In an effort to better understand educational architecture I want to explore some ideas shared by Elizabeth Farrelly in a recent online piece titled: Sydney’s rubbish buildings demand we ask architecture’s central question.
That question: “Can architecture have moral value?”
Farrelly goes on to suggest four ways architecture can “acquire moral heft; four opportunities for virtue. These are wellbeing, environmentalism, public-mindedness and beauty. “
In this post, I share some of my thoughts about how these four ideas relate to educational architecture.
My immediate reaction is that school and education architecture surely can assume an inherent morality due to the nature of the work. What do you think? Is that too easy an answer? Is it that simple?
But perhaps my first reaction is an extension of the disposition of being an educator. A purposeful, often vocational, approach teachers have towards their career. A designer of learning environments may not associate with such a deep-seated moral purpose to make a difference. Or at least their drivers come from an alternate place.
It would seem crucial (and logical) that for successful design outcomes in education architecture there needs to be a moral parity. At the very least moral sensitivity. Assimilation?
Are all stakeholders approaching the collaboration with the same moral code? What happens when this code is in a different language? What benefits or hurdles do we create by an ethical code established on different terms?
Let’s have a look at each of the four avenues that Elizabeth Farrelly suggests – starting in each section with some of her elaborations.
Wellbeing
Wellbeing is the least of them, being most self-focused. The ancients, naturally, were steeped in such wisdom but one of the earliest modern thinkers to document the link between health and architecture was Florence Nightingale. Noticing that Crimean War casualties healed faster near natural light and air, she produced designs for the lovely old St Thomas’ Hospital in London, where every bed had a massive window opening over garden and river.
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Despite what Farrelly says about the self-centred nature of our contemporary use of the term wellbeing, this is at the heart of why schools exist.
I taught in primary schools in some of the lowest socio-economic wards in England. For many students I encountered, school, the school building, the concept of school and the people involved, contributed massively to their wellbeing.
Every day I could see the impact of the ordered nature of the classrooms and the calming care of the educators on these students. That was nothing exceptional, that was simply our job.
So far from being the least of these moral imperatives, wellbeing is at the core of what we do in education. Whenever I am exploring what school communities value the most, wellbeing is often referred to as overarching, central or at the heart.
I often say you can’t just wake up one morning and change your mindset, and the same is true of wellbeing.
Despite commonly being held up as a central endeavour, it still is often poorly defined. I think that education architecture has a moral imperative to create environments where physical, emotional, academic and mental wellbeing can be positively affected.
It is not magically done by putting in a running track around the playground or by including calming sensory rooms. It is achieved in close partnership with the occupiers and eventual inhabitants.
I often say you can’t just wake up one morning and change your mindset, and the same is true of wellbeing. It is the aggregate of the choices we make. Buildings can guide us to drink more water, to be less isolated, to be more focused, to use the stairs, to get outside more, but we have to choose.
Yes wellbeing is self-focused but schools are buildings filled with people all committed to the fulfillment of every individual’s potential. It would be impossible not to.
Environmentalism
Then there’s eco-mindedness which, since it goes to species survival, is our pluralist era’s closest approach to a cohesive morality. Certainly Glenn Murcutt has always treated touch-the-earth-lightly architecture as a moral vocation. But is a 10-Green Star building properly described as morally good? Or is that more of a technical attribute?
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This is an interesting one for schools. Let’s explore an extreme but fairly likely reality for many schools and education facilities around the world. Imagine a school building that is not environmentally friendly. Imagine out of date processes and functions that are not eco-minded. How can we reconcile this against the education we are trying to provide within those walls?
On one hand, we might be teaching the value of “Respect for our planet” in a lesson that is taking place in a building that doesn’t adhere to the same moral code.
It is an interesting dilemma for the custodians of the space and the learners.
As Farrelly explains eco-mindedness is an example of a “cohesive morality” but what happens when that code is not valid of the buildings you occupy?
It is easy to refer to new schools holding up the different Green star ratings, but the existing building stock is more likely to defy any moral imperative.
I wonder about the inter-generational moral approach to education architecture. The way an old building impacts the behaviour of a future generation of students.
Can you retro-fit a moral code alongside new building codes?
Public-mindedness
By public-mindedness I mean that rare quality some buildings have of making you feel more significant, more dignified and more included, simply for passing by. This is almost a lost art, since no one will pay for it any more, and few architects have the skill.
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I wonder if I have ever experienced inclusiveness, dignity and significance because of a building? I think I have in lots of different ways. But it somehow depends on the situation. When I am in a wonderful environment, experiencing that place as a user, an operator, a human that the design was aimed at – I certainly do.
I often feel this way when I am in a theatre or sports venue. Perhaps it is the purpose of that space but the experience encompasses those three ideas. I remember feeling this way as a passenger at St Pancras Station in London.
As an outsider looking in I wonder if you feel insignificant, excluded and a little less worthy of that place?
I recently visited St Paul’s Cathedral and I remember feeling over-awed by the scale of the place. I wasn’t there to worship, just to look, a tourist. If I was there on more reverent undertakings I would no doubt feel something different.
Schools aim to lift every individual and improve their condition. This includes the community the building sits within. This is often done through the provision of community facilities and the ability for the wider neighbourhood to use the spaces on offer.
This might be a multi-use hall space that is booked by a martial arts club every Tuesday and Thursday evening. Or a parents group that uses the cafe and meeting facilities. Or perhaps a local 5-a-side football league that makes good use of the gym.
Opening our education facilities up in this way is a critical path to ensure we are included as a local community member. So much of our school facilities are not used to their full potential and remain under-occupied.
Maximising the potential impact is a critical disposition to take, so that as many people as possible, not just students and teachers, feel a lift.
Beauty
Finally, beauty. Beauty is architecture’s highest virtue because beauty alone lifts you from your ego. I’m not talking object-beauty. The Taj Mahal is merely a nice thing. I’m talking beauty of the spatial experience, be it Westminster Abbey, Mies van der Rohe’s Barcelona Pavilion or our own convict-hewn Argyle Cut. Beauty of this kind we love for its own sake, regardless of use or profit, and this transcendence is profoundly good for our souls.
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Much of the talk in school architecture is how we create high functioning buildings and learning spaces. We want them to operate in a way that adds real value to the experience of teaching and learning. What affordance do we have for beauty? Is the aesthetic quality of learning spaces being crowded out by pedagogical function?
Farrelly explains it to be about the spatial experience, not just the object-beauty. When teachers and students experience their buildings, they are not merely looking in, and they are not on a sightseeing tour. They are the key stakeholder, the core user. Identifying a teaching and learning space as beautiful without experiencing it fully, is a judgement from behind a sight-seeing veil and will only ever be on a surface level. It is like just judging a car on its looks, without taking it for a test drive.
Teachers and students are the users and operators of that space, so perhaps beauty depends on the function.
For example, if a teacher experiences seamless collaborative learning using whiteboards and small breakout spaces, or a productive dialogue with 30 students in the round without any acoustic problems, or the flow of team teaching across multiple areas, is that beauty?
The users are pushing that space to perform and function at a high level – their experience heightened by being surrounded by that environment. I think that is beauty.
To finish a thought from a different place, Rowan Moore explains that he opposes, “a culture that invests little in the dignity and beauty of everyday places – streets, schools – but finds billions in its back pocket for corporate spectacle.”
His remarks caused me to reflect on the worthiness of what we do in education. The phrase “Is it worthy of our students time?” is a great provocation for learning design. (Taken from the Teaching Effectiveness Framework) A similar set of questions could guide us.
Is this learning space worthy of its inhabitants? Will this place create a beautiful experience?
Featured Photo by Jonny McLaren
