The text presented here is not precisely as published by OUP, but modifications are minor. Illustrations are another matter. Where images used in the original book were not my copyright, I have in most cases been able to substitute links to sources on the web.
Note. When this text was submitted as part of a PhD thesis in 1996, the Notes were greatly extended. As the reader may prefer to ignore them, they have been collected into separate web pages. They are a mixture of: simple page references; additional examples or quotations to justify generalisations; and some afterthoughts. As there are so many, the existence of a Note is indicated discreetly in the text below in the form [8.x]. (These are not links.) [Notes to Chapter 8.]
Current views of functionalism in the world of architecture.
Introduction.
The previous chapter provided only a glimpse of the confusion that has grown up around the concept of functionalism. As an engineer would define it, it is now advocated by champions it would not wish to own, and is condemned for faults that are those of its artistic interpreters. The term has acquired a host of meanings, some of them contradictory, and others so broad that they lose all significance. These are summarized below to prepare the way for further discussion.
What Louis Sullivan actually meant by his statement that "form follows function" [8.1] is almost irrelevant to the debate that so often revolves around it. At one extreme is the proposal that form should be allowed to develop spontaneously as the designer tackles the basic problems of enclosing spaces well adapted to specified functions, controlling the internal environment, and providing support for loads. At the other is the classical ideal that form should be governed by rules and traditions which constitute a highly developed formal 'language'. Some maintain that form is intimately linked to function; some that 'beauty' follows automatically when it is; and some merely that form ought to follow function for one of a variety of reasons.
Concepts of functionalism in architecture often involve analogies between buildings and living organisms or machines, or are related to ethical principles. Edward de Zurko treated these under the headings of organic analogy, mechanical analogy, and moral analogy. Geoffrey Scott adopted a similar classification, but preferred the term 'fallacy' to 'analogy'. In this section, concepts will be listed according to a slightly different system which includes both prescriptions and descriptions. Some formulations have been used by commentators in different ways and thus have several meanings.
Although the main objective is simply to present the various propositions, it will be opportune to make some comments from an engineering standpoint on their prima facie validity.
The form of a building should indicate its purpose.
Pragmatic version.
Taken at face value, Le Corbusier's dictum that the exterior should be the 'result' of the interior, comes close to what the engineer would consider as natural. [8.2] Architectural spaces are shaped and grouped so as best to suit the needs of the users. These 'needs' are defined in a pragmatic sense in terms of convenience and comfort in work and relaxation. Load-bearing structure and services are arranged so as to perform their functions as efficiently as possible without unduly interfering with the architectural spaces. There is no attempt to disguise the result behind facades or smooth envelopes or to provide ornamentation. The form of the building is thus intimately linked with the functions for which it is intended.
Benjamin Handler (1970) has expressed this as the principal that "spaces and structure should be adapted to the users' needs". [8.3] Engineers may be astonished by the implication that any designer could possibly contemplate some other course of action, but the drive to achieve architectural effect often leads to the needs of the users, as they themselves see them, being given less than top priority.
Symbolic version.
In the architectural world, it is not seen as sufficient that form be genuinely linked to function in the manner proposed above. For most architects and critics, architecture is a matter of communication and expression. An observer would need a fair amount of prior knowledge to be able to 'read' in the form of, say, a hospital or an educational institution, the approximate functions that are carried out in each part of the building. The link between the form of buildings and the function of their internal spaces is really quite loose. Architects thus become interested in 'expressing' the function of a building.
This can be done in a variety of ways. Elements which are particularly 'functional', such as structure or services, may artificially be made visually prominent. Elements may be borrowed from situations in which they have a genuine functional rationale, and be applied in a symbolic fashion. An example is the saw-tooth roofing of the Leicester Engineering Faculty building which has been perceived by critics as 'functional' mainly because it reminds them of the factory buildings of the surrounding area. [8.4] Some visual element considered characteristic of a building type, such as the balconies of the Bauhaus student hostel, may be emphasized. Certain characteristics which have little real relation to function may be considered to symbolize it. The black-steel-and-glass curtain wall has been described as expressive of the "cold and impersonal" world of the modern business office. [8.5]
Formulation: pure, simple volumes best satisfy user needs.
This is the counter to the pragmatic version of 'form follows function', being pitched on the same level. It maintains that it is impossible to plan for function, and that users are therefore best served by the provision of large voids which they can adapt to their own purposes. The accent is on simplicity. The form of the building should be reduced to basic geometric volumes, and the 'uses' will fit without undue difficulty into the spaces available.
This was the approach of Mies van der Rohe, and has much to recommend it. The thesis is that the needs of users change so rapidly that it is impossible to plan rationally for them. A major argument is that many old buildings have been successfully adapted to functions which were unknown at the time they were designed. [8.6]
Formulation: functionalism is, and demands, the differentiation of the parts of a building.
The most commonly quoted example of this is the Bauhaus complex (Fig. 5.4). There is obviously some functional need in factories to separate workshops from offices, or at least to provide acoustic isolation, although with modern materials this may be achieved satisfactorily without physical separation of volumes. In the Bauhaus and other buildings in this tradition, the differentiation of volumes and facades appears to have been intentionally heightened for architectural effect. [8.7]
Rudolph Arnheim's formulation of this principle is obviously influenced by visual preferences.
"In a well designed building there is a structural correspondence between visual properties and functional characteristics. [Engineers should again note the use of the word 'structural']. Similar functions should be reflected in similar shapes; different functions in different shapes. Visual accents should occur in places of importance." [8.8]
The concept may take the form of an ideological admiration for the 'perfection' of the living organism or of the machine. Either or both of these may be seen as exemplifying the efficient division of functions amongst component parts each contributing to the efficient functioning of the whole. [8.9]
Prescription: natural organisms provide the best model of adaption to function.
General.
This principle, which is similar to the previous one, holds that designers cannot do better than to emulate nature, because living organisms are highly complex systems with many of the characteristics of buildings and machines. A fascination with the perfection of organisms may be associated with intense piety, with a purely scientific interest in biology and evolution, or, paradoxically, with a perception of the organism as a complex and perfected machine fully adapted to its determined function. We have seen in Chapter 5 how much emotional force may be associated with such ideas.
The religious end of the spectrum.
The belief here is that God's works must represent an ideal of perfection towards which the designer should strive. It may carry the rider that such models, being created by God, must necessarily be beautiful in the mind of the believer. As de Zurko points out, such principles were extant in classical times, but were particularly attractive to Christian thinkers in the middle ages. They were again prominent in the period 1700-1850, inspired by developments in biology which revealed the fascinating complexity of the natural world. The word 'organic' is, incidentally, another problem-word which has a number of very different meanings. In current popular usage it has little to do with respect for technical perfection. [8.10]
The pragmatic end of the spectrum.
Handler's formulation of the pragmatic viewpoint is as follows.
"Designers should work with Nature and not against her. Inspiration in the design of appropriate forms for new tasks should be sought in nature. 'Natural' materials should be used." [8.11]
Once more, from an engineer's point of view, there seem to be two quite different philosophies under the same heading. To look for inspiration in natural forms seems a perfectly sensible thing to do as long as the designer recognizes that natural forms are adapted to quite different functional requirements, and have their own peculiar methods of self-construction. To decide that certain materials are somehow more 'natural' than others, and to insist on using only these in construction, is an ideological approach in opposition to the engineer's concept of functionalism.
The static model.
This is the model we have already seen in another guise, as exemplified by the Bauhaus, and is realized in the enclosure of different functions in separate volumes. These are held to be interrelated in the same way as the organs of a complex plant or animal. Once more, such preconceptions have no place in engineering functionalism.
The dynamic, or metabolist model.
This approach sees the inspiration of nature not so much in the interrelationship of the parts of a system, as in the ability of the living organism to grow and to adapt to change. Examples are to be found in the work of Cedric Price, some current 'High-Tech' architects, and the Japanese metabolists. [8.12] They represent a range of approaches from pragmatism to ideology. The aim is at first sight a praiseworthy and rational one, and many relatively basic structures such as factories and educational buildings do grow by simple replication of bays. However, for a multitude of practical and social reasons, buildings designed with great enthusiasm for adaptability rarely undergo real change in their lifetimes. [8.13]
Formulation: functionalism is a matter of load-bearing structure and services.
This imprecise formulation has been chosen to reflect a vague idea that functionalism is a matter of giving priority in design to either structure or services, or in some cases both. While some who propose this are genuinely thinking of technical considerations, many are concerned only to express the presence and importance of structure and services. Again, there is nothing particularly functional about this attitude. Any prior choice of means is incompatible with the aim of the designer to achieve an optimum balance between conflicting demands and constraints. In some cases a need for simplicity in construction, or avoidance of union demarcation disputes may indicate choice of a building envelope that is quite separate from and conceals all structure and services. It is not then 'functional' to insist on revealing them unless other practical or economic considerations are overriding. It is decidedly unfunctional to make a visual feature of them. Thus it is only where function is almost 'purely' structural (as in the case of an electricity pylon) that this attitude is consistent with what an engineer would call functionalism.
Nevertheless, practical design must start with some intuitive decisions, and many designers feel that structure should be the dominant feature in building. Guiding principles used are that forces should 'flow' by the most 'natural' route, and that materials should be employed in a manner consistent with their mechanical properties and with techniques of fabrication and construction. [8.14] Taken by themselves, as they often are, these formulations beg important questions as to what is 'natural' and 'appropriate', and say nothing about the relative importance to be given to a range of major considerations from spatial planning through to aesthetics.8.2
As far as the expression of structure in an architectural sense is concerned, Ligo makes an interesting distinction between the articulation of bare structure as in the Farnsworth House (Fig. 3.17) and the 'statement' or 'treatment' of hidden structure concealed by the building envelope or by fire-proofing. [8.15] He considers the latter to be an "expression of function" in the sense that it shows "how the building works". By this he means its manner of functioning. Engineers are used to thinking of the 'function' of an object as the purpose for which it was designed. We think of 'function' as an entity, described by a noun. However, when people are pressed to state the function of an object, they are usually obliged to use a verb. [8.16] The function of a structure is, for example, 'to support loads'. Hence, the function of even a static object is seen as a sort of action, and in the architectural literature, the term is often used in this sense.
The word 'expression' presents similar difficulties. It carries overtones of the romantic notion of artists 'expressing their feelings', and to use load-bearing structure as a means of self-expression in this sculptural sense is something that few would describe as functionalism. However, the pioneers of the modern movement did feel very strongly about the new freedom afforded by modern materials in terms of large spans, cantilevers, column-free spaces, and large areas of glazing; and about a new sense of fidelity and honesty in built form. They wished to 'express' these through structure and envelope. Thus, when some writers refer to functionalism, they are thinking of communication, or celebration, of the designer's hope for positive outcomes from technological development.
Extended interpretations of functionalism.
In retrospect, technologists and classicists alike may regard the functionalist rhetoric of the modern movement as barren. However, many of its contemporaries saw it as a serious threat to the values they treasured. One way to circumvent its influence was to extend the definition of 'function' to include objectives such as 'satisfying man's need for beauty'. The concept, with all its accumulated momentum might thus be captured for the other camp. Ligo lists such extended functions under the headings of "social", "psychological", and "cultural-symbolic". [8.17]
If we see 'function' in the normal engineering design sense as a pre-defined aim, such extensions of meaning can only be justified to the extent that a given aspect of a building evokes a predictable and dominant response within a defined community. If the adoption of a certain style gives delight to only sixty per cent those to whom it is intended to appeal and causes extreme annoyance to the rest, or if one cannot predict what its effect will be on the sensibilities of a given individual within the group, it is difficult to claim that the designer has a particular 'function' in mind in adopting it.
An even more extended concept of functionalism mentioned by Edward de Zurko is in complete contrast to Ligo's formulations. [8.18] This takes the "purpose" of an artist as the objective of "design". The creation of any "purposeful, controlled form", even if it is a "work of art", is seen as functional and the corollary is that "what is unnecessary is not necessarily unfunctional". In de Zurko's words, "purpose, thought of as the idea of the artist, the substance of art, permits the extension of functionalism to all forms of art".
Under the heading of "psychological functions" Ligo includes the sort of responses to built form that were discussed in Chapter 4; the general "atmosphere" created by a building for its users and whether it is appropriate to the activities housed in it. [8.19] These often take form in the personal and immediate impressions of critics. To see the generation of such responses as a function of architecture, implies acceptance of the proposition that architecture can contribute to or hamper the emotional experience that accompanies specific activities. As an example, Ligo quotes a critic who saw Alvar Aalto's hostel at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology as having a monastic quality which would help students resist worldly temptations and concentrate on their studies. [8.20]
Architecture has been described (by an architect) as "the design of physical structures around social structures". [8.21] Ligo's description is broader: the function of architecture lies in "providing a milieu for man as a social animal". Once more, this view assumes that built form really does contribute to "the institutionalization of man, giving visible physical form to social institutions". Ligo points out that for many critics a building "says" something about its role in society and the activity or institution that it houses. However, this formulation also suffers from the fact that social responses to built form are so varied that it is difficult to talk of a pre-ordained function. [8.22]
Larry Ligo uses the term "cultural-existential function" to describe the belief that architecture serves a purpose at an even more profound level. This is seen to involve
"the more permanent and wide-spread beliefs and values of an entire cultural tradition and the most basic orientation of each individual in time and space. Architecture gives form to cultural values; it concretizes them." [8.23]
He and other critics see these values present in opposite poles of design, such as the dichotomy between the way in which a building by Frank Lloyd Wright "clings to the earth" (Fig. 4.14), whereas one designed by Le Corbusier is set up on stilts (Fig. 1.4). The same contrast is found between "a medieval walled town attached like a plant to its site and a Greek temple set like a jewel on a hill". [8.24] The building is seen as interacting with the observer in a sort of dialogue. The function of built form thus lies in a two-way process in which a community expresses itself through its architecture, and at the same time is influenced by its built environment. Peter Collins notes that in a similar way the term functionalism has been applied to the general philosophical notion that "an object which fulfils its function is automatically of its era, however superficially unattractive". [8.25]
Other cultural-existential functions which have been suggested for built form are, as we have seen, the embodiment and reinforcement of moral values and the revelation and unfolding of our relationship with Creation.
Formulation: good design results from functional efficiency.
This assertion is well expressed in J.M. Richards's definition of "absolute functionalism" as the belief that "good architecture is produced automatically by strict attention to utility, economy, and other purely practical considerations". [8.26] However, to say that good architecture results is not to say that beauty is produced.
Formulation: beauty results from functional efficiency.
The idea in this case is that when objects are designed with logical purpose subjected to the discipline of economic efficiency, and design is pushed to the limit so that form is closely defined by natural 'laws', we are able to recognize the resulting clarity and order of the form at a subconscious as well as an intellectual level. Such forms will appear beautiful to us.
People who advance this view often have a somewhat rarefied concept of formal beauty or elegance. [8.27] The examples they use include aircraft and missiles, prestressed concrete bridges, and long-span bridges, in which form is determined largely by a single-value criterion such as least weight. One of the pioneer painters of the modern movement, on visiting an aircraft exhibition exclaimed: "Painting has come to an end! Who can do anything better than this propeller?". A companion wrote in his diary: "I myself felt a preference for the motors … but I still remember the bearing of those great propellers. Good God, what a miracle". [8.28]
P.L. Nervi and other writers have explained such reactions by claiming that we all have an innate sense of appropriate technological design even though few would have a real understanding of the aerodynamics and economics of high-speed flight. [8.29] Stefan Medwadowski shares the view that when the mind encounters excessive complexity, it seeks to simplify. He sees this need expressed in many areas: in our continual search for laws of nature based on minimal principles, and for laws of parsimony in science; in the works of men of ideas; and in all creative pursuits, including engineering design. In all these we admire an ability to capture the essence of an idea, event, or activity. He admits that some of this admiration is intellectual but claims that its roots go beyond intellect. [8.30]
The basic proposition is put to a sterner test in the case of more complex artefacts such as the desert solar power plant shown in Fig. 8.1 which has considerable visual as well as intellectual appeal, though neither might be evident to those who are not technologists. [8.31] In a complex 'composition' such as an industrial plant, the interrelationship between the parts, and that between the parts and the whole, appeals as much to the mind as to the eye.
Fig. 8.1. A special beauty is to be found in these structures designed on purely functional principles. Transportable solar power plants, Saudi Arabia. c.1985. (Engrs: Schlaich and Partner.) [Photo: Schlaich Bergermann.]
De Zurko expresses the concept in the following terms.
"Beauty, or at least a kind of formal perfection, results automatically from the most perfect mechanical efficiency, or that perfectly engineered creations achieve beauty without a conscious search for it." [8.32]
It is significant that he feels obliged to moderate his statement immediately by replacing 'beauty' with 'formal perfection', which some see as equal to beauty and others as something of value, but not at all the same thing. Many people would readily agree that a functional or engineering approach to design often produces an object possessing 'character', but far fewer would agree that character and beauty are the same thing. Critics trained in the visual arts look mainly for visual effects, but also react strongly to perceived symbolism, and even view the machine in a symbolic light. Engineers and architects look for elegance in design solutions, and appreciate qualities such as honesty and economy. The pleasure derived from all these perceptions is similar, and can be described as aesthetic, though it is not always visual.
Rationalism and its distinction from functionalism.
In this context it is worth investigating a little further the term 'rationalism' which, as it is used by architects and critics, has meanings which overlap those of 'functionalism' [see also Chapter 7, Section on 'Romanticism, mechanics, and biology']. [8.33] Confusion is likely because an engineer might consider functionalism to be the only 'rational' approach to design because it is 'logical' or 'sensible'.
In engineering parlance, the term 'rational' may also mean 'theoretical' (as opposed to 'empirical') when applied to the formulation of a problem or its solution. In philosophy the term relates to the idea that there are absolute truths which exist independently of the phenomena through which we become aware of them. Many feel that these ideal concepts are more 'pure' and more 'perfect' than their individual manifestations. Visions of purity and perfection lead many thinkers to a moral stance which is far removed from the engineer's concept of rationalism as the unemotional researching of practical problems and their solutions. Characteristics such as 'simplicity' and 'unity' also acquire a special significance from their association with the 'ideal'.
In The Philebus Plato discussed the beauty of geometrical figures in the following terms.
"Understand me to mean straight lines and circles, and the plane or solid figures which are formed out of them by lathes, rulers and protractors; for these I affirm to be … eternally and absolutely beautiful." [8.34]
These 'pure' volumes include the sphere, cube, and cylinder. Thus an architectural critic who describes a building as 'designed according to rational principles' might simply be saying that its form is composed of Platonic solids.
A representative viewpoint is that of the eighteenth-century French Rationalist Marc-Antoine Laugier who called for greater simplicity in architecture, condemning the use of double columns, pilasters, and fancy pediments. He advocated that columns on the second storey facade of a building should be placed directly above those of the first, and that the forms and locations of doors and windows should reflect their use. Ornament should be applied so as to correspond in some way to use. Furthermore,
"the parts of an architectural Order are the very components of the building; they must therefore be employed in such a way as not only to decorate a building but to constitute it, whereby if a single element is removed, the whole building will collapse." [8.35]
This idea that every structural element should be essential to the integrity of a building has been described as the cornerstone of 'classic rationalism'. [8.36] It persisted through the nineteenth century, and many present-day commentators accept it as a sound definition of functionalism in load-bearing structure. It does bear some relation to one version of the principle of optimization in structural design, but it is hard to imagine a real building in which even the most skilled designer could achieve such an effect. From a genuinely functional viewpoint, structural engineers are usually concerned to achieve fail-safe design by the provision of alternative load paths, so that removal of a single member causes only a very localized collapse. However, the general rationalist concept of beauty in sparsity is closely related to the concept of elegance in the solution of mathematical and engineering problems.
The classic rationalists saw trabeated construction as a skeleton frame. In a vision which foreshadowed the curtain wall of the modern movement, Marc-Antoine Laugier proposed that a church could be built with free-standing classical columns and infill glass walls. It is easy to understand how commentators such as Peter Collins can see in the exposed rectilinear frame of a modern building echoes of the 'rationalism' of the previous two centuries. [8.37] Because they so frequently appear in conjunction, the terms 'classic' and 'rationalist' are now used almost interchangeably to describe any of the twentieth century architects who saw it as natural to have isolated vertical supports (Fig. 3.17). Critics contrast 'classic rationalism' with 'structural rationalism'. The former included the use of the orders, the application of ornament, and the symmetrical plan. The latter favoured the Gothic model, and held that structural technique should play a major role in the determination of built form. Eugène Viollet-le-Duc (1814-79) was the most renowned exponent of this viewpoint. [8.38]
De Zurko sums up the position by declaring that the rationalist mind looks for order and logic in all things, including art; demands clarity and simplicity; and looks on familiar objects as carriers of ideas and ideals. Especially in the eighteenth century, it placed a special emphasis on principles, rules, and method. He associates it with an admiration for technical and physical perfection, and a tendency to identify this with beauty. [8.39]
The engineer's definition of function.
For engineers the ideal function ('ideal' in the philosophical sense) is a single, clearly defined purpose which exists independently of any object that might be designed for its fulfilment. The closest practical examples are provided by academic exercises in 'creative design'. Typical of these are the design of devices to lower a hen's egg safely to the ground from a third-floor window, and to use the power of a match-head to propel a ball-bearing as far as possible. Another is the design a structure to support a load acting in a specified direction, with constraints on the location of supports and the type and quantity of material. A criterion of cost may be introduced in terms of the number of components used, or the ratio of strength to weight.
In reality, design is a much more complex problem. Artefacts are expected to fulfil a number of purposes. Attempts to provide for one of these often impair provision for the others. Clients and designers find it difficult to be clear about their aims before they have some idea of what constitutes a reasonable expectation. When needs are finally formulated they are often expressed in terms of conventional solutions, and it is hard to say where definition of needs leaves off and choice of solutions takes over. It is difficult to estimate accurately the benefits to be expected from certain choices, and thus to decide what form is best suited to a given purpose. In structural engineering and architecture, performance cannot be tested by prototypes, and our methods of prediction have many deficiencies.
Thus it could be said that in engineering philosophy there are two concepts of function: the ideal and the pragmatic: one simple and the other complex. Engineers do not seem to be unduly concerned by this dichotomy. This may be because in engineering education it is conventional to present phenomena first in terms of an 'ideal' mathematical formulation. The empirically-based modifications which are required to bring it into line with reality are introduced only later, and often apologetically.
The relationship between form and function.
If the link between form and function is not strong then it becomes meaningless to speak of beauty resulting automatically when form is determined solely by function. It is apparent that the interdependence varies greatly from one situation to another, but is rarely absolute. At the forefront of technological development it sometimes appears that there is only one form capable of meeting a certain requirement, whether it be the launching of a space vehicle or the spanning of a wide stretch of water. However, this situation is usually temporary and to a great extent determined by economic considerations rather than mechanics and strength of materials.
When modern tent structures were initially developed, their forms were determined almost entirely on technical grounds, often by engineers. The development of improved materials and components, and of computer assisted form-finding and analysis, have made it much more possible for architects to 'play' with the forms of tents to achieve aesthetic effects. [8.40] Thus it is possible to support only the qualified claim that at a given stage in technological development there are always some objects whose form is determined to a very high degree by the need for mechanical and economic efficiency.
At the other end of the spectrum are common types of building such as factories and offices. Here, the only 'function' is to provide a weatherproof volume with appropriate mechanical and electrical services. There is little direct connection between what goes on inside them and their shape, and a large number of different economically competitive solutions are available.
In the middle of the range are buildings such as power stations and manufacturing plants. In these, the form of machinery, the nature of processes, and the requirements of servicing have a significant, but by no means controlling influence on built form. Volumes may still be basically rectangular, but their shape and massing may be affected. In this middle ground, the relationship between form and function is complex, owing to the fluidity of the definitions of function. What appears to happen is that, to the extent that forms and functions are related, they align and group themselves by a variety of processes.
The most obvious of these is the process of evolution. The traditional farm wagon and the cricket bat have been cited as examples of beautiful objects which have reached a stage of perfection through evolution, incorporating complex and elegantly balanced design features. [8.41] In architecture there is the example of vernacular dwellings which are adapted in a highly-developed manner to available materials and skills, and to local climatic conditions. In all these cases, however, it is apparent that, with the passage of time, there has been a gradual convergence between what these artefacts are able to offer, and what has come to be expected of them.
Forms and functions are also aligned by the process of grouping functions into categories which may feasibly be satisfied in terms of a given form using existing technology. In the case of halls for entertainment, easily distinguishable functions include the presentation of lectures, plays, opera, ballet, solo musical instruments, chamber music, and orchestral concerts. These may be further differentiated depending on the size of audience required to ensure an economic operation. The decision to group certain of these functions in the one hall is obviously subjective, and is taken by developers and operators in the light of experience and the commercial or political allocation of resources. There is normally extreme economic pressure to incorporate as many functions as possible, and a wide range of audience sizes, in the same hall. This has given rise to the multi-purpose hall in which the architect and acoustic engineer attempt to compromise between many conflicting requirements. [8.42]
Similar considerations apply to large stadiums where functions are generally grouped under the headings of 'open air' or 'indoor'. Until recently this has implied, where populations could support them, a separate stadium for each type of event. A currently popular solution for medium-sized municipalities is the multi-purpose stadium with retractable roof. [8.43]
A third, less common case of alignment occurs with what may be labelled "the form in search of a function". In this case development of the form is largely independent of functional considerations, perhaps because it is easy to fabricate, to describe mathematically, or to analyse for stress. Some concrete shells of revolution may be placed in this category, as may geodesic domes and the early lightweight structures. This process does not seem to correspond with the engineer's ideal of a spontaneous, creative search for solutions to a pre-defined problem, since the solution obviously pre-exists the problem. However, the difference is actually one of degree. In practice, the design process is often a matter of breaking down large problems into successively smaller sub-problems until for each of these a suitable standard response is found to be available. The total solution is an assemblage of all these sub-solutions. In the case of "forms in search of a function", the difference is that a single, large-scale solution is to be married to a suitable problem.
A factor which hastens the alignment of forms and functions is the practical need for designers to start with what Robin Boyd (1965) called a "guide vision". [8.44] Where many functional requirements must be satisfied simultaneously, designers usually start by trying to satisfy the one they consider most important, and then modifying their design to satisfy the others. Because time is limited, it is idealistic to imagine that design can really be a process of carefully and rationally considering all potentialities and constraints. Most designers look sideways at what their fellows are doing, and follow the trend. There is inertia in the design and construction industries due to the time required for gaining experience, learning and adapting, and a natural reluctance to take major risks. There is thus a lag in the rate at which forms follow functions, as both grow and change. These factors, combined with the problems of defining function, explain why the ideal of the "form-type" is so rarely approached.
A definition of a design problem, and therefore of a function, is usually based on many assumptions of a conventional nature, whose validity has not been questioned. Someone who proposes the bridging of a river may not have stopped to think that the underlying problem is simply to provide a means of crossing. They may not have considered the alternatives of providing a ferry or a tunnel. Even this second formulation implies that the river is to be crossed by foot or by wheeled vehicles. For specific purposes, such as the transport of liquids or of information, a pipeline or an electric cable might be more efficient. For general purposes, an alternative route, perhaps involving sea or air travel might be appropriate.
Hans Hollein's 1966 project for an extension to the University of Vienna showed a photograph of the old building with adjacent to it a television set, a cable, and a prominent plug. [8.45] Such extensions of the definition of the problem soon lead to the much broader considerations of social needs, economics, and politics, and the even wider aspects mentioned by authors like Scott, Collins, and de Zurko.
The Gothic cathedral is often cited as an example of a form closely determined by the characteristics of the available techniques and building materials. It is true that its form was greatly influenced by the low tensile strength of masonry, by developments in construction techniques, and by the availability of large timbers and suitable stone. However, more important than these was the fundamental desire for a special sort of building. The formulation of the 'problem' as presented to the Gothic builder was inspired by spiritual needs and civic pride. These led to certain requirements in plan-form, and to aspirations for great height, for maximum window area, and for an uncluttered interior. The latter necessitated the complex external structural skeleton which is characteristic of these buildings. Spiritual and social needs also determined the amount of investment available in terms of human effort and money, and thus defined the economic constraints within which the 'designers' were obliged to work. Similar broad considerations are involved in the specification of the form of most types of modern building, extending from office blocks to opera houses.
It can thus be seen that the connection between form and function is tenuous, depending largely on the manner in which function is defined. As Edward de Zurko comments,
"To a large extent the way in which a man presents his case for a functional architecture reflects his view of the world or even his outlook on the universe." [8.46]
The above analysis makes it easier to appreciate the common concern with 'expression' of function. It is often most important for practical reasons to let people know the functions for which a tool or a building is intended. Without such guidance they may feel lost and insecure. [8.47] However, in the case of built form, the expression of function is more difficult than with artefacts such as bicycles, whose components provide obvious and well-established clues as to their purpose.
Function and beauty: modified positions.
Some functionalists do recognize that form and formal aesthetic qualities are only loosely linked to function. However they seek to maintain that respect for function leads to a type of worth which is closely related. Both Viollet-le-Duc and Greenough saw beauty in the "potential for use" of an object. While admitting that locomotives might be considered ugly, Viollet also claimed that they could be admired for their "brutal energy". [8.48] Some commentators have noted that an impression of quality becomes associated with the forms of functionally successful objects, thus recognizing a sort of symbolism. Ted Happold (1986) notes that
"the quality the most successful products have … is a sense of quality in a unified whole. Then the effectiveness gives rise to an aesthetic. If a Japanese tape deck is by far the most advanced, efficient, and economic in the world, it will not be long before the look of that tape deck becomes the look for tape decks: the look that expresses efficiency. As the Mercedes car does. Or bridges can." [8.49]
It is significant that Happold cites a suspension bridge to substantiate his last statement.
Another proposition is that function is loosely linked to beauty in the sense that it underlies the form of things. This was P.L. Nervi's hypothesis. [8.50] As Happold has pointed out, the form of the Georgian terraces of Bath, admired by classicists, was largely inspired by practical considerations. The line follows a natural terrace in the landscape which had been formed by a moraine. The sizes and proportions of rooms were governed by the length of readily available timbers. The proportions and area of windows and the depth of rooms were affected by the need for natural lighting. Thus the basic form was inspired by something more than style and Vitruvian rules of proportion. The shape of rooms later changed when gas lighting was introduced. [8.51]
A loose link between function and form occurs when architects and artists derive inspiration from functional forms, produced without concern for the formalist fashions or 'language' of an era. This applies especially as new artefacts are developed following improvements in materials, fabrication, and analysis. Visual beauty and meaning are elusive, and designers who actively seek them are often disappointed. Unselfconscious technological design, unconstrained by formal preconceptions, thus offers a way of arriving at a new Gestalt and breaking free from current fashions in style and thinking. Geoffrey Scott sees these opportunities as accidental [8.52] but design theory and psychological research into creativity suggest that there is much more to it than that. Even if they are not purposely created, they must be sought, recognized, and exploited. Considerable imagination and determination are required.
As we have seen, the works of the Victorian engineers helped provoke new ways of looking at architecture. Architects in the twentieth century have acknowledged the inspiration of engineering, even though their actual work suggests that they have a special interpretation of it. There continue to be manifestations of interest in engineering structures, especially by practising architects, but the emphasis tends to be on structures with visually striking forms. [8.53]
It is almost universally accepted that there are movements and styles in art which undergo a cycle of birth, growth, and decay. [8.54] In the early stages artists and architects are preoccupied with exploring new avenues and developing their technique. As proficiency is achieved, new forms become established and acquire significance. Attention turns to style and meaning. These gradually become codified and a tension develops between those who value the established order, and those who seek novelty. The latter find some relief in mannerist displays of virtuosity, but gradually begin a new search for inspiration and a fresh set of ideals and practices. Many seek this in what they see as the naïve and unsophisticated work of technicians (and in the market place). Despite his conviction that the link is fortuitous, Geoffrey Scott recognizes that beauty may result from a concern with function in this transitional phase where technique is of vital importance. [8.55]
Some objections and counter-arguments.
There is much evidence to support the idea that visual beauty exists at some remove from mechanical perfection, even in the most efficiently designed utilitarian structures. Many designers have reported a feeling of gratification on finding that technical and economic reasoning justified the choice of the alternative they considered most appealing from a visual or intellectual point of view. During the design of Schlaich's cable-net cooling tower at Schmehausen, technical considerations seemed to require that the cable net be placed inside the sheeting, concealing its novelty, its structural purpose, and its visual interest. Wind tunnel tests later showed that behaviour in high wind was much improved with the net placed on the outside to create turbulence. This provided the designers with a welcome justification for the adoption of the more visually and intellectually attractive scheme. [8.56]
Stefan Medwadowski has declared himself in favour of "tickling" the mechanically-determined form of a structure to achieve visual beauty. Tsuboi (1980) reports that in the design of the roofs of the Tokyo Olympic Stadiums the architect Kenzo Tange found the natural curvature of the suspended roof uninteresting. He chose to have distinct upper and lower slopes with large radii of curvature in profile, joined by a short transition curve. This profile was achieved by incorporating stiffening girders which modify the natural membrane action of the roof. [8.57]
Ove Arup was renowned as an engineer with an enthusiasm for architecture and a great willingness to co-operate with architects. He was convinced that, although it is preferable to combine "sensible building" and "art", they are quite separate in nature (The Listener 7 July 1955). It is ironic that in the design of the Sydney Opera House he worked with an architect, Jørn Utzon, who believed strongly that architectural form should relate "honestly" to structure. [8.58]
Geoffrey Scott's classic defence of Renaissance architecture (1924) is still one of the most carefully thought out assaults on 'functionalist' positions. Because of the many different viewpoints which are grouped under this heading he was obliged to make assumptions as to their nature, and the formulations he attributes to functionalists, while generally valid, are not those of an engineer. He starts with the wider interpretations, and gradually reduces their scope, claiming to disprove the successively narrowing versions in turn.
One of his most important arguments is that if mechanical truth is beautiful, all machines should be beautiful, because all are designed according to rigorous principles. This has two weaknesses. Firstly, if all machines really were designed according to rigorous principles the argument would be circular, as Kestutis Zygas (1981) has pointed out. If mechanical truth is beautiful and all machines are designed truthfully, then all machines are beautiful and there is nothing more to be said on the matter. The only possible rejoinder is to argue that the proponent errs in finding mechanical truth beautiful. Scott does actually switch to a criterion of formal beauty at the end of his argument, simply stating that mechanical design does not produce forms satisfying his personal sense of formal beauty. [8.59] However, the more important weakness is that few machines (or buildings) are designed in accordance with rigorous principles. To reverently "obey" the universal "laws" of statics and dynamics (Nervi 1965b) is one thing. [8.60] To satisfy multiple and often mutually incompatible functional requirements with a single form is quite another. In addition, the designer must allow for: the probabilistic nature of loading and other events; our incomplete knowledge of materials and stress analysis; the practicalities of fabrication and assembly; the practical difficulties of training and organization in industry and design; our lack of experience with constantly-developing techniques; and the fact that considerations of cost and market forces are central to all design decisions.
Another argument against the 'pure' functionalist position is that there is something ultimately unsatisfying about the perfection of form of a missile or an aircraft propeller. Like the flight of an arrow, which is also rigidly determined by mechanical laws, the form is comprehended in a short space of time and after that there seems little more to be gained. The mental image is adequate without the object, and all that is needed is an occasional glance to maintain its accuracy. Much of its attraction must lie in the relief it affords from the ornate and the 'overdone'.
The prospect of living in a world of perfected 'form-types' is equally unappealing for most people. Opportunities for individual design would be reduced. (This is surely a major reason for the semi-retirement of the modern movement.) While certain key structures in the history of built form such as Torroja's grandstand at Zarzuela, or Nervi's Palazetto dello Sport (Fig. 1.3), are jewels of design, few would appreciate seeing them reproduced around the world on the grounds that they represented an ultimate in technical response to function. [8.61] Commentators with a degree of commitment to functionalism have therefore insisted on leaving some room for the individual designer. Nervi and Otto have both been careful to do this. [8.62]
For some commentators, the argument is resolved by the fact that a large proportion of built forms designed according to apparently functionalist principles do not appear at all beautiful. It is easy to counter this with the above assertion that few structures are designed with genuine rigor. However, even where shape is closely determined by technological considerations, the result is not always inspiring. The artist's enthusiasm for the aircraft propeller is easily shared. It is harder to appreciate the form of a ship propeller, even though both are designed using the principles of fluid dynamics. In the world of civil engineering, constraints are less severe, but examples such as the rocket testing facilities at Spadeadam (Fig. 8.2) [8.63] and the North Road railway overpass at Huntingdale, Victoria (Fig. 6.4) do little to advance the view that a conscientious concern for technical matters automatically results in visual beauty. The evidence of a cursory survey of photographs would seem to provide evidence that there is no necessary connection between functional design and beauty.
Fig. 8.2. A conscientious concern for function and cost does not guarantee formal beauty, though there may be visual interest and some intellectual appeal. Rocket Test Stand C3, Spadeadam, England. c.1959. (Engr: Ministry of Public Building and Works, UK.)
However, committed functionalists may still maintain that many engineering structures do not look good because they are not examples of good engineering. They argue that they should have been leaner, neater, and less messy, not only because they would then have conformed more closely to the dictates of function and economics, but because they would have been simpler to fabricate and easier to erect and maintain. [8.64] To further confuse matters, such statements are often made by designers who have an innate gift for formalistic visual design, but assert either that they give no consideration to it or do no more than make minor adjustments. [8.65]
A final complicating factor is the way in which the mind is able to discern visual 'order' in, and even impose it on, 'found' objects, random groupings, scenes from nature, and 'engineered' objects from machines to chemical plants. It does this by forming a Gestalt in which unity and harmony predominate and from which elements that cannot be integrated are excluded. Peter Smith (1979) gives an interesting example of how this might happen in a view of the old fishing town of Honfleur, as seen from the river. There is a loose rationale behind the arrangement of the apparently jumbled rooftops due to the presence of hidden streets running roughly parallel to the shore and following the contour of the slope behind. In other instances such as the chemical plant there is an underlying order which takes the observer more than halfway. However, the result of this intervention by the observer is always to blur the borderline between the 'beautiful' and the 'non-beautiful'.
Towards a theory of function and beauty.
Formulations.
If we wish to break out of circular arguments we must allow for the importance of the observer in aesthetics and for the differing definitions of functionalism and beauty implied in our propositions. These can be summarized as follows.
A. Formulations of an alleged link between function and beauty:
- Mechanical perfection is beautiful.
- Pleasurable formal effects may occur as a by-product of engineering design.
- Mechanical perfection leads directly to formal beauty.
- Morality (or parsimony; or elegance of effort etc.) is beautiful: while ostentation, extravagance, etc. are ugly.
B. Prescriptions for a philosophy of design:
- The importance of function and economy is paramount. Visual delight and other types of human response to built form are either entirely subjective, and therefore may be neglected, or are irrelevant to serious engineering design.
- Visual effects should be paramount in architecture, and function can be adequately catered for without disturbing the artistic concept. Utilitarian structures are of no great interest, as long as they do not intrude on the visual environment.
C. Mixtures of some or all of the above.
Much of the confusion over the issue is due to the fact that the final category is the most common. Engineers may have a concept of visual elegance in built form close to that of the formalist, but their reaction will be affected by virtuosity in design, as well as simile and more subtle types of association. People who think of themselves as functionalists often have little technical knowledge and recognize only formal beauty. Classicists may be unable to see the formal beauty of some utilitarian objects because of their preconceptions about the nature of art. With beauty conceived in such a complex fashion, it is certain that true functionalism, constrained by technical and economic considerations does not inevitably lead to beauty.
When this confusion is combined with that due to the loose definition of terms - the fuzziness of the link between function and form in building, and the loose definition of function - it is no wonder that debate on the subject has achieved little. If the aesthetic object is seen solely in formal terms then there is no necessary connection between function and beauty. Exceptions occur when, in a minority of cases one criterion predominates and enforces unity and elegance of line, and when the logic of planning or layout is reflected in external form. Although many engineers value visual beauty of form, they are unlikely to be satisfied by this alone. For them, the aesthetic object must be the design in its entirety (as the word is understood by engineers). It must include not merely the technical design, but also its integration with whatever architectural and social objectives are relevant.
Possibilities for research into the aesthetics of industrial structures.
It is tempting to try to test the functionalist principle by looking for examples of engineering design in which appearance has very obviously not been a consideration. The danger here is of falling for the familiar circular argument. We run the risk of applying preconceptions of formal beauty or conventional architectural styling. Cases which were satisfying for other reasons would be ignored. A more rigorous way to test the hypothesis would be to try to find parallel design situations in which the demands and constraints in terms of both technology and economics were similar. A case history would then show whether the designers had thought consciously of aesthetics, and whether they had worked with an architect. The aesthetic merit of the structure could then be assessed independently.
Suitable subjects for such an investigation are most likely to be found in the field of heavy industry. Unfortunately these are under-represented in the literature and the conventions of reportage in engineering periodicals do not encourage designers to provide detailed case histories of design. It would be necessary to exclude examples of 'industrial architecture', in which formal principles have been applied to industrial buildings, resulting in careful composition and smooth, clean lines (Fig. 8.3). Examples of 'High-Tech' (Fig. 4.5) and of the style Banham has christened 'slick-tech' would also have to be avoided (Fig. 5.12).
Fig. 8.3. Formal principles applied to the factory. Horizon Factory, John Player and Son, Nottingham, England. 1971. South elevation. (Archts and Engrs: Arup Associates.) [Photo: Arups?]
Fig. 8.4. Sculptural qualities of form exploited. Striations in concrete. Player's Factory, Nottingham. [Photo: Arups?]
The literature does contain some good publications such as Bernd and Hilla Becher's Anonyme Skulpturen (1970) and Reyner Banham's A concrete Atlantis (1986) which examine the products of unselfconscious design. It is rare however that any attempt is made to look beyond the immediate visual impression, to symbolism, language, association, and meaning, or to the aesthetics of structural action and of problem formulation and solution. An exception is provided by James Munce's Industrial architecture (1960) which includes an interesting passage on the symbolism of the exposed winding gear that was once a feature of the mining industry. [8.66]
A number of reasons can be suggested for this concentration on formal effects. Industry is not considered a suitable field for examination by art critics and it is only when an industrial photographer transforms the three-dimensional reality into a two-dimensional image free of smells, grime, and unpleasant associations with manual labour, that some formalists are able to recognize an aesthetic object (Fig. 2.3). [8.67] It is significant that beauty is acknowledged most often in the case of old, often abandoned industrial structures for which the associations with hardship and unpleasantness are tempered by the passage of time.
Further reasons are that many engineers are unconscious of the beauty inherent in the forms they produce, because they are not trained in 'seeing' (Chapter 3), or their 'visual appetite' is unawakened. They may have been encouraged to adopt the belief that beauty is to be found only in art and perhaps in nature. Alternatively, they may be aware of beauty in industry, but be unable to express their perceptions, having had no training in the terminology of art criticism. They may be uninterested in publishing their views, or unaware of the avenues for publication of such material.
These impediments are greatly to be regretted, because it is in the area of industrial built form that it most often happens that a technologist develops new forms completely unselfconsciously, trying to meet demanding criteria with innovative techniques, and in accordance with engineering principles.
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