As I write this blog post, it’s Christmas morning. I’m not a religious person nor am I a particularly spiritual individual, yet I am moved by the “Christmas Spirit.” The yuletide season is a time to be selfless, to forgive, share with others, take stock of what is important, and become better versions of ourselves. It’s also a time to seek meaning and purpose in life, to connect with something beyond the self, and embrace awe and wonder. Additionally, Christmas is marked by reflection upon a range of traditions that link us to our past, to the world, and to the people and communities that are important to us.
I’ve always believed the best architecture is likewise moving. The best architecture is meaningful and purposeful. It is supportive, provides us with comfort, venerates nature, and sustains traditions. Like Christmas, the best architecture is an expression of positive values, of connections with community and a greater good.
So, is
there a formula or theory that we can draw upon to improve the odds of designing
buildings and places that are humane, full of life and meaning, immediately and
inextricably connected with place, culture, and tradition—in a word, that are “moving?”
Many architects and theorists have sought to provide such a prescription, but a
successful, fundamental, objective, and all-encompassing model has proven elusive.
In his four-volume magnum opus, The Nature of Order, the late Christopher Alexander attempted to define the “patterns of life” essential for creating a sense of well-being and connection to the natural world in the places where we live and work. His theory is based on the idea that there is a fundamental unity to the world, and that this unity can be seen in the patterns and structures found in nature. He believed these patterns are essential for creating a sense of life and vitality in the built environment, and that they can be used to create spaces that are both functional and aesthetically pleasing.
Book One of The Nature of Order is The Phenomenon of Life, in which Alexander proposed a scientific view of the world wherein all things have a perceptible degree of “life.”
Book Two is The Process of Creating Life. In it, Alexander claimed life and beauty only arise from processes which allow living structure and structure-preserving transformations to unfold.
In Book Three, A Vision of a Living World, Alexander presented hundreds of examples to illustrate what a world built in accordance with the principles outlined in Books One and Two is like.
Book Four is The Luminous Ground, which revealed Alexander at his most spiritual. In this volume, he described a new cosmology uniting matter and consciousness.
To elucidate the concepts throughout all four volumes, Alexander drew upon a wide range of examples from architecture, urban design, and the natural world. He introduced a set of principles for designing buildings and spaces that reflect natural patterns. These principles include ideas such as the importance of creating a sense of order and coherence in the built environment, the use of natural materials and forms, and the creation of spaces that are adaptable and flexible over time.
One of the key concepts throughout The Nature of Order is Alexander’s concept of “wholeness.” He argued that we should design buildings and spaces with a sense of wholeness, with each element fitting together seamlessly to create a harmonious whole. This sense of wholeness is essential to well-being and connection with the natural world. Harmony is a function of wholeness, and Alexander described how we perceive it, describe it, and achieve it in the formulation of things.
To illustrate the concept of wholeness, Alexander used the example of a traditional Japanese tea house. He argued that the tea house is a perfect example of a building that possesses wholeness, with each element fitting together seamlessly to create a harmonious whole. The classic tea house displays a clear hierarchy of structure, with the tearoom at its center, surrounded by a series of smaller rooms and spaces. The materials used, such as wood and stone, are natural and authentic, and the layout of the tea house is changeable.
Beyond wholeness, Alexander further defined “order” as the arrangement of elements in a way that creates coherence and unity. The concept of order and the patterns and structures that comprise it are closely linked to the idea of an essential quality of buildings and spaces that are deeply satisfying to be in.
The Nature of Order builds upon the ideas Alexander and his colleagues presented earlier in the enormously influential book A Pattern Language. While both argue for the importance of the “patterns of life” to the creation of the places in which we live and work, The Nature of Order goes into greater depth, providing a comprehensive and systematic exploration of how these patterns fundamentally underlie the creation of architecture.
To a degree, Alexander’s metaphysical, oracular tone and his commitment to absolute certainty undercut the legitimacy of his utopian principles; nevertheless, it is this very tone that I find compelling about The Nature of Order and Alexander’s other work. It may be because it helps to satisfy a spiritual deficit, a void I reluctantly acknowledge. Perhaps it is because it touches me in the same place, in a different way, as the spirit of Christmas does.
Though I have owned them for many years already, I have yet to completely read all four books of The Nature of Order from cover to cover. They are so unimaginably sweeping, both in terms of their scope and their transformative vision for architecture, that I cannot absorb in one take the entirety of the framework for design that Alexander created. I fully expect it will take multiple re-readings and years for me to appreciate his grand unified theory of everything truly and fully.
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