
which we base our

actions. It may even be convenient that perception

spontaneously counterbalances several factors and makes a
compromise.
When we partly or completely attain an object, our conduct
may be described by means of this object. We have suggested
that any objective description has to be done in terms of objects
because the objects are constructed with objectivity as a
criterion. This is the basis of Brunswiks programme:
Psychologie vom Gegenstand her* or psychology in terms of
objects.39 The objects themselves may be understood as
descriptions of an ideal conduct, or as perceptions under ideal
conditions (measurement). Such a conduct is only suitable when
facing certain tasks, but gives a standard for action in general.
We understand that the immediately given, the phenomena,
are intermediary objects. The term intermediary object has
been introduced in such a way that the phenomena are
explained. We repeat that to render an account of an
intermediary object, one has to indicate the poles which have
contributed to its formation, in other words, to investigate
under which conditions, in which phenomenal context a
phenomenon appears (is given). 40 It may seem confusing to say
that we are able to experience something which is an
intermediate between a length and an area, or between a size
and a value; in general that the nature of the perceptions is
such that language remains without words. But we have just
seen that the words denote objects which are abstractions
(generalizations) from the immediately given phenomena.
Spontaneously we escape confusion by assuming that we
experience pure objects, without realizing that the perception is
diffusely mixed* with the perception of other objects. 41 We
understand the importance of the object-constructions as the
basis of an ordered world, but we also understand that they
make us miss the finer shades. The concept intermediary
object deprives the world of the last rest of immanent static or
absolute form, and presents instead an interaction of selfchanging energies.42

Above we have given an account of the process of

perception, but we have not explained how intentions are attained,
how we learn that particular phenomena represent particular
objects. Nor is it explained how we win the vicariousness of
mediation.
SOCIALIZATION
In trying to establish the connection between the organism
and its environment, we are inquiring how the adjustment of
the organism takes place.
The childs adaptation to the environment is generally labeled as
a
p,
socialization-process.43 This term indicates that the child is
admitted to
*
a society and only gradually learns to apprehend what the
society expects from it, and what the child itself may expect
to attain. This adaptation not only consists in adjusting to
social objects (other persons and collec-tivities), but also in
adjusting to the physical things with which the child comes in
contact. The child, so to say, has to learn how the things
behave* if they are treated in a particular way, that the
things may be grasped or lifted with more or less effort, that
they are hard or soft. Through experiences with the things
one may adjust ones own conduct, and perception becomes
a recognition of the things which are known. It might be
objected that the word socialization* does not fit the
adjustment to the physical things, as an interminable amount
of elementary experiences has to be common to all cultures
to enable man to find his way in the physical surroundings.
But at the same time the physical objects differ in the various
societies, and above all, they participate in different human
actions. Children growing up in a metropolis and peasant
children thus have different experiences with physical things.
Generally perception is very unsatisfactory in front of things
we do not know.44 As grown-up persons we usually have to
undergo particular experiences to be able to carry out a
particular profession. This means that perception is

dependent upon our conceptions; we perceive the sum of our

own experiences.45 And these experiences are in the highest
degree a result of the demands made by our society. We may
also put it this way: the formation of intermediary objects is
dependent upon intentional poles which have to be
understood as generalized, socially conditioned experiences.
The intentions we attain are a result of the socializationprocess. Tautologically expressed the given world consists of
the objects we know.46
Very soon the parents start to expect a certain behaviour from
the child.
At the gatnt time they adjust themselves to the childs
actions and try to understand their meaning, that is, what
the child seems to expect from the environment. Parents and
child thus influence each other mutually, a state of affairs
which is generally called interaction .47 The interaction is
conditioned by mutual expectations. Scientific work is also
based upon expectations, in the form of appropriate
predictions. Human interaction is more complicated because
it is not enough to understand the behaviour of physical
objects, but one has also to consider the reactions of Alter to
ones own actions. This is a fundamental characteristic of
human interaction. From childhood on, we behave in certain
ways to obtain the reactions we want from Alter, or to escape
undesired reactions. Those objects which may enter into a
relationship of mutual expectations, we have called social
objects. Social objects may be single personalities, groups or
collectivities. For the child, the mother is primarily an
important social object, soon also the whole family and only
later other collectivities.
Evidently the social expectations are also generalized
experiences. One attains in correspondence with ones own
actions. The baby cries when it wants something, and because
its needs are relatively few, this is usually adequate. When the
needs become more differentiated, the childs actions become
correspondingly articulated and it starts to make use of 1 signs*

to attain gratification of its expectations. In this way it takes

advantage of the fact that objects may represent each other.
We thus see that the signs we employ denote generalized
experiences, objects we want to attain, escape or describe.
The generalized experiences are abstracted inter-situational
similarities. The sign is of fundamental importance because it
overlooks minor differences, and through its stable meaning
makes that communication possible which is a prerequisite of
any differentiated interaction.48 The signs are characterized by
being common and ready for use; they are not invented anew
within the individual interaction.49 Socialization therefore
primarily consists in an adjustment to that part of tradition
which comprises all sign-complexes or symbol-systems .50 It
is impossible to get direct individual knowledge of all the
objects in our environment, but we take over instead the
experiences of others through the symbol-systems. Although
these experiences often are communicated and used in a
superficial way, they make us grasp objects far beyond our
individual potentialities. The process of socialization is
therefore both necessary and dangerous. It is needed to
integrate the individual in the common world and to give
him a feeling of security. It becomes dangerous when the
adjustment to the accepted standards is exaggerated and brings
forth prejudices and rejections of everything different. In a
fascinating study, G. Allport has shown how socialization
generally leads to pronounced conflict-creating prejudices. 51 The
* standard-meanings also are often employed by opportunists
or * success-hunters who try to win a large public by serving up
the most vulgar generalities.52
We understand that the characteristic expectations which
determine a personality may not be interpreted as organical
needs. The personality as well as the collectivity and the
symbol-systems are created through interaction. We also
understand that all these objects are mutually interdependent.53
Our inborn faculties cannot be considered anything but

dispositions which have to receive concrete empirical material

within the limits established by the interaction-process.
The socialization primarily takes place through imitation and
identification. Imitation consists in taking over cultural
elements like knowledge, beliefs, and symbols, while
identification means that we come to understand and accept
the mediated values, i. e., that the expectations and objects the
signs designate are of different importance. The result is a
common standard which gives meaning to the interactionprocess. 54 The values thic are not absolute either, but must be
understood as more or less invariant social products. They are
given a priori neither in personality nor in nature, but are handed
down as a part of the cultural tradition, and are integrated in the
personality through interaction.55
We have mentioned that socialization continuously demands
that obsolete expectations are substituted with new ones. This
is particularly important during childhood and adolescence, but
the process necessarily continues throughout our whole life as
we always have to face new situations, and because society
undergoes continuous changes. The substitution can only be
carried out by forwarding demands which initially give the
interaction a certain lack of balance. Immediate gratification of
these demands is impossible, at the same time as our
expectations become wrong: something else is asked for other
than we expected. It is of decisive importance that the ego does
not respond with defense-mechanisms which hinder the
socialization-process, but accepts the disappointment and
adjusts
itself to the new expectations. Security thus means the
ability to bear a certain amount of disappointments, and
these disappointments or renouncements are basic to the
development of personality.
Socialization therefore implies that we learn to behave in
particular 'i ways towards particular things, in other words, that
particular phenomena $ have become connected with particular
objects. This relationship varies according to which interactions
the single individual has established. The sociologists express

this by saying that we play different * roles* in society. II The

word role thus denotes an ordered behaviour determined by
parti- cular intentional poles. 56 The word has been chosen to
illustrate that our ^ behaviour is neither accidental nor
understandable through an isolated | study of the single
individual. It also expresses that we have different roles in
interaction, which are mutually interdependent. A society is an
ordered system of roles defined through institutions. Marriage is
such an institution. The personality may also be understood as
a system of roles determined by the individuals participation in
different interactions. The same role, therefore, is different to
different individuals in so far as it always belongs to another
role-system. The roles of the single individual \ change during
the course of life, especially during childhood and adolescence.
Particularly important is the transition to the professional world
of the grown-up person. Parsons considers this a new phase in
the socialization-process. While the first phase was universal,
the second is more specialized. In great part it consists in the
acquisition of that specialized knowledge which is necessary in
the situations of a grown-up role. What has to be learned is
generally so complex that the only efficient method is
imitation.57 The roles also change later in life. Marriage thus
asks for always new role-contents as one gets one or more
children, and as the children grow up and leave the home. Even
society itself may change in such a way that the roles assume a
different character.58 In general, however, we may regard the
roles and their changes as determined within the social system.
We may also say that a particular cultural pattern is expressed
through the roles.
Every role implies a particular orientation to the environment,
and it is therefore a matter of course that the roles are reflected
in perception. We have already mentioned the specialized *
perception of the car-driver,

and understand that all specialists necessarily have to

develop their characteristic intentional poles. The artist is no
exception. Most special* intentions are developed during the
second phase of socialization. The mechanism of perception,
however, is built upon a foundation of general, everyday
intentions. This is due to the first phase of the socializationprocess, which may be called universal* because it changes
less in space and time. Childrens drawings are fairly similar in
all parts of the world, while the arts reflect a later adaptation to
different roles and cultural objects.
SCHEMATIZATION
We define a schema as a typical (stereotyped) reaction to a
situation, that is, as a typical attitude or a characteristic
coherence-system of intentional poles. We understand that the
schemata are formed during socialization,59 and their importance
is so great that we may almost put a sign of equality between
schema and perception.60 Thus we generally ascribe to a man
who speaks Swedish all the properties which make up our
schema Swede9; in fact we perceive properties which may not
be present, and discover perhaps that our schema only partly
fits. Or rather, we discover that our perception is wrong, as we
usually are not conscious of our schemata. When we discover
that our reaction is unsatisfactory, that the schema does not
allow a sufficient intentional depth, we are forced to revise it.
The schematization therefore is a process which never comes to
a close. But it is a well-known fact that our prejudices may be so
strong that we refuse to revise, and if we say that a person is
fossilized, it signifies that his schematization has stopped. He
has acquired a collection of more or less primitive schemata,
and has at any price to force reality into them. Rather than
letting the schemata go, he accepts a distorted view of reality.
We cling to the schemata and are afraid of the insecurity which
would result if the world should lose its schema-bound stability.
Brunswik thus says that a certain Unbelehrbarkeit characterizes

perception.61 Piaget reports an experiment where 5-year-old

children have to predict how the surface of the water inside a
bottle moves when the bottle is tipped. Although the children
look at the bottle when it is tipped, they are unable to perceive
that the surface of the water remains horizontal.
Piaget concludes that the experiment *... shows how poorly
commonly perceived events are recorded in the absence of a
schema within which they may be organized. 62 Any new
situation demands a certain revision of our schemata, and an
active relation to the environment presupposes such a
flexibility. One of the most beautiful experiences is to meet an
j elderly person who is still willing to receive impressions, and
who does not reject everything that does not not fit in with
the essence of his or her previous experience.
To learn to see*, above all means to acquire schemata
which allow an adequate intentional depth. This is apparent,
for example, when one is learning a foreign language: it is
essential to learn to intend spontaneously the meaning of the
words. A language we do not know well demands effort,
because the intention of the meaning does not come without
translation. It is of course neither possible nor necessary to
build up all schemata individually. While the simplest
perceptual schemata are a result of senso-motoric activity,
the higher schemata are, as suggested, based upon
communication of experiences and cultural traditions. If this
were not the case, our culture would never reach beyond a
very primitive* stage. We assimilate experiences through the
schemata, and these come to life when we have an
experience which fits . Every historical period brings forth its
characteristic schematizations.
The great Swiss child-psychologist Jean Piaget has given us
a basic understanding of schematization. He stresses that the
first schemata are a result of the childs concrete operations,
and not an intellectual abstraction 4 of the properties of
things. Wittgenstein expresses this state of affairs when he
4
2

says: It is only if someone can do, has learnt, is master of,

such and such, that it makes sense to say that he has had this
experience. Thus Piaget shows that our primal schematizations
are the result of operations such as putting things close to
each other, into each other or after each other. 64 When the
child draws a rounding and lets it represent a thing in
general, this signifies that it assimilates the things to its
schema for thingness. For the child a thing is primarily
something enclosed and compact, and the rounding
perfectly represents these qualities.65
In general the schemata are based upon similarity between
phenomena. While the objects of science are constructed
through approximately objective abstractions, the schemata
result from the experience of equivalent situations and have to
be understood as relatively impure objects. 66 In the following
we shall take a look at the schemata which mediate our physical
world of everyday life.
The first schema to be acquired is, according to Piaget,
proximity*. Later follow among others, enclosure and
continuity. Size-constancy is a schema which results from the
operational experience that things maintain their size when
moved. Simple gestalt qualities like elementary geometrical
figures are obviously based upon the schemata enclosure and
continuity, while the perception of more complicated wholes,
like works of art, presuppose schemata which may only be
acquired through special training. We easily perceive a melody
as a totality because it belongs to a key, whereby the single
tones of the melody are experienced in their relation to the keyschema. Atonal music is generally criticized for being without
melody, because the key-schemata not only have lost their
organizing role, but work directly to create prejudices and hinder
perception. Through instruction and through becoming
accustomed, we may acquire an adequate new schema which
opens up the intended meaning.67 When we say that the
schemata mediate the intended meaning, we underline the
fundamental importance of schematization. The schemata are,

as mentioned, to be considered as characteristic coherencesystems of intentional poles, and thus correspond to the objects
which constitute our personal world. The world is common in so
far as the schemata are common. The schemata give form to the
world, because they organize the phenomena as manifestations
of objects.68 The constancy-phenomena, for instance, imply
that we have learned to perceive changing phenomena as
representing the same object.
The first schemata start to develop on a senso-motoric basis
from birth on.69 In a child of 7-8 months, the visual and tactile
experiences of the permanency of things are not yet coordinated. Although a child of 5-6 weeks thus does not
experience the things as permanent, it starts to recognize. 70 As
the experience of form- and size-constancy is lacking, the
recognition can only result from the childs ability to grasp
topological
transformations. Topology docs not deal with permanent
distances, angles or areas, but is based upon relations such as
proximity, separation, succession, closure (inside, outside), and
continuity.71 We may notice that the child in this early period
experiences the transformations as changes of the thing itself, and
not as apparent changes due to variations in the relation
between the thing and the child. The topological schemata thus
are characterized by being tied to the thing, not grasping the
mutual relations between a number of things. In this way they
mediate a visual world consisting of isolated elements, and do
not allow for the co-ordination of these elements into a unified
whole. The only kind of order which may be attained is based
upon the proximity-relation, and consists in a succession of
separate things. This kind of order (collection) later develops
into the continuity-schema, when the child realizes that the
proximity-operation itself is a process which can be repeated ad
infinitum. In this way the operation is abstracted from the
concrete physical things which gave birth to it. As soon as
continuity is acquired, only a small step lacks for the formation
of schemata which determine the relations between things. The
4
4

straight line has an important function in the development of such

comprehensive schemata. Topology does not know the straight
line, but it forms a part of the projective and Euclidean systems.
The straight line thus is not given to the child a priori, nor is the
tri-dimensional or Euclidean; space, which most people consider
self-evident.72 * Vertical-horizontal* is another schematization.
Piaget opposes the general view that this relation is a necessary
result of our standing and walking upright. His experiments show
that the vertical-horizontal schema has to be built up through
operations with things.73
The projective or perspective relations are neither properties of
the things nor an a priori relationship between the things and
ourselves, but schematizations on the basis that certain
properties remain constant when the viewpoint is shifted. The
only property which is added to the topological ones is that the
straight lines are preserved during the transformational Angles
and distances (proportions), however, are variable. Proportions
seem related to the interdependence of the parts of the Gestalt
theory.74 The Gestalt psychologists have clearly shown that the
phenomenal relation between the parts are a function of the
whole, that is, the perception of
single proportions varies according to the context. Piaget also
75 p
shows that
the perception of proportions is very unsteady and defective.
76
Strong 6
*
Gestalten such as discrete, simple geometrical figures, are the
only ex- ceptions.75 The experience of pregnancy and Gestalt
quality is therefore
primarily due to other factors than the proportions, and we have
already
suggested that the basis is topological, with straight lines and
l
defined
angles as later supplements.76
From what has been said above, we understand that
the Gestalt laws '* are relatively simple
schematizations, mainly based upon the topological
schemata described by Piaget. It should also be* stressed

that they are not general laws* we have to obey. We can

very well direct our attitude differently than prescribed by
the Gestalt schemata. And the thesis of Gestalt
psychology, that we always prefer the simplest solution, is
explained by the fact that we know that a clear order is
convenient. But the need for a simple order is not
absolute, it is a well-known phenomenon that perception
often tends to oversimplify the situation. The experiences
of a characteristic property, as well as a diffuse totality or
an articulated form, are the result of schematizations. To
perceive implies that we attain a certain order, and the
chaotic is defined by shunning a satisfactory perception.
The so-called constancy-phenomena also have to be
mentioned in more detail. When we perceive a circular
table, it is almost always seen obliquely, and the
projective pattern on the retina is oval. In spite of this we
experience a circular table and not an oval one. This is
called * form- constancy, and implies that we may
perceive the sameness of a thing although its projective
pattern changes. There are of course limits to the
recognition of complicated forms. J. J. Gibson maintains
that the projectional pattern must keep a kind of identity
through the changes.77 The projectional pattern is
distorted, but certain determining structural qualities are
retained during the distortion. We may say that the form
is stretched without bursting. As already mentioned,
Piaget has shown that we learn to perceive the sameness
of things because .of their topological properties.
We therefore do not have to consider the projective
pattern in this context, but a careful investigation of the
limits of thing-constancy is anyway very desirable. 78
Thing-constancy may of course also result when two (or
more)
forms are mediated by the same non-topological (or mixed)
schema. If we want to describe a square, for instance, it is not
enough to say that it has four equal sides which are joined at
right angles. Among other characteristics the square also has a
4
6

centre which, although invisible, may play an important role in

perception. We see that a point which is placed in this centre
acquires a completely different character from a point placed
somewhere else within the square. We may conclude that the
area of the square has not a uniform character, but is
structured by a skeleton of lines and points. Consequently we
also understand that the form of a figure is not only determined
by its contours. The structural skeleton has to be understood
as a system of simple topological and Euclidean schemata,
which in the above-mentioned case art unified in the * square1 schema*.79 Usually we perceive a Gestalt by means of several
schemata, and the structural skeleton is made up of the poles
these schemata encompass. In general we realize that the
constancy-phenomena are of the greatest importance, because
they determine those basic principles of composition we call
repetition and variation*.
One of the problems which has given the psychologists most
trouble is the so-called space-perception*. As long as the eye
was considered a kind of photographic apparatus, it seemed
incomprehensible that the flat* projectional pattern on the
retina could mediate the perception of depth. But we have seen
that perception is not a slave of the projectional pattern.
Perception aims at valid assumptions about the nature of the
environment, and it is evident that a hypothesis which
organizes the situation into a two-dimensional surface would
usually lead to catastrophical actions. It is highly necessary
that the organism acquires schemata which directly mediate a
tri-dimensional world. Piaget shows that our spaceconsciousness * is based upon operational schemata, that is,
experiences with things. The space-schemata may be of very
different kinds, and the same individual normally possesses
more than one schema, to allow him a satisfactory perception
of diverse situations or tasks*. The schemata, moreover, are
culturally determined. It is thus a naive simplification to believe
that the space-perceptions correspond to the objective physical
space of science.80 In daily life we usually act on the basis of
direction, size and distance, and only a particular attitude enables

us to combine these phenomena into a superior spaceconception. Such a space-schema in a developed form, is
capable of defining the relations between things by indications
like right and left, behind and before, over and Under, and also
through considering the relative sizes. The Euclidean spaceschema organizes such indications into a system extending in all
three dimensions.81
The investigations of Piaget have shown that Euclidean
space is a relatively late schematization, which only has
an unconscious behavioural character.
The experience of depth, which is the point of departure for the
Euclidean
schema, stems from the topological relation that things
are between each other. Also, the perception of depth is
very inaccurate and demonstrates that phenomenal space
has a non-Euclidean character.82 Nor does Euclidean space
correspond to the gravitational space which 4 radiates
from the globe. The straight lines we imagine parallel to
the surface of the earth are far from straight, and we
understand that Euclidean space is not derived from the
physical properties of the globe.
Piagets experiment with the water-bottle shows that the
younger children only perceive that the water is inside,
without being able to render an account of the relation
between the water and the bottle. The bigger children also
perceive the surface of the water, but imagine its relation
to the bottle as unchanged when the bottle is tipped. The
water is hence assimilated to the directions of the bottle
as a schema, and although the children see that the watersurface remains horizontal when the bottle is tipped, they
are unable to represent in a drawing this state of affairs!
Only still older children are able to assimilate the water to
an imagined schema outside the bottle, i. e., the
vertical-horizontal schema.
Piaget sums up his investigations with these words: It
is quite obvious that the perception of space involves a
4
8

gradual construction and certainly does not exist ready

made at the outset of mental development. 83 The
intuition of space is not a reading or apprehension of
the properties of objects, but from the very beginning, an
action performed on them.84 Hence we understand that
the word space may denote very different objects which
may be more or less intentionally distant. In certain older
cultures, for instance, the space-conception was also
determined by different qualities assigned to the directions
north, south, west and east. These qualities were
intermediary objects with religious ideas as contributing
poles, and the space-schema thus has to be described as nonhomogeneous or even discontinuous. Such * space-conceptions
* are not as unintelligible as they may seem; we should only
remember that our own more or less developed Euclidean
schema is also a schema, an empirically constructed
contribution to the intentional poles of perception, and not
something immediately given in the stimulus-situation. 85 Those
phenomena which are manifestations of a * space may be
indications like * from here to there , or an experience of
narrowness, openness, enclosure etc., discrete indications with
ourselves functioning as a centre. We may move the * spacecentre by concentrating our attention on a far object ( I put
myself in your place ), or even by moving it into an
imagination. But a more developed space- schema is usually an
object on such a high level that it escapes elucidation.
If we really try to imagine Euclidean space as uniform extension
in all directions, we discover that this is impossible. Even to
imagine an infinitely long straight line is an impossibility. We
may perhaps conceive such things, but we cannot perceive
them. Thus we have to repeat that they are human
constructions and not given a priori. Our perception of space,
therefore, can be described as always changing intermediary
objects where our own space-schemata function as intentional
poles.86
SCHEMA VARIANTS

The elementary perceptional schemata which have been

outlined above, mediate a world of simple physical things. In
different cultures these schemata are mixed* with more
particular intentional poles with colour* perception in
characteristic ways. In our western culture we distinguish ^
strictly between living and inanimate objects, and we pursue
intentions where the invariant physical properties of things are
the main goals. We usually try to understand the situation, and
our perception becomes diffuse and unsatisfactory if the
stimulus does not fit our simple categories.* 7 Primitive man
behaves in a completely different way. All things are
spontaneously experienced as animated and living. Such a
physiognomic or magic* perception intends the expression
of things. In our culture we only experience other persons in
this way.88 Anthropomorphism is a particular type of
physiognomic perception, where human characteristics

5
0

arc read into everything. Schematizations resulting from

experiences with other human beings are employed as more
general intentional poles. Another kind of intermediary
object which still is very important, and in primitive man
basic, results from the confusion of different sensemodalities. A well-known case of this synaesthesia is the
seeing of colours on hearing music. In the old Chinese
culture the colours were attached to different realms of
objects and properties, and the Zuni-Indians assign a colour
to each of the main directions. 89 Child-psychology shows
that early experiences usually have a synaesthetic
character, and when we as grown-ups say that a thing looks
heavy and soft, we still perceive synaesthetic phenomena.
The intention of the expression means that the feelings
come to dominate perception. The feelings, however, are not
mystical qualities which exist independently of the objects.
They also have to be described in terms of objects, and are
to be understood as a particular kind of intermediary object
where values (or cultural objects in general) colour the
situation.90 No perception is in reality completely free from an
emotional content; it is only in the laboratory of the
psychologist that we can isolate those pure schematizations
which have been mentioned above. In our culture, though, it
is typical that we consider the pure objects as our ideal
goals.91 Primitive man, instead, structures the world
according to the emotional relationships to things. 92 He does
not, as we do, intend the more invariant properties of things,
and his world becomes unstable and variable. The same
things have a different character according to the context
where they appear.93 In spite of the changeable environment
of primitive man, his culture may be labeled revolutionfree.94 To survive he is dependent upon an immutable society
of which he forms an integral part.95 Children, too, from an
early stage of development, show the same need for fixed
rules.96 In both cases the concept of order expresses itself as
the determining condition for all human behaviour, and at
the same time we recognize the need to cling to any

acquired order. This can give perception the character of

defense rather than the collection of information.
The perceptive variants outlined above are not accidental, but
result from concrete experiences. They represent possible
organizations of reality, and their development in the
individual is determined by cultural, social, and personal
factors.97 On the other hand, we can within any culture
recognize characteristic errors of perception. These may
follow from an insufficient organization of the situation due to
the lack of appropriate schemata, or from the employment of
wrong schemata. The last case often presents itself as
trompe-Voeil or as a confusion of Sein und Schein (we marry the
girl because of her beauty).
THE ORGANISM IN THE ENVIRONMENT
The psychology of perception teaches us to refuse nave
realism. The world is not as it immediately appears to each
of us. We always have to take into consideration that our
perceptions may be superficial or even wrong. Any situation
in which we have to participate is perceived in relation to our
previous experiences. This means that we organize the
situation according to our perceptual schemata. And we
have seen that the schemata are only common on a fairly
low, everyday level. If we put a modern sportsman in front of
one of Michelangelos slaves, he integrates it in his world
by saying: a man of stone. We become what we do, and we
do what we are.98
Our perceptions are, as we have seen, intermediary
objects. The stimulus- situation usually offers many
possibilities for the choice of intentional poles, and often we
ourselves contribute decisive poles which are not to be found
in the external situation. This happens for instance when a
bank-note looks larger than a piece of paper of the same
size. For every one of us particular stimuli will be connected
with particular coherence-systems (schemata) during the
process of perception. We can also express this by saying
5

that a particular stimulus produces particular expectations.

In most cases the same stimulus will give rise to several
different expectations, among which one is of particular
intensity. If a man talks Swedish, we expect that he is a
Swede, although we might also believe with a certain degree
of probability that he is a compatriot who wants to fool us.
Thus we spontaneously perceive a Swede when he opens his
mouth. We see and hear what we expect, and in this way the
given stimulus becomes meaningful. We perceive the
stimulus as a manifestation of an intermediary object, in our
example the schema Swede, and everything this implies of
positive and negative properties. Every time our perception
is unsatisfactory, we should have to revise our expectations
and make new schematizations. We can only enlarge our
world in this way.99 The objects thus represent and mediate
each other, at the same time as they form totalities which
are something more than the sum of their components. An
object is defined through certain objective properties. But we
rarely react to these. We do not react to the weight or shape
of a cushion, but perceive it as something to sit upon. We
thus react to relations between objects, to changing
phenomenal conditions.
The schemata, as we have understood, are habits of
perception which have become established in such a way
that they acquire the character of quasi-objects. They
possess a lower degree of objectivity (stability) than the
concepts of science, but may in spite of this be common to a
more or less extensive collectivity. A way of life is rather
characterized by such common quasi-objects than by
contemporary scientific theories. The world mediated by a
more or less public perception therefore diverges from the
system of pure objects of science. It is characterized by
floating transitions and an infinity of shades. A descriptive
analysis of this phenomenal world, however, can only be
carried through in terms of the pure objects. Our
environment can only be described vom Gegenstand her,
and the organism is characterized by the objects which are

accessible to it.100 We should be careful, however, not to form

a belief that perception and science mediate two (or more)
different worlds. What is said above only refers to different
representations of the same world. Science is based upon the
criterion of objectivity, and therefore offers us common
standards. The only possible type of description is the
scientific one, but we have not done with the world in having
described it.101

2. Symbolization

OBJECT AND DESCRIPTION

Our actions presuppose an organization of the
environment. This organization consists, as we have seen,
in abstracting objects from the immediately given
phenomena.1 The objects, or the form we assign to the
world, arc expressed in our behaviour. But we have also
suggested that for many n purposes it is necessary to fix
the objects by means of signs, so that they may be talked
about, described and ordered into systems. 2 The more
complex and differentiated the environment becomes,
the more we shall need a large number of symbolsystems which allow for co-operation and fellowship.
We can only describe order, because every description
aims at the demonstration of similarities. The objects
are the order or form of reality.
The phenomena are immediately given with form, as
manifestations of objects, and this form is their meaning.
This does not imply that the objects cause the
phenomena. The phenomena have no causes, but appear
(present themselves) in a certain order. The meaning of
the phenomenon is the context in which it appears. We
thus understand that phenomenon* and object are two
aspects of the same matter. We abstract the most
invariant properties of the phenomena and call them
objects.
We can only describe the phenomena in terms of
objects because we can only describe similarities
(relations) between phenomena, or structure.3 Any
description, any science, therefore, has to be *vom
Gegenstand her'.4 A phenomenological* description is an
5
3

illusion, as it necessarily has to classify the phenomena,

that is, it has to be carried out in terms of objects.
It is not as a matter of fact evident how the phenomena
should be classified, as the phenomena may have several
properties in common. We could, for instance, classify
according to colour, and give the same designation to

5
4

a Chinese and a yellow cheese. Although this example

seems exaggerated, it often happens that we classify
according to conspicuous, but superficial similarities. Under
the pressure of new experiences, however, we will have to
discard inconvenient classifications. Thus we no longer
divide the material things into the substances (objects)
earth, air, fire and water, but order them according to
atomic numbers.5 The demand for efficient classifications
means that we are trying to obtain an order of a certain
durability (invariance), which is objective and common. 6
In describing, it is of fundamental importance to choose
the most suitable objects of comparison, or dimensions
(Vergleichsdimensionen).7 The objects, thus, are neither
accidental nor given a priori, but constructed to serve
particular purposes. We say that our world of objects is
false if it does not coincide with our experiences, that is, if
it does not permit correct predictions. Closeness to life or
suitability* are therefore characteristics of objects which
do not lead to conflicts.
The objects may be arranged into systems which
describe the world. In classical mechanics, for instance, the
concepts space, time, mass, movement, velocity,
and acceleration are defined through their functional
interrelations. This corresponds to the fact that the
phenomena do not appear in separation, but connected
with each other. By means of systems of interrelated
concepts this state of affairs can be described and
empirical laws established.8 Magical laws, such as the
influence of ritual on the weather, may be considered a
primitive form of science which has to be discarded when
experience shows that its assumptions are wrong. Science
can only test its empirical inductions through new
experiences 1 (experiments). Scientific theories, therefore,
are always hypotheses about reality, and only practical
experiences can decide if they are appropriate. Science
orders the experiences into an objective and invariant
world of objects. In this way the experiences of others are

also made available to serve as a basis for our actions in a

common world.
When we describe a phenomenal complex, we therefore
have to introduce a suitable number of interrelated objects
which serve as dimensions of comparison. Thus we
describe the position of a point in Euclidean space by
means of 3 co-ordinates. The co-ordinate-system is an
abstract construction not to be found in nature, but which,
thanks to its logical form,
has shown itself very practicable. It may also happen that we
describe another phenomenon by means of 3 dimensions of a
completely different kind, as for instance a colour as a
product of three precisely defined * colour- objects (e.g. hue,
saturation, intensity). We may very well say that our colour is
defined in a tri-dimensional space, but this space of course
has nothing to do with a Euclidean space. The type and
number of the dimensions are chosen according to their
suitability, and it would be a fundamental misunderstanding
to read any number-mysticism into this state of affairs. We
therefore have to reject statements saying that the world is
five-dimensional or that modern painting is based upon the
four Einsteinian dimensions. 9 The success of a scientific
investigation depends upon the suitability of the dimensions
chosen. It is just as wrong to divide everything into
subordinate bits as to support an oversimplifying totalityview. In the last case we would freeze the world into a few
arbitrary and static categories, a tendency which has been
rather common in recent science and philosophy.
Jean Piaget has shown that the childs adaptation to its
environment takes place by means of experimentation. By
handling things, by always new operations, the child forms an
idea of the relevant similarities and dissimilarities, in other
words, it attains knowledge of objects. This development is
usually accompanied by a linguistic education. 10 The child
thus builds up its world through senso-motoric operations. 11
Science, therefore, is nothing but an accurate and systematic
continuation of the activities of daily life. Both daily life and

scientific work are based upon insight into the lawful patterns
of our experiences.12 Any action would be impossible if we did
not know that things are (relatively) permanent, and that we
may expect a certain behaviour from them. In daily life we
base our actions upon conscious or unconscious hypotheses
about what will happen if we behave in a certain way, while
science constructs experiments to verify its hypotheses. 13 A
scientific law, therefore, has the purpose of making the
prediction of future occurrences possible, but as it is always
the result of a limited number of observations, it does not
offer full security. A law is never absolute, but has only a
higher or lesser degree of probability.14 This does not imply
that science no longer aims at objectivity. A statistical law is
just as concrete and objective as an absolute law.i5
Scientific laws are therefore not to be understood as rules
which nature must obey; rather are they rules we have to
follow if we want to adjust ourselves to the environment. In
general we may say that science aims at describing as pure
objects as possible. It abstracts from the immediately given
phenomena for this purpose, and overlooks all finer shades
for the benefit of a univocal order.
It is convenient to divide our environment into physical,
social* and cultural* objects.16 Together, these make up
the world*. The classes of objects are logically interrelated.
The cultural objects (ideas, works of art etc.) are known
through their social or physical manifestations, 17 while social
objects are known through the study of behaviour (physical
manifestations). The physical objects, finally, are known
through observation, and may be reduced to sense-data or
phenomena. This does not imply that the higher objects
consist of* the lower ones; it is a matter of course that a
cultural object is different from and something more * than
its physical manifestations.18 But it is important to notice
that the higher objects are known through the lower ones,
and that statements about the higher ones may be
controlled by means of statements about the lower ones.

The world can be considered a polyphonic pattern of chains

of objects belonging to different levels.
The division into physical, social and cultural objects
corresponds to the division of labour in science. Taken
together these classes of objects make up a suitable system
of dimensions for the purpose of studying human actions
and products. A study of architecture must also be built
upon this foundation.
SYMBOL AND SEMIOTIC

On the basis of discriminations and operations we construct

our world of objects, and we give names to the objects. A
name does not designate a phenomenon (an experience),
but a particular class of similarities between phenomena.
The name is of course a purely conventional sign, it is freely
chosen on the basis of a common agreement. Our language
therefore is both a necessary expedient and an obstacle to
the creation of a coherent world. It has a tendency to
freeze* obsolete classifications.19 This tend-ency is often
hidden behind the term common-sense. In our changing
and always more complex world this has often led to
dangerous and unnecessary conflicts. Just as the scientist
has to give his concepts an ever higher degree of precision,
we are also forced to do the same in our daily | life and our
work. We have all experienced how political propaganda, in
particular, suffers from a meaningless use of language, and
we have mentioned that this also holds true for the
architectural debate.
Many attempts have been made to clear up this
situation. The most basic insight into the problem is due to
operationalism. One has simply asked the question:
under what concrete circumstances are we allowed to use
a particular word?20 The purpose of putting this question is
to find a method which may establish the contact between
the words (the objects) and our immediate experiences.
According to traditional philosophy the words represent
ideas which have an absolute existence inde- pendently of
our experience.21 Modern science, however, has been
forced to realize that the meaning of the words lies in the
relationship between language and experience. |A term is
defined relative to the situations where it is employed.
Instead of imagining an absolute reality mediated by the
words, a reality which will always run into conflicts with the
forces of change, we have to look upon language as a
flexible tool corresponding to an objective (but not
absolute) world of changing empirical objects. An

operational definition', therefore, consists in telling how a

concept is used, and we recognize the correspondence with
Piagets investigations on the formation of concepts. 22
Completely carried through, the operational method
attempts to reduce all statements to the simplest possible
operations (elementary experiences), such as pointing at a
thing and saying its name. This means that the objects are
defined by the operations which have made us know them.
-Language is a symbol-system. A symbol-system has to
be constructed in such a way that it easily adapts itself to
regions of the object world. This adaptation is possible by
means of a common logical form. 23 Symbolization
therefore means a representation of a state of affairs in
another medium by means of structural similarity. The world
of objects is very complex and varied, and we need a large
number of different symbol- systems to describe it. Where
language fails, mathematics has shown

itself to be very useful. The arts are also symbolsystems, and we will later render an account of their
roles. In general we may say that each symbolsystem has a different capacity of symbolization,
which is defined in terms of the objects it can
represent. Certain forms (sign-complexes) arc
better fitted for receiving certain contents than
others. This correspondence, however, is not
univocal. Any form is usually capable of receiving
varying contents within certain limits. A complex
content
may
also
through
convention
be
represented by a simple form. In this way, however,
we do not create any symbol-system. The nation, for
instance, may be analyzed as a system of
properties, but the flag cannot be submitted to a
corresponding analysis. The flag, therefore, does not
form part of a class of symbols which is able to
represent the properties of the nation. A symbolsystem has to consist of elementary symbols
signifying the elementary properties of the higher
objects. This implies that it needs articulation
(differentiation) to be able to treat the higher
objects. The flag is * banal because its content is
determined once for all. In the same way the
elementary parts of the symbol-systems are banal.
But they may be used to form a totality which is not
banal. When, for instance, we hoist the flag on our
national day, the flag becomes a part of a larger
whole and we perceive it as a manifestation of
certain fundamental qualities of the nation. It is
important that a symbol-system does not contain
contradictions*J
If
we happen
to
contradict
ourselves because of inner confusions In the symbolsystem, we will have to improve it. We may
therefore conclude that our concepts only possess
meaning within a logically coherent language Just as
the phenomena are defined by the context in which

they appear, a sign has only meaning within a

system. A meaning, therefore, is always a relation.
Culture is based upon the development of symbolsystems which can keep and spread experiences. 24 It
is characteristic that the first stable culture in
Sumer (before 5000 B. C.) was made possible by the
use
of
pictures,
written
language,
and
architecture.25
We can study the logical construction of a symbolsystem without taking its relationship to reality into
consideration. Such a study is purely formal and is
called syntactics'1.26 Mathematics and logic are
examples of purely formal sciences which only treat
their own inner coherence and articulation. A
syntactical investigation of a symbol-system,
therefore, only
studies the relations between signs, and does not tell us
anything about reality. It is empty.27
But we may also investigate the relations between the
signs and reality, and return then to our operational
definitions, or what is often called 1semantics. The
operational definitions are also known as semantical rules'.
Semantics treats the relations between the sign and its
designatum.28
We have already suggested that a symbol-system
influences its users. The study of this fact has been called *
pragmatics'* (Morris). Pragmatics treats the relations between
the sign and those who use it, and thus comprises all the
psychological and sociological factors which participate as
intentions and reached goals.
Charles Morris unifies all the three aspects, syntactics,
semantics, and pragmatics in his Theory of Signs or ^
semiotic*.73 Semiotic is itself a symbol-system, a language to
talk about signs'.30 In its three dimensions' semiotic aims at
understanding the rules* for the use of signs. It is not
necessary to be conscious of the rules to be able to use a

symbol-system, but the rules represent the forms we have to

employ to express ourselves in a meaningful way. Morris stresses
the fact that the three dimensions are interrelated. The
syntactical organization of a symbol-system is a function of
the purposes it has to serve (it must for instance be
constructed in such a way that it might become common),
although it also has its independent pattern consistency. 31
The pragmatic effect is correspondingly a function of the
semantical dimension. The meaning of a sign is completely
described by indicating its three semiotical aspects. The
meaning, therefore, is not something which has to be added
to the semiotical description.32 Neither is it, as is often
maintained, something purely private or subjective. By
means of semiotic, meaning can be studied objectively. 33
The rules for the use of signs are in daily life rarely
formulated in an exact way, rather they have the character
of habits or tradition.34
Semiotic sums up the efforts of science in a simple
formula, and Morris concludes: Indeed, it does not seem
fantastic to believe that the concept of sign may prove as
fundamental to the sciences of man as the concept of atom
has been for the physical sciences or the concept of cell for
the biological sciences.'35
Till now our language has been the main subject-matter of
semiotic, but lately we have also started to investigate visual
and auditive signs, such as diagrams, images, traffic-signs
and works of art.36
COMMUNICATION AND INFORMATION
SO far we have defined the purpose of the signs as the
description of experiences or objects. This, of course, has the
ulterior purpose of creating a basis for human
communication and co-operation. Through communication
we get information which serves our behaviour. 37 In general,
information is gained either through direct perception or by
means of communication between individuals. We have

understood that any perception (of a message) consists in

grasping an order or structure. But we have also seen that
perception and communication are only possible under
certain conditions. The main presupposition is that we can
interpret signs, in other words, that we know the
symbol:systems that are employed. When a sign is presented
to us, or when we use it ourselves, we expect particular
consequences. We may say that we have attained a * system
of expectations A particularly important part of this system is
Alters possible reactions to our own behaviour. 38
Communication, therefore, is based upon common symbolsystems which are attached to common behavioural patterns
or forms of life.3*
Within a symbol-system a single sign may be connected
with several others with varying degrees of probability. If a
sign is followed by one whose appearance in this place within
the system has a maximum degree of probability, in other
words, if our expectation is completely correct, we do not get
any new information because we know in advance what is
going to happen. The message is banal*. If, on the contrary,
the sign is attached to another one whose appearance in this
place has no probability whatsoever, it is impossible* for us
to perceive any coherence or order, and the message
becomes meaningless. We thus understand that a
meaningful message presupposes the use of symbol-systems
which are connected with systems of expectations, and that
the message has to contain a certain moment of surprise,
without breaking completely with the expectation.40
Information reacts on the expectations, that is to say, new
experiences demand a more or less thorough revision of our
world of objects. This may be called the pragmatic effect of
the information, or in the terminology of information theory:
feedback.47In
general,
feedback
means
that
the
organization of a mechanism is regulated by its achievement. If the performance is not satisfactory, the mechanism
will have to undergo a change. Similarly, our expectations

will have to be revised if they do not allow appropriate

predictions. Feedback-control is built into several machines,
and the human organism possesses self-regulating
physiological mechanisms such as the automatic control of
the body temperature. To learn, and to adjust oneself to the
environment in general, must be considered a feedbackprocess.42
Any human product is thus a tool, serving the purpose of
bringing order into our environment, and all these tools have
to possess a particular logical form to manage their task.
Non-verbal communication is just as dependent upon a
structured symbol-system as verbal communication.
Whether we employ gestures, other kinds of actions, images
or sounds, these have to be ordered and connected with a
system of expectations to be meaningful. Cherry thus
considers form as the main common denominator of science
and art.43
ABSTRACTION AND CONCRETIZATION
So far we have mainly discussed scientific description, but
we have also suggested the existence of symbol-systems
which serve other types of communication. Science takes
care of one particular kind of symbolization. It aims at giving
as exact and objective descriptions of reality as possible, and
it is abstracting because it divides the world into pure
elements which are organized into systems. 44 The signs
employed by science represent pure objects, that is,
objective situations. We have seen that the abstraction of
objects is a presupposition for all kinds of behaviour, and
thus understand that science is a continuation of one of the
aspects of daily life. But in daily life our attitudes change,
and perception has only rarely the pure objects as its goal.
Instead it grasps diffuse intermediary objects which surely
may be analyzed, but which as immediately given totalities
are of such a nature that language offers no words for them.
The perception of a tree, for instance, is not equivalent to a

scientific description of the tree, and an analytic

explanation of a poem does not replace the direct
experience of the poem, any more than a description of an
experience is the same as a poem about this experience. If
the last statement is correct, the poem must be understood
as a symbolization of a kind different from the scientific
description. But before we investigate this problem more
thoroughly, we have to say something more about the
relationship between description -and the concretely given
phenomena.
While our perceptions are always conditioned by attitudes,
science tries to be independent. Or rather, it prescribes a
particular analytic attitude. This attitude is basic to what
we call thought. Thought aims at a security which
perception does not offer. To arrive at this security thought
has to abstract, that is, to order into categories and to
overlook the finer shades. Thought is not, like perception,
based upon schematization,45 although it employs
schematic concepts, and it is therefore the only reliable
tool for the construction of an ordered, objective world of
objects. In complex, concrete situations demanding quick
decisions thought, on the contrary, is handicapped. It is too
slow and does not spontaneously grasp the relevant
intermediary shades. For this purpose, perception is a
much better tool. Perception is more flexible, but less
reliable. Thought is (approximately) exact, but clumsy and
bureaucratic,
while
perception
is
uncertain
and
spontaneously ingenious.46 Thought works slowly and
makes conscious all the mediating objects which are
swallowed in a satisfactory perception. In contrast to the
exact measurements of thought, perception employs
more or less trustworthy assumptions. Some objects can
only be attained through thought, as for instance all the
pure constructs of science. These objects are not to be
experienced. Their purpose is to form a basis for thinking.
Other object-complexes, on the contrary, are not accessible
to thought, because they fall apart during analysis, and

have to be experienced directly. In our time the scientific

attitude has come to dominate in such a way that many
find it incomprehensible that man also tries to develop
symbol-systems which aim at representing the world in
another way than through analytical description. 47
Strangely enough, it is science itself which has brought
forth an ever stronger reaction against this one-sided
scientistic attitude. As we have seen above, the
psychologists have 6 shown that the analytical attitude is
only one among an infinite number of possible attitudes,
and that it necessarily fails in many situations. The
sociologists, for their part, have shown that society needs
symbol-systems which can mediate ethical and aesthetic
contents',48 and semiotic, finally, has taught us that
language may be used in several basically different ways
which all fulfill important functions within the process of
interaction.49
A preliminary classification of the symbol-systems may
be based upon the realization that both our behaviour and
the things we use, express something about ourselves.
Other persons are generally able to understand if we are
happy or angry, and usually our dwellings have a personal
touch.
It is therefore convenient to distinguish between sign
language, action language and object language. 50 The
terms may be discussed, as all the three types of
language make use of signs, but the classification is in any
case interesting. We understand that different kinds of
phenomenal totalities are important to man, and that he
develops corresponding tools to handle them. Science
alone does not give us a complete picture of our world of
perceptions and actions. While the phenomena make up a
potentially continuous universe, the objects may be
compared to a grid with defined points and relations
between the points, but containing large holes. This does
not mean that we are forced to attempt non-scientific
descriptions. Although it surely is possible to describe a nonscientific symbol-system (e. g. theories of art), this

description of course does not substitute the direct use of

the non-scientific symbol-system. What we need are nondescriptive symbol-systems which are able to relieve the
one-sidedness of science.51
The distinction between symbols which describe and
express is not new. Already Plato mentioned the old
quarrel between poetry and philosophy, and later the
problem has come up over and over again. We find it in
Henri Bergsons distinction between intellectual* and
intuitive' cognition (understanding), and Ogden and
Richards introduce the terms referential and emotive. 52 A
more fruitful handling of the problem has become possible
through sociology and semiotic, and in our opinion
Brunswiks concept of intermediary object offers the key to
the core of the matter. The basic characteristic of a nondescriptive symbol-system is
that it docs not, like science, seek the pure objects; rather it
concretizes intermediary objects (coherence-systems of
objects) in signs of a pronounced totality-character. 53 Our
attitude towards an intermediary object is simul taneously
multipolar, and cannot be represented by an addition of
discrete pole-symbols. The non-descriptive symbol-systems
may of course be investigated semiotically. We may render
an account of their purposes and effects, the poles they
merge together, and also how they are organized
themselves. This investigation, again, is scientific and
descriptive. Scientific criteria for truth, however, may not be
employed in connection with the non-descriptive symbolsystems, as our conception of truth presupposes a logical
order of pure objects. The non-descriptive symbols, on the
contrary, are capable of concretizing those phenomena that
science considers as illusions. The perceptions of daily life
are generally intermediate to the objects and quasi-objects
mediated by the specialized symbol-systems. The nondescriptive symbol-systems, therefore, do not give us
knowledge, but experiences and directions for our conduct.
To this purpose they employ synthetical signs which
mediate reality in its phenomenal totality. This, however,

does not exclude that the non-descriptive systems can

absorb material from science and merge this with other
aspects of reality.54
SYMBOL-SYSTEMS
** While the goals and methods of science have been studied
in great detail, the non-descriptive symbol-systems are still
hardly understood.55 We know that several such systems
exist, but how can we define their limits and roles? Our
point of departure must be the fact that the objects are of
different value to us. According to their belonging to
different phenomenal contexts, they serve different
purposes and mediate different higher goal- objects. A
goal may be an existing object which should be attained
(through perception or direct possession), or an imagined
object which dots not yet exist. That a value enters the
coherence-system of poles, implies that an object is
perceived as wanted or not, relative to a goal. It has no
meaning to say that an object an sich is valuable. It only has
meaning within a system of objects serving different goals.
All objects are given with value, and the values therefore
form a part of the phenomenal
structure of the world. In carrying out a scientific
description we try to eliminate this fact (also when we
describe values); in a concretization, however, the
objects are represented with their values.
Parsons maintains that we can orient ourselves in three
basically different
ways to the objects. The cognitive attitude consists'in trying to
classify and describe the objects; it thus corresponds to what
we have called science.
Cognition is based upon the isolation of objects, whereupon
the discrete
elements obtained are ordered, compared, and brought into
functional
relations. The cathectic attitude consists in reacting
spontaneously to the objects according to the

gratification they offer us. Cathexis means, in

contrast to cognition, that the objects are not pure, but
coloured* by individual interests. The evaluative
attitude, finally, consists in trying to establish norms for
our relations to the objects.56 It may be described as a
disinterested cathexis: one studies (perceives) the
value of things without letting oneself become
engaged. In general we may also say that our
expectations relative to the objects have three
different aspects: knowledge, satisfaction, and fixed
values.57 Both cathexis and evaluation imply that the
object we believe that we intend forms an intermediary
object with certain goal-objects.58 Any action may be
analyzed as a product of cognitive, cathectic, and
evaluative components.59 The scientist is unable to free
himself completely from subjectivity in choosing the
material of his investigation, and the artist depends on
cognitive knowledge in the conduct of his profession.
Besides, the intelligibility of his message depends upon
the existence of norms. To represent the individual, one
needs a common standard, because the individual only
gives us information when we understand what its
individuality consists in. This means that the symbolsystems cannot be completely pure. They are usually
characterized by the domination of one of the basic
attitudes, such as cognition in science. Parsons divides
the symbol-systems into ideas (beliefs), expressive
symbols, and norms, according to which basic attitude
is dominating.60 The norms can be independent moral
standards, or standards for cognition and cathexis
(such as a style). They are of course not to be
understood as absolute ideals, but only as systems of
varying probabilities relative to certain goals. In this
way they offer a standard (scale) for the relevance of
behaviour.
Our exposition leads in a natural way to a
classification of the symbol- 9 systems based upon a
combination of the fundamental classes of objects

(physical, social, and cultural) with the basic types

of orientation towards these objects.61 A cognitive
orientation to physical objects produces what we
call natural science', while a cognitive attitude to
the social objects defines the social sciences. A
cognitive orientation to cultural objects gives rise to
the Geistesu/issenschaften. A cathectic orientation
to physical objects may produce a satisfaction of
physical needs, while an evaluating attitude to the
same objects causes the establishment of a
monetary standard.
An evaluating orientation to cultural objects is
usually called taste*. The matter becomes still more
interesting when we simultaneously direct the same
type of orientation towards several objects (i. e.
towards an intermediary object), or when the same
object is simultaneously intended in two or more
different ways (cognitive + cathectic etc.), or, finally,
when several objects and orientations merge into
one complex process of symbolization.
Art thus seems to be characterized by a merging of
cognitive and cathectic orientations, and the
different arts' by directing this mixed intention
towards different combinations of objects. Social
realism, for instance, shows a cognitive-cathectic
intention of physical-social objects. A combina tion of
cognitive and evaluating orientations gives rise to
what we call ideologies.
Parsons discusses some of these problems, but his
treatment of the two large groups of symbolsystems we know as art and religion is hardly
satisfactory. He characterizes religion as a * nonempirical evaluative belief system62, but overlooks
the fundamental role played by concretizing!
symbols in religion. He is surely right in saying that
many religious^ conceptions (e. g. God as an old
man with a long, white beard) can be likened to the

models of science (e. g. the atoms as small solar

systems), thus playing the role of mediating
symbols which should facilitate the experience of
the deeper meaning.63 But this is surely not the case
with the dogmas and the liturgy of the higher
religions, which can only be understood as
concretizations of very complex intermediary
objects, often called mysteries.64 The pretension of
religion is just to organize the world completely, and
this can only be achieved through a total
concretization.65 The parables of Christ are typical
examples of
the concretizing method of religion. In the Roman-Catholic
confession, Iror instance, liturgy, church-year, sacraments
and dogmatic teaching are unified to form a highly
comprehensive and differentiated system. A non- descriptive symbol-system of this type does not contradict
the purely ^cognitive sciences, as the purposes are entirely
different. In religion all \flthe basic orientations are melted
together without one of them dominating. "Thus we may
with justification talk about a particular religious
attitude.66 While religion integrates all objects and
orientations into one complex intermediary object, daily life
does not attain such an integration. If it did, this would be a
religious integration. Instead, daily life shows a continuous
change of intentions. For primitive man the changes are
few, and the opportunity to reach an integration is present,
that is, the oppor tunity to establish a simple, but for the
situation satisfactory, cosmotheism.67
AESTHETICS (VER ANOTAO DO LIVRO)
As the type of symbol-system we call art more directly
concerns us, we will have to carry through a somewhat
more detailed discussion.
Semiotically defined, aesthetics studies the ends and
(formal) means of art.68 As we have already mentioned, it is
not a new idea to regard art as a symbolization alternative

to thought and science. But different theories are not

Tacking. Thus it has been maintained that the arts do not
serve any social or cultural purpose at all. From what has
been said above, we understand that this lArt pour IArt
attitude or isolationism is untenable. 69 We have seen that
the meaning of a phenomenon consists in its relations to
other phenomena. It is meaningless to talk about meaning
a priori, or to imagine that the work of art tells us something
only by representing itself*. Instead, a work of art is
perceived when its physical manifestations are ascribed to
a coherence-system of (higher) intentional poles. If this
does
not
happen,
it
means
that
we
remain
uncomprehending, that is, the work of art does not tell us
anything at all. Flaubert, in conse quence, wanted to write a
book about nothing.70 If a work of art thus concretizes a
complex of intentional poles, we can only describe it by
indicating these poles and their share in the whole. If we
take a point of view directly opposed to isolationism, and
consider art as a political
and didactical tool, we also run the danger of
overlooking its concretizing non-descriptive character.
Instead of art we get illustrations to scientific or
ideological texts.71 LArt pour VArt arose as a natural
reaction against such contextualist tendencies under
Napoleon I, and must be understood as an expression
of the recognition that art should not be a mere
illustration to historical happenings. Both isolationism
and contextualism are one-sided in their approach to
the problem. Only if we combine the knowledge of the
particular means of art with an understanding for its
role in a wider context may we arrive at a satisfactory
description of its character as a symbol-system.
Isolationism
and
contextualism
may
also
be
understood as theories where one single semiotical
aspect is unduly emphasized. Contextualism thus
stresses the pragmatic factors, while the semantical
question how art-forms may carry a meaning is

overlooked or reduced to non- artistic relations

(photographic or diagrammatic representation etc.).
Isolationism, on the other hand, as a matter of course
only considers the purely syntactical (formal) aspects,
because the pragmatic and semantic dimensions are
negated by definition, including the case when the
meaningless term self-expression gives the false
impression of a pragmatic component.72
As a point of departure we have to consider the
work of art as a concretizing symbol, which has to be
described through a complete semiotical investigation
of the objects making up its pole-system. 73 We thus
define the work of art as a concretization of an intermediary
object. As we have already seen, this also holds true
for other types of symbolization, and only the
semiotical investigation can show us which poles and
symbols characterize the different arts. 74 In general,
however, we may say that art symbolizes valueobjects. While science describes facts, art expresses
values. Art is a means of keeping and communicating
values, that is, it makes values become common. ^ Art
therefore
presupposes
cathexis,
a
participating
perception which produces immediate gratification.76
Although we therefore arc engaged emotionally by the
work of art, it would be a misconception to say that
the purpose of art is to express feelings. The work of
art concretizes intermediary objects, where our
emotional
reactions
only
form
one
of
the
components.77 Other symbol- systems, such as religion
and certain ideologies, also concretize value-

objects, but in these the evaluative attitude balances or

outweighs the cathexis.
What has been said in the preceding sentences belongs
to the pragmatics which initiate the semiotical study of art.
Art-history tells us that the objects concretized by the work
of art can be of the most different kinds. The art of the
Renaissance, for instance, was partly conditioned by the
contemporary theories of geometry and musical harmony. 78
More often the raw-material is taken from our daily life. 79
The contents of a work of art are distributed on several
interconnected
object-levels.
Panofsky
dis tinguishes
between three levels. The lowest one embraces all physical
objects and actions, and is named primary or natural
subject matter. The second he calls secondary or
conventional subject matter, and it comprises the
meanings designated by the physical objects and actions.
Thus we know that a man pierced by arrows means St.
Sebastian. On the last level we find the higher social and
cultural objects mediated by the meanings, such as the
religious objects manifested by St. Sebastian. Panofsky
calls this intrinsic meaning or content*. In art-history the
two higher levels are usually denominated iconography
and iconology.80 The study of the pragmatic dimension
therefore falls into two parts: the question of the meaning
of the art-forms, and the question why certain meanings
are 10 intended at certain times. 81 Knowledge is always
necessary to experience the art of the past, a knowledge
which centres on the semantical relations between forms
and meanings.
The syntactical study of form in art has been given much
attention. Particularly well known are Wolfflins five pairs of
Grundbegriffc, which were intended to describe the formal
metamorphosis from Renaissance to Baroque. 82 Although
the concepts of Wolfflin have an empirical basis, they are of
limited use, and the attempts of other scholars to transfer
them to other historical periods must be considered
somewhat unfruitful. More and more do we realize that the
6
0

artistic form is so complex that it cannot be described by

means of a few basic concepts. Instead we need a much
more flexible tool. The decisive step to solve the problem
was taken by Hans Sedlmayr, who introduced the method
of 'structural analysis' (Strukturanalyse). This aims at
rendering an account of die Hierarchie der Motive in dem
fertigen Werk, auf deren sinnvollen
that all works of art are equally good. This idea is a
product of the IArt pour VArt attitude and the general
levelling of all values.
Artistic meaning thus is * measured relative to the
probability structures we call styles. But we should also
notice that the single work defines its own individual
probabilities. This is particularly evident in music, where
the opening theme determines what may or may not
follow. Corresponding conditions can be found in the other
arts. The style thus conditions the form in general, while
the theme determines the individual develop ment of the
single work. In both cases the meaning is a function of the
deviations from what is most probable, brilliantly labeled
designed uncertainty by Meyer. 89 From this we
understand that the experience of a work of art
presupposes that we know the style, that our expectations
correspond to the probability structure of the symbolsystem in question. Very often the experience is hindered
or distorted by the lack of such a correspondence. 90 Again,
this emphasizes that it is a misunderstanding to believe
that works of art from any epoch may be experienced
spontaneously.91
The study of artistic forms and contents is not complete
until we have placed these two aspects in relation to each
other and clarified the generally neglected semantical
dimension. The artistic problem proper consists in
concretizing a content (an intermediary object) in another
medium, and the semantical aspect therefore is of central
importance. How may the concretization take place? The
answer above all is suggested by the term structural

similarity . If the artistic symbol has a structure

corresponding] to that of the content, the semantical
contact is established. Charles Morris has introduced the
concept iconic sign to cover this case.92 It may be
illustrative to mention that the same idea is taken as a
point of departure for the analysis of handwriting, by
assuming that the structure of the calligraphy reflects
the motoric behaviour of the writer, which again is
functionally connected with his inner state. The
psychologist Arnheim discusses this problem in detail and
maintains that we have the best reasons to assume that
particular arrangements of lines and shapes correspond to
j particular emotional states.93 Or rather we should say
that particular structures have certain limited possibilities
for receiving contents. We do not play a Viennese waltz at
a funeral. The structural similarity only

6
2

becomes effective when we have learnt to organize

forms perceptually, and when we possess the
necessary pole-objects to form the corresponding
intermediary object.94 And even this is hardly enough.
The experience of works of art is also facilitated by
learning that particular forms were really used in
particular contexts. In this way we get a key to related
structural similarities. And this is needed, because
both the formal structures and the intermediary
objects may have such an infinity of nuances that it is
highly improbable that the spontaneous perception can
grasp their correspondences without training and
instruction. Often the experience starts by our
grasping a simple, all-encompassing structure and a
corresponding content, whereupon both aspects
become articulated through further acquaintance. This
follows-irom the fact that the jwork of art often
consists of several formal levjgl^such^as one large
icon embracing several subordinate icons or other
signs. If we really attain the art object perceptually, we
may get a strange experience of participating. This
feeling can be particularly pronounced when playing a
musical instrument, but it can also arise when listening
or looking. The structure of the work of art seems to
have overcome all resistance, to make us resound
physically as well as psychically.
But we do not react only on the basis of structural
similarities. It is an empirical fact that works of art may
also comprise conventional signs. The arrows of St.
Sebastian are thus a conventional sign telling us that
the figure represented is St. Sebastian. But obviously,
a work of art cannot as a totality be a conventional
sign, as it would then no longer be a concretization,
but something analogous to the flag of the nation. The

6
3

work of art may also exhibit a third type of semantical

relation, which consists in its belonging to an empirical
series of causally interconnected objects. A churchbuilding thus may mediate religious objects, not only
because it is structurally similar to these, but because
it forms the stage where the ritual takes place. The
building is functionally connected with the higher
objects, and therefore acquires a representing
character. But also in this case the concretization is left
out, and we have to conclude that conventional and
causal symbolizations can only play a subordinate role
in the work of art, which primarily has to be iconic.

6
4

A complete description of the work of art has to embrace

the formal structure, what this structure represents, and in
which way the representation is done. Morris stresses that
most studies in aesthetics exhibit a one- "sided emphasis
on one of the semiotical dimensions only, 95 and we should
give him the credit for having brought forth the first
complete theory of art. The formal dimension is an
integrated part of the artistic intermediary object, and the
statement that the form represents the content', therefore
needs a qualification. The form participates in the totality
as a low7] member of a series of object levels. The levels
are interconnected by semantical relations, and it must be
stressed that the work of art is the whole series.
The work of art, therefore, is a very complex and
intentionally distant. It requests from the beholder the
acquisition of specialized- attitudes, and does not open
itself completely until the most distant pole is included in
the intention. In the work of art a single pole is not the

real goaI. Several poIes are relevant, and the goal is an

intermediary object. A typical error in the perception of
works of art is for instance due to the intention of its
subordinate manifestations (an irrelevant intermediary
object is formed), such as the illusion of importance often
created by precious materials. The study of the aesthetic
problems above all tells us that there is no opposition
between expression and form (order). We can only express
ourselves by means of order. The expression is not added, it
belongs to the form. But a form, as we have seen, is not
expressive as a matter of course. When we pursue the
creation of particular and articulated forms, it is to arrive at
a richer expression. It is a basic misconception to believe
that the form hampers and reduces the expression, or that
the expression is helped by accidental fancies.
We have said that the function of the work of art is to
concretize intermediary objects where values participate as
poles.96 It is also important to notice that the work of art, in
6
5

contrast to science, is able to denote the individual

situation. It should therefore in general be connected with
particular situations. Today we have instead an anarchy
where all forms appear everywhere. The work of art tells us
that the world is; it represents life-situations.97 Although a
work of art is therefore a special concretization, several
works of art may together form systems* which illuminate

6
6

different aspects of reality, and through the integration of

the arts one can create Gesamtkunstwerke where this is
consciously intended.
But perhaps the most important function of art is to
create new objects. The work of art can concretize a
possible complex of phenomena, that is, a new combination
of known elements. In this way it manifests possible, not
yet experienced life-situations, and it requests perceptions
of new kinds, I experiences which become meaningful
according to their relationship with the already existing
world of objects. Thus the work of art may change man
and his world, and the old saying that art teaches us to
see the things in a new way * is explained. On the other
hand, art may also have a stabilizing function in repeating
known life-situations, a task which socially is just as
important.98
PRODUCTION AND REPRODUCTION
The main question we have to ask when confronted with
childrens drawings is: Do the children draw what they
see? To answer this question means to study the
relationship between perception and repro duction. It is a
banal fact that we may be able to perceive (for instance a
work of art) without being able to reproduce or create. So
far it is not strange that a person can behave in such a way
that his space-perception is obviously based upon .
Euclidean schemata, at the same time as he does not
represent a Euclidean space in his drawings. Piaget shows
that reproduction presupposes schematizations which
develop analogously to the perceptual schemata, that is,
from topological to projective and Euclidean schemata. 99
But the reproductive schemata develop at a later age than
the perceptual ones, and common experience shows that

the development is not always complete. The perceptual

schemata result from experiences * (operations) and their
task is to mediate relevant objects. The reproductive
schemata also result from operations, more precisely from
experiences of how something is made. ^Piaget observes
that children may very well distinguish between a straight
and a curved line, without knowing how to draw such lines,
and the history of art shows that man did not always make
Euclidean reproductions, although one knew very well how
to do
this. Obviously, the reproductions are products analogous
to the intermediary objects, with perception and
knowledge only as contributing poles.
The experiments of Piaget furnish simple and illuminating
illustrations.
To carry out one experiment, he employed matches kept erect
by small
bits of plasticine, and two tables, one round and one
rectangular.100 The
children had to arrange the matches (representing telegraph
poles) in a
straight line between two points on the tables. The
smallest children, under 3 years of age, were unable to
make a straight line even parallel to the edge of the
table, although other experiments showed that they
could distinguish between curved and straight lines in
perception. They could, however, arrange the matches on
a straight line drawn on the surface (or along the edge of
the table). The irregular lines made by these children
were based on the proximity-relation; if they were asked
to space the matches a little apart, they were unable to
make any line whatsoever. The reproduction, hence, was
not a copy of a perceived straight line (the table-edge),
but a product determined by the childs reproductive
schemata for lines in general (succession and proximity).

We may also say that a lacking ability of intending the

straight line is evident.101 Somewhat older children
manage to make straight lines parallel to the edge of the
table, but they fail as soon as the line has to be carried
obliquely or outside the centre of the circle.
Characteristic intermediary objects appear. On the round
table they make lines which curve to approach
parallelism with the edge.
On the rectangular one they divide a line which should
cut across the comer into two lengths parallel to the
sides, or somewhat later they make one continuous line
which curves towards the corner. Evidently the intention
of the straight line is mixed with the perceptual
influence of the edge of the table. 102 The child is not able
to isolate the intention of what should be produced from
the intention of irrelevant elements in the environment.
Only 7-year-old children can make a straight line in any
position. Their productive schema for the straight line has
become independent, and enables them to direct their
intention at any time and as long as needed towards the
goal-object. It is interesting to notice that the smaller
children are satisfied with their products. Does this fact
imply that the irregular lines for them represent straight
ones ? Recalling what has been said above, we must
answer that they do not intend a straight line at all;
this intention is impossible to them, although they give the
impression of having understood the task (they are able to
select a straight line among other lines). The product
corresponds to the intention, and accordingly they show
satisfaction. But they can be made conscious of the fact that
their product is not a straight line. Still they will repeat the
same error, because they are unable to maintain the intention
of the straight line, and every time the task is done, they will
have a spontaneous experience of having arrived at a
satisfactory solution. The reproduction is thus limited by the

reproductive schemata, and does not directly follow

perception.103 The same holds true for higher reproductive
schemata. It often seems, however, that perception and
reproduction correspond to each other, because we only
perceive what is strictly necessary, that is, much less than We
are able to see. Arnheim thus puts as the heading to a chapter
on reproduction by children: They draw what they see, 104 and
he supports this statement by saying that neither perception
nor reproduction aims at photographic representation. This is
true, in so far as both are based upon schematizations, but the
studies of Piaget show that we may not put a sign of equality
between them. Later Arnheim adds that children see more
than they draw, and explains that reproduction means to
create a structural equivalent to what is perceived. But we
have seen that the reproduction only considers those
elements in perception which fit the reproductive schemata,
and must conclude that we neither reproduce what we see nor
what we are able to see, but what our reproductive schemata
make possible. The reproductive schemata and their use are
determined by our experiences during the socialization
process.
The development of the first schemata accompanies the
childs need for motoric activity. The first drawn rounding*
surely results from the movements of the hand and the arm. 105
When the form has been discovered, the child will use it for
any representation. This does not imply that the child is
unable to distinguish the things in its environment, nor that
the repeated use of the rounding signifies a lack of manual
skill. For the child thingness is perfectly represented by the
rounding, because the child primarily intends the general
enclosed character of things. The circle not only represents
this quality because of its centralized shape, but also because
the surface inside a contour seems more dense than its
surroundings.

We have already suggested that a representation through

structural similarity presupposes a choice, and it has been
pointed out that it is not univocal how visual impressions
should be reproduced. Sometimes we choose to reproduce
the projective pattern on the retina (perspective draw ing),
at other times we want to maintain important structural
properties such as relative sizes and right-angles. 106 The
perspective intention reflects the wish for a particular kind
of illusion, which, however, deprives the motive of its most
fundamental properties. We may conclude that products are
determined by the schematizations of the producer, and
that they only become understandable if the consumer
adopts a corresponding attitude.
The reproductive schemata may be analytical as well as
concretizing. Children spontaneously develop concretizing
schemata, while the analytical ones have to be learned later.
It is a well-known fact that the acquisition of analytical
schemata usually kills the concretizing faculty. To learn
logical methods for the production of concretizing symbols,
however, is impossible. Logically we can only define the
pure elements embraced by the concretization, though the
ability to realize the synthesis proper may be helped by
exercises. It would carry us too far to describe this training
in further detail; in the last part of the book, however, we
will discuss the question of how to develop the concretizing
ability in the student of architecture.107
A creative individual is defined as possessing the faculty
of producing concretizing symbols.108 When we create an
object, it so to speak comes into existence through the
representing phenomena. It is generally known that the
object represented by the created sign does not have to be
consciously present during the process of creation. The
process of creation is rather characterized by an orientation
towards the representing sign.
In this way we have to understand the statement of Ibsen
that his Peer Gynt started to become willful in the course of

writing, while the original ideas of the author apparently

lost importance. When the product has a high degree of
complexity, the process of creation is characterized by a
succession of interconnected intentions. As the structure of
the product

takes shape, one intention will follow naturally from the

other. This may be illustrated by the known fact that a
more extensive and complex work of art (e. g. a
symphony) cannot be created by starting at the
beginning and going on in a linear way to the end. On
the contrary it is necessary continuously to keep the
totality in mind, and to go from the whole to the parts
and back to the whole. This state of affairs is expressed
by Jorgensen in the so-called law of wholes: Any
intention has a tendency to produce another intention
directed towards an object of which the object of the first
intention forms a part. 109 The need to create thus may
be understood as the intention of a not yet existing
object.110 To intend a not yet existing object can only
mean that the intention is a product of two or more
intentions of existing objects. The creative intention
therefore aims at intermediary objects, and presents
itself phenomenologically as an indistinct want. Such
intentions are present in all perceptions, of course, but
the creative intention combines poles which have not
earlier been brought together. The result is not always
significant, but often it tells us something essential. The
creative intention usually starts with a general idea of the
goal object, analogous to the experience we have when
we thin\ of a piece of music without being able to hit
upon it.111 The products of creative activity are related to
other forms of imagery-like dreams, but should not be
confused with these.1,2 By means of the concept of
concretization we have been able to clarify the character
of true creations, and we have also seen that creative
activity presupposes the acquisition of articulated
perceptual and reproductive schemata. These secure the
closeness to life of the products. The acquisition of
reproductive schemata' implies that we have become
able to represent certain structural properties of our
environment by means of common symbols, in the same
way as the acquisition of perceptive schemata means
7

that we manage spontaneously to experience certain of

the public objects in the environment. Creative activity,
therefore, like all other forms of behaviour, is based upon
the socialization process.
Real creative activity, of course, transcends the
repetition of known reproductive schemata. 113 Generally
it has to be characterized as a deviation from normal
behaviour, and important artists rarely find immediate
recognition. But the deviations should not be accidental.
Only if they

arise from hidden conflicts in the form of life may they be

defended as real solutions to actual problems, preferable to
the more traditional intentions which only apparently are
adequate.114 Generally, society establishes very strict laws
to control certain deviations ( crimes ), while others are
treated more liberally (creative activity). In practical life,
however, the latter are also subject to an indirect control,
resulting from the wish to protect vested interests in the
tradition.1,5 Social control nevertheless has a very important
function in securing order, at the same time as long-term
planning
is
made
possible.
Adjustment
through
socialization is to be considered the most elementary type
of social control. Control in general is necessary, as the
society cannot satisfy all needs and private interests. Real
creative activity, however, satisfies social interests, and
should therefore to a large extent be free from negative
sanctions. A practical difficulty results from the well-known
communication-gap which frequently divides the specialist
from the public.116 New products on a high intentional level
will always be spontaneously incomprehensible, and will
therefore be met with reluctance and opposition. The
sciences in general have conquered the resistance and
have become accepted academical fields. Creative activity,
however, is mostly condemned by a control which requests
popularization. Slogans and worn-out formulas are
employed to hide the more essential problems. 117 We
should conclude by saying that creative activity plays a
fundamental role in changing society. By giving new
intermediary objects public status, it enriches our world. 118
CULTURE
From birth we struggle to establish a fragment of order in
the infinite variety of our environment. The order we attain
is, as we have seen, a result of collaboration and the
transmission of information. The achieved order is
defended against all charges; the need for order makes
%
79

man at the same time creative and conservative. A

common order is called culture. 9 In order that culture may
become common, it has to be taught and learned.
It therefore depends upon common symbol-systems, or
rather, it corresponds to these symbol-systems and their
behavioural effects.119 Participation in a culture means that
one knows how to use its common symbols. The

%
80

culture integrates the single personality by giving him a

feeling of security in a ordered world based upon
meaningful interactions. The common symbols enable us to
reach objects which are unattainable to the isolated
individual, and thus give rise to a versatile and
differentiated world.120 Common cognitive tools serving
instrumental tasks are just as important as symbol-systems
which may express values and complex life-situations.
Primitive man does not distinguish between the different
types of symbol-systems, but merges them all into magic
and myth. The purely cognitive organization of the situation
is unknown; instead good and bad forces are associated
with the things. For primitive man all things are full of
gods.121 This, of course, does not happen in an accidental
way, but reflects the fact that the environment really may
be said to consist of hostile and friendly objects. Life-giving
sunshine alternates with destructive tempests, cold and
frost come from the north and the warm winds from the
south. Primitive man is never indifferent to the environment,
and therefore he is also unable to abstract its separate
aspects. Instead he concretizes his synthetic environment
in relatively diffuse intermediary objects represented by
magic and ritual.122 Later development has tended towards
a specialization of the orientations and the corresponding
symbol- systems. Science has slowly purified its cognitiveanalytic attitude, technology has developed as an
instrumental activity on this cognitive basis, art and religion
no longer can pretend to describe the world, and philosophy
has become a purely analytic activity aiming at the
definition of the signs used within the different symbolsystems.123 In daily life these spe cialized orientations are
usually mixed into diffuse attitudes with slight intentional
depth. This is, as we have seen, natural and right. It is less
pleasant, however, to see that the only specialized
orientation we are normally taught is the cognitive one. The
socialization is exclusively based upon learning to
6
o

understand the things around us, so that they may later be

mastered and exploited for the maximum profit. In
European culture the tendency has thus been a
development away from artistic and religious concretization
towards scientific abstraction.
Before, an attempt was made to keep the immediately
valuable phenomena through concretization, today we
search for scientific truth. This truth may be in conflict with
existing values and may produce conditions

6
o

we are not mature enough to master, at the same time

as it is unable to register the quality of the immediate
situation and to integrate man in . his environment.
Understanding the importance of concretizing symbolsystems in society, it is evident that we need a general
training in artistic and religious orientations. It is also
important that we should learn to change our attitude
according to the situation. Instead of the diffuse magical
attitude of primitive man, we have to differentiate our
orientations in correspondence with our complex and
articulated world. It is therefore surely a misunderstanding
when some want a return to a diffuse medley of art,
science, religion, and metaphysics. 124 Such totalities
necessarily will have a low degree of articulation, or they
will become so complex as to be useless. Reality only gets
an articulated structure when defined objects and relations
replace the diffuseness of magic. The objects have their
counterpart in differentiated symbol-systems. In this way
only is cultural growth possible.
Today many of our non-descriptive symbol-systems have
become obsolete, as they do not suit the new life-situations
brought forth by the immense development of the
cognitive-instrumental activities. New concretizing symbols
have certainly been created, but the public has not
integrated them with the new cognitive intentions. Firstly,
this shows that the cognitive intentions are only accepted,
but not really taken into use; and secondly that the new
concretizations are not even accepted. The public of our
day accepts science as unintelligible, but necessary, and
rejects modern art as unintelligible and unnecessary. The
result is what Giedion has brilliantly named the split of
thought and feeling. Changes in the environment rarely
happen simultaneously in all fields, and changes that have
taken place in one field may therefore necessitate drastic
encroachments in others. This problem was particularly
prominent 5"100 years ago when inventions produced

sudden leaps in single fields. It was very difficult to adjust

the everyday world of objects to these leaps, as the
psychological and sociological dimensions need a more
gradual development. The problem is still just as pressing,
because technological development, in spite of all attempts
at planning and co-ordination of the different fields, moves
at an unchallenged pace. Architecture suffers parti cularly
from this lack of balance, and the architects take refuge in
using [obsolete methods.
It is also typical of the present confusion that many want
to create a metaphysical separation between the
humanistic and the natural sciences. We understand that
this is a misconception, as the sciences are based upon
common methods. The methods are independent of the
subject- matter, and only try to answer the question: How
do we gain knowledge? A work of art can be just as well
investigated scientifically as a chemical substance, and the
basic methods founded on the theory of objects, information
theory, and semiotic, are common.125 If it is said that we
should not use methods borrowed from the natural sciences
in the humanistic disciplines, this only shows a lack of
understanding of the ends and means of science. We should
also repeat that intuitive methods to gain knowledge are
illusory. The new synthesis of logic and empiricism of our
day has taught us that it is meaningless to assume that
domains of knowledge exist where the intellect is not
competent. The unity of logic and empiricism also implies a
unity of theory and practice.176 Before, empirical studies
were carried out without the support of logically organized
symbol- systems, while the logical systems of philosophy
only had slight contact with empirical facts, and rather
acquired the character of free speculation.
The theory of objects and symbol-systems also makes
the traditional distinction between matter and spirit
obsolete. Physical and psychical objects are logical
constructions based upon phenomena which, as such, can

neither be called physical nor psychical; they are only

classified to allow for a convenient division of work within
the sciences.127
As the best summing-up of what the concept cultural
development implies, we may quote Whitehead: The art of
progress is to preserve" order amid change, and change
amid order. 128
In the first part of the present study we put forward several
questions which the theory of architecture as such does not
answer. The theory renders an account of architecture as an
object, but it does not explain the experience of architecture,
the production of works of architecture, or the problems
connected with the education of architects. The theory,
finally, does not treat of the more special problems of
architectural criticism and historical research. These four
fields are not comprised by the theory, but form its most
important applications. The theory thus enables us to control
our perceptions, and indicates how the relevant intentional
depth should be defined. It furthermore defines the factors
which determine the production of a work of architecture,
and it makes it possible to discover whether a particular
solution is satisfactory. The theory also offers a necessary
basis for architectural research in pointing out the problems
and in ordering the results. Research without a theoretical
foundation is a blind activity, which at best leads to
fragmentary knowledge. The theory, finally, indicates what
the would-be architect should learn, and organizes the
individual subjects taught at the school of archi tecture into
a whole, to the advantage of the student as well as the
professor. We have maintained that all these fields today
are characterized by insecurity. This situation is probably
permanent, because of the ever- increasing complexity of
our form of life. A corresponding development of the
theoretical insight becomes necessary.
Our attempt at giving the outlines of an integrated theory
of architecture, therefore, stems from practical problems,
and we should rendei a short account of its more important
applications:
experience,
production
analysis,
and

education. We do not pretend to solve the problems, onl} to

hint at their definition and to show how the theory may help
us ir treating them.
i. Experience

We have already asserted that an investigation of the

architectural experience should not be confounded with an
investigation of architecture itself.1 Architecture is described
in terms of objects employing the di mensions of comparison
indicated above. An account of the experience of
architecture, however, treats the question of how
architecture, in the widest sense of the word, is used. 2
In the chapter on perception we stressed the importance
of attaining the relevant objects of the situation. An
insufficient intentional depth is just as unfortunate
(dangerous) as the intention of a too distant pole. Most
buildings participate in several situations. When we hurry to
and from our place of work, the buildings we pass by only
form a relatively neutral background. This does not mean
that they are irrelevant, only that we content ourselves with
the perception of some of their properties. Our attitude
becomes completely different when we participate in a
situation into which the building enters actively. Again, as
tourists our attitude differs from the everyday one, and the
architect and the layman naturally see the buildings
differendy. In other words, we orient ourselves according to
the Aufgabe of the situation. Architectural experience, there fore, is something changing and multifarious. But the term
architectural experience is hardly used in this sense.
Instead one imagines the existence of one particular
attitude which determines the real experience of
architecture. This attitude is mostly defined as the intention
of the formal properties of the work of architecture. 3 We

have already rejected the IArt pour VArt view, and should
therefore ask whether it makes any sense whatsoever to
talk about the real experience of architecture.
The building task comprises all the situations in which the
building has to participate.4 The architectural totality,
therefore, concretizes all

the goal-objects of the different fragmentary experiences hinted

at above.
This means that the experience of the architectural totality does
not
correspond to any of the perceptions connected with the
individual situations in which the work of architecture participates. It is natural
to
define the real architectural experience as the perception of
the architectural totality, and we understand that this
experience is not connected
with any single situation, but demands a particular intention
where the
work of architecture is understood as a total
concretization, as a cultural object. A real architectural
attitude, therefore, is not directed towards the individual
instrumental or symbolic aspects of the work, but aims at
grasping it as a whole. Architectural experience, thus,
should correspond to the relevant description of the work
in question. When perceiving architecturally, it is
important to intend the relevant totality, and many
misinterpretations stem from the intention of other
structures than the one which makes the work
comprehensible.
The
experience
of
architecture,
therefore, should not be confused with the experience of
single poles, be they higher or lower; it consists in the
experience of a concretization, and is as such a real
artistic experience.5 For the importance of this kind of
experience we refer to the section on Aesthetics. But we
should not forget that daily life also demands more
practical* attitudes to the architectural environment.6
When we use the term intentional depth in connection with
architecture, we consider the relevant structure to be the goal of
perception. Evidently, a correct intention (attitude) does not
come by itself. It implies that we are able to structure the
1
5

situation formally, and that we perceive the forms semantically

connected with contents. Put in psychological terms, we have to
possess schemata which correspond to the structure of the work.
Most human beings possess several schemata related to archi tecture, such as the general topological and geometrical
schemata described by Piaget. But experience shows that this is
not enough, or rather, hardly anybody is able to apply these
schemata when perceiving architecture. Although most persons
react negatively to disorder,7 their experience of architecture is
based upon special schemata which consist in looking for the
forms they are used to see. This is in accordance with the fact
that we only perceive what we expect to see. As most human
beings grow
surrounded by works of architecture, we can infer that
they generally possess such schemata. We may
characterize these schemata as prejudices,
because they refer to known motives rather than general
principles or
structures.8 A particular type of prejudice consists in applying
such
fragmentary schemata to the architecture of other times and
places. The
nave assumption that our fragmentary schemata mediate
an adequate perception of any work of architecture is
normal. Most persons are ready to characterize any
building as ugly or pretty. Such criticisms reflect a very
superficial perception.9 Also, if we assimilate to a certain
extent the style dominating our daily environment, our
perception of other styles will be unsatisfactory. 10 In
general, therefore, the experience of architecture has to
be based upon training. As there is no basic difference
between the spontaneous acquisition of schemata when growing
up, and
a more direct education as adults, this demand has nothing
unnatural

to it. To learn to see, therefore, aims at understanding a formal

language. The basic point is the fact that we can only perceive
order,
and that the schemata which make this possible are not
given a priori but have to be acquired. We must learn to
organize a situation formally, and we must learn the
meanings of the forms. These two aspects, however, can
to a certain extent be kept apart. This is also the case
when we learn a language, and give separate attention to
the problem of grammar and vocabulary.11 The
education may be based upon direct information, as well
as upon training in using architecture. To escape the
formation of prejudices, it is important that the
architectural
education
accompanies
the
general
education. As architecture forms an essential part of our
environment it seems reasonable to request that
architectural appreciation should be taught in the
primary school.12 The existing surrounding help the
development of articulated perceptual schemata, and it is
therefore also very important to grow up in an
architecturally ordered environment.13
A particular problem in connection with the experience
of architecture is the changing behaviour demanded from
the beholder. We have mentioned that an architectural
structure demands particular view-points to become
intelligible. A symmetrically organized succession of
spaces is only perceived adequately if we move along its
axis, while the centralized space 62 of the Renaissance
should be experienced by placing ourselves in its centre.
68

1
7

In general, the view-points are a function of the

constancy phenomena. They give an adequate
perception as long as the Gestalt constancy is
maintained. The symmetrical succession and the
centralized space, therefore, admit certain deviations
from the ideal * view-points and movements, whereas
other deviations would lead to an unsatisfactory (wrong)
perception.14 A complex architectural organism can only
be experienced through a movement where the
succession of perceptions becomes organized mentally
into a total experience.15 In this case the perception does
not only consist in the visual impression at any single
moment, but is determined by our knowledge of the
presence of certain forms.16
We have already asked whether a complex
mathematical order may be perceived, and have
asserted that perception rather grasps the architectural
Gestalten than the invisible numerical relations. When
perceiving a repetition of similarities in depth, we
perceive the foreshortenings as such, because we assume
that the repetition is uniform (projection constancy . This
illustrates the fact that an irregular structure escapes a
satisfactory perception, and it also explains why a
physically constructed foreshortening has such a strong
visual effect.17 The fundamental role of the constancy
phenomena in perception means that we should not
attach too much importance to the so-called optical
refinements. Much has been written on the less evident
optical illusions, such as slightly curved lines looking
straight and vice versa, and the curved lines of Greek
temples have been explained as an attempt to
counteract such illusions.18 As the principle of formconstancy makes us disposed in any case to overlook the
deformations of the general form through illumination,
proportional context, colour, etc., the theories of optical

refinements have to be considered rather far-fetched. 19

We also experience a building as the same regardless of
the weather, although a particular illumination may em phasize its structure.20
Summing up, we should stress that the architectural
experience aims at grasping the architectural totality as
an intermediary object. But the experience often has to
be built up through a succession of perceptions, helped
by our knowledge. The perception of architecture is
usually defective, because most persons only possess
unsatisfactorily developed perceptual schemata. 21 The
effect intended by the architect therefore generally fails

to appear. This, of course, does not imply that we

should give up genuine architecture. The building
tasks, as we have seen, are determined by factors
which transcend the individuals wishes, and they have
to be solved even if the solutions are misunderstood
and misjudged. If not, serious social and cultural
problems result. Our investigation shows that we do not
solve these problems when following the ruling taste,
and that the building tasks instead have to be defined
on an objective basis and solved with relevant means.
To enable the architects to do this, the public should
give up its nave belief in the ruling taste. This
presupposes a training in looking at architecture. 22
Some architectural totalities are easily perceived, while
others request a close study and thorough training.23 It
is especially difficult to understand complex works
from other cultures. Nave realism assumes that we can
experience spontaneously works of art from any epoch,
but a controlling analysis would show that the
experience generally consists in a reading of our own
intentional poles into totalities where they do not
belong.24 We should therefore be more cautious when
judging works of architecture from other periods.
Architectural history, accordingly, only rarely has the
courage to regard its results as secure. 25 Finally we
should stress that an intention of the relevant structure
implies that we must leave out perceptually many
secondary intermediate objects, such as optical
illusions. We have reason to assert that the optical
corrections should rather be understood as deviations
from the stylistic norm.26
The psychology of perception tells us that things
have to possess a clear order to be active, and that the
architect should form his buildings in such a way that
the perception does not become too difficult.

2. production

When solving concrete building tasks the architect

employs methods which necessarily have a theoretical
foundation. Any method is based upon assumptions
about the character of the field where it is applied.
The architect has to solve tasks through formal and
technical means, and he ought to possess the
theoretical insight which enables him to define the
tasks precisely and to find the corresponding means.
The main reason for the architectural chaos of our
time, therefore, is the architects and clients lack of
theoretical understanding. The client should know
enough not to insist upon meaningless demands,
while the architect as a specialist has to know the
whole range of the problems. We should immediately
stress, however, that the production of architecture
cannot happen as a logical combination of the
components indicated by the theoretical analysis of
the task and the means. As a concretization the
production of architecture is dependent upon a
unifying
creative
process
where
the
single
components are usually transformed by the total
context. We have rendered an account of this creative
process above. The procedure cannot be learned
logically, but has to be acquired through exercises. 1
This, however, docs not imply that analytic methods
are unnecessary. The creative procedure obviously
needs a material, and it is essential that this consists

2
2

of analytically defined factors, rather than favourite

motives or vague ideas about the character of the
task.
Production aims at creating an ordered physical
milieu and a meaningful symbol-milieu. We usually
sum up these aspects in the expression visual order*.
By this term, therefore, we do not only intend a purely
formal order, but rather the use of meaningful forms.
The slogan design for life covers the same
intention.2 The demand for order contrasts with the
present-day contempt for form. This tendency is
explicit everywhere.
We walk, stand, and sit informally, we dress in a sporty
way, we do not greet each other any longer, and we eat
standing at a snack-bar. Our language has to be popular and
easily understood rather than stringent and articulated. Our
entertainment should be absorbed without effort, and it
therefore uses the most banal clichs. Art has become a
spontaneous self-expression, and religion a diffuse personal
experience. The education of children is also made free, and
the schools abandon tests and examinations. The present
study shows the fundamental misunderstanding behind these
tendencies. Human values can only be preserved and
mediated by nvans of symbolic forms, and the basic factors
of a civilization require the most articulated symbols.
Reactions against the present formless freedom start to
appear;3 not least is the lack of visual order subject to
frequent criticism.
To create visual order we need a suitable method for
production, which has to be based upon an integrated theory
of architecture. The theory helps us to define and classify the
central tasks of the period, to classify the means, and to
indicate the correspondences between the two. The method,
therefore, should integrate theory and practice by co-

2
3

ordinating the different factors, instead of developing forms

which cannot be built, or technical structures which serve no
purpose. The method shuns forms which are added
afterwards to give the solution the status of archi tecture,
and does not recognize any preconceived ideas about how
the result should be. It only admits a definition of the
problem on an objective basis, and a following translation in
terms of corresponding means. The method presupposes an
understanding of the architectural totality.4 The theory shows
that the totality can be split into dimensions which to a
certain extent are investigated independently. The
dimensions are not arbitrarily chosen, and they must be
correlated. It would carry us too far to treat the production
methods in further detail. We should only consider some
special aspects of the problem and also give a brief account
of the actual situation from which the present study stems.
When producing, the architect encounters two secondary
problems. Firstly he needs auxiliary tools to present his
ideas, and secondly he has to some to an understanding with
the other persons who are interested
in the solution of the building task in question. We here
think of the client as well as the * team of specialists which
makes the realization of the project possible.
The architects auxiliary tools are much better today than in
the past.
Not only is it possible to carry out drawings and models in a
technically better way; but his new tools also allow for a
new formal freedom.5 At the same time statistical and
analytical methods enable him to investigate the aspects of
a building task in an exact way, and mathematical
calculation warrants the correctness of the technical
execution and the satisfaction of the desired physical
control. It is important to mention these trivial matters,
because so many architects still work in a purely intuitive
way in the fear of not being sufficiently artistic. The
2
4

complexity of the architectural totality requires exact

methods, but we should again remember that certain
decisive steps in the production process are impossible
without the faculty of intuitive concretization. The exact
methods define the single aspects of the totality. As a
concretization the totality is only present in the finished work,
but it can be represented in different ways. Such
representations are never very satisfactory, as most people
lack the ability to read draw ings and models.6 The
problem has a certain analogy with the reading of printed
language, musical scores, or diagrams.7 In all cases we try
to 71 represent a structure in another medium.8 A
superficial attitude is there fore manifested when the layman
wants to give a spontaneous judgment of architectural
drawings, models, or photographs. Training is necessary,
and we encounter again the need for a general education in
the appreciation of architecture.
The architect has always played the role of co-ordinator
for the persons interested in the solution of a building task.
He should not only co-ordinate the specialists involved in
the planning and realization of the building task, but should
also adapt the needs of the client to the existing
architectural system, and thereby integrate the task in a
wider context. Architectural theory shows that the
architects would fail if they became victims of a one-sided
specialization. The real task of the architect consists in the
unification of several factors taken from different fields.
Today these fields are so complex that he cannot master
them all, but has to make use of information from and
collaboration with different specialists. This collaboration
presupposes a convenient theoretical subdivision of the
architectural totality, to allow for the isolation and coordination of clearly defined factors. The modern demand
for team-work*, therefore, presupposes the existence of an
integrated theory of architecture. The different specialists
2
5

are only concerned with fragments of the building task or

the means to their solution. The creation of architectural
totalities thus transcends the competence of the engineer
and the technical specialist. The architectural concretization
comprises, as we have seen, all the aspects of the-building,
and has to be carried out by an architect trained in synthetic
production.9
In principle it is impossible for the architect to satisfy the
wishes of the client directly. He always has to make use of
means which are beyond the understanding of the client,
and he also has to integrate the building task in a
functional-social context which only in part concerns the
client.
It is therefore a misconception to say that the task of the
architect is to satisfy the client. We should instead define his
task as the integration of the problem in a larger whole. This
implies that he has to give a more broad and precise
definition of the task and the means than the client himself
is capable of.10 This is only possible on the basis of an
integrated theory of architecture.11 The confidence needed
from the public must be developed through training in
architectural appreciation*. Both parties have to base their
attitude on a theoretical understanding of the common
goals. The public and the architects share the responsibility
for the present visual chaos. The public usually defines the
building tasks on the basis of ^ narrow and short-term
interests, and discovers too late that the wishes of one
person kill those of the other. The architects, for their part,
show a
2
lack of respect for their own field and indulge in an arbitrary
play with
4
forms without the necessary understanding of the building
task, of the means, and the planning hierarchies. The visual
chaos proves sufficiently well that the architects must
basically reorganize their field, and that they must demand
2
6

more from themselves. The architect must understand that

his responsibility transcends the satisfaction of the
individual client. The functional and symbolic order he
should create does not allow the tasks to be seen in
isolation.
We have several times hinted at the confused present
situation of architecture. In the following we will give a brief
account of the more characteristic problems and tendencies.
The new technical possibilities have been of essential
importance to the development of a new attitude to
architecture. Materials like cast iron, steel, reinforced
concrete and glass, led to the development of the skeleton
construction, which forms the great innovation of the
nineteenth century. The skeleton construction made the plan
free and allowed for the realization of enormous continuous
spaces, as well as very tall buildings. The faades were
transformed into a transparent, weightless skin. 12 The Crystal
Palace in London (1851) realized these possibilities and also
showed the advantages of prfabrication and montage. At
the same time a new formal coherence came to replace the
classical ideal of balancing the parts in such a way that
nothing could be added or taken away without destroying
the harmony. In the Crystal Palace, instead, it was possible
to imagine a formal addition or subtraction because of the
coherence created by means of repeating the same pregnant
technical system throughout. A new open, flexible, or
incomplete (but satisfactory) form was created. 13 In this way
the new technical possibilities set architecture free to frame
new functions and forms of life.
In the nineteen-twenties the interest shifted from the
technical to the functional and formal dimensions. Cubism
had introduced a new type of aesthetics. Its juxtapositions of
interpenetrating, coloured planes had a very inspiring effect
on the architects. This formal attitude was a strength as well
as a weakness. The danger of a degeneration into formalistic
play often became reality. But it was of essential importance
2
7

that the architects became aware of the formal functions of

coloured and textured surfaces, and that the interest in free
space compositions was awakened. In this way formal
elements were developed, capable of adaptation to varying
functions and psychological needs. The formal experiments
led to a new conception of the building. It lost its traditional
character of a closed mass, and became instead an ordered
juxtaposition of functionally determined surfaces (slabs) in a
continuous space.14
After 1945 the situation has become more confused. The
modern movement no longer has the unified character of the
twenties. Its unsolved
problems led to a dissatisfaction which produced a certain
reaction in the
years immediately after the second world war. But the
reaction led nowhere. Most of its attempts were accidental improvisations
without connection with the actual problems, and only satisfied shortdated sentimental
needs. Both the Scandinavian empiricism and the Swiss
Heimatstil were episodes without possibilities for
development and growth. The architects regarding themselves as belonging to the modern
movement, however, also express fundamental
differences of opinion. Two basic creeds dominate the
situation: the organic, represented by architects as
different as Wright and Aalto, and the technological,
represented by Mies van der Rohe.
The latter continue the technical tradition of the nineteenth
century, while 101 the former find this approach sterile* and
inhuman. The technological architects, for their part, only
see chaos and subjectivism in the organic products. 15Most of modern architecture suffers from an inner
contradiction as it is still * composed according to
obsolete ideas like proportion and balance.

2
8

The free plan, however, requires flexibility. In other

words, it does not admit any fixed balancing of the
parts. We have seen that this problem was solved in the
Crystal Palace. The insight offered by such examples
100 leads to the programmatic abolishment of all
absolute forms. At the same time we understand that a
new kind of coherence is possible, a coherence which is
not founded on eternal rules of harmony. Instead, a
basic formative principle is repeated throughout the
structure. Paradoxically we realize that only a clear
structure offers freedom. The goal is a multitude of
possibilities formed by means of a determined
principle.16 The problem, thus, is to unify the organic
and the technological tendencies. The freedom of the
organic forms, their richness of expression and adapt ability to different situations only become real through a
combination with the clear construction of technological
architecture. In this way modern 102 I architecture may
fulfill its own promises, the tradition of the last 150
years.
The modern movement is the only true tradition of the
present because it understands that historical continuity
does not mean borrowed motives and ideals, but human
values which have to be conquered in always new
ways.17

2
9

It is not enough, however, to ask for an

integration of the organic

technological
tendencies.
An
architecture where free plans are ordered
by
a
clear
construction
does
not
necessarily warrant the desired visual
order. It is just as important that every
building expresses its character. In the
present situation we can hardly distinguish
between a church and a garage. Evidently
this is not mainly due to defective single
buildings, but above all to the lack of
distinct building types.18 The different
building tasks can be classified according
to common properties (such as their
degree of flexibility). The classes have to
be correlated with building types capable
of variation, where technical systems play
a formative role.19 Only in this way can the
demand
for
standardization
and

industrialization be satisfied, at the same

time as we acquire a differentiated visual
order.20 The devaluation of the modern
forms which has taken place after the war
is also counteracted. The modern forms
have developed through experimentation
and the fight against borrowed motives.
But they have never been ordered, they
have never become a real formal language.
This is the basic problem that the present
generation of modern architects has to
face,21 and it can only be solved through
the formation of types. The types must be
interrelated in such a way that they form a
hierarchy corresponding to Ac taskstructure.

3
1

3 Analysis

The concept architectural analysis comprises

several investigations which do not belong to
the architectural theory proper. We may study
particular building tasks, as well as means and
ready solutions. The investigation of tasks and
means serves the production of works of
architecture, while the study of already existing
solutions is an historical discipline. All types of
investigation presuppose a comprehensive
architectural theory. We have shown that any
analysis is impossible without theoretically
determined dimensions of comparison. At the

same time, however, we have requested that

the dimensions should have the character of
empirical generalizations. This means that the
analysis uses the theory, while the theory, in
turn, is developed through analytical insight.
Theory and analysis, therefore, recip rocally
correct each other, applying the method of
successive approximation. The type of analysis
which contributes to the theoretical forma tion is
mainly the study of existing works of
architecture. Architectural theory thus abstracts
from architectural history. An integrated theory
needs an historical basis. As the analysis of
tasks and means presupposes a theory, we can
infer that historical insight is essential to the
solution
of
actual
building
taks. 1
The
investigations which directly serve the solution
of concrete tasks may be called research, while
the analysis of existing solutions is designated

3
3

as architectural history. In addition, we will

introduce architectural criticism as a separate
discipline. Rather than explain an historical
development, the criticism has to decide
whether an actual solution solves the task in
question.2 All three disciplines employ the theory
to analyze tasks, means and their relations.
Research is naturally mainly concerned with the
tasks and the means as such, but also
introduces experiments to discover whether
supposedly
correct
solutions
are
really
satisfactory. History indicates the intentional
poles behind the existing solution, while
criticism investigates whether the task has been
defined adequately, and if it has found a
semantically valid realization.
RESEARCH
Architectural research may, according to the
theory, be divided into task- research, form-

research, and technical research. We have

already shown that the three branches are
interdependent. The problems within one
branch influence the others, and they ought to
be studied with the aid of frequent crossreferences.
Such
integrated
architectural
research is so far hardly existing, both because
of the lack of a theoretical foundation, and
because existing research specializes on
technical problems.3 We will therefore indicate
some of the problems which seem basic within
each branch.
The task-research should render an account
of the components of con crete building tasks,
and should integrate these as outlined in the
section on the building task as a whole. The
goal of task-research is to arrive at a basis for
the definition of building programmes. In the
past the building tasks were given as relatively
fixed parts of the cultural tradition. Archi tectural

3
5

history shows that the tasks were not defined in

terms of physical control or physical functions
alone, but had the character of total problems.
This qualitative or synthetic interpretation of
the tasks has been destroyed by the pseudoanalytical attitude which has come to dominate
today. The physical objects are more easily
accessible to scientific analysis, while the
information we need to approach the symbolmilieu is still only in part available. 4 Today,
however, we may again start to aim at the
definition of total synthetic tasks. Instead of
grasping them intuitively, theoretically aided
analysis offers an objective basis. This is
needed, as the tasks have become ever more
complex and varied. In the present situation it is
of the greatest importance to restore the
symbol-milieu, and task research therefore has
to concentrate upon the psychological, social,
and cultural problems connected with the

organization of our environment. We have

already mentioned several studies which give
interesting contributions.5 The investigation of
the symbol-milieu should be correlated with the
study of architectural form. It is very important,
for instance, to render an account of the
capacity of particular formal structures. The
form-research,

3
7

therefore, should describe the effects which result from the

variation of space-form, materials, dimensions, illumination, etc.
Such investigations arc preferably carried out at a school of
architecture, which has at its disposal architects, as well as
psychologists, sociologists, and technical specialists who can
plan the research and co-ordinate the results. 6 The first
practical tool needed is a very large room where full-scale
models of abstract architecture can be built. Such models
should be made of standardized elements which allow for
flexibility and change. The study of the symbol-milieu may also
take advantage of the insight into the relations between task
and form offered by architectural history. To plan the
experiments and interpret the historical material, information
from auxiliary sciences such as psychology and sociology is
needed.
An independent investigation of formal problems consists in
the study of the combination of elements to form Gestalten with
defined properties. Furthermore one has to describe the
probability-structure and possibilities for variation of styles.
These investigations may also employ full-scale models, but
visual experiments as known from experimental psychology,
graphical representations and small-scale models are more
useful. When investigating forms and their milieu-function, it is
convenient to vary one aspect at a time, while holding the
others constant. In this way a full understanding of the role of
the single factors becomes possible. To define primary and
secondary parts, it is practical to indicate what can be taken
away without destroying the whole. 7 The form-research also has
to utilize the infinitely rich material offered by architectural
history, not only to supplement the laboratory experiments,
but also to help in planning the latter ones more conveniently.
It would carry us too far to treat the technical research in
further detail. We only want to stress that the system- aspect
ought to be given more attention that has been the case so far.
HISTORY
3
8

When developing our theory of architecture we mainly

considered the individual work of architecture. The individual
work, however, has to be seen in an historical context to be
fully understood. The historical context, on the other hand,
results from knowledge about single works. Generalizations
made when analyzing a limited number of Works are applied to
other cases and may in this way be revised and refined. We x
therefore have to do with three interdependent constructs: the
description of the single work, the historical development, and
the architectural theory. A developed theory enables us to
penetrate into the individual work as well as the historical
context. The analysis of the single work consists in the
indication of its intentional poles and architectural quality, and
in determining its historical position. The intentional poles are
not only formal, but also pragmatical and semantical.
The analysis has to be aided by several special
investigations. Firstly, it is often necessary to know how the
work was carried out from the moment the commission was
given, through the planning of the architect, to the finished
realization. Secondly, it is important to possess a chronology of
related monuments, where the work in question can be put in
its proper place. Such a chronology should be something more
than a mere series of dates. So far the dates have been
supplemented with the history of styles and the history of
technics. Theoretical insight enables us to develop these
histories in a more precise way, at the same time as it
indicates the need for a history of building tasks, a history of
semantical relations, and a history of architectural systems.
Architectural history, however, is not the history of the
architects.8 The monographical treatment of an architect only
functions as a convenient summing-up of certain historical
phenomena. Rarely, however, does it grasp the essential
historical conditions.9
The history of the realization of the individual work has to be
reconstructed on the basis of documents, preserved drawings,
and archaeological investigation. Among the aims of the lastmentioned is to find out if one part was made before or after
another one. It presupposes technical and formal insight. 10 The
3
9

history of the single work may be controlled and revised by

means of an analysis of its structural properties. A
reconstruction of the original or intended state is done on the
same basis. In general it is necessary to reconstruct the
intended solution in order to be able to carry through a
meaningful analysis.
A chronology of monuments should not only consist of a
collection of dated works, but should also comprise surveys
and other reproductions
(photographs etc.). The chronology is a necessary aid to
historical research, but it does not offer any secure picture
of the historical process, as related phenomena may
appear at different times in different places.11
The history of styles has to render an account of the
development and
succession of formal structures. It does not only order the styles
chronologically, but tries to show how they arise and become
worn out. Periods
of transition will be of special interest. 12 The history of styles
presupposes
an exhaustive understanding of architectural form. It may to a
certain
extent make use of technical terms (such as beam,
column, etc.), and the history of technics, on the other
hand, has to take the formal characteristics of the
technical systems into consideration. The history of
technics has to render an account of the materials
employed, the methods of working the materials, the
methods used when erecting the buildings, and the cooperation of these factors within the technical systems. 13
The history of building tasks forms a necessary part of
a complete architectural history, and should also play an
important role in cultural history. We have seen that the
social and cultural conditions are reflected in the building
tasks, and because of the participation of architecture in
almost all human activities, the history of building tasks
may contribute substantially to the solution of general
historical problems. The building tasks are described by
4
0

means of the dimensions oudined above, and hier archies

of leading and secondary tasks should be indicated.
The history of semantical relations treats the more
special problem of the changing forms of representation
(symbolization). The problem, however, is of central
importance to the understanding of an epoch, and an
architectural history omitting the semantical dimension
would fall to pieces.
It is fully possible to limit oneself to one of the historical
disciplines outlined above. Because of the vast material,
such a limitation is usually necessary. The special, limited
investigations, however, will remain frag ments if they are
not unified in a history of architectural systems. This
history has the architectural totalities as its subjectmatter and causes architectural history to become a
branch of the history of art.14
We understand that all the historical disciplines are
interdependent, and have to be regarded as abstractions
from a complete, synthetic history

4
1

of architecture. So far the individual disciplines are only in

part worked out, and we cannot expect to approach
completeness soon, even if a large number of scholars should
pool their results. The integrated theory of architecture,
however, helps us to overcome this difficulty. Also, if the
theory is based upon a limited amount of empirical material,
we are allowed to believe that its main characteristics will
remain valid when the empirical material increases. Because
it interprets the problems which concern us as a logically
coherent whole, it is capable of organizing the results of the
single historical disciplines. The theory, so to speak, acts as a
co-ordinate system where the results are assigned their
proper place. Slowly the puzzle becomes complete, and it is
possible that this process will demand a certain revision of
the co-ordinate system itself. Thanks to the theory we may
therefore carry out meaningful architectural analyses and
organize the results into an historical construct. As already
mentioned, this is possible because the theory offers a
common terminology where the terms have defined relations
to each other. The terminology used today is incoherent,
contradictory, and subjective. As an example we have
referred to the misuse of the word space. The co-ordination
of the individual investigations is only possible by means of a
developed terminology, and the solutions of the concrete
problems outlined in this study is only possible with the aid of
a common terminology. The establishment of a convenient
terminology, therefore, is what is above all needed in the
present confused situation.
CRITICISM
Fruitful architectural criticism also presupposes a common
terminology. Today criticism generally limits itself to the
judgment of more or less arbitrarily chosen properties of the
work in question. It is not easy to compare different criticisms

42

of the same work, because of the dissimilar terms

employed.15 What the theory tells us about the architectural
quality is of basic importance to criticism. The semantical
correspondence between task and means, for instance, is
essential. A work of architecture is above
all judged by investigating if the form fits the task, or if the
solution
9I
rather has to be characterized as formalistic. If a satisfactory
semantical
correspondence is lacking, the criticism may be considered
complete if it points out this state of affairs. But if the
correspondence exists, one has to go on investigating whether
the task has been defined properly and the form articulated
adequately. If the task is only in part defined, that is, if only
some of the necessary poles are intended, we have to reject
the solution, even if it is cleverly done. This is often overlooked
in present- day criticism, which considers the finished work
from the point of view of IArt pour I'Art. The criticism, in other
words, should ask whether the solution is a real solution to the
task in question, or if it is only more or less pleasant, but
irrelevant. It is possible to consider the form separately if one
knows the style it belongs to. When doing this, the solution can
be characterized as contradictory, meaningless, or original. If
contradictory elements are present, the solution cannot at
once be rejected. To judge it, we have to find out if this state of
affairs is intended, in other words, if the formal contradictions
manifest a conflict-structure inherent in the building task. 16
Pertinent criticism is essential to sound architectural
development, and the critic therefore has the greatest
responsibility. He should be without preconceived ideas and
possess a complete theoretical insight. The theory not only
offers the terminology, but also the analytical methods
needed.
To conclude we may say that the purpose of architectural
analysis is to investigate actual tasks and means, to furnish the
historical insight we need to explain the architecture of other
periods, and to solve our own concrete problems. It should also

be mentioned that the analysis offers the basis for a judicious

building-code. The building-code ought to facilitate the creation
of satisfactory architectural totalities, rather than amputate the
solutions through fragmentary regulations. 17 The legislation
should not consist of fixed norms, but rather have the
character of directives where the higher poles are considered.
In principle the regulations must be variable and
interdependent, in accordance with the structure of the actual
architectural system.

44

4. Education

It is natural to conclude our discussion of the applications of

the theory of architecture with a few words on the problem
of architectural education.
Architectural education comprises all the single problems
we have outlined, because it is obvious that the architect as
a professional man has to possess a complete
understanding of his field. This does not mean that he has to
\now all the facts furnished by historical and actual research.
Today this knowledge has become so vast that it is hardly
possible for an individual to master the whole field. Neither
can we expect that the architect is automatically capable of
solving every building task, or of judging every finished
solution. But he has to possess the methodical insight which
makes this theoretically 'possible for him. In other words, he
has to have a full comprehension of the organization of his
field, its types of tasks and means. In this way he can
understand his own relatively specialized knowledge as a
part of a more extensive context. The architect should know
the general principles determining the activities of
experiencing, producing, and analyzing architecture, which
implies that he also has to know the integrated theory of
architecture. The architect is hardly able fully to solve any
task without the general insight furnished by the theory,
both because architecture is a synthetical activity, and
because the individual building task forms a part of a
hierarchy of tasks.1 Only when seeing his field in this
comprehensive way does he become a real professional. The
architect cannot expect to be respected as long as he
neglects his responsibility by permitting open conflicts
between the different solutions.
2
1
7

One of the most important insights offered by architectural

theory is that a building task cannot be solved through
intuitive improvisation.

2
1
8

The architect has to learn his craft, which is something

much more than ability in drawing. In the past his education
consisted of a long and thorough training in the studio of an
acknowledged master, where the architect-to-be was taught
to use a formal language and the practical methods serving
its realizations.2 The unity of theory and practice was a
matter of course, a unity which has only been destroyed in
our time by the architects fear of not being spontaneously
artistic.3 The first step towards a restoration of this unity is
the development of an integrated theory of architecture. In
the past the tasks were rather invariant, and the theory
could have the character of relatively fixed and limited rules.
Today the adaptation to frequent changes has become
imperative, and the theory, therefore, should be an empty
but logically coherent and comprehensive system which is
capable of covering all architectural problems. Modern
theory, in other words, should be valid for all archi tectural
systems, while the theories of the past were tied to single
systems.
The education is not complete with the acquisition of a
satisfactory theoretical insight. We have seen that the
creative faculty proper, the ability of solving complex tasks
through concretization, is only developed by means of
exercises. The intentions comprised by the task, however, are
not learned through these exercises, but have to be taught
more directly. The unity of theory and practice, thus, is basic
from the outset. We could also say that the education
consists of a theoretical and a practical part which are
interrelated. In addition we need training in architectural
perception to make the theoretical knowledge become alive,
and to give the production an adequate intentional depth.
Training in architectural analysis is also necessary to make
the teaching become something more than a mere
transmission of information. Through analy tical exercises the
theory should, so to speak, be developed anew by the
students. Analogously the students have to learn to define
the tasks adequately through training in task-analysis,

instead of receiving complete programmes from the teacher.

Only in this way can the student compre hend that building
means the solution of social and cultural problems, rather
than the erection of houses of a certain number of square
metres. The education, therefore, must develop the faculties
of integration (concretization), analysis, and experience, and
must also furnish the general cultural background necessary
to give the intentions an adequate depth. Before we take a
closer look at the organization of this type of training, we
should say a few words about the situation of architectural
education today-4
When saying that the architectural situation is confused,
this necessarily implies that the training of the architects is
unsatisfactory. The schools have shown themselves
incapable of bringing forth architects able to solve the actual
tasks.5 These difficulties are not of a too recent date, [n the
nineteenth century Ruskin, Morris and others pointed to the
insufficiency of architectural education, and the same was
done by van de Velde around the turn of the century. The
first real attempt at an improvement is represented by the
foundation of the Bauhaus in 1919. The first programme of
Walter Gropius, who led the school, can be understood as a
continuation of the ideas of Morris. Gropius wanted to
counteract the architects lack of contact with reality
through a thorough training in the crafts.6 The academies,
on the other hand, supported the VArt pour VArt attitude, and
regarded the assimilation of absolute ideals of beauty as the
purpose of education. To reach this goal one copied perfect
models from the past. The Mediaeval craftsman, however,
was antagonistic to this attitude, and the first Bauhaus
manifesto, therefore, showed Feiningers woodcut of a
Gothic cathedral on its cover. Today it may seem surprising
that the radical Bauhaus found its point of depar ture in the
romantic movements of the nineteenth century, but its programme was anyway regarded as a challenge to the dignity
of the academies. The school started its activity under public
2
2
0

protests.7 The programme, however, was considerably

changed during the first years and found its final form in
1923.8 The importance of the crafts was still emphasized,
but at the same time a new demand for adaptation to the
industrial means of production was made. The school also
replaced the original expressionist tendencies with an
objective aesthetics, shunning history and seeking a
foundation in scientific knowledge. 9 These new goals were
manifested in an educational programme which left out all
conventions. In principle the training was divided into two
parts, Werhjehre and Formlehre. The first comprised materials,
tools, and methods of production, while the second was
concerned with a training of the eye (perception) and
creative activities (composition, representation). The
elementary aspects of both parts were unified in an
introductory course called Vorlehre, which aimed at freeing
the student from his pre conceptions and at the same time
releasing his creative faculties.10 Werklehre and Formlehre
were co-ordinated through common tasks, and the goal was
the collective work of art - in which no barriers exist
between the structural and the decorative arts. 11 The need
for cooperation, therefore, was emphasized, and the
individual was taught to understand his problems as parts of
a wider context.12 The demand for industrial adaptation led
to ideas like standardization and mass-production, ideas
which are still just as valid. 13 We have to stress the wideranging influence exercised by the Bauhaus and point to the
vast practical results attained during its relatively short life.
With justification it can be said that the school laid the
foundation for a new international style.14 When the school
was closed by the Nazi authorities, several of its leading
members emigrated to the United States, where they went
on working for the same goals.15 After the second world war
the Bauhaus ideas were introduced in several countries. 16 At
the same time, however, critical voices began to be heard.

We may leave out the sentimental reactions which have

always been present since the first days of the Bauhaus in
Weimar, and rather take a look at the criticisms brought
forth by certain of the members of the new Hochschule fur
Gestaltung in Ulm. This school was founded after the last
war as a New Bauhaus, but it soon became evident that the
Bauhaus methods no longer led to the desired results. 17 The
spokesman of the school, Tomas Maldonado, points to the
contradiction that the products of the Bauhaus have become
museum pieces, while we still believe in the didactical
principles from which they stem.18 Maldonado especially
attacks the idea of freeing the individuals faculty of spon taneous self-expression through a Vorkurs.19 He emphasizes
that the Vorkurs is the backbone of the Bauhaus tradition.
But the Vorkurs has generally shown itself unable to adapt the
individual to the real object world of our society, and may
rather lead to a new formalism. Instead Maldonado suggests
, an education founded on the principles of scientific
operationalism. He proposes a replacement of the intuitive
attitude by
jn exact analysis of the problems and the means to their
solution. He thus wants to give the elements entering the
analysis concrete operational definitions.20 The didactical
philosophy of Ulm, therefore, is clear enough: it is against
art and architecture when understood as taste and arbitrary
invention. It advocates instead a planning based on
knowledge of man and society.
There can be no doubt that the criticism of Maldonado has
some justification. At the same time, however, we need the
experiences of the Bauhaus to develop a satisfactory
architectural training. The programme of the Bauhaus surely
contained a basic contradiction, in wanting simul taneously
to free the self-expression and to create a new common
formal language. The wish for self-expression must be
understood as a reminiscence of the first expressionistic
phase of the school, while the later ideas in part stem from
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the influence of the Dutch Stijl movement. 21 We may also

question the continuation of the training in the crafts after
the realization of the importance of the industrial methods of
production. But the contradictions are overemphasized and
partly misunderstood by Maldonado. The idea of freeing the
individual can also be interpreted as a freeing of his faculty
as a co-ordinator, that is, the ability to synthesize and
concretize the components entering the architectural
totality. Gropius has over and over again stressed the
architects role as a co-ordinator and suggested that it is
connected with his artistic faculties. The integrated theory of
architecture proves the correctness of the intuition of
Gropius. But it is another question whether the concretizing
faculty of the architect can be developed by means of the
Vorlehre of the Bauhaus. The Vorlehre was determined only by
the characteristics of the materials and the tools. Thus it
easily degenerated into a free play with forms. This was not
due to basically wrong didactical principles, but followed
from a lack of auxiliary information from the sciences. 22 The
Werklehre and Formlehre of the Bauhaus may therefore be
considered as positive attempts at an improvement of the
education. (On the basis of an integrated theory of
architecture we should reinterpret the Werklehre and the
Formlehre as technical research and form-research
including practical exercises). The Bauhaus showed an
intuitive understanding of the architectural totality and of
the role of the architect. The time, however, was not yet ripe
for the development of lasting didactical methods. 23 In any
case, the Bauhaus cleared the way for an adequate
education by abandoning obsolete principles and by
indicating basic new problems. The reason why the methods
have hardly proceeded beyond the Bauhaus since, is
obviously the lack of a theoretical foundation which can
bring order into the whole field.
This is also the reason behind the lacking success of the
Hochschule fur Gestaltung. The more exact attitude
propagated by the latter school is not based upon an
integrated theory and becomes just as arbitrary as the free

play with forms at the school following the Bauhaus

tradition.24 The school in Ulm, in spite of the criticism
mentioned above, has also taken over certain didactical
schemes from the Bauhaus. The education thus starts with a
Grundlehre,25 and the workshops have also been inherited.
True, the tasks are defined differently, but it is a question if
the didactical changes are radical enough. Without losing the
valuable insight gained by the Bauhaus, it seems necessary
to get rid of the prejudice that the training has to be based
upon an introductory course which aims at freeing the
individual (Bauhaus), or perhaps at giving him a general
background for his study (Ulm). Just as unsatisfactory, of
course, are the more conventional methods practised at
most architectural schools, where the different subjects are
taught in splendid isolation. Statics, technics, planning,
illumination, form, etc. are still commonly taught
independently, and without connection with concrete
building tasks. The building tasks, furthermore, are
presented as conventional building types, without raising the
question whether the types are satisfactorily defined. The
general principles for the definition of tasks and for the
articulation of forms are not studied.
The point of departure for an adequate architectural
education naturally has to be the students wish to become
an architect. The student has to be trained in the creation and
understanding of architectural totalities, and nothing else. We
have seen that such totalities are very complex and that
they are characterized by the interdependence of their parts.
Experience shows that it is impossible to grasp such
totalities from below, by learning something about their
ingredients, and afterwards trying to combine these. (Today
the student is even asked to create

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totalities whose ingredients he has not yet heard about!) The

first demand j therefore that the problems the students have
to face shall be complete. prom the very beginning the
problems presented have to comprise all aspects which
characterize a typical architectural totality : building task,
form, technics, and semantical relations between these
factors. When solving the problem, the factors have to be
considered simultaneously. The building task should be defined
in terms of its physical and symbolic dimensions, and form
and construction must be developed in accordance with this
definition.
Such
a
synthetic
problem
may
seem
insurmountable for a beginner, but well-suited possibilities
really exist. As the first problem, for instance, we may take a
camp, where a group of persons shall exercise simple
functions within an adequate architectural frame. The
functions concern the individual as well as the group. The
elements making up die camp (tents, huts), should be solved
within certain given technical limits (such as the materials
available on the spot), and the elements have to be formed
and grouped to fit their purpose. 26 The next step taken during
the education should consist in the presentation of a second,
more complex synthetical problem, until we reach the city
and the region as the most comprehensive totalities. This
does not imply that the education should end with cityplanning. We understand, on the contrary, that the urbanistic
dimension is already included in the first problem. As the
urbanistic dimension can be characterized as a unifying
factor which orders the hierarchy of building tasks, it is
essential that it participates from the beginning. The
synthetical problems also help to develop the students
ability to co-operate and to realize that the single task forms
a
part of a larger context.27

What has been said above does not imply that the training
only consists in the solution of a few synthetical problems.
We have seen that the single dimensions of the architectural
totality have a certain independence. It is possible to present
certain technical and formal problems which are solved in
isolation. But it is important that these also are related to
synthetic problems, to make the student understand Aat they
mean a continuation of problems connected with a concrete
architectural totality. Theoretical insight which is transmitted
verbally also becomes alive when related to an architectural
totality which the studentknows from his own concretizing
activity. Analogously the teaching of architectural history
should illustrate the concept architectural totality through
the analysis and criticism of examples. This implies that
architectural history should be presented as illustrations to
the main synthetical problems, rather than chronologically. In
general we have to remember that the student wants to
become an architect, and that he is only open to absorb
satisfactorily knowledge which is clearly related to
architecture.
It would carry us too far to give the outlines of a complete
curriculum based on these general principles. 28 We should
only emphasize that the programme has to follow the
organization of the architectural theory, to warrant an insight
corresponding to the relevant goal-objects. The theory
describes architecture as an object, and it is of no interest to
the architect as such to learn anything which does not belong
to this object. The education, therefore, should familiarize the
architect-to-be with the theory of architecture and its
applications, a problem which has to be solved through
simultaneous training in analysis and concretization. It is
obvious that the contents of subjects like task, form, technics,
and semantics will change with time and place, but the
dimensions as such remain the same and secure the
historical continuity of architectural education. Only on this

basis are improvements easily carried through. To warrant the

unity of the school, the different subjects not only have to be
coordinated by means of synthetical problems, but also at an
institute for general architectural research, which has the
theory of architecture as its particular subject-matter.
The principles outlined above should not be confounded
with a conventional education which immediately asks the
student to draw buildings. Instead of tying ourselves to already
existing types, we have to define the tasks anew. The
formation of types eventually becomes a part of the solution.
It seems natural to take architecture as the point of
departure for architectural education. But as far as we know,
this has never really been done. Instead, one has taught
abstract formal ideals or fragmentary aspects of planning and
technics. The reason, without doubt, has been the lack of an
integrated theory of architecture which defines and coordinates the problems.