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The Dimensions of Disagreement

Author(s): Rudolf ArnheimSource: The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Vol. 38, No. 1 (Autumn, 1979), pp. 15-20Published by: Wiley on behalf of The American Society for AestheticsStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/430040 .

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RUDOLF ARNHEIM

h e imensions

o isagreement

IN THE

PRACTICAL

WORLD,

architecture

is

properly

treated

as

a

means to various

ends.

Buildings

serve

as tools

or

instruments for

personal and social activities. The build-

ing's

functions are

defined,

and

therefore

its

practical

value

can

be determined

by

objec-

tive

tests.

In this

sense,

we treat

a

building

like

any

other

tool,

for

example,

an

engine.

When

an

engine

is

designed

to

move

a car

of

a certain

weight

safely

at

a

certain

speed,

tests

will

show

how

well

it

fulfills

its

func-

tion.

Nobody

would confuse such

an

in-

vestigation

with

the different

question

of

whether

this

particular

engine

will

please

a particular consumer or whether it is ca-

pable

of

serving

a

purpose

other than

the

one

for which it

is

intended. Given

a

par-

ticular

purpose

and

a

particular

tool,

one

can

objectively

inquire

how

well

they

suit

each

other.

The same is

true

for

architecture,

as

long

as

its

physical

functions are

under debate.

One can

objectively

determine

whether

the

elevators

of

an

office

building

are

large

and

fast

enough

for

their

purpose

or

whether

a

basement is watertight. But when it comes

to

the mental

needs of

a

client-and

all

needs

are mental in

the last

analysis-serious

doubts arise as

to

whether the

serviceability

of

architecture

can

be

determined

objec-

tively.

For

example,

in

regard

to the aes-

thetic

value

of

a

building

many

critics and

theorists

hesitate

to

admit

that

its

goodness

or

badness

as a

work

of art

pertains

to it as

an

objective

property,

quite

regardless

of

whether or

not

particular

consumers

recog-

nize

and

accept

it.

RUDOLF

ARNHEIM is

emeritus

professor

of

the

psy-

chology

of

art,

Harvard

University.

We are

told,

for

example,

that whether

or

not

Walter

Gropius's

Bauhaus

buildings

are

good

architecture

is

a

question

that can-

not be answered because the value of a

work

depends

entirely

on

who is

evaluating

it.

One reminds us

that

in

the

history

of

the

arts

what was

admired

at

one

time

was

despised

a

century

later or

earlier.

In

such

arguments,

the

question

of

how

well a

work

fulfills a

given

purpose

is

confused with

the

different

question

of

how well

a work that

is

fitted to one

purpose

will fit

another.

There are

good

reasons

why

such

con-

fusions

occur when

the

psychological

effects

of architecture are evaluated. The judgment

of

mental

phenomena

is

affected

by

the

full

complexity

of

the

mind,

and

therefore

the

objective

nature

and

efficiency

of

the tools

and

instruments

that

cause

such

phenomena

are

much

more

difficult to

determine

than

purely

physical

effects.

Nevertheless,

a

thing

may

be

evasive,

hard to

catch,

impossible

to

measure,

and

yet

exist

as

a

fact

of conscious-

ness

in

good

standing.

In order to decide how

well

a

tool fulfills

its function, one must know the tool's na-

ture

and

character

and

the

way

it

works.

Therefore I shall ask first

how

such

knowl-

edge

can be

reliably

obtained. The

answer

is not

obvious

because what

we

need

to

know for our

purpose

is not

the

physical

nature

of

a

building

but its

objective qual-

ities as a

percept.

One

can

inventory

with-

out

much

trouble the sizes and

proportions

of

the

building,

its colors

and

materials, etc.,

but

from

these

physical

conditions

one

can-

not

simply

infer

how the

building

functions

psychologically,

that is, how it affects the

perceiver.

For

this

latter

purpose

one

needs







ARN

HEIM

categories by

which

to

describe

a

building's

perceptual

character.

Where

do

we

get

those

categories?

In

a

recent

book,

The

Modern

Language

of Architecture, Bruno Zevi deplored the

lack of

any

attempt

to

define the characteris-

tics of modern architecture

with sufficient

generality.1

What

John

Summerson

in

his

1963 radio lectures

had

done for

the classi-

cal

language

of

architecture

needed

to

be

done

for its

modern

counterpart.2

Zevi

pro-

ceeded

to formulate the invariants

of

modern architecture

by

the

simple

device

of

turning

some of the

properties

of

classicism

into their

opposites.

Actually

no

such

list

of

properties

is offered

in Summerson's

lec-

tures.

He

maintains

that

a

building

can

be

called

classical

only

if it

displays

the

trap-

pings

of classical

architecture,

meaning

es-

sentially

the five traditional

orders. But

at

the

end

of his

survey

he also states that

in

a most

general

sense

the rational

proce-

dure

controlling

and

inciting

invention is

a

legacy

of

classicism

to

the

architecture

of

our own

time.

Similarly,

Zevi wishes

his

own

principles

to

be understood

as

a rein-

terpretation

of

architecture

in

general,

past

as well as

present.

Zevi's

criteria

are

given

more

system-

atically

than are Summerson's

descriptions,

from

which

they

are extracted.

Zevi

presents

his

readers

with

a set

of

neat

propositions.

For

example,

since

symmetry

dominated

the

classical

approach,

he decrees

that

symmetry

must be avoided

in

the

anti-classical code.

Or

whereas

in

a

classical

building

all func-

tions are

integrated

in

a

compact

cube,

anticlassical

buildings

should

be decom-

posed into several independent units.

I

am

not

asking

here

whether

Zevi's

pro-

gram,

obtained

by

the

simple

negation

of

a

traditional

approach,

offers an

acceptable

description

of modern

architecture

and

whether

it

can

serve

as

a suitable manifesto

for the

directions

in which

architects

should

proceed

in the

future.

I am

merely

asking

whether

his

invariants

furnish the kind

of

category

that

is

needed

to

describe

works

of

architecture

objectively.

Zevi

speaks

as

a

polemicist,

not

as a

detached

observer.

Therefore

he

thinks

in

mutually

exclusive

alternatives.

To

him,

the

classical

style,

with

its

affinity

to

geometrical

simplicity,

stands

for

dictatorship

and

coercive

bureaucracy,

whereas

the

anticlassical

style

offers

free

forms, congenial to life and the people.

But

since

in

each

of

Zevi's

pairs

of

op-

posites

one

approach

is

the

negation

of the

other,

one

can

describe each two

opposites

as

the

poles

of

a

continuous

scale.

It

is

my

contention

that

such

gliding

scales consti-

tute

the

dimensions

on

which

the

percep-

tual and

aesthetic

judgment

of

buildings

(and

indeed

of

works

of art

quite

in

gen-

eral)

is

based. For

example,

instead of call-

ing buildings

either

symmetrical

or

asym-

metrical,

we can

acknowledge

that

there are

degrees

of

symmetry.

A

sphere

has

an infi-

nite number

of

symmetry

axes. For a

cy-

lindrical

tower,

say,

a

Romanesque

campa-

nile,

the

same

is true

only

in

the

horizontal

sections;

and the

ornamentation of

a rose

window limits the

symmetry

axes

to the

number

of

times the

radial

design

is re-

peated. Symmetry

is

even

more limited

when

it

is

not

centric

but axial.

A

typical

fa(ade

repeats

its

design

to the left

and

right

of

the

central

vertical,

and this same

pattern is sometimes carried through the

inner

space

of the

building.

Like

the

body

of

an

animal,

such

a

building

is

symmetrical

in

relation

to

its

sagittal plane.

When

it

comes to

asymmetry,

the

deviation

from

symmetry

may

be

slight

or total.

The

Pa-

lazzo

Venezia in Rome

is

symmetrical

ex-

cept

for

the

displacement

of

the

tower

and

the

axis

through

the

main

entrance

whereas

the

chapel

of

Ronchamp

avoids

all

sym-

metry

in

its

overall

design.

Symmetry/asymmetry is one of the di-

mensional scales

by

which

the

character

or

style

of a

building

can

be described.

Every

building

can be

assigned

a

place

on such

a

scale,

and

the

sum

of the

building's

loca-

tions on

the

various scales

enumerates

the

relevant

perceptual

properties

of

the

indi-

vidual work

of architecture.

The

various

dimensions

are

not

necessarily

independent

of one another.

For

example,

symmetry

may

be

said to

be a

special

case

of

the

scale lead-

ing

from

simplicity

to

complexity.

The com-

plexity

scale is one of the most basic formal

16







The

Dimensions

of

Disagreement

dimensions.

Any

perceptual

property

of

form

or

color or

texture can be

used to

ex-

press

a

given

degree

of

complexity

or

sim-

plicity.

The reciprocal concepts of complexity

and

simplicity

can

serve also

to

show

that

psychologically

the

poles

of

such

a scale

are

not

neutral alternatives

but

carry

quite

different

connotations.

Simplicity

is

the

state

toward

which

all

configurations

of

physical

and

psychological

forces tend.

Any

configuration

will

make itself as

simple

as

the

given

situation

permits.

This

being

a

basic

law of

nature,

we can

say

that what

calls for

explanation

is not

so much

the

simplicity

as

the

complexity

of

a

structure.

In

architecture,

for

example,

symmetry

is

psychologically

the

natural

state of

a

conception,

so

that

any

deviation

from

it

requires

an

explanation.

It

is

true,

how-

ever,

that

we

may

also

want

to ask

what

makes

a

classical

type

of

building

resist

the

temptation

of

deviating

from

symmetry.

Quite

in

general,

the

two

polar

concepts

of

dimensional scales

are

weighted

with con-

notations

before

they

ever

apply

to archi-

tecture.

Consider the

scale

of

upward-

directedness vs. downward-directedness.

Every

building

contains both

tendencies,

but

some

buildings

give

the

overall

effect

of

rising

whereas

others

weigh

heavily

upon

the

ground.

Since

we

live

in a

gravi-

tational

field,

the two

directions of

up

and

down

are not

symmetrical

or

equiva-

lent.

Being

downward-directed

means

giving

in,

being

inert,

striving

toward

safety,

whereas

upward-directedness

means

over-

coming,

making

an

effort,

being

proud

and

adventurous. These general connotations

affect

the

buildings

to

which

they

are

ap-

plied.

The same

is true

for

the

degrees

of

weightiness

and

lightness,

darkness

and

brightness,

openness

and

closedness,

low

and

high

tension,

and

all

the other

dimensions.

In each

case,

the

physical

and

psychological

characteristics

that

distinguish

the two

ex-

tremes of

the

scale are

heavily

imbued

with

human

implications

and

thereby

give

a

special quality to the location on the scale

at which a

building

is

placed.

17

It

is

my

contention

that we

perceive,

describe,

and

evaluate

architecture

and

other works of

art not

by

mutually

exclusive

characteristics

but

by

their

position

on a

number of quality scales that are universally

applicable.

This

fact

accounts

for our

as-

tonishing

ability

to

appreciate

works be-

longing

to a

wide

variety

of

styles.

Typ-

ically

the

same modern

observer

that

feels

deeply

moved

by

the

temples

of

Paestum

can

also

appreciate

a

Borromini

church

or

Le

Corbusier's

Carpenter

Center at

Har-

vard,

even

though

his

personal

liking

may

make

him

prefer

one

of

these

styles.

Simi-

larly

we shall

be

led

to

the

conclusion

that

differences in

evaluation

and judgment,

which

are

often

viewed as

unbridgeable

in

principle,

are

essentially

differences in

de-

gree.

The

ability

to

adapt

to

different

degrees

of

quality

scales

is

an

outstanding

virtue of

organisms.

Humans and

animals

can

adapt

to

considerable

changes

of

temperature

or

gravitational

pull

and

barometric

pressure.

There is

adaptation

to

the

intensity

of

light

and

sound,

and

in

visual

perception

neither

man nor

animal

has much

trouble

in

recog-

nizing

the

identity

of

objects

that

are seen

at

different

distances

and therefore

in

differ-

ent

sizes.

And

although

in

the arts

indi-

vidual

observers

or

groups

of

observers tend

to

favor,

for

personal

and cultural

reasons,

particular

positions

on

each

of

the

scales

here

under

discussion,

they may

find

it

quite possible

to

shift

from

their own

level

of

adaptation

to a

different

one when

the

situation

requires

it.

Given

this

general

flexibility,

what

needs to be

explained

is not

so much the catholicity of taste, as found

typically

in

the

educated

public

of

our

time,

but rather

the

inhibitions that

prevent

people

under

various

circumstances

from

appreciating

styles

that

deviate from

the

one to

which

they

are

geared.

Strong

per-

sonal and

cultural commitments

and

a

fear

of what

the

qualities

of an

unfamiliar

style

stand for

interfere with

flexible

adaptation.

Powerful

factors

of

this

kind must

have

been

responsible

when the

ancient

Greeks

rejected any style but their own as barba-

rous.

In

our

own

time,

broad

strata

of

our







A

RN H E

I

M

population

continue

to

accept

only

realistic

art.

Popular

fashions in

architecture

exert

a similar

tyranny.

The

question

arises how it is

possible

to

determine a building's position on a par-

ticular

scale

with some

objectivity.

Assist-

ance comes

first

of all from the fact that

corresponding

to

each

perceptual

scale there

exists a

physical

scale.

For

example,

one

can

measure

the areas of wall

openings

in

their ratio

to

the closed

areas for

a

given

building.

But

this ratio

is

not

necessarily

the

precise

equivalent

of

the

degree

of

openness

that the

building

offers

per-

ceptually. Perceptual

openness

is

deter-

mined in a purely intuitive way and there-

fore

can be

measured

with

any

validity

only

by

analyzing

the

responses

of

viewers.

Psychologists

are

accustomed

to

employing

for

such a

purpose

a number of

subjects,

whose

judgments

they

average.

However

when the

results are obtained

from a ran-

dom

sample

of

judges,

they

are

helpful

only

for

the

measurement

of

fairly elementary

phenomena,

not much

affected

by

personal

and cultural determinants.

For the most

part, aesthetic perception does

not

meet

this condition.

The

degree

of a

building's

perceptual openness,

for

example,

depends

very

much

on the kind

of architecture a

viewer

is

geared

to.

A

typical

Californian

bungalow

may

look to

a New

Englander

uncomfortably

open.

He

will

place

it

high

up

on

the

openness

scale

whereas to the

Westerner

it

looks

just

average.

Therefore,

to obtain

an

objective

meas-

urement

it

is

necessary

to use

a more

com-

plicated procedure,

similar

to

the one

em-

ployed

in

public opinion

polls.

One must

determine

for

each

judge

the

characteristics

likely

to

influence

his or

her

response

and

then

weigh

the

response

accordingly.

From

such

a

procedure

emerges

the

objective

percept

of

the

building

with

respect

to

the

particular

measured

quality.

The

pro-

cedure

can be

repeated

for

other

dimen-

sional

scales,

and

the

result

is what

psy-

chologists

would

call

a

perceptual

profile

of the

building.

This

profile

is

likely

not to

coincide exactly with any one viewer's

impression

of

the

building

since

every

viewer

looks

at

it

with

his

own

particular

bias. The

objective

percept

is

an

extrapo-

lation

from all

tested

views;

but it can

serve

to

evaluate

a

particular

viewer's

response.

For

example,

one can

determine the

objec-

tive perceptual profile of a Borromini

church

and

then establish

the

particular

ways

in

which

Borromini's

contemporaries

saw

it.

From

other,

independent

evidence

one can

try

to

establish how this

population

of the

eighteenth

century

responded

to

the

qualities

scaled

for

the

pertinent

dimen-

sions.

What was

their

norm

level of

re-

sponse

to

tension,

complexity, symmetry,

and

so

forth?

The two sets of

data will

help

one

to

understand

why

that

particular pop-

ulation responded to Borromini the way it

did,

or

why

Baroque

architecture

was

widely

detested

in

the

days

of

Winckel-

mann

or

Burckhardt and

has

regained

so

much

interest

now.

Such

understanding

goes

decisively

beyond

the

mere

establishment

and

acceptance

of

the

fact

that

a

given

re-

cipient

responds

to a

given

object

in

a

par-

ticular

way.

But

understanding

is

possible

only

when

we know what

objective

percep-

tual

conditions

characterize

the

target

object

of

the

judgment

and

what conditions

pre-

vail

in

the

judges.

This seems

like

a

cumbersome

procedure,

but

actually very

much

the same

technique

is

used

informally

by

art

historians

all the

time.

Historians

strive

to

subtract

their own

bias

from

their

way

of

seeing

an art

object

and to

explore

the standards of

any

par-

ticular

type

of

viewer

in

whose

reactions

they

are

interested.

What

matters

here

is

that in

theory

as

well

as

in

practice

there

exists an

alternative to the

seasickening

no-

tion that an art

object

does not exist in

and

by

itself

but

amounts

only

to

a

variety

of

images

created

in

various

viewers.

The

ways

in

which the

objective

per-

cept

of

a

building gives

rise

to the

par-

ticular version

seen

by

a

particular

viewer

or

group

of

viewers

cannot be described

here in

detail.

Reference

should

be

made,

however,

to

the

most

influential

factor,

namely

the

adaptation

level

(as

psychol-

ogists

call

it)

of

the

viewer.

The

adaptation

level helps determine the degree to which

a

particular

quality

is

experienced.

A

given

amount

of

light,

for

example,

will

be

ex-

18







The

Dimensions

of

Disagreement

perienced

as

very

bright

by

a

person

ac-

customed

to

a

lower

level of

illumination;

conversely,

the

light

will

look dim

to

some-

one

adapted

to

a

higher

level

of

brightness.

The resulting experience depends on the

range

of the context

in which

the

particu-

lar

case

is

seen

and

more

specifically,

within

this

range,

on the

particular

level

to

which

the viewer

anchors

his

standard.

Furthermore,

a few

examples

will indicate

how

the

viewer's

approval

or

disapproval

affects

the

image

he forms. Since

buildings

are functional

objects they

tend

to be seen

as

being

either

suited

or

not

suited to their

purpose,

and

this

relation

between

a

build-

ing's appearance and the function attrib-

uted to it

varies

with

the viewer's attitude.

For

instance,

massive

walls

pierced by

small

windows

will

be seen as

very

low

on the

openness

scale

by

a

person

who

cherishes the

free intercourse

between

people.

It is

essen-

tial

to

remember here that

visual

percepts

are

not

limited to

the features

physically

recorded

on the

retinae;

they

are affected

also

by

any

other features

that,

in

the

per-

ceiver's

mind,

apply

to

them

visually.

In

the

present example

the

walls

with

the

small windows

will

be

seen

as

subjected

from

the

inside

to

a

pressure

trying

to

burst

the

coercive

shell.

Conversely,

a

viewer

with

a

strong

need

for

protection

and

privacy

will

see the same

building

as a

reassuringly

safe

refuge.

Its

degree

of

openness

will

look

just

right.

In

his view the walls will

not

be

seen

as

resisting

internal

pressure

but on

the

contrary

will

press

gently

inward

with

a

hugging

gesture,

to

which

the

inside

will-

ingly

conforms.

We note

that

in

both

in-

stances a

personal

need of the viewer trans-

lates

itself into a

dynamic

vector,

which

modifies the

perceived

image.

A similar

example

comes

from

the

im-

petuous

attack

against symmetry

launched

by

Bruno Zevi in his

aforementioned

book.

He

sees

any

kind

of

strongly

unified

and

regular

shape

as

an

expression

of

authori-

tarianism and

bureaucracy.

In his

view

any

geometrically

simple

exterior

is

a

bed

of

Procrustes,

which mutilates

everything

in-

side into uniformity. A geometrical facade

does

violence

to the

different

functions

of

the rooms

inside. Zevi also

objects

to

uni-

form floor

levels,

by

which

any

space,

re-

gardless

of its

function,

must

put

up

with

the same

ceiling

height.

One of the dimen-

sional scales of

judgment

that

apply

here

concerns the relation between the whole

and the

parts.

At one extreme of the

scale

the

whole dominates

the

parts;

at the

other

extreme the

independence

of

parts

all but

destroys

the

unifying

whole.

Zevi,

for

whom

the liberation

from

authority

is the

guiding

theme

of anti-classical

architecture,

sees

any

regular

shape

as a corset

squeezing

the

func-

tions and the

users

of

the

building

into uni-

formity.

His

particular

bias

makes him

for-

get

that

rooms of various

shapes

coerce

one

another every bit as badly as regularly

shaped

rooms. He is also

unwilling

to

see

that in

the classical

style

subordination

does not

necessarily

stand

for

despotic

sup-

pression.

After

all,

the

bed

of Procrustes

tortures

only

those

who

do

not

fit

it. The

subordination of the

parts

under the

whole

in

a

building's design

can

be

seen

socially

as the

happy

reflection

of a well

functioning

hierarchical

organization.

Viewed

in

this

fashion,

the

regular

shape

of an

architec-

tural

whole stands

for the harmonious

fit-

ting

of

part

functions

to

an

overarching

unity.

The

foregoing

examples

will

have

sug-

gested

that

the

perceptual

image

of a

work

of

architecture is

an

objective

fact

and not

only

an

everchanging

apparition

at the

mercy

of

the

idiosyncrasies

of who

is look-

ing.

What is

actually

seen

in a

particular

case varies

indeed from

observer

to

observer,

but

the

individual

image

is

the

resultant

of

the

encounter

between

the

objective

percept

of the

thing

seen and the

equally

objective

set

of

preformations

in

the

viewer.

This

resultant

of

the

interaction, too,

is

an

objective

fact,

understandable

and

often

predictable.

We

noted

further that the

ways

of

seeing

buildings

differ from

one another

not

in

principle

but in

degree.

The

perceptual

appearance

of

a

building

is

a

synthesis

of

qualities

that

vary

in

degree along

a

number

of

dimensional

scales.

Each

building

can be

characterized objectively by its position on

each of

these

scales,

and each

observer or

type

of

observer

will

place

the

building

19







ARNHEIM

somewhere

on each scale.

It is not

surpris-

ing

that these

variables should be

the

same

for

all architecture

and all

observers

(al-

though

not all of them

apply

in

each

case).

They basically reflect the same conditions

and are

products

of

the

same kind

of ner-

vous

system.3

Once

the

objectivity

of

perceptual

facts

is

clarified we

come

to

realize

that the eval-

uation

of

these

facts also is

more

than

a

purely

subjective

attribution.

Value

is

the relation

between

a tool

and the

purposes

and

needs

it

is

called

upon

to

fulfill. We

can and

must

go

beyond

the assertion

that,

say,

the

castle

of

Neuschwanstein

suited

the

needs of Ludwig

II

of Bavaria

perfectly

whereas

presumably

it would

not

suit

ours.

The

more

important question

is whether

Neuschwanstein

in and

by

itself is

good

or

bad

architecture.

After

all,

in

spite

of

the

widespread

lip

service to

a

philosophy

of

relativism

every

serious

critic

is

convinced

that he

pronounces

something

more

gen-

erally

valid

than

a

personal

preference.

This

claim

poses

a

problem.

Since

value

is

the

relation

between

the

properties

of

a

tool and

the

purpose

determined

by

the

needs

of

the

consumer,

we must ask:

What

consumer?

Whose value? The answer

can

only

be

that

the

objective

value of

a

build-

ing

is

determined

by

the

needs

of

mankind,

whose mental requirements we establish to

the

best

of

our

understanding.

If our di-

mensional

scales

reveal

a

work of architec-

ture to be

onesidedly

and

superficially

weighted

at

the

detriment of

important

re-

sources

of

the

human

mind,

we feel

justified

in

calling

it

deficient.

This

formula sounds

simple

enough.

In

practice,

the

complications

and

obstacles

are

many.

In

principle,

however,

an alter-

native to

defeatist

despair

can be

said

to

exist.

'

Bruno

Zevi.

II

linguaggio

moderno

dell'nrchi-

tettura

(Torino,

1973).

Engl.

transl.

The

Modern

Language

of

Architecture

(Seattle,

1977).

2John

Summerson.

The Classical

Language

of

Architecture

(London,

1964).

3

To be

sure,

the

full

individuality

of

any par-

ticular

work

of architecture

cannot

be

reduced

to

the sum of

its

components

revealed

by

the

analysis.

This limitation of

analysis applies

to

all

gestalten,

that

is,

to

all

field

processes

whose

total

structure

is

not

equal

to the

sum of

its

elements.

20

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