Editor’s note: Stanley Tigerman is an architect and partner at Tigerman McCurry Architects, and an educator and the director of Archeworks. The following is an excerpt from a conversation about the responsibilities of designers and architects.
CTW I’d like to frame this interview as a call to action—your manifesto, let’s say, on ethics and morality. What would you say the designer’s moral obligations are? To him or herself, to the client, to the user, to society?
ST What a huge question!
I think that you’re obligated to everyone—to yourself, your client, the user, and society—and particularly to society. The problem comes up when there’s a conflict between these groups. I don’t want to overstate architecture’s noble state, which is not so noble anymore, but architecture’s about conflict resolution. Let me give you an example. When I went to graduate school, to Yale, I didn’t apply to Columbia, but I read their application. This is 1958—the time of Batista in Cuba, pre-Castro—and Columbia’s application had three unusual questions.
The first question was, “Would you design a weekend house for Batista?” Interesting question. The second was, “If a municipality asked you to design housing in the inner city at an unreasonable density, would you do it?” And the third was, “Would you design a concentration camp?” Given the state of the American Institute of Architects today, they would say yes to all three questions—because they’re into marketing.1
What do you do when somebody asks you to do something you know is wrong? (This happens all the time.) When I worked at Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, I moonlit at night. My first wife’s brother was a homebuilder, and he asked me to do the drawings for some bullshit project, and I did. And he—this is an incredible story, actually—he didn’t want to put rigid insulation in the foundation wall below grade because it couldn’t be seen by the buyer. But architecture’s supposed to be an ethical enterprise. Otherwise, why wouldn’t you go to a builder? What the hell do you need an architect for? Isn’t the architect supposed to protect you from that sort of behavior? And if the architect doesn’t, what on earth is his or her role?
I think the idea of an ethical enterprise—architecture as a moral proposition—is key. First of all, the rest doesn’t sustain you: the business of architecture is bullshit. Sure, you have to pay rent—money is a necessary priority in a capitalist society. But money won’t sustain your interest for more than half a century. Sure, there are architects that practice for that reason. But if you want to go into business, like my son who’s a rich investment banker, you should go into something that will earn you tons of money.
Then there’s the profession of architecture. What’s so great about that? The word “profession” is etymologically problematic. “Pro”-fession means that you’re doing it for a return: if you’re a professional athlete, you get paid. The etymology of the word “amateur,” where you do something for love, is better.
Then there’s the art of architecture, going up the rungs of the ladder. The art of architecture has been a problem for decades. It’s increasingly arcane; it’s only for the cognoscenti. At one level that’s fabulous—but at another level “art” becomes laden with jargon and is consciously off-putting, and keeps people out.
So what are you left with? The discipline of architecture, like a monastic discipline. That’s where you practice the way a Benedictine or Jesuit monk or Talmudic scholar would. At yeshivas, schools for studying the Torah, the saying goes, “It’s sufficient to read the Torah.” You never have to do anything about it; just reading it is sufficient. That’s interesting to me—just practicing the piano, or “practicing” architecture is sufficient. And that, for me, is the highest calling: the discipline of architecture.
There are monks, the Cistercian monks that Umberto Eco describes in The Name of the Rose, that sit there and copy the Bible. But they know they will err. You can’t copy the whole Bible and not make an error—you have to have a total, Tiger Woods kind of concentration on one thing. That’s the discipline of architecture. That’s what makes it great. Focus.
And that’s where morality and ethics come into play. Obviously, moral issues in the business of architecture aren’t worth spit, and in the profession of architecture aren’t worth a lot more, because the AIA has dropped its ethics laws. Isn’t that interesting? And then, there’s the art of architecture, which is so arcane; you know morality doesn’t come into play.
CTW Why don’t aesthetics and morality overlap? Or why can’t they?
ST Well, they can, but not when they become hermetic, and so are only for the seventeen other people who understand what you’re talking about.…I’ll you a great story; it’s absolutely germane. Years ago I worked on a number of projects in what was East Pakistan, now Bangladesh. There was a war of liberation in 1971: the Betsy Ross of East Pakistan sewed a flag, and the opposition leader proclaimed that they were free. Repression ensued, supported by the United States and Pakistan, in an attempt to keep the people down and kill off the intelligentsia. And I was designing projects there. One of my guys in the field was killed, others were beaten, and I had basically had it—I was going to resign the commission.
The night before I left, Bruce Graham (formerly the head of Skidmore, Owings & Merrill) and I met at a party in Lake Forest, and he asked, “What are you working on?” I said, “I’m going to Dhaka tomorrow to resign a commission because of everything that’s happened there.” And he said, “That’s the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard—they’re only going to hire somebody worse than you. You have to stay; you’re an architect.” It’s very hard to argue with Bruce, who’s deterministic, shall we say. So I bowed my head, and went the next day to Dhaka to resign. A few months passed, the Bengalis won the war, but the World Bank was furious with me for abandoning the commission. The Bengalis wanted to reinstate me, but the World Bank refused. Then the Bengalis said, “No, you don’t understand. We want him back”—and the World Bank eventually capitulated. So I returned, and finished the project.
Another six months passed, and I saw Bruce Graham at a party (this is an incredible story; this’ll tell you something about architecture). He said, “Now, aren’t you glad that you paid attention and did what I told you to do?” He appropriated what I did—which was exactly the reverse of what he had said—as his own idea. In other words, the end justifies the means; the bottom line counts. Right? But when there are conflicts, you can’t just cave to every client’s whim. How do you say no and still get it built? Perhaps that’s as good a definition of architecture as anything else.
John Entenza, the first director of the Graham Foundation, once introduced Mies van der Rohe by saying, “Here is an architect who has to will his buildings into existence.” He had to work against the status quo, an inertia that didn’t consider skeletal frames to be finished buildings. How did Mies do that? He had to have a resolute core to persuade people.
CTW That idea of a resolute core is related to personal expression. Can personal expression and ethics collide in a positive way?
ST Well, they can collide or they can merge. If they collide, we’re back to conflict resolution. Artists engage in the same crap as the rest of the civilian population—their morality can give way to other needs that obsess them. How do you lead a balanced life? And if you do have to make a Solomonic decision—a wise choice—what is it based upon? I would submit that it’s not rooted in artistic, professional, or business decision-making. I think it’s based on higher values. For example, the idea of building well; not building with crap, drywall, and two-by-fours. You’ve got to build well, because building well is building ethically.
There’s a wonderful rabbi I know named Jose Faür, who teaches at a yeshiva in Jerusalem opposite the West Wall. We were having lunch after a lecture at the Spertus when he said, “You know, I really like what you’re doing in Archeworks.2 I like architecture when it’s thought about well,” he said; “it’s the only way we have of communicating with God.”
At that point I wondered, What is he talking about? I thought Judaism was rooted in the oral and written word, and that the debate between humankind and the divine being was rooted there. And he said, “No, the slipperiness of language is no longer sufficient evidence of moral behavior. You have to make something, and make it well in order to communicate with God.”
I’ve got to tell you, Cheryl, I was blown away. I think that making things really well, uncompromisingly, is very hard to do. Jesus Christ, it’s hard to build at all. Even a crappy building is hard to build, because it flies in the face of inertia. You take a primal site that’s never been built upon. The neighbors have appropriated it as communal land. You could build a really lousy building and it would create a huge fight. To build a good building is only harder.
CTW So what does it mean to build well?
ST To make sure the buildings—I’m going to say some stupid-sounding things—don’t leak, don’t torque, don’t act strangely. They should last; they should look good many years later. That’s building well.
CTW They should function, and should be made with care.
ST Making something with care—that’s more impressive than making beauty out of crap, because you can make beautiful things that will fail. It’s very hard to make something well, because clients always want more than they can afford. Always. How do you persuade them to build less and build well? I don’t have an answer to that.
CTW Does it have to do with who you choose to work for? And can you tell when a client is immoral?
ST Well, I’m an old guy now. As you age, you’re supposed to hone your insight and intuition. The question is, do you use those abilities, or do you bury your head in the sand? You have to look carefully, as you and I are looking at each other now. Doesn’t guarantee that you’ll make the right choices, but there’s a pretty good chance of it, because as you get older you’re supposed to know that stuff.
CTW Are there architects or designers who exemplify ethical practice?
ST Endless numbers. John Hejduk, who was the dean at Cooper Union and recently died, was absolutely an ethical being, and he operated in a discreet, moral way. I’d also say, with the exception of the way Mies treated women, Mies van der Rohe. The way Mies treated his profession, the discipline of architecture, was exemplary.
ST Well, he built well. We live in 910 Lake Shore Drive, in a Mies building built in 1955. It looks brand new—it’s impeccable. What architect can say their work looks impeccable forty-five years later?
CTW Now Hejduk and Mies, you could argue, are both theoreticians. Do theory and ethics overlap?
ST Sure. I think you have to have an attitude, a goal, a strategy. You have to ask, “What can I make of myself?” Most people just go to work, take down a salary, and go bowling, metaphorically speaking. How do you choose personal goals, and how do you manifest those goals? Tiger Woods is exemplary, because he focuses on one shot at a time. Total focus. Do you know how many decisions—well, graphic design is like architecture—how many decisions designers make every day?
CTW A million.
ST An endless number. You don’t just design; you cull and pick. A number of factors help you design: what you’re doing and why you’re doing it, the project’s budget, location, and context. But those don’t add up to 100 percent. There are two unstated influences: the eye of the beholder, the client, and the eye of the author, the designer. Both count.
I treat clients and employees the same way. My process is simple: I only hire staff I like and clients I like. If I don’t like a client and accept a commission, there’s going to be trouble. And if I hire somebody just because they’re talented, there’s going to be trouble.
You can determine a client’s pretensions quickly. I don’t always choose the right clients. And when I choose the wrong ones, I don’t want to fire them, because I’m the one that made the mistake. So I behave badly, and cause them to fire me. Then they feel better: “I got rid of that sonuvabitch.” (You know my reputation in any case, Cheryl; I’m not an easy guy.) But you have to use your intuition, and hone it all the time. And you do hone it as you make decisions.
CTW But don’t you also have to have a personal compass, a personal theory?
ST Ethical beliefs.
CTW But do those translate into design values? Values that dictate how you should approach design?
ST Sure. I don’t have a magical formula, because although I believe in building well, everything has a finite lifespan. The problem occurs when you pander to that condition of mortality. In other words, if you accept a client who wants more than what they can afford, they’re going to build less well. That’s a problem. But I don’t want to just focus this on building well. I think decisions about who to work for are equally critical.
Back to those three questions from Columbia’s architectural application: Who will you work for, and do you ever say no? Are you just, as Frank Lloyd Wright called himself while working for Louis Sullivan, another person’s “pencil?” Are you simply the client’s tool?
There’s a book by Elaine Hochman called Architects of Fortune: Mies van der Rohe and the Third Reich that describes how Mies wanted to displace Albert Speer, Hitler’s chief architect.
CTW Wait—how does Mies then qualify as a moral architect?
ST Because mortal beings are complex…Mies read everything. When he lived in Germany, he was said to have had a library of thousands of books. When he left to come to IIT in ’37, the SS allowed him to bring thirty books. These were thirty really serious books. They weren’t picture books—they were books by St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas, among others. If you know your theology, Augustine and Aquinas are contrapuntal. St. Thomas Aquinas got into a lot of trouble in twelfth-century Paris because he interpreted and challenged faith. St. Augustine believed in pure faith, which is what Christianity is about. You see both belief systems in Mies’s work. His lack of resolution at the corner of a building is about interpretation, right? And his continuous use of the golden section is about faith. The problem is, you’re supposed to be modest—and Mies was not. He knew he was the best living architect in Germany, and that Speer was nowhere near as qualified, so he felt he should be Hitler’s architect. He only moved to the US when he finally, grudgingly, accepted that Hitler wouldn’t hire him. But within the discipline of architecture, he was an entirely moral man.
Mies’s books are the basis of a book I’m writing about ethics and morality in architecture. George Moore, in England, wrote about the “good,” and asked: Is “good” intrinsic, or is it separate from the subject it addresses? Moore believed good is absolutely of itself; that it’s axiomatic. And using that logic, I think Mies was an exemplary figure because he thought deeply about issues of faith. Now, did that make him a perfect being? Hardly. But the fact that he thought about those issues separates him from 99.9 percent of all architects, who don’t ever think or read about those things.
CTW Are there authors, philosophers, or theologians you would recommend particularly?
ST In Western theology, I’d read Saints Thomas Aquinas and Augustine, because they represent polar positions of faith and interpretation. At any given moment, we all act according to one or the other of those positions—and one is always best seen in view of the other, as black is perceived best in the presence of white. I would add Jacques Derrida, Jacques Lacan, and Julia Kristeva, who write about issues of our time. And I’d include contemporary spiritual leaders like Jose Faür, who’s brilliant.
I have a library of six thousand books, but it’s been fifteen years since I attempted to buy an architecture book. I simply don’t read them any longer. Instead, I began reading philosophy, which segued into reading theology. And that’s what I do now. The architecture library I might as well sell.
CTW What’s wrong with contemporary design and architecture, and what would a more ethical approach improve?
CTW Well, I would separate design and architecture. I don’t find as much wrong with industrial and graphic design—and I’m not pandering to you because you’re a graphic designer. You don’t have as much baggage as architects do. Architects have the burden of history, language, and precedent. The problem with history is that it confers legitimacy. An architect like Robert Stern uses history to legitimize his work. It was done before, so therefore.…
CTW Happens in graphic design, too.
ST I’m sure—designers and architect share the same schizophrenia. In 1923, Mies said that architecture is the will of an age translated into space. That means that you’re bound to represent your time. But there’s an equal and opposing theory that says architects are supposed to show you a better way.
CTW And both are true?
ST Yes. You are obligated to reflect your time, and you are equally obligated to show a better way.
CTW But historicism doesn’t play into either theory.
ST No—when your work reflects its time, historicism is always present. There’s no question that history, and the theory emanating from history, are of value. You’re placed on the planet, Cheryl, only to find a better way? There is no precedent? I don’t think so. But are you only there to extend precedent infinitesimally? Again, I don’t think so. How do you come to grips with these two mutually exclusive ideals? You have to have a value system. And that value system must be informed by moral and ethical truths, or it becomes insubstantial.
CTW So that would be your charge to young designers?
ST My charge to young designers.…Make no mistake, I’m all for beautiful things. Archeworks makes beautiful things for those who need it most, for those who never get good design. But beauty is, as one is reminded, in the eye of the beholder. What is more substantial than beauty? The larger reason you should work with people in need is self-explanatory: I think one is never too young to give back. You, and people of your generation, if you’re trying to get body and soul together to buy a house, that’s just about you, you, and you. You still can give back, though most people don’t do shit. If you want to give back, you need to think of the commonweal, and where you can help most.
CTW Does doing good require self-examination—figuring out what you’re good at?
ST Yes. At Archeworks, we deal with heart-rending subjects, and it’s easy as a designer—because you’re also a human being—to be overwhelmed by them, which hampers your abilities. You need to contribute your education and expertise. Shoemakers make shoes; I don’t know how to make shoes.
In yesterday’s Tribune I read about a young couple who are plastic surgeons: they do cleft palates, and so on, free for three weeks, a couple times a year. Fabulous, fabulous—just imagine if every plastic surgeon did that. Imagine what would happen if graphic designers worked with their communities. Archeworks did a graphic program for the West Humboldt Park Development Corporation to make them look good and feel good about themselves. Now that’s a great project. They could sit down with a banker and wouldn’t look like a poor, struggling community organization, of which there are zillions. It provided collective self-esteem, and Jesus Christ, that’s important. Why don’t you do some of that—you specifically, personally? In tandem with this interview, why doesn’t your editorial group do that? Why isn’t it one of the AIGA’s primary focuses, to go out and do that?
CTW The AIGA actually does help serve the disadvantaged.…
ST But you see what I’m saying.
CTW So what would that do for the world?
ST Oh, God. It would be a much better place—if we used our expertise, preferably in tandem with others. Now, you can question like crazy not just what gets done, but the process by which it comes about. This is an interactive time, I’ll give you that. But sometimes it’s difficult talking to other people—things get deferred, and decisions aren’t made. Don’t be held hostage to indecision, or engage in endless foreplay: get going. Figure it out. Do something.
I don’t want to sound like the heroic figure who has all the answers; I don’t have better answers than any other guy. I just think you’ve got to figure out what the questions are, have a moral program, and act accordingly.
Originally published in the volume 13, number 2, 2001 issue of inForm, the journal of the Chicago chapter of the American Institute of Graphic Arts.
[1] See Tigerman’s op-ed article in the June 2000 issue of Architectural Record, co-published by the AIA.
[2] Tigerman is cofounder and director of Archeworks, which he describes as “alternative education, with no prerequisites and no tenure. It’s a one-year post-professional course for practicing architects, for interior, graphic, and industrial designers, and others (though credit is occasionally given to students from other institutions). The student body is broken into three teams who work on actual, useful projects, rather than academic ones. Last year, for example, one team worked on Alzheimer’s, another on affordable, accessible housing, and a third worked with Illinois’s Department of Human Services to rethink the image they project.” Eva Maddox is Archeworks’s cofounder and the school’s project and program director.