Or: how architecture can create timeless memories through the use of ritualistic typology
For millennia architects and historians have struggled to find what separates good architecture from the great. Juhani Pallasmaa in his book The Eyes of the Skin argues that architecture must resonate not just with an ocular-centrist perspective, but consider all of our senses. While evidence is provided to show the tools that architects and builders have used in the past centuries to put this thesis forward, it may not be fully developed. Great architecture does consider all of mankind’s senses and in this way, it instills a memory in the viewer. But the best way to instill a memory is not through sight, sound, touch, taste or smell; it is through repetition. Repetition has been used by every society in their respective rituals. Rituals as simple as making a cup of tea in the afternoon or as complex as Japanese Zen tea ceremonies all serve a higher purpose to the people who enact them, and in doing so they become ingrained in the user's memory.
Ritual has been a vital part of human culture for as long as history has been recorded, and before that still. Through the use of ritual, humans have been able to mark significant events, giving them a higher place in their own subconscious than an ordinary activity. Rituals are much like art in that they are intended to be multilayered and mysterious. They are not unique to the human realm. Many types of ritual have been observed in countless species, from the dancing birds of paradise in the Amazon to monkeys who use them to establish social order. All of these rites from bird to human are used to display an animal’s intent to others. Rituals continue in a smooth, predictable sequence. For an example, one can look to the rituals of the Balinese voodoo rites in Haiti where the participants appear to be “programmed to go off” into their trance. It has been observed that some rituals in cultures can be practiced without study, as in the Bwiti cult ritual of the Fang in Gabon or the Tukano in Columbia. Collectively, these rites and rituals across cultures are intended not only for their aesthetics; they are used to fulfill humanity’s requirements including the need for order, significance, and attachments to the collective group.
Rituals were certainly the reason for the oldest sites known to man, including Göbekli Tepe in modern day Turkey and Stonehenge in modern day England. These sites used monolithic post and lintel structures built from rocks transported from distant locations to create spaces of solemn proportions. Of these, Stonehenge is the most well known in the western world. Though we will never know what the rituals involved in Stonehenge were, we do know that the alignment of the stones correlates with the summer solstice and there is evidence of a wooden henge and great bonfires which aligned with the midwinter solstice. These elements — the alignment with celestial bodies, fire, processional walking, and monumental forms — are found in many examples of spiritual architecture. Of these elements, the ritual of the procession from one point to another is the most common, not only in religious and spiritual architecture but in domestic and commercial as well. Ritual is where our memories are best preserved, with it ordinary objects, places and actions become extraordinary, long lasting, and even eternal. In religious architecture, the use of ritual establishes the memory of the space in the believer. This is a powerful tool used to induce spiritual gratification, a deeper understanding of the viewer's belief, and overall, a sense of the sublime. Some of the most notable examples of ritualistic ideas in religious architecture are preserved in Notre-Dame de Paris and Ryōan-ji in Kyoto Japan.
The procession down the central axis of Notre-Dame de Paris was used for centuries for the baptisms, marriages, and funerals of its parishioners. Each of these Christian rituals is rooted in history and has acts associated with them. These acts form solid memories in the minds of the participants, and because the building is so perfectly adapted to these rituals, it has withstood the test of time as a significant work to the architectural community. Most people who now visit Notre-Dame are not members of the parish, but tourists. In the fourteenth century, when the cathedral was completed, members would have gone every Sunday to pray to and worship God. During these ceremonies, the clergy process down the nave of the cathedral while the members of the church watch. There are readings, songs, the liturgy, and finally the consecration of the wine and bread. These rituals have intertwined with one another for centuries and together they make the space more than just a beautiful monument. The monument itself has become a symbol of Christianity, and through its history of ritual, it impresses upon the viewer a sense of the power of their deity.
Ryōan-ji in Kyoto, Japan explores different techniques from those of Notre-Dame because of its bases in Zen Buddhism. Zen is a tradition unlike Christianity in that praise is not allocated to a deity, but rather to the three jewels of the practice. These three subjects — the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha — are placed in equal importance to one another. The Buddha’s teachings, or Dharma, have the ultimate goal of instructing each practicer how to reach enlightenment; ultimately escaping the rebirth cycle known as Samsara and entering Nirvana. At Ryōan-ji, these ideas take the form of a series of small structures placed in a garden space. The gardens at Ryōan-ji as seen today were created in the fifteenth century many years after the first examples of Chinese garden design, which was transported to Japan. The Japanese garden is meant to instill a sense of wabi-sabi, a concept which finds beauty in imperfection. Wabi-sabi is employed to show the Buddhist views of impermanence and suffering to its observers. The garden itself is situated on a pond containing two islands, these are connected by a land bridge to temple structures which go back into a walled rock garden. The rock garden is central to the Japanese Zen garden tradition, and it is exemplified here at Ryōan-ji. This path is followed by visitors to cherry trees and a tea garden, another tradition central to Japanese Zen. In this garden, there are buildings made for Zen rituals which include chanting, walking, and most importantly meditation. These structures contain walls of wood and paper which are translucent when closed. These can be opened up to the garden in order to appreciate the garden’s views. The garden itself becomes part of a ritual for viewers, and the central focus lies in the rock garden. This space consists of fifteen stones laid out seemingly randomly placed on top of small moss islands, and surrounded by gravel which is raked daily. The raked gravel forms a wave-like pattern in the garden where only moss is allowed to grow. The space is constricted by a low wall with a wooden roof, separating the rectilinear space from the outer gardens on three sides. The final side of the rectangle is staged by a large viewing platform which is contained within one of the many temple structures. The placement of the stones only appears random but in reality, they are aligned in a manner that allows only fourteen of them to be viewed at a time. This leaves the last stone as a sort of mystery to the viewer, perhaps representing the ultimate mysteries which can only be solved through enlightenment. This active viewing becomes a ritual of searching, leading to contemplation which can be further understood through the practice of meditation. As one enters the gate of Ryōan-ji they are transported into a space of exalted contemplation. The structures of the site break away from this impermanent landscape. After this entry, one must leave and enter the garden again to get to the next structure. Bangs puts forward the idea that, “in gardening, we reestablish our identity as creatures of the earth, and as we work with plants to accentuate their inherent beauty, we unconsciously explore the structure of the universe.” The interweaving of outdoor and indoor space becomes seamless in this architecture, and in a much more advanced way than anything found in Europe from the same period. This entwinement between structure and nature along a path creates a ritual walking space, serving a purpose similar to that of Notre-Dame but in a way related to Japanese tradition and the natural world.
For much of the garden’s history in Europe, formal French gardens were the most sought after. These French gardens used complex combinations of geometric forms with strong relationships with one another. The formal garden reached its height at the Palace of Versailles in the late seventeenth century, just outside Paris, France. At the time of construction, Versailles was the capital of the state, as well as the home to the court of King Louis XIV and his descendants. The château and the gardens which surround it are brought up to an extreme scale. The garden itself consists of a long central axis, flanked by traditional bosquet, parterre, and multiple water features. All of these elements are put on display purely for the enjoyment of the king and his court. The garden and the château were used by King Louis XIV in a very ritualistic daily manner. Every day at 8:30, the king would rise in the ceremony known as the levee. Here he would be greeted by a number of spectators who would proceed with him down the Hall of Mirrors to the State Apartments. He would have a short time to be passed notes, and soon he would go to the Royal Chapel for a half hour mass. This mass would have a new piece of music daily composed by Lully Delalande or another court composer. After this he would have a private lunch and after he would go for a walk in the gardens. All of this happened in succession to each other daily. This subscribed ritual prescribed by Louis himself kept the king on a tight schedule, and the repetition of it became a solidified ritual which would not be followed by his descendants. But this ritual habit made Versailles and its gardens what they are today. The wonderful Hall of Mirrors, the central axis of the gardens and the Royal Chapel are all placed in specific areas to promote this ritual. Due to the architectural elements found in the gardens, even tourists today participate in a similar ritual. It is only natural to be entranced by the prolonged central axis or to be lost in one of the many maze-like bosques. The ritual of walking through these spaces instills the ideas of proportion and harmony in the viewer.
The ritualistic practices found in the sacred architecture of Notre-Dame and Ryōan-ji, as well as the ones found in the domestic architecture of Versailles, have been established. But ritual is not always so obvious, even to the users who practice them. One instance of hidden ritual is displayed at Fallingwater in Bear Run Pennsylvania, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. To the Kaufmanns, the original owners of the house, Fallingwater was sacred architecture. The space allowed them to escape from their lives in Pittsburgh and go into nature in order to become one with it. While it remains to this day one of the most valued architectural achievements of the modern era, many do not understand what makes the site so significant. Surrounded by natural forests, the building is set atop the Kaufmann’s favorite waterfall. Instead of simply becoming another viewpoint, the building becomes one with water itself, surrounded by the lovely sound of the cascade. The spaces, much like those at Ryōan-ji, are intertwined with exterior viewing platforms. These create a defined pathway for the inhabitants to use on a daily bases in a ritualistic manner. The Kaufmanns loved to hike on their property and one of the features that Wright employs is a washing basin right outside the front door of the property to remove the dirt that would collect on a walk before entering the house. This fountain is one of the many small details that come together to create a sacred space. Wright, during his time in Japan, may have borrowed this idea of the washing basin from Ryōan-ji. In the Japanese garden, a basin is used to similar effect. The use of water has always been a significant part of human rituals, from the sacrament of baptism in the Christian world to the ceremonial cutting of hair for Buddhist monks. At Fallingwater, the element of water is beautifully integrated with the sky, earth, and air. This is done through the staircase in the main level that goes down to the run. By combining these elements, Wright brings turns the dwelling into a sacred space, interconnected with nature in a pure way seldom seen in domestic architecture. It is clear from the elements used in the space that Wright saw himself as a ritual setter, learning from his time as an architect and his time in Japan.
The modern ideas of ritual and architecture that are displayed in many of Wright’s buildings can also be seen in the best works by Le Corbusier. One prominent example of how ritual plays a role in modern dwellings is seen in Poissy France in Corbusier’s magnum opus Villa Savoye. In this example, Corbusier creates a hovering rectilinear form, suspended over the clearing by a series of pilotis. These small columns create a driveway for cars to process around. In this way, Corbusier makes the automobile the primary observer of the daily ritual. The cortege around the building is not unlike the process of moving through the aisles of a great medieval cathedral. Once an observer has come home to this villa, they can park their automobile in the garage connected to the house. They can then process either up the ramp of the house or take the adjacent staircase. Both of these objects anchor the other spaces of the house together. The ramp is the primary way of movement through the villa. This ramp circles around itself, similar to the labyrinths found in Christianity. But the labyrinth at Villa Savoye is not done in a planar manner. Instead, it is expanded to a three-dimensional form, intertwined with itself and the villa as a whole. The ramp’s final stop is at the roof garden, serving as the protection for the interior of the villa, as well as a platform to observe nature. Corbusier’s original intent for this garden was for it to function as a space for daily exercises. These movements in themselves are similar to the movements of human dance rituals.
Rituals have always played a large role in sacred architecture. From Stonehenge to Ryōan-ji, elements have been used to go with the processions, rituals, and contemplation that are so important to those faiths. These elements can connect the viewer to celestial bodies, or to the elements of the earth. Most importantly, they connect society’s members in ways that are still not fully understood by modern psychology. These elements have also been used in the best examples of domestic architecture. At Versailles and Fallingwater, different elements come together to create spaces that together are more than their separate parts. They point to something beyond our capability of understanding, the sublime mystery that fills our world. Through all of these examples employ our full range of senses, as Pallasmaa predicted, what separates these works from their counterparts as exemplary is the way in which they use elements to induce rituals.