Within the architectural profession, one finds a lot of people with an intense passion for what they do.  Reflecting on worldviews and professional outlooks this week, it sunk in to me that, though aspects of various worldviews are actively present in architectural practice today, this common passion stems largely from architects' most deep-seated motivations being very akin to Plato's search for truth and the quest to make this revelation known to the world through what we build. In the industry, this desire is often altruistically labeled as 'improving the population's visual literacy'. A large part of architectural education is learning (or relearning) 'how to see'; this is done through intensive training in school observing buildings, drawing, modeling, and cultivating an aesthetic sensitivity. It is surmised then, that through their acquired understanding of beauty and order, architects can show people how to "read" their physical environment by synthesizing these universals into tangible products, ones that affect people's everyday lives, bringing them in touch with truth through good design. Unfortunately this at-its-heart noble goal is often comingled not just with the hope of liberating illiterate captives as in Plato's Allegory of the Cave, but also a strong desire to pull back the curtain on the great and powerful Oz - revealing architects themselves as the arbiters of artistic appreciation. 

Many architects I have met struggle with this sense of working nobly but wanting to be recognized by the rest of the world. Moreso, all of the architects that young professionals are given to study and revere fit this bill.  All have made beautiful buildings, but all have also cemented beautiful reputations. In the past, Vitruvius, Palladio, Wright, and Kahn were deemed masters, a label that was a construct of both their own achievements during their lifetimes and art historians subsequently shaping their legacies as builder-poets. Today, Gehry, Foster, Hadid, and many others, while having to publicly shun such labels to preserve the link between nobleness and a "it's not about me, it's about the work" brand of humility, are nevertheless catapulted to massive media recognition and given unprecedented creative power to shape our buildings and cities. Masters, yes, but not just that.  The preferred postmodern label? Star-chitects. A clever name, really, denoting an elite class of talented, aesthetically enlightened designers leading the rest of the profession toward excellence and innovation, but simultaneously belying society's emphasis on fame and influence.  And don't get me wrong, I love some of their work. LOVE it.  It was what hooked me on architecture and has powerfully shaped my understanding and appreciation of beauty, order, and man's ability to synthesize something higher and more wonderful than the raw materials he works with. Similarly, I want everyone to know and experience this revelation even if they aren't architects, just everyday occupants and observers. With advances in technology, aesthetics, and awareness enabling ever more daring designs, we have only grazed the surface of how beautiful this world can be.

I don't know if Plato would agree, but surely he couldn't deny the resonance of such a claim.  It is clear here where truth lies - not in the natural order, creation law, or God himself as its author, but in man's achievement, man's struggle, man's search for and understanding of objective truth, manifested in what he makes. The question for Christian architects, in our worldview struggle, is who are we making it for? If we're not careful, our passion for architecture will have us fall all too easily into Kahn's misdirected worship, and the Light of the Son will be subjugated to the mere buildings He shines upon.

 The Salk Institute, La Jolla, California