Architectural Symbolism and the Sacking of the Capitol

In the past I have criticized the architectural merits of the United States Capitol. In playing architectural critic, I cited the bloated nature of the building: numerous additions have resulted in muddy (at best) proportions and a structure that no architect in his right mind would have created from scratch. But I also acknowledge that it is impossible to offer a fair critique of the Capitol architecture because the symbolism of the building overwhelms objective architectural criticism. The Capitol has long symbolized freedom, democracy, homeland, patriotism, truth, justice, and the American way. Architectural values have little relevance next to the abstract power of the Capitol of the United States of America as an icon. Whether on network news or the letterhead of a congress member, the mere outline of the Capitol Dome instantly communicates the high value people have attached to it -- all architectural criticism aside.  

This symbolic nature of the Capitol is only more clear after the 6th of January day of infamy. The sacking of the United States Capitol carries more weight than any run-of-the-mill riot or building defacement. It was an attack on every value that our democracy is. That is why, in the aftermath of the insurrection, shocked politicians and citizens expressed their dismay about the attack using words usually reserved for religious feelings. It was an assault on the "hallowed halls" of democracy. The building is described as "a sacred space" or "a revered sanctuary" or "a shrine of democracy."  None of this, of course, has anything to do with the physical architecture of the place. It has everything to do with the architectural symbolism of the building. 

During the Civil War, President Lincoln was urged by Congress to stop construction work on the new United States Capitol building. War funds were depleting the treasury and many saw the construction project as unnecessary spending in dire times. Lincoln saw things differently. He knew that the American people needed the symbolism of a completed Capitol. Construction continued. Lincoln, of course, was right. He knew what leaders have always known: people need a tangible representation of their most valued beliefs. The Catholic Church understood this in its ascendancy and used mammoth cathedrals to attract and impress the masses. Queen Victoria understood this when she moved her seat of power to Buckingham Palace where it would be visible to all Londoners. The pharaohs certainly understood this when ordering monuments big enough to ensure their influence even after death. Architecture can be a lasting and powerful tool around which to organize ideas and inspire devotion or -- at least -- respect. 

From TV reporting and a flood of video images, the average American now has more architectural understanding of the Capitol than ever before. We have seen how Officer Eugene Goodman, with his knowledge of the Capitol floor plan, deliberately led marauders away from the Senate chamber. Away from Vice President Pence as the mob frothed with "hang Mike Pence, hang Mike Pence..."  We have seen numerous replays of angry white males bursting into the senate chamber, invading private offices, and smashing doors and windows with abandon. All within the gravitas of marble halls, colonnades, and classical details that we recognize as our United States Capitol. 

Is there some other form of architecture that could carry the weight of all this symbolism other than the Classical Revival building that has been bequeathed to us by history? Of course. Had the Capitol been designed in the twentieth century with modernist materials and details we would probably be in thrall by whatever that building looked and felt like. Or, perhaps, some Art Nouveau confection would be our inheritance. Or maybe a late-Gothic, spire-encrusted building like the British Parliament. Whatever it might have been, if it housed our government it would eventually grow into a symbol of our government and a symbol of who we are as a people. A symbol beyond the reach of architectural criticism. But our founding fathers and subsequent leaders decided that the proper receptacle for a democratic government was Greco-Roman architecture because the Greeks invented democracy. So there we have it. That architecture has been established, repeated, and embellished over the years. As a powerful and rich nation we have had the resources to build and maintain the Capitol architecture in top-notch form. What we see today on TV is a legacy from the past that is alive today.

 All buildings have a spirit in some sense. We have warm feelings about home, religious devotion in church, feelings of excitement in an arena. Under the best circumstances, architecture supports and encourages such feelings. That is the purpose of architecture, as opposed to merely encasing these functions in an ordinary building. For any architect fortunate enough to author a major public building, one hopes they are up to the honor. The symbolism they establish with architecture can be long lasting and very serious. And perhaps it would be good to remember that any outrage we may feel about the January 6th sacking of the Capitol, any fondness we may have about the lavish architectural details, and any heartbreak we have about the desecration of that building is not about the physical construct at all. Our outrage is about the defilement of the ideas which that building symbolizes after centuries of standing unmarred by internal political strife. 

The Architecture of Power 1: The Capitol Building

The Capitol of the United States.

Buildings are often symbols for something beyond the structures themselves.  Kevin Lynch famously made this argument in Learning from Las Vegas (Robert Venturi, Denise Scott Brown, Steven Izenour; MIT Press 1977).  Lynch's book praised gigantic neon signs as an appropriate architecture for a fast-moving car culture that has no time for diminutive details. In Las Vegas the buildings themselves become signs, using architecture to attract gawkers and gamblers.

Buildings may blatantly telegraph their function. Hot dog stands in the shape of hot dogs. Ice cream shops as oversized canisters of cream. Motels as concrete teepees. These examples are kitsch; they hardly qualify as architecture. Buildings with more august functions usually employ subtle cues to communicate their function. This is when design transcends structure. It is particularly fascinating to contemplate the architecture of power. Can architecture be used to support the very idea of political power? There is no better place to look for an answer than the capital of the free world, Washington, D.C.

Little Man ice cream stand in Denver.

Roadside hot dog in Colorado.

Washington abounds with buildings designed to communicate power, authority, strength. The Capitol building itself is a leading example. An vague image of the Capitol is potent enough to signal power around the world. Whether as a photograph or an abstract logo, the Capitol is universally recognized as a symbol of power. The Capitol is so familiar that even a lean graphic suggesting the capitol dome provides instant recognition and authority. Letter heads, campaign stickers, or government edicts frequently employ the abstraction. It is used as a logo for political talk shows and to market patriotic merchandise of all sorts. Images of the capitol are ubiquitous.

Iconic images of the U.S. Capitol. 

The first Capitol dome, designed by Charles Bulfinch, a Boston architect, was finished in 1824. After Capitol expansions it was considered too small (and a fire hazard). A new dome was constructed to a design by Thomas U. Walter in the 1850s. Eleven Capitol architects have contributed changes and additions over the years. The building has morphed over time; it is impossible to credit authorship to any individual. The accretion of additions has also resulted in the dome looking somewhat like a decoration plopped atop a sheet cake, connected less than elegantly to the elements beneath. Such criticism may seem churlish to some. The symbolism of the Capitol bears almost as much emotional weight as the nation's flag. To criticize it seems unpatriotic. Which brings up the central problem in writing a serious architectural critique of the Capitol: the building is so familiar that it is more of an icon and less of a building. Still, it is architecture and can be viewed as such.

A cake.

How does it stack up as architecture?  To my eye, the proportions are less than graceful. It looks like what it is: an accretion of add-ons and improvements over time by different people for different purposes. The cohesion of the separate elements is tenuous. I once voiced this criticism to a Washington, D.C. resident. He was horrified. What an affront to the city and it's most iconic building! Well, there you have it: the Capitol is an icon... it can hardly be criticized as architecture. As a symbol of power, it is unparalleled in the world. Perhaps it succeeds as architecture in spite of the architecture, because the building successfully communicates its role as the ultimate seat of power.  But a hot dog stand does the same thing in its realm; nobody would seriously call it architecture. This is a discussion that goes in circles without resolution. The Capitol is a prime example of the architecture of power, but it may or may not be good architecture. I believe it is nearly impossible to objectively see the Capitol, hidden behind its veil of political preconceptions and symbolism.

Finally, the interior of the Capitol building is, put plainly, a let down. Without question, other domed spaces are more impressive than the hall under the Capitol dome. Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, St. Peter's in Rome, the Duomo in Florence - all stand superior. Then we have the Senate and House chambers. When I visited, neither house was in session; it was easy to stroll through and get a sense of the architecture. Many state capitols are better designed than this national assembly. The Senate and House chambers are stuffy rooms, mechanically de-odorized as if there is some stench that needs to be masked. The windowless spaces, festooned with heavy velvet swags, felt like a funeral home. It was depressing to think that some of the most important decisions in the world are made in this environment. On a scale of one to ten, the Capitol interiors rate three.

Please don't think I am unpatriotic.

Aerial view of U.S. Capitol.

Renaissance Architecture of the Air

Renaissance architects manipulated architecture for sensory pleasure and intellectual delight.

Filippo Brunelleschi, architect.

One of the intents of Renaissance architecture was to control the perception of space through the arrangement of mass.The key word here is perception. To Michelangelo, Brunelleschi, and Palladio, architecture was not about picture-perfect images. It was about the perception of space in real life.

Brunelleschi's dome, Florence, Italy.

A recent article by Gregory Karp in the Chicago Tribune indicates this philosophy of space - dating to at least the renaissance in architecture - is now understood by those who design the interiors of airplanes. 

Boeing Sky Interior.

New airplanes are being outfitted with interiors that address the perception of space in environments normally perceived as cramped and claustrophobic. Even in coach, the new Boeing 737 planes, for example, "are likely to have the Boeing Sky Interior," reports Karp, "which evokes a greater sense of space." Boeing's regional director in Chicago, Kent Craver, cites this as "a step change in our interior philosophy" because passengers have an emotional reaction to the airplane simply based on the way it looks. BINGO! That is what Renaissance architects knew about space five centuries ago.