“MAN ACCEPTS INCOHERENCE. NATURE DOES NOT.

”
N. Salingaros, A Theory of Architecture

BOOK REVIEW

A THEORY OF ARCHITECTURE, by Nikos A. Salingaros, Umbau-Verlag, Solingen,

Germany, 280 pages, ISBN 3-937954-07-4

Review by Kim Sorvig (Univ. New Mexico, Arch. & Planning) and Jenny Quillien (Laboratory
of Anthropology)

The spirit of Jacob Bronowski hovers over the work of Nikos Salingaros. It was Bronowski who
so eloquently stated that for science to proceed we need not be right or complete: the best of our
intellectual giants were wrong and incomplete. Progress depends on being absolutely genuine
and courageous enough to leave the solid ground of safe but uninteresting questions for the
swamp of difficult issues. A Theory of Architecture, by Nikos Salingaros, confronts difficult
issues head on. Salingaros explores ways to clarify and formalize our understanding of aesthetic
forms in the built environment, using mathematics, thermodynamics, Darwinism, complexity
theory and cognitive sciences. An inspiration for Salingaros is The Nature of Order, a four-
volume work by architect Christopher Alexander. He assumes that readers are familiar with
Alexander’s work and have reasonable literacy in mathematics and the sciences.

This collection of essays is a work in progress with both gaps and overstatements. (The use of
scientific terms and analogies is freewheeling enough to require patience from specialists, but
rewards the effort.) Essentially a compilation of previously published articles, the material begs
for a complete reconstruction as a single work, and would greatly benefit from more graphics. It
is currently up to the reader to find the main threads and weave them together. Salingaros’s
strongest and most insightful ideas revolve around complexity and levels of scale as they affect
the quality of architectural design. This review focuses on those aspects of the book.

Complex systems – those composed of many ‘agents’ that interact somewhat independently – are
characterized by ‘emergent properties,’ in which groups of interacting agents self-organize into
patterns at the next larger scale. There are typically many levels of scale relationships. Rules
describing scale are critical in complex systems, e.g. the self-similarity of the different-scaled
components of a tree (twig, branch and trunk). Similar scale- or proportion-based laws
(including power laws) describe spatial distribution, e.g. trees in the forest. Visual elements that
combine and recombine as multi-scaled perceived patterns aptly describe much architecture. A
concrete example: a well-proportioned building generally has windows and doors whose sizes
are multiples of some basic material dimensions (stone building blocks, perhaps). Groups of
windows, perceived as a visual unit, are not only proportional to the individual windows (and
thus to the blocks), but also to the whole façade. Block, window, grouping, and façade are
levels of scale in a “scaling hierarchy.”

Salingaros argues that hierarchical scaling rules are as basic to complex systems, including
architecture, as analytical rules are to physics. He postulates that cross-cultural universals
derived from scaling rules in nature govern human appreciation of architecture. In particular, a
great many complex natural objects have components that scale by a factor of approximately 2.7
(the natural logarithm e). From this, Salingaros derives his most basic principles about
architecture:
Because humans comprehend natural pattern by recognizing hierarchical scaling, similar
scaling hierarchies make architecture comfortable and visually pleasing. Architecture that
lacks hierarchical scale can be excitingly iconoclastic but is ultimately disquieting.
Architecture, to elicit positive responses, should have a full hierarchy of elements whose
scales relate by a factor of 2.7. In practice, perceptual elements and groupings that relate by
any factor between 2 and 4 produce good results.

“International Style” Modernism (one of Salingaros’ main targets) eliminates intermediate- and
small-scale elements. The Modernist fascination with huge blank surfaces and prohibition of
ornament leaves only large-scale proportions. This lack of hierarchy is hard for human
perception to comprehend, says Salingaros, and therefore alienating.

Salingaros expands these essential ideas in fascinating observations about buildings and
perception, and attempts to produce rules by which scaling can inform both design and
evaluation of architecture. Perhaps because his background is physics, Salingaros tries overly
hard to codify Rules, but each is thought-provoking and goes well beyond the stale dogmas that
burden so much design practice today.

Hierarchy and complexity result in visual interest at varied viewing distances, according to
Salingaros, and an ordinary building (up to about ten stories) should have eight to ten levels of
scale, starting from detail like wood grain or stone texture just visible to the eye (about 1/16 to ¼
inch). Each level needs to have a scale two to four times larger than the previous, and no scales
should be skipped. (Convenient basic dimensions of a scaling hierarchy for a small building
might be 1/8”, ½”, 1”, 4”, 1’6”, 6’, 24’, 72’ – or 2mm, 8, 24, 96, 3m, 9, 27, 81 –; note that the
scaling factor varies.) Elements at one scale benefit from being ‘framed’ in the next-smaller
scale. How contrast and similarity define elements and groupings is also discussed.

Clearly, these are not rules that would be sufficient for a computer to generate a building. Many
other skills (and rules) are involved. Proportioning rules can tweak almost any creative design –
but they have nothing to say about structural mechanics, about building functions, or about
dealing with zoning board and code inspector.

Less explicitly, though often eloquently, Salingaros proposes (and tries to justify scientifically) a
design process in which decisions at every level affect every other one, rather than a dominant
grandiose theme. He clarifies why eye-level perspectives are more relevant than plan-and-
section drawings, and why buildings and developments that look good on paper, in scaled-down
representation, often look horrible when constructed. As an “outsider” observing architecture, he
grasps concepts that many architects miss.

Several fundamental issues need to be resolved before Salingaros’ work truly becomes A Theory.
The first is that his use of terms is often out of keeping with standard usage in architecture. For
example, “a scale” for Salingaros is a class of elements in an architectural design – and an
ambiguous class at that. To trained architects, a scale is a unit of measurement, a relationship of
enlargement or reduction, or a zoom-in/zoom-out view. Architecture’s conventions are ripe for
revolution, but to be influential, new terms must take old ones into account, even those that are
rejected.

Secondly, by accident or intent, Salingaros refuses to distinguish between perceptual elements

and physical parts. A building’s proportions are affected by physical construction – but bricks
can be plastered, or framing disguised, until perceptual proportions bear little relationship to
structural ones. Salingaros does not deal with tangible or theoretical influences of structure, such
as modular materials, Modernism as an adaptation to technological change in the building
industry, or the differences between form-making in natural growth and in construction.

Finally, the idea that beauty is reducible to comprehensibility, and aesthetics to information
theory, fails to ring true. Seeing something understandable results in a quick, nearly dismissive,
“I know what that is.” Seeing something beautiful results in visceral satisfaction and attraction.
As it stands, A Theory of Architecture teaches little about this emotional, possessive, and
inspiring reaction to great architecture, or about natural beauty. Despite these limitations,
Salingaros’ remarkable observations suggest that concepts of complexity and scale can someday
provide a full-bodied explanation for both the practice and the appreciation of architecture.