The Architecture of Restraint

Salk Institute for Biological Studies – Louis Kahn, architect  (photo by Jason Taellious, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons) 

 

“Architecture, even at its most accomplished, will only ever constitute a small, and imperfect (expensive, prone to destruction, and morally unreliable), protest against the state of things. More awkwardly still, architecture asks us to imagine that happiness might often have an unostentatious, unheroic character to it, that it might be found in a run of old floorboards or in a wash of morning light over a plaster wall—in undramatic, frangible scenes of beauty that move us because we are aware of the darker backdrop against which they are set.”

― Alain de Botton, The Architecture of Happiness 

In architecture, as in life, the allure of excess can be difficult to resist. Towering skyscrapers, opulent stadiums, and dazzling facades captivate our imaginations, yet they often come at a cost—both to the environment and to our connection with the spaces we inhabit. I started above with the quote from The Architecture of Happiness because, like Alain de Botton, I believe restraint, not extravagance, holds the key to creating architecture that is meaningful and enduring. 

Restraint requires courage given how much our culture has celebrated grandiosity. The path of restraint demands a deeper reflection on the purpose of design and its impact on society. Architects who walk this path face challenges—balancing sustainability, functionality, and aesthetics—while not succumbing to the need for gratuitous display. 

Restraint does not imply a lack of ambition. Rather, it embodies a thoughtful approach that prioritizes purpose over spectacle and seeks to anchor architecture in values that reflect what we most deeply respect. Meaningful design connects us to our surroundings and ourselves, shaping spaces that resonate with our aspirations and needs. Alain de Botton reminds us that our environments hold the power to reveal our better selves. Through design, we shape not only physical spaces but also the ideals we wish to uphold—a profound responsibility for any architect. 

Restraint, be damned: SoFi Stadium, which cost an estimated $6 billion to construct (photo by Troutfarm27 - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=130317008)

The seductiveness of "more, more, more" is easy to understand. Media coverage and design awards often extoll the extraordinary, the record-breaking, and the visually striking. Projects like SoFi Stadium in Los Angeles—undoubtedly a marvel of engineering—seize the spotlight, while more modest yet equally important works of architecture may go unnoticed. But as these structures push the boundaries of scale and spectacle, they often overshadow the essential qualities of human-centered design. 

Consider Louis Kahn’s Salk Institute in La Jolla, California. With its serene courtyards, disciplined material palette, and masterful use of natural light, the Salk embodies restraint in every detail. It is a place where function and beauty coalesce, where the simplicity of its design serves the purpose of advancing human knowledge. This is architecture that elevates and endures—not through wasteful excess but through clarity of intent. 

Restraint is also a practical imperative. As environmental concerns grow and resources dwindle, the costs of unchecked ambition in architecture are undeniable. Extravagant designs consume vast amounts of energy, materials, and labor, often with limited regard for their long-term impact. By contrast, architecture rooted in restraint aligns with the principles of sustainability and modesty, addressing the urgent need for designs that tread lightly on the planet. 

The appeal of restraint is gaining traction in response to affordability concerns and shifting cultural values. Today, more people recognize that excess can feel alienating and, paradoxically, hollow. The pursuit of grandeur for its own sake can result in spaces that prioritize show over substance, whereas architecture generated within a discipline of restraint feels more timeless and grounded. Such designs are more apt to foster a connection to place and a sense of permanence that extravagant projects often lack. 

This ethos extends beyond individual buildings to the broader urban environment. The cohesive streetscapes of cities like Paris and Barcelona are defined not by a cacophony of attention-seeking structures but by harmonious “background” buildings. These unassuming designs provide continuity, creating a canvas against which iconic landmarks can shine. Such urban restraint enhances the experience of place, offering spaces that invite interaction and reflect the collective values of the community. 

Thorncrown Chapel – E. Fay Jones, Architect (photo by EEJCC, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons) 

Museum of Roman Art - Rafael Moneo, Architect (photo by Tomás Fano - Flickr, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12757818)

Restraint does not stifle creativity; it channels it. By working within constraints, architects innovate in ways that honor both the practical and the poetic. An oft-cited example is E. Fay Jones’s Thorncrown Chapel in Arkansas, where the modest use of timber and glass harmonizes with the surrounding forest to create a spiritually resonant space. Similarly, Rafael Moneo’s National Museum of Roman Art in Spain achieves timeless elegance through understated materials and a deep respect for context. 

Our world has too often glorified excess, making restraint a powerful counterpoint and a virtuous prerequisite to architecture that endures and is deeply resonant. By exercising a culture of restraint, we are more likely to craft spaces that align with our better selves and remind us of the values we hold dear. We can resist the fleeting draw of extravagance and contribute to a built environment that is as meaningful as it is beautiful. In doing so, and as Alain de Botton so eloquently argues in The Architecture of Happiness, we reaffirm that great architecture is not necessarily defined by its scale or spectacle but by its ability to hold us in a vision of what we truly need.