Lou Kahn on Our Epoch

About a month ago, I was working late in my office, as is my custom, and a man working with me said, "I would like to ask you a question which has been on my mind for a long while... How would you describe this epoch?"

This man is Hungarian, who came to this country when the Russians entered Hungary. I pondered this question because, somehow, it fascinates me to answer questions to which I do not know the answer.

But I had just been reading in the New York Times Magazine of the things that had been going on in California. I had visited California, and I went through Berkeley, and I noticed the size of the revolution, and the great promises of the machine, and I felt, as I had read recently, that there were poets who were trying to write poems without words.

I sat for at least ten minutes, without moving, reviewing in my mind all these things, and finally I said to Gabor, "What is the shadow of white light?"

Gabor has a habit of repeating what you say, "White light... white light... I don't know." And I said, "Black. Don't be afraid, because white light does not exist, nor does black shadow exist."

I think that it is a time of our sun on trial, of all our institutions on trial.

I was brought up when the sunlight was yellow, and the shadow was blue. But I see it clearly as being white light, and black shadow. Yet this is nothing alarming, because I believe that there will come a fresh yellow, and a beautiful blue, and that the revolution will bring forth a new sense of wonder. Only from wonder can come our new institutions... they certainly cannot come from analysis.

And I said, "You know, Gabor, if I could think what I would do, other than architecture, it would be to write a new fairy tale, because from the fairy tale came the airplane, and the locomotive, and the wonderful instruments of our minds... it all came from wonder."

- Louis I. Kahn, 1968

Born Again This Way

One of the more interesting ironies of modern pop culture that I've noticed recently is a very interesting juxtaposition between a sense of deterministic fatalism on one hand and a desire to invent your own meaning in life on the other hand. The first may be boiled down to Lady Gaga's annoyingly pedantic hymn to herself Born this Way. It says something along the lines of: "I was born to do this, this, and this, and I am thus forbidden not do these things." The second might be summarized more neatly by one of those sentimental pictures one sees so often on Facebook. You know the ones - a faded, faux-vintage picture of a beach with superimposed white script imploring the viewer to shake off his or her former personal shackles and live life in exactly the manner he or she sees fit. Another example may be the recent explosion of the phrase "You only live once", cutely shortened to the ubiquitous YOLO (or, more usually, #yolo).

These twin heresies are often espoused by the same people, though not often at the same times, for if they were spoken one after another, we would all be able to readily see that the Emperor is wearing few, if any, clothes. I call them heresies not out of any special contempt, but for the simple reason of that is what they are. Heresy as defined by St Thomas Aquinas is "...a species of infidelity in men who, having professed the faith of Christ, corrupt its dogmas". Notice here that our good St Thomas says "corrupt" rather than jettison the dogmas. Heresy is most usually an unhealthy exaggeration of one truth, which causes corruption in terms of other truths. For instance, the Pelagians over-emphasized the free will of man, and, in the process, denied the need for God's grace. The Arians exaggerated Christ's humanity and swept away his divinity in the process, while the Gnostics did the opposite.

Though my subject matter is not religious or even Christian per se, they are emphatically philosophical, and, like all philosophical matters, have immense bearing on our daily lives. Returning to the first error, which I shall name Gaga-ism: the concept of destiny or a set track for our lives is very convenient for the modern times in which we find ourselves. It excuses us from our actions. If we are meant to be a certain way, woe betide anyone who should call us to higher aspirations. It's a reverse sort of Calvinism dressed down in sparkly camouflage. Why attempt virtue when we are destined and born in vice? It's who we are. 

The second error, on the other hand, enigmatically often calls the modern man to do exactly what Gaga-ism says he can't do - change. It shouts up and down that life is all there is, make of it what you will, don't be burdened by your station in life, society's expectations, or anything else for that matter. Just be you! The implicit argument is that you can't possible truly be yourself while simultaneously adhering to societal norms, morals, or expectations. You can't be who you were born to be, you must utterly and completely disregard all that in the ever-important quest to be authentic, etc. You must live your life (whatever that means). You must seize every opportunity to experience life, even if it is immoral or wrong, because you invent what's right for you, and anything else is simply holding you back from your self-fulfilling quest.

As I mentioned before - this two-headed postmodern philosophical slop often sallies forth from the same people's mouths, though at different times. Some times they say "We can't possibly change because I am me" while other times they say "I must change because I am me." It's all a matter of convenience I suppose. The Christian truth, I'm afraid, is to be found in neither of these pop philosophies, and is frankly far more compelling. It says quite simply that you were born in sin, but called to holiness. It says "I love you as a child of God" and "Go and sin no more" simultaneously. It offers the free choice between good and evil. It fortifies the soul for the long labor of life, whose circumstances we can not often choose on some postmodern whim. It calls the soul to constant conversion toward the truth - not a one-and-done declaration or an obstinate refusal to declare. We can be born again as often as we find ourselves trapped in the way we were born.