REVIEW ARTICLE

Scruton, Roger, The Classical Vernacular. Architectural Principles in an Age of Nihilism (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1994; previously at Exeter, Great Britain: Short Run Press), xviii + 158 pp., 16 pp. plates.

De gustibus non est disputandum.

With the waning of the modernist vision of an ultimate, universal culture, deter- mined by inevitable progress into the future, should we return to the past, particularly the western classical tradition, to unify our rapidly fragmenting culture? Roger Scruton approaches this central question from several aspects in this collection of essays. The prolific author is widely known, especially in Britain, where he has become familiar as a media personality, and on the continent, where he contributes regularly to journals, as well as in the United States, where recently he has taught. ~ Professor Scruton's subjects have included history of philosophy, political theory, and aesthetics; he is a novelist as well. As might be expected from such a man of parts, diversity character- izes this collection of fifteen articles, written over a twenty-two-year period, between 1972 and 1994. The title, "The Classical Vernacular," refers not literally to language, but more broadly to material culture, and particularly to the built environment. The title, by conveying the author's interest, likewise may imply his well-known conserva- tive position. 2 In the "culture war," as it is called these days in the United States, Scruton is on the side of the canon.

The Classical Vernacular is largely a plea for continuing the classical tradition in architecture; otherwise it is largely a condemnation of the modernist heresy. The title's reference to "vernacular" may suggest that Scruton's stance is not so much that of the connoisseur, searching for rare examples of excellence, as that of the anthropologist, surveying more typical public practice. This is no dispassionately objective study, however. Indeed, its subtitle, "Architectural Principles in an Age of Nihilism," may be paraphrased, "Dearth of Principles in our Age, after Classicism." Prospective readers, as well as classifying librarians, may regard the genus of this compilation primarily as "criticism." The species of individual articles varies, from art history ("Alberti and the

1.

2.

Professor Scruton taught at Boston University. He is editor of the Salisbury Review, and a frequent contributor to international journals. Roger Scruton is author of The Meaning of Conservatism (Totowa, NJ: Barnes & Noble Books, 1980) and of Conservative Thinkers and of Conservative Thoughts, both subtitled Essays from the Salisbury Review (both London: Claridge Press, 1988, and the latter also Lexington, GA: Claridge Press, 1988). Scruton also is editor of Conservative Texts (Hampshire: Macmillan, 1991, and New York: St. Martin's Press, 1991) among other volumes of collected essays. His most recent work is Modern Philosophy: An Introduction (New York: Penguin, 1994), with sections on aesthetics in chapter 29, "Subjective spirit," pp. 438-457, and remarks on the aesthetic experience of architecture, p. 448 f. His other works are too numerous to mention here.

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Art of the Appropriate"), in contrast to architectural history ("Curtis Green at Chiswick"), and to intellectual history ("Buckminster Fuller"). It extends to criticisms of criticism ("Adrian Stokes," "David Watkin's Morality and Architecture," and "Manfredo Tafuri's Marxism"). Most of the essays, however, are critiques of the built environ- ment. The implied thesis of the collected papers is that conformity to the classical tradition, by means of continual refinement of familiar precedents, yielded a high standard, not only of elite architecture, but of more prosaic, vernacular building; clas- sical practice moreover yielded amenable urban environments, but the author con- tends that disruption of the classical tradition has resulted in inferior buildings and environments. Pervading these papers, to varying degrees, is a conservative ideology. Scruton is antagonistic to modernism as a cultural movement, and hostile to the notion of the Zeigeist that served to legitimize it.

As a critic, Scruton is perceptive and persuasive. One ought not to look to this book for new scholarship, however. Because many of the articles were prepared for journals, perhaps, their tone is journalistic--sometimes recalling our popular rather than scholarly journals. Roger Scruton is eloquent; his style is rhetorical. He is, in a word, "opinionated." Lest prospective readers be wary, they should know that Scruton has become a public figure on British radio and television largely because of his sometimes annoying, often controversial, but always stimulating opinions. Recogniz- ing this, and viewing the large bibliography of his writing, one may regard Scruton's contribution to be not merely to scholarship, but to public education. Educators may find that the volume, or particular articles in it, despite (or more likely because of) often trenchant critiques, will serve effectively for seminar discussion. Scruton further contributes by enhancing recognition of some relatively unfamiliar architects, by re- calling important theoretical works by fairly recent authors, and by providing continu- ity of discourse across the modern /pos t -modem divide.

Although versatile, Roger Scruton is primarily an aesthetician. 3 Oddly, mention in this volume of Scruton's previous works omits the one that well may be his most important, at least to the architectural theorist: The Aesthetics of Architecture, which this reviewer on its publication characterized as "magisterial. "4 Those who have appreci- ated Scruton's genuine contribution to architectural theory may be disappointed with this collection of essays, which largely replicate the more contentious aspects of that earlier work, without adding appreciably to its theoretical substance. Nevertheless, readers are rewarded by some keen perceptions. To paraphrase, Scruton observes that we do not fit clothes to ourselves so much as we fit ourselves to our clothes (46). He offers a brilliant, poetic insight, that architecture "resists the forces of light." The verti- cal thrust of human building is not merely anti-gravitational; it confronts precipitation of the elements. It challenges the sun, hence shade and shadow reward its tr iumph (58).

Roger Scruton is not so much the popularizer as were his late compatriots, Alistair Cook and Kenneth Clark; he is less blandly conventional, with more gritty indepen- dence of judgment, recalling American critics like the iconoclastic H. L. Mencken, the conservative William Buckley, or even the radical Charles Jencks. Roger Scruton seems

3. 4.

Roger Scruton until 1992 was Professor of Aesthetics at Birkbeck College London. Roger Scruton, The Aesthetics of Architecture (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979.) The publisher has listed in this volume only two others, likewise appearing under the same imprint.

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characteristically British, however--an heir not only of the elite, eighteenth-century Dilettanti but of popularizing nineteenth-century propagandists such as Ruskin and Morris. Indeed, there is a moralistic fervor to his evangelism, and occasionally Scruton strikes one as a new Pugin, arguing the opposite side: favoring classicism rather than denigrating it. Unlike those ardent idealists of the last century, however, Scruton pep- pers his opinions with articulate British wit, irony, and sarcasm.

Even for those who subscribe to classicism, Scruton's partisanship may seem to obscure objectivity. Although (in the English style) Scruton's tone may seem impecca- bly reasonable, one comes to suspect that it is not cool reason but intense preference that dominates. Reason as the tool of preference may become sophistry or propa- ganda. The journalistic intention of some essays, presented originally via mass media, draws Scruton onto a thin wire between scholarly objectivity and partisan bias. Of course, the more public voice that is heard conveying Scruton's sentiments is that of Charles, Prince of Wales. The Great Hope of current British classicism in architecture sounds like a good student of Scruton and other English critics of modernism, s In turn, Scruton looks to the brighter day when the "appalling" and "vile" buildings commis- sioned by "irresponsible trendies" will be supplanted by Classical-revival works with royal imprimatur, "when Prince Charles ascends the throne" (72-73).

As an aesthetician, the author's concern is properly with the general reception of art, analyzing qualities that amplify favorable public reaction. When aesthetic theory is applied to particular instances, that theory properly informs criticism. When an aes- thetic theory, derived from reception of art, becomes restrictive of practice, however, purporting to legitimize a canon of normative models, and even to prescribe a mode of education, one may question the limits of aesthetics. Aesthetics is not a branch of psychology; aestheticians, as such, are not students of the artistic process. Aesthetics, like history, is inductive. Scruton, when he ventures from theory of aesthetics to theory of architecture, and even goes on to prescribe art and architectural education, is tenu- ously beyond his m6tier.

"Vernacular architecture" is an oxymoron, in effect referring to "architecture without architects." To separate the terms, Scruton seems more comfortable, and he may be more competent, criticizing buildings that are "vernacular" rather than ad- dressing "architecture'--specifically those "principles" of architecture that he pro- poses to address (unless one reads his subtitle, "Architectural Principles in an Age of Nihilism," as the sarcasm the author probably intended). "Principles of nihilism" may be an intentional oxymoron. But what alternative "principles" does the author advo- cate? He is neither an architect nor is he primarily an architectural historian or archi- tectural theorist. As an aesthetician, Scruton is concerned with "the priority of appear- ance" (77). This is not the first concern of architects, who do not subscribe to his notion that "aesthetic considerat ions. . , must take precedence over all other factors--over function, structure, durability, even over economics" (xvii).

Scruton's list of architectural "considerations" and "factors" suggests a funda- mental inadequacy for an architectural critic or theorist (xvii). Disregarding his several utilitarian aspects of architecture, he is left with "aesthetic considerations." What are

5. Scruton discusses British critical camps of the right and left in his review article, "David Watkin's Morality and Architecture" (123--130). Stephen Falatko has surveyed the classical tradition in architectural education in "Classical Education," Architecture 83 no. 11, Novem- ber 1994, 117-123.

446 International Journal of the Classical Tradition /Winter 1996

these? Regarding "the 'essence' of design," Scruton clearly states that "we are n o t

talking of something lying behind appearances, but of the appearances themselves" (41). In popular parlance, "what you see is what you get." Hence, his task as theorist and critic becomes merely "to look at the world aesthetically, so as to find meaning in appearance itself, is simultaneously to judge the value of what we see" (xvii).

One might protest that this reduction of "value" to "appearance" may lead to the "I know what I like," and "I know it when I see it" school of criticism. Be that as it may, the objection here is not to Scruton's critical premise regardless, he has a good eye and is able to share his appreciation with a general audience. This may suffice for a critic. A theorist, however, ought not to be satisfied with the view that "the human world is a system of appearances, where what is essential is the flowering of the s u r f a c e . . . " (41--42). That may be so for the author. Many an observer, looking at a building or at any work of art, may understand no more than what he sees superfi- cially. The critic ought to seek more than appearance, however; the theorist must understand more, if he or she is to address what properly is "architecture." "Archi- tects" (if the term may be restricted to those who practice the art, not merely the craft, of architecture) do not design solely for appearance.

This is not to reintroduce the practical aspects of building, but to address more fully those other "aesthetic considerations" of architecture to which the author alludes (xvii). Scruton is right to value the aspect of environmental quality, which is to view the built environment through the eyes of the user. It is the "nothing more than" fallacy of reductionism, however, to propose that architecture entails nothing more than pleasing the public by presenting attractive street facades. This mission becomes scenographic, ultimately--the crafting of the sort of effective stage settings that Scruton admires, such as Quinlan Terry's Richmond Riverside, replete with "flagged and cobbled spaces . . . . Tuscan columns which announce the entrance to the car park (and) cast- iron litterbins with molded rims and classical lettering" (67-71). Scruton is not satiriz- ing the sort of public theater that astute real estate developers likewise have made highly profitable in the United States. His appreciation is genuine, and why should it not be, if "appearance" is all, and the man in the public street becomes the ultimate critic? The public loves this sort of historical fantasy and favorable public response ought not to devalue effective theater. But theater is not architecture. The British architect Quinlan Terry has fine taste and is very good at what he does. In other hands, however, the making of crowd-pleasing environments, even by other capable architects such as the American Michael Graves, may become Disnoid.

Scruton's exclusive concern for appearance renders him a stylist. He happens to prefer the classical style, as do many of us, but according to the classical dictum mentioned above, personal taste is not debatable. More to the point, Scruton seems stuck in history, mired in the nineteenth-century battle of the styles, as if choice of style were the issue. He develops at length the analogy of built habitation to human attire (44-50). The implication seems to be that one may change environment as readily, and arbitrarily, as one may change a costume.

This attitude, "superficial" in the sense that it views surface as self-sufficient, leads Scruton to questionable interpretations of historical identities. He is content to classify Mies van der Rohe with other detested modernists, in opposition to a dissent- ing minority of classical revivalists (xi, 8). To the contrary, Mies was an ardent and rigorous classicist. This points to the underlying problem, that Scruton does not s e e

beneath the surface, the "appearance" of things. As a stylist, he sees only styles.

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As case in point, Mies van der Rohe, the modern architect, did not employ the particular architectural vocabulary of Graeco-Roman antiquity, but he spoke the clas- sical language. His strong impulse towards formal order was integral to the classical tradition; he merely explored new materials, steel and glass, as media of formal ex- pression.

"Form," what is beyond appearance, is the genuine if invisible gestalt of architec- ture. "Form" is what the superficial observer may not see, whereas "appearance" may be all that one sees. It is form that concerns the architect who is more than a couturier-- form, as the principle of organization. Form is beyond style, as the form of the human body underlies costume. One might readily change the costume of the Miesian build- ing, transforming it plausibly into one by Schinkel, simply by translating the vocabu- lary. Scruton's limited concern for style, as "appearance," has precluded appreciation of more fundamental architectural matters. Just as he has seemed insensitive to the more important qualities of Miesian buildings, so he may be unable to appreciate those of a metaphysical architect such as the American Louis Kahn, despite common recognition that he was historically attuned, grounded in an understanding of archi- tectural tradition. Because Kahn, like Mies, did not employ the particular trappings of period environments, as did Terry, Scruton would disregard him along with all other modernists.

There is a certain chauvinism to the Scruton polemic. As a partisan might pro- pose, because use of the English language should suffice to produce literature, that all other languages ought to be abandoned, so Scruton argues that the language of classi- cal architecture should suffice to create amenable human environments--seemingly all that this theorist requires--hence other languages become inappropriate. Surely splen- did surroundings can result from following classical precedent, and because of historic association some of us may prefer them, but if sufficient, the classical style may not be necessary. It may be desirable to some, but Scruton does not seem content to have his personal preference; he wishes to impose it on others (or have the Crown do so). To argue, not that classical style, but that classical form is necessary would be quite an- other argument--one that Scruton does not provide.

Despite his reference to "principles," Scruton does not recognize the autonomy of architecture, which is to say, its intrinsic and self-sufficient principles. Instead, he applies a utilitarian criterion: buildings are valuable, even reasonable, only to the extent that they are pleasing and useful. Serious architects do not regard the art of architecture as such a utilitarian craft. Rather, they see beyond surface appearance, to grasp the underlying form, the three-dimensional organization, of a building. It is form that has value. Surface appearance is consequential--or may even be relatively incon- sequential. Hagia Sophia, one of the great achievements of world building, has virtu- ally no "appearance" from without. Its "style" is irrelevant. It is architects' architec- ture, however, generated by its internal and intrinsic form.

Scruton's limitations may inhibit even his appreciation of classical architecture, which surely entailed more than mere "appearance." The employment of similar vo- cabulary by Greek and Roman architects belies the more profound difference formally between their architectures, which were virtually antithetical. Those who categorize them together merely by reason of superficial style miss what was far more important about each, just as they must if they view Renaissance and Baroque architecture as the same, merely because they employed some similar surface elements.

It is simplistic to suppose that the Orders comprise the language of classicism.

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Must a building have columns to be classical? Moldings? If we may eliminate these or other particular features, when does the building cease to be classical? At what point do we draw the line, say between nineteenth-century classicists such as Ledoux or Boul6c or Soane and Gilly--and twentieth-century classicists, such as Lutyens, Mies or Rossi? Do historical components make a building good, even when they are mis- used? Can PaUadio be forgiven his vulgarity in employing the temple portico, pur- loined from the house of a god, for ostentatious display on country villas for affluent citizens? At some point, questions of vocabulary, or style, of appearances, become trivial and even extraneous to basic principles of architecture.

Unless it be ignorance, can it be other than chauvinistic to regard the classical tradition as singularly valid, while disregarding any constructive contribution to ar- chitectural theory and practice made during the last century? Can any contemporary architectural theorist utterly disregard the formal developments during recent archi- tectural history? Like it or not, there has evolved a twentieth-century aesthetic which has its own legitimacy. It presented itself as antithesis to the classical tradition. With disillusionment in the modernist project, the responsibility of architects now is not to align themselves in a new Battle of the Styles, as Scruton apparently would have it, but to integrate what we have learned from recent experience into a longer view of his- tory, entailing a synthesis with the classical tradition.

We might better bear with equanimity Scruton's stylistic preferences, as we might the presumed sarcasm of his subtitle, if he did expand into an essay his notion of "Architectural Principles in an Age of Nihilism," and even venture to discuss in an- other paper "Aesthetic Education and Design." Needless to say, architectural theorists and professional educators may be expected to bristle. The article on pedagogy con- cludes, in Scruton's characteristically flippant manner, "an (architectural) education requires mental effort, and spiritual humility. And whatever things are taught in schools of architecture, those two qualities are not among them." A mature philosopher ought to be more cautiously precise, or perhaps evidence more of that very "mental effort, and spiritual humility." What does the aesthetician really know about the mental effort and spiritual humility of architectural students and their faculties? Although the author's credentials as an architectural educator may be suspect, we suppose that Prince Charles, patron of a new architectural school largely devoted to classical stud- ies, has been informed by Scruton's agenda. 6

To architectural theorists and educators, Scruton's dictums seem silly--that ar- chitects' "first concern must be the viewpoint of the man in the street" and that the "first principles of composition concern the ordering of faqades" (81). Needless to say, these recommendations must be insubstantial as foundation for architecture and archi- tectural education.

Many of us who share Roger Scruton's high regard for the classical tradition may be disappointed that his recommended continuance of historical classicism in architec- ture seems less informed by its intrinsic qualities than by distaste for contemporary alternatives. Scruton detests modern architecture and modern cities. Although it is to his credit that he was in the critical vanguard as one of the first to reject modernism in architecture, today (at least among theorist and critics) many of these essays seem to beat a dead horse.

In the United States, a revival a classical architecture is happening in many

6. The Prince of Wales Institute of Architecture is located at London.

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architectural circles, including some schools. 7 Twenty years ago, the Museum of Mod- e m Art presented in New York City the influential exhibition, "The Architecture of the l~cole des Beaux Arts. "8 About that time, the late Professor James W. Fitzgibbon re- vived a classical studio at the School of Architecture, Washington University, St. Louis. He offered not "Post-Modem" eclecticism, but rather thorough instruction in classical practice, even to presentation of drawings by means of graded ink washes. In 1986, Professor J. Francois Gabriel introduced a similar course at Syracuse University. Pro- fessor Jaquelin Robertson likewise in the mid-eighties revived interest in classicism at the University of Virginia. At Notre Dame University, in 1989 Professor Thomas Gor- don Smith initiated the well known classical orientation of its professional architecture curriculum. Faculty of the University of Miami at Coral Gables have become promi- nent for teaching of the architectural tradition. At the New York Academy of Art, in 1991 Donald Rattner and others created the Institute for the Study of Classical Archi- tecture, which conducts an academic program and publishes a journal, The Classicist. Organizations and affiliations, like Classical America and the Classical Architecture League, have sustained and nurtured interest in architectural classicism. 9 Doubtless other programs in the United States and elsewhere, such as the Prince of Wales Insti- tute at London, likewise represent this renaissance in the design, as well as study, of classical buildings. ~~ Recently executed architectural works in the classical tradition appear in national and international publications, together with newly appreciative studies of nineteenth and early twentieth-century architects whose classicism was un- fashionable during a half-century modernist interlude.

Why has "the right" recently emerged strongly in architecture, as in many other aspects of contemporary culture? A perceptive critic, commenting on the general Post- Modernist malaise, observed that "without roots, disembodied 'values' become mere preferences and eventually dissolve into the ether. "11 He might have been talking about the decline of Modem architecture. Many architects and architectural thinkers today, finding that "disembodied 'values' (have) become mere preferences" and hence are irrelevant, seek more enduring values. Classicism has survived for two millennia. Western civilization is rooted in the Graeco-Roman tradition.

Architecture is inherently a cultural pursuit. When a culture loses its sense of identity, it returns to its roots, rather than risking "evaporation into the ether." Sus- taining a cultural tradition is central to a cultural mission. A generation of architects and teachers, however, was educated during a period when history, if its s tudy was required, generally was regarded as irrelevant to architectural practice. We may be

7. See Falatko, "Classical Education," note 5 above. 8. The exhibition, comprised of magnificent architectural drawings prepared for international

competitions, most of them huge and multicolored, opened on 29 October, 1975 and closed on 4 January, 1976.

9. For Donald Rattner's Institute for the Study of Classical Architecture, see the notice in International Journal of the Classical Tradition (IJCT) 2 (1995/96) 312-313. Classical America was founded in 1968 by the well-known advocate of Neoclassical architecture, Henry Hope Reed, together with architect Alvin Holm. The Classical Architecture League, Inc. is based in Washington, DC. Both organizations have sponsored conferences devoted to the classical tradition in architecture and urban design.

10. The Prince of Wales' advocacy of classical architecture has been mentioned (footnote 6). 11. Harvey Cox, "The Warring Visions of the Religious Right," Atlantic Monthly 276 no. 5,

November 1995, 59--69.

450 International Journal of the Classical Tradition / Winter 1996

encouraged that many young people today seek cultural roots, and that some of them join faculties of architecture, and so maintain our architectural tradition.

It must be sanguine, however, to anticipate a sudden resurgence of classicism. Clearly, many entrenched faculty have a considerable investment in the modernist orthodoxy, and "old dogs," as the saying goes, are not inclined to "learn new tricks." More profoundly, classicism is not easy.

The classical heritage creates issues that are too deep and too contentious to be faced with equanimity . . . . We are afraid of it, afraid to face any longer in a modem democratic society [its] severe discipl ine. . . 12

What did Waiter Lippman mean? A more conventional modernist would have viewed classicism as a lazy reiteration of unquestioned precedent--in contrast to the courage of the avant garde in addressing new problems. Lippman wisely observed that the converse is true: it is the romantic individualism, relativism, pluralism, multi- culturalism, or what have you, of the modernist and post-modernist stance that is less rigorous. The classical view is the more critically demanding, for it maintains less malleable standards of judgment.

In architecture, Neoclassicism was regarded by modernists as mere imitation of approved models, without theoretical agenda or critical relevance. What the Post- Modernists began to sense, of course, was that plurahsm of theory (a New Architec- ture every day) had amounted to semiotic insignificance, hence cultural irrelevance. Ultimately, as we professional critics began to suspect, modernism became either arbi- trary, if formally rigorous, or undisciplined, if personally "expressive."

Classicism may seem less "creative" to neophytes than was the innovative form- giving of heroic modem architects. But how was one to judge simultaneous architec- tures evidencing such divergence? Merely by the journalistic standard of novelty, or of purported "sincerity," or the sort of improvisational "theory" ascribed by modernist critics to rationalize one-off inventions? As a philosopher, Roger Scruton was one of the first to observe that the Emperor wore no clothes.

Classicism is not "easier," as a sort of kit-of-parts exercise. Classicism is more demanding because it entails rules. Rules may be unattractive to the young, or to the romantic, who are forever young at heart, but rules become more attractive, even necessary, as we come to value order, and respect discipline. Rules are the basis of criticism, and criticism is the basis of appreciation. A world totally liberated from rules is a world not only incomprehensible, but one that is without aesthetic value.

It is true that rules may be arbitrary. The tempered musical scale, which provides the basis for western harmony, is unnatural--no more than an arbitrary convention. The profound art of western music, however, is based upon this convention. Without rules, there is no game.

In architecture, as in music, conventional rules do not constrain, but liberate. Rules are the grammar of language, without which expression (or at least communica- tion) is impaired. Modem architecture tried to dispense with rules, or at least with old rules. It failed to find new values as rewarding as classical qualities, such as scale and proportion. It failed to motivate designers with models--not so much forms to be

12. Walter Lippman, "Education vs. Western Civilization," in: The Essential Lippman, ed. C. Rossiter and J. Lare (New York: Random House, 1963), p. 421.

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replicated as goals of performance. The ideal of excellence waned as values became less universally shared, but in-

creasingly became more relative and personal. Ultimately, it seemed to become the intention of the seriously aspiring architect to invent a "theory" of one's own, to legitimize highly personal work, of interest otherwise largely for its novelty. If one were less intellectually inclined, one might (like the architects I. M. Pei or Philip Johnson) simply "do one's own thing" (in the parlance of the 'sixties) without pretense of validating one's practice by any theory.

With erosion of shared criteria, genuine criticism waned. What passed in the journals for criticism tended towards the literarymmore a writer's exercise in creative conceptualization than a critic's exercise in appreciation of the work itself. Naturally, this critical tendency pervaded the academy, until we professors found ourselves en- couraging students to give us a verbal critique in lieu of a work of architecture.

One of the gratifying aspects of working in the classical language of architecture is the relative relief from theoretical rationalization. The student may focus on the work itself. From a pedagogic aspect, especially during the early years, this clarity of focus is advantageous. It allows the instructor to address tangible, architectonic quali- ties, rather than the student's vague intentions.

It would misrepresent the modernist position to suggest that it did not concern itself with codifying a formal vocabulary and grammar. An inherent problem with general acceptance of a common, modernist language derived from the basic premise of modernism: progress through revolutionary change. A corollary to this was the notion of formal innovation as an implicit goal of design. A studio master might encourage invention, but how could one simultaneously teach an architectural lan- guage? Signs require reiteration to provide recognition. Continual innovat ion-- progress--by dispensing with precedent, abandons language, hence ultimately aban- dons meaning. Not content merely to encourage creative invention, many studio mas- ters abstracted from modernist practice a lexicon of formal qualities (even if not called "rules") so as to have something to teach. What Roger Scruton has missed, either because of his partisan bias or because he has been remote from architectural thought, is the genuine achievement of architecture during the past century.

Clearly, we cannot erase a century of our cultural experience. What we can do, however, is to reassess the modernist orthodoxy, recognizing that what modernism wanted to discard had irreplaceable value, because it represented our cultural identity.

Anyone involved in the intellectual ferment today, at least in the United States, must confront the issue of the "culture war." If one proposes to promote cultural values, one immediately hears the familiar question: "whose culture?" Those on the right may answer with impunity, "ours-- love it or leave it." Those on the left have more reluctance, endeavoring to be more accommodating to divergent minorities. We educators, who by profession are required to confront the question, cannot vacillate. If quality is basic to culture, and if criticism, as assessment of quality, is a basic cultural activity, then excellence, as a measure of relative quality, is necessary. The quality of excellence is not apportioned equally; to define one thing as superior is to define another as inferior. The notion of "inferiority" has become appalling to many on the left today, as has the related notion of "elite." But architecture has always, for millen- nia, been elitist. Vernacular building, as previously distinguished, has been an aspect of popular culture, but architecture, in contrast, has pursued excellence, and has been an aspect of elite culture.

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Architects have little rapport with, or influence upon, p o p d a r culture. This was one of the major fallacies of modernism: the notion of the Zeitgeist. It proposed that artists would intuit the appropriate language of their time. Inherent in modernism was the prospect of the Zeitgeist yielding a new, universal language. But "whose lan- guage?" Clearly, the white villas of highbrow modernists had little to say to the popu- lar culture. Le Corbusier was as elite culturally as Palladio.

Bereft of theoretical underpinnings, shunned by Volk, who were supposed to recognize the Zeitgeist, the Modern Movement wanes. We may be blessed fortuitously with an opportunity to get back to architecture, in the sense of form for form's sake. That may be elitist, but is a value that endures. We don't emulate the past because it was better than the present or the future; we keep the past alive because the past is what we are, and all that we are. Without the past, it is we who "evaporate into the ether."

By not recognizing the reemergence of classical practice, as well as in his vocifer- ous contentions regarding Modern architecture, Roger Scruton's collection of essays is dated. Attacks on modernism may seem less relevant today, when the movement is no longer vital, than when penned. Likewise, criticisms of other critics such as Tafuri, whose rationales already have been undermined by history, seem today more poi- gnant than pointed. If some of these topics may be of small interest to those primarily concerned with the classical tradition, prospective readers should be encouraged that, in the main, these essays indeed are about perpetuation of "The Classical Vernacular." If Scruton's work occasionally seems excessively polemical, it has virtue and utility precisely as a polemic. The author is one of the most vocal and effective advocates of classicism today, and should be heard. He clearly believes, as many of us do, that continuity of our culture is critical today, when we recognize the consequences of the modernist project: environmental anonymity and personal anomie. Roger Scruton shares our conviction that, by affirming our cultural origins, the classical tradition yields collective identity

Paul Malo, Professor Emeritus of Architecture Syracuse University, Syracuse, New York