De Facto Times

Defined by a sprawl of discordant, universalist monoliths, the American city model has come to represent an era. In times past, a visit to lands far away enriched one by exposing them to the great, diverse, and unmolested fruits of a nation. Today’s cities, however, tell a different story: One where any semblance of cultural particularity has been shoved to the outermost edges of an already frail countryside; Where a culturally-impoverished, materially excessive universalism conquers a culturally-rich, economically ambivalent particularity. 

Thus enter the pilgrimage sites of our culturally nomadic youth, who—alienated by their very homes—aspire to wield a tradition’s flame yet extinguished. Among the many countries swept up in today’s deluge of tourism, Japan and Italy continue to cultivate a special fascination with young adults. Indeed, memes commenting on this very phenomenon have permeated the zeitgeist, satirizing the “group Japan trip” among friends, or remarking how everyone they know is either posting about their time in Italy or Japan. With such great attention, it behooves one to ask: Why?

The key to Italy and Japan’s desirability is perhaps hidden in the annals of each’s history. Both nations, despite emerging on opposite ends of the earth, were unified from smaller states, roughly within a 300-year distance. Each contained a sea of strong, local identities that—in the advent of modernization—consolidated into more unified, marketable ones. Furthermore, the people of both nations prioritize beauty and homogeneity, reflected in the architectural prowess and consistency of both Florence and Kyoto. In contrast with the many nations that have traded their pride for false niceties to outsiders and an ill-defined international allegiance, Italy and Japan have maintained a strong sense of their own identities. And indeed, were it not for the development of national identity incentivized in Italy’s Risorgimento and Japan’s Meiji Restoration, it is unlikely either nation would possess the cultural power it does today. It is through their respective histories that each nation was made intelligible.

The American city, on the other hand, is unintelligible. Unlike cities of old, it is built not around man, but his excesses. Likewise, it lacks coherence and beauty, opting instead for a variety of mediocre, warring visions over a single, unified one. In accordance with these shortcomings, today’s city is bereft of three key virtues, which I shall further discuss: Truth, Unity, and Beauty.

Truth

Truth is what makes the world intelligible. Therefore, a city that bears the quality of “Truth” is one that enables human compartmentalization in different contexts and functions. The city must make sense to the merchant as it does to the chef, whether or not there is occasion or the ongoings of common life. Like grammatical rules evolved among millions of tongues over thousands of years, an architectural tradition is an evolved thing, with materials as its phonemes, buildings as its words, cities as its sentences, and nations as its books. And, to the extent that a city adheres to its tradition, it reconciles individual excess with collective sensibilities. 

Like a stone from a river’s bed, the traditional city is smooth to the touch. The city of now, however, is jagged to the senses—a byproduct of its lack of refinement over time. I intend, therefore, to go through some of that wisdom, such that those potential deficits of the modern city might be further illuminated.

Firstly, whereas cities of old were encircled by walls with gates, the borders of cities today are often only perceivable through maps and other non-architectural information. Among a variety of functions, walls served as a tool of definition. Delineated became the inside and outside; ingress and egress. By comparison, today’s city is effectively unending, rambling sans purpose. Just as one would not fail to punctuate a sentence lest it be incomplete, so too should a city benefit from the definition boundaries provide; It is equal parts practical as it is psychological to do so. Gone appear the days of warring city-states in the West. Yet, just as a cell ought to regulate what enters and leaves, so too possesses the city dominion over its commerce, migration, and enforcement of law. And, just as a sentence must begin and end to be understood, so too must the city, lest its identity be rendered amorphous.

Secondly, whereas the city of old housed at its summit a church, today’s city is crowded by a plethora of commercial summits, so as to maintain no true apex. Hierarchy—a reality manifest in every area of life from ant colonies to semantics—is naturally demonstrated in the village, both in the import of a building (with a church’s parish once defining the boundary of towns themselves) and its physical properties (height, size, & position). Reflected thus are the values of the community, who place such distinction on something—or are made so distinct by it—as for it to define the very structure of their city, residence, and oftentimes daily lives. It is by this standard that the modern city demonstrates no collective purpose, echoed loudly in the nihilistic chatter of its inhabitants.

Thirdly, whereas the city of old was built around man’s attributes and needs, today’s city repudiates both. The sizes of roads and towers are dictated by the demands of ego and innovation alike. No longer is a road walkable, a house scalable, or basic needs accessible, lest one forgo the benefits of foot travel for the ease of cars and elevators. Yet, it is this excess of innovation that usurps man’s very sovereignty in his own habitat—his right of mastership of the earth. For though man has made and maintains control over his technological works, he builds a world that accommodates for said work over his very self. Should he choose not to operate a speeding metal box, man is relegated to naught but sparse sidewalks and maintenance stairways. In this, he forfeits primacy.

Unity

To the extent that it is made mellifluous, all good art shares the qualities of music. Architecture is no exception to these principles. It contains instrumentation in its use of materials, motifs in those materials’ forms, melody in its structures, and songs in its cities. A unified city, therefore, is a city that maintains harmonious arrangements of its motifs. But just as a harmonious hymn is not a repetition of notes, neither is the harmonious city homogeneous. Rather, a city is made harmonious by the agreement of its parts. It must be cohesive.

Furthermore, it is in each element of the city that unity must be present. Architectural techniques must be unified in vision, so as to avoid the incongruence manifest in the cities of today. Such architecture—when particular—best considers its environmental context. Acanthus leaves might fit as a motif of Greek capitals, but not American ones. Marmara marble might suit the floor of a Turkish palace, but not a Russian one. People must too be unified, such that they view themselves not merely as individuals, but parts of a cohesive collective—to which they have responsibilities, but by which they are empowered. And, people must be unified with their place. They must care for it, and it must cater to their needs. For, the nation is defined not by people alone, but by a people and their creations.

Beauty

Though beauty is indeed said to be in the eye of the beholder, taste does not lie. Americans who grew up surrounded by commercial wasteland and glass obelisks—should they venture abroad—seldom voyage to cities of the same character. Italy and Japan (distinct by their spikes in interest among the youth) are not alone in their popularity. France, Spain, and others who share Italy and Japan’s age and tradition consistently rank the most desirable across all demographics. And whilst it’s true that these places indeed contain universalist architecture of some kind, seldom are these the subjects of the digital postcards that are social media posts. 

Consider gastronomy throughout the world. There are dishes that are highly subjective, such that, if given to two tribes halfway across the earth, they are likely to have totally disparate reactions. Yet, some foods (such as cooked meats) generate intersubjective enjoyment throughout cultures. In the same manner, architectural beauty is subject to one’s taste. One might love a contemporary skyscraper, but disdain a Georgian mansion. Yet, to pretend there is no beauty that can be intersubjectively enjoyed would be, in my estimation, an error. One notices trends of tremendous stonemasonry from the Mycenaeans to the Incas, trends of meticulous timber framing from England to Japan, and trends of ceaseless ornamentation from India to Germany. These are but a select few prominent samples, exemplifying the pervasiveness of certain architectural “styles” throughout space and time.

It is in understanding these three factors—Truth, Unity, and Beauty—that we might hope to build a better civilization. One whose cities cater to particular cultures and peoples. One that is intelligible to man, and centers around him. One that is cohesive and unified with its people. One that is beautiful—not as an island among chaos, but in harmony with its parts. It is incumbent upon us to found a new standard; let us go beyond the American city.

Marc J. Capobianco