ARCHTHEO Struggle in Studio

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Struggle in the Studio: A Bourdivin Look at Architectural PedagogyAuthor(s): Garry StevensSource: Journal of Architectural Education (1984-), Vol. 49, No. 2 (Nov., 1995), pp. 105-122Published by: Blackwell Publishing on behalf of the Association of Collegiate Schools ofArchitecture, Inc.Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1425401Accessed: 20/07/2010 03:37

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Struggle n the Studio:A Bourdivin Look at Architectural edagogy

GARRYTEVENS,niversity f Sydney

Thisarticle eeks to establish wo propositions. irst,architectural duca-tion, although bviously ntended s vocational raining, s also intended s aform of socialization imed at producing very specific ype ofperson. t scontended hat he effects of this process have been considerably nderesti-mated by architectural ducators. Second, his process avors certain ypesof students-those from well-to-do, ultivated amilies-at the expense ofothers. The sociological ramework f Pierre Bourdieu s enlisted o conductthe analysis.

Toward Sociologyof Architectural edagogy

All forms of education ransmit knowledge and skills. All forms ofeducation also socialize tudents nto some sort of ethos or culture.These two functions are inseparable.Much has been written n theseand other pages about the first function of architectural ducation,about how architects should be trained, about what they shouldknow. Very ittle has been written about he second. Although everyacademic knows that there s a definite culture nto which architec-ture students are socialized,usually described sa form of romanticindividualism, iscussion bout t has remained nformal and theo-retically narticulated, sThomas Dutton noted, beyond his own useof the notion of hidden curriculum o describe t.'

I present here what I believe to be an especially nterestingand

challengingmodel of the architectural nculturation

processbased on the work of the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu. Tworeasons articularly ommend Bourdieu's theorizing o architectureeducators. First, the discipline and profession of architecture redeeplyembedded n the cultural world, and as Scott Lash aid n theintroduction to a volume on modern cultural sociology,"Bourdieu's eneral ociologyof culture s not only the best, but itis the only game n town."2His work on the relationship f cultureto society has important hings to say about architecture's place nthe social world. Second, he is a leading ociologist f education andhas for many yearsbeen a locus lassicus or European ducators. Histheorizing n that area can explain many otherwise puzzling phe-nomena about architectural ducation.

ReadingBourdieuPierre Bourdieu s not a name that the architectural eader s likelyto have encountered n the way that one encounters other Frenchintellectuals like Michel Foucault or Jacques Derrida or Jean-Francois Lyotard, although a poll of French intellectuals rankedhim among the ten most influential intellectuals.3Well known in

France, he has only had a major mpact on the Anglo-Americanfield in the past ten or so years since the publication of his bookDistinction.4 n that time, "he, more than any other comparable ig-ure, ... has come to personify he continued value and vigour of adistinctly French ntellectual radition within the social sciences."5

His impact on architecture as been minimal: a few scatteredreferences nd the occasional borrowing f some key concepts, of-ten wrongly (albeit nnocently) attributed o others.6The reasonsare not hard o find. Unlike other French uminaries, he has neverclaimed he robes of a philosopher-king, arments specially llur-ing to architectural heorists. nstead, he positions himself squarelyin the field of sociology. He has conspicuously avoided the volu-minous and verbose debates that constitute the discourse ofpostmodernism.7 lthough one can hardly ind any academic writ-ing on architecture hat fails to take that phenomenon as central,Bourdieu has only ever referred o it in order o dismiss t as intel-lectual faddism.8 He might perhaps have found an audiencetwenty-five years ago during architecture's rief flirtation with thesocial, but contemporary theory and writing, being a sort ofnouvelle cuisine Heidegger, has no place for someone sounpalatably eft of center. Preferring heir seers o be, like their ar-chitects, gifted with a unique, personal, and solitary prophetic vi-

sion,theorists would find

unappealingBourdieu's

extensiveempirical studies and would be disillusioned on finding that hiswork s collaborative nd collective, relying on the efforts of his co-workers at a French state research nstitute.

His writing is long-winded, discursive, onvoluted, formal,and rhetorical; hen one can understand im at all, it is easy o takehim as arguing or positions to which he is strenuously pposed.9His theoretical ormulations re scattered nd diffuse, rendering tdifficult o giveprecise references.Reading Bourdieu s like watch-ing a Peter Greenaway ilm: Beneath he tortured ococoexquisite-nessone can dimly make out that he reallyhas something profoundand mportant o say, but it is often difficult o determine just whatit is. One perseveres s one perseveres with Derrida or Foucault,

knowing that the stylistic heatrics hat are part of the repertoire fall French ntellectuals recrucial o the content of their thought.'oFinally, whereas all previous ociologicalwork has analyzed

architecture n terms of a sociologyof the profession, Bourdieu hasno distinct nterest n professions. He regards he whole concept asmore misleading han useful, arguing hat a specific sociology ofprofessions, ather han a general ne of occupations, does no morethan accept he professions' mage of themselves s somehow nher-ently superior orts of workers." n this he moveswith the generaltrend of sociology o abandon he whole notion as inadequate.'2

Journal ofArchitectural ducation, p. 105-122? 1995 ACSA, Inc.

1 05 Stevens



In a critical and polemical discipline, Bourdieu s more po-lemic than most. Every ociologist believes hat, in society, thingsare not as they seem; hat societyoperates n some sense beyond hecontrol of the individuals who comprise t; and that socialpatternscan be produced and persist ven when the people n them are un-aware of their existence and do not want them. However,Bourdieu's ttempts o unmask he realities behind the surface p-pearances f our everyday xperience ive his work an especially tri-dent tone, which his baroque tyle does nothing to ameliorate. Heis a critical heorist n the technical ense of someone who not onlyhas ideas about how society doeswork, but also about how it shouldwork.13Bourdieu s an angry man, his works "pounding with therhythms of philosophical doom," propelled by a tide of deep pas-sion, motivated by the conviction that modern society s riven byprofound niquities, iniquities the greater or being camouflagedand receivedas perfectly cceptable nd natural practices.'" re hispolemics necessary?Within his theoretical ramework heycertainlyare, just as they are for Derrida and Foucault. His theorizing de-mands of readers hat they take a stand and think through ts im-plications or their own lives." With that said, and knowing that,as he himself admits, he has to overstate is case n order o state tat all, I can proceed o outline his model of society.

The Sociologyof Pierre BourdieuPower n SocietyThe starting point is the unremarkable ssumption hat all societ-iesare distinguished ycompetition between groups o further heirown interests. These struggles perate at many different evels: be-tween individuals, amilies, classes,and all sorts of other types ofcollective entities. It is also obvious that some groups succeed nfurthering heir nterests better han others: They control more re-sources. Not only do they have control, but they keep ontrol, andthis is only possible by denying heseresources o competitors. Thisfundamental ocial fact means that in the many intersecting ieldsthat make up society, some groups are dominant and some are sub-

ordinate. The control of resources oth requires nd givespower,and it is with power that Bourdieu s primarily oncerned: how itis exercised,who wields it, and for whose benefit. The most obvi-ous sort of power s physical orce, but only a few groups (for ex-ample, the more violent sorts of criminals) use physical orce. It isinefficient, and most societiesgrant he monopoly on the use of le-gitimate physicalviolence to the state.

A second type of power s economic. The importance f thisis obvious. Marxist heory holds that this is the only sort of power

and that all groups can be placed n some sort of hierarchy n soci-ety, depending on the amount of economic capital they control.One of Bourdieu's major contributions to modern sociologicaltheory has been to extend Max Weber's ociologizing nd decisivelydemonstrate hat this is not so, that there is a third, more potentand more pervasive, orm of power-the symbolic. Symbolicpowerinvolves he wielding of symbols and concepts, deasand beliefs, oachieve ends. It is much easier o control resources f a group cansimplyconvince competitors hat t shouldcontrol hem. This is theessenceof symbolic power. No need to carry a big stick if all yourrivalsare flagellating hemselves n your behalf. No need to cajoleif people voluntarily omply.

Bourdieu ists three important aspects of symbolic power:naturality, misrecognition, nd arbitrariness. irst, t is seen as some-how right and normal, he natural rder of things. The whole ideaof challenging t just never occurs o anyone, neither he powerfulnor the powerless. So, for example, n medieval and early modernEurope, t was taken as absolutely atural hat an absolute monarchshould govern absolutely. Only the most tremendous upheavals,such as the American nd French revolutions, ould show that thetaken-for-granted id not have to be. Second, this perception ofnaturality is a misperception or, in Bourdieu's terminology, a"misrecognition." ike fish in water, ndividuals n societiesmove

through the taken-for-granted ymbolic order that structures hewhole of lived experience, but that structures t so completely bypreciselynotbeing seen to structure t. The fact hat symbolicpoweris misrecognized as natural makes it much more effective thanphysical power, which is always iable to overthrow. From his fol-lows the third characteristic, he arbitrariness f symbolic power.Only people not embedded n the particular ocial order ee that itis not natural, but just one particular ay of doing things. To thosevast numbers of us who are not part of the haute couture ndustry,the ten-thousand-dollar reations of high fashion are more ridicu-lous than anything. To those who are, t is life itself.

These qualities of symbolic power render he giving of ex-amples rather problematic, problem ncountered y much socio-

logical exposition. Like psychology, ociology attempts o describeour most intimate and familiar xperience n theoretical erms hatoften seem to contradict common sense. Unlike psychology, inwhich since Freud we have become used to the idea that things arenot what they seem, sociological descriptions of the way societyworks still often strike readers s decidedly peculiar. f I must oftenuse examples rom alien milieus-fashion, early modern Europe-it is because examples aken from our own milieu of architecturaleducation would often strike he reader s counter-examples, imply

November 995 JAE 49/2 1 06



untrue, precisely because of the qualities of naturality and

misrecognition. So consider this next important point: Dominant

groups dominate because they wield some sort of symbolic powerover subordinate ones, who misperceive the power as legitimate andare thereby co-opted into their own subordination. By accepting thestate of affairs as natural, the subordinate groups allow the dominant

groups to exercise their dominance with minimal social conflict.How do I exemplify this? Perhaps by recalling the dominance

of the nobility of Europe over the rest of the population before the

eighteenth century. With only a minuscule proportion of the popu-lation, the noble class was able to dominate

decisivelythe lives of

millions, to live in comfort, if not splendor, while the masses lived in

squalor. All this was accomplished with the smallest of armies and no

police force at all. Indeed, we can measure the potency of the domi-nant class's symbolic power by the extent to which they must resortto force to maintain their dominance. The point is that most peopleaccepted the state of affairs as perfectly natural. Societies experiencesignificant social upheaval just when the dominant ideology--theideology of the dominant-fails, when people in subordinate posi-tions start to see the arbitrariness of their subordination.

So much for an alien exemplification. What if I chose insteadyour own society? Would not you reaction most likely be, " Whatdomination? What dominant classes? I see no symbolic power being

wielded! Isn't everyone free to become what they want?" What if Ichose instead the symbolic power of professors over students? Or the

power of charismatic architects, the "star" architects, over the disci-

pline and profession? What sort of reactions are produced then?To return to the point: Social conflict may be minimal, but

it is never nonexistent. Groups do struggle between themselves toobtain symbolic power or to change the nature of existing forms of

power. Such conflicts are the practical element from which societ-ies arise. The history of medieval Europe, for example, could bewritten in part as a contest between Church and State, a conflictbetween two dominant groups, to establish the dominant principleof domination.

Cultural CapitalAt the highest level, that of society as a whole, we call the field inwhich symbolic power operates "culture." As economic power flowsfrom the possession of economic capital, so symbolic power flowsfrom the possession of symbolic or cultural capital. Just as, in allsocieties, groups-from families to organizations to classes-com-

pete in the economic arena to increase their economic wealth, tomaximize their economic capital, so they also contend in the cul-tural arena to maximize their cultural capital. This notion of cul-

tural capital s a second mportant Bourdivin ontribution o socialtheory. Four basic orms can be distinguished: nstitutionalized, b-jectified, ocial,and embodied. hree are quite straightforward. n-stitutionalized ultural capital consists of academic qualificationsand educational ttainments, nowing hings, and being certified asknowing hem. Objectified apital s cultural bjects or goods, suchas artworks r any of the many symbolic objects produced n soci-ety. Social capital consists of durable networks f people on whomone can rely for support and help in life.

Before elaborating on the fourth form, I must reiterate an

important pointabout cultural

or symbolic) capital,and that s

itsarbitrariness. n this respect, ultural apital differs rom economiccapital. Money is money, but one person's ultural apital may notbe another's. An architect's etwork of business ontacts onstitutesconsiderable ocial capital o that person, but is quite worthless oa priest. Being an accomplished ailor s considerable ultural capi-tal in the architectural irclesof Sydney, with its annual Architects'Boat Race, but would count for naught n Vienna. A bow tie, smallround glasses,a beret, a cape: unimpressive ymbols o a carpenter,rather more potent to an architect, although had Le Corbusier orFrank Lloyd Wright worn a cravat, monocle, a bowler hat, and atrench coat, these particular nd equally arbitrary ymbols wouldhave carried he same potency.

The point is that cultural capital has different values n dif-ferent fields. The term field is a Bourdivin one, denoting the vari-ous arenas of which society is composed. The word is meant toconnote imagesof a battlefield-because people struggle o enhancetheir position n a field-and also a field of force-because the stateof each field depends on the relations between ndividuals. Archi-tectural cademics re part of the field of education and also part ofthe field of architecture. Architects re part of the field of architec-ture (among other fields),which is part of the field of culture. Sub-suming all is the field of power, society in general. Althoughsymbolic or cultural bjects have different alues n different ields,it is, in the last resort, heir value n the field of power that allowsthem to be arranged n one overarching ierarchy. hus some formsof cultural apital are valorized as worthier han others bysociety sa whole.The underprivileged may despise the tastes of the privi-leged, but they also know that societyvalues he person who valuesMozart and M6et more than it values the person who valuesMetallica and McDonalds.

The essential arbitrariness f symbols, of cultural goods, iswhat allows hem to be the object of struggles, where groups ry toconvince others to value their own capital more than that of theirrivals. f cultural oods were not arbitrary-in the sense hat money

1 07 Stevens



Table 1. Participation n Arts Activities and Preference or Music by Occupational Group

Proportion ttending %) Arts Events Musical Preferences %)

Occupation Income $) Opera Plays Dance Art Museums ClassicalMusic Country ndWestern

Managerial, High 45,000 10 23 7 39 10 20

Professional, cientific 39,000 18 26 7 45 18 13

Professional, ales 36,500 11 24 8 41 11 20

Professional, ocial Service 33,400 19 32 14 48 19 7

Professional, Technical 32,500 8 22 9 37 8 23

Professional, Cultural 32,000 29 38 11 59 29 9(Including Architects)

Artists 29,500 24 28 12 57 24 12

Clerical 28,000 3 14 6 25 6 21Skilled Manual 27,000 1 6 2 14 3 36Laborer 23,000 1 6 1 15 0 21

U.S. Population 28,000 7 13 5 24 7 23

Source: .A. Peterson ndA. Simkus, HowMusical astes MarkOccupational roups," n M. Lamont nd M.Fournier, ds., Cultivating Differences Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1992), pp. 152-186.

is not arbitrary (it is nonsensical to argue that my $100 is worthmore than your $100)-there would be no possibility of competi-tion. Everyone would agree that Mies is better than a project homeand that is that. (What? But of course Mies is better! How could

anyone possibly think otherwise!) We all know this is not so. Cul-ture is something with which people fight, about which they fight,and the ground over which they fight.16 The competition occursbetween and within groups. Architectural history provides excellent

examples. After the Chicago Fair of 1893, the cultural capital rep-resented by knowledge of the canons of the Beaux Arts was valuedmuch higher by architects and their patrons than the ideas of theAmerican progressives. The story of the Modern Movement is pre-cisely the story of that avant-garde's ultimately successful attemptsto devalue completely that form of capital in favor of their own.17

There is, therefore, a dominant culture that valorizes certaincultural goods and has persuaded society to-however reluc-

tantly-accept this evaluation. Some analysts criticize the notionthat there exists a single dominant culture in most western coun-tries, holding that the truth is closer to the Frankfurt school's no-tion of culture as mass reification.'8 The evidence to date indicatesthat although there is a greater commonality of material culturebetween classes than Bourdieu would be prepared to admit, thereare substantial differences in that area Bourdieu thinks is most im-

portant, nonmaterial or symbolic culture.'9 If we take what somecritics often use as a counterexample to Bourdieu's notion of a so-

ciety with a dominant culture, he United States,we find that thereare in fact great differences n the class participation of what wethink of as "high culture." Table 1 shows the musical and artistic

preferencesf Americans ersus he

occupationof the

respondent.Architects elong o the "Professional, ultural" category. Those inthe wealthiest occupational group, "High Managerial," r in anyone of the professional ategories re much more likely to partici-pate in certain eisure activities han those in the worst paid occu-pational categories. That economic reasons cannot explain this isclear when we examine the data for free or nearly free culturalforms, such as art museums, or when we recall hat a rock concertis about the same expense as an opera, or that a night at the bar orpub listening to a local rock group is about the same cost as anevening at the theater.

Embodied ultural apital

The fourth form of cultural capital s much more subtle, and it isthe element that makes Bourdieu's notion of cultural capital soimportant. t is obvious hat one does not have o have a private rtgallery or a slew of diplomas to be considered cultured, and it isentirely possible o own vast amounts of cultural goods and a de-gree or two yet be considered ulgar, crass,and boorish. Possessionof goods or qualifications s one way to own cultural capital, butthere s another way to possess t, by simply being ultured. This isembodied cultural apital. By "embodied" ourdieu means that it




existswithin ndividuals, sattitudes, astes, preferences, nd behav-iors. How we talk, walk, and dress, what we like to read, he sportswe like to play, the car we like to drive, he sorts of clothes we wear,the entertainments we prefer-.all of the multitudinous ways inwhich taste and attitudes are manifested are markers f embodiedcultural capital. As Terril Moi has noted, part of Bourdieu's impor-tance is in perceiving hat the most apparently rivial and naturalpractices-the clothes we wear, the foods we like, the friends wemake-are all crucial.20

The peculiar otency of this sort of capital ies n the fact that,

culturally peaking, owners of the other forms are only what theyhave, whereas he possessors of embodied capital only have to bewhat they are.21 erhaps he most familiar nd readily accepted ex-ample would be the concept of a "gentleman" r a "lady." Anyone,rich or poor, can be a gentle (to use the nonsexist but archaic erm).You do not have o own anything or to declare he fact by any othermeans than simply beingone.

The possession of economic capital allows consumption ofeconomic goods by the mere act of its possession:Everyone nowshow to spend money. Symbolic goods can only be consumed f onehas the right mental schemes of appreciation, f their meanings areunderstood. Symbols are alwayscodes of one sort or another andmust always be decoded. An accountant looking at a Peter

Eisenman ouseseessomething very different rom an architect. AnAmazon Indian given a red rose gets a spiky plant, a westerner getsa symbolic object redolent with significance.This accounts or thepeculiar mportance of embodied cultural capital. Because he en-sembleof dispositions hat allow us to consume ymbolicobjectsarepart of our embodied capital, t follows that this form of culturalcapital affects the rate of return received from the other forms.Moreover, because embodied capital s not perceived s capital, toperates surreptitiously, overtly. One has different reactions onhearing that Donald Trump has purchased a Vermeer than thatGore Vidal has: The amount of symbolic capital hat we perceiveTrump as receiving by this purchase s rather ess than the amountthat we perceiveVidal to receive.Why should this be? Becauseweunderstand hat Vidal is a cultivated person and that Trump s not.Vidal can appreciate he painting: Trump cannot.

Cultural and economic capital are quite distinct forms al-though interconvertible n different ways at different rates of ex-change. For example, he educational ystem allowscultural capitalto be converted o economic capital by providing access to high-paying sectors of the labor market; he "old-boy network" onvertssocial capital nto economic capital by providing business ontacts.Because he exchange atesare quite arbitrary, hey are an object of

struggle between different groups, each trying o maximize he rateof return on the particular orts of capital they have. A hundredyears ago, an American rchitect whose only formal education wasa few years at the Elcoledes Beaux Arts was set for a rapid rise, asthe existence of the elite Society of Beaux Arts architects and thecareers f Richard Morris Hunt and Charles McKim attest.22 hecachet so obtained would have been rather ess n the sixties,beforethe Society's closure.

TheUses fCulture

Bourdieu uses the notions of economic and cultural capital tomodel society as a two-dimensional space in which individuals,groups, and classes an be located (Figure 1).23Because t is alwaysbetter o have more than less and those with more can further heirinterests better than those with less, society naturally divides intosubordinate nd dominant classes.Here Bourdieu operationalizesthe concept of class in a fundamentally different manner thanMarxist heorists. n Marxist erms, a class s defined by its relationto the means of production and is motivated by some sort of rec-ognition of identity. n Bourdivin erms, a class s a group of peopleoccupying similar positions n social space. In a sense, there are asmany classesas there are distinguishably ifferent points in socialspace, but a division nto three serves he purpose well enough. The

subordinate lass consists of those with little of either form of capi-tal. Because, n the last resort, conomic capital dominates ulturalcapital, he dominant class tself divides nto a dominant and sub-ordinate raction: The dominant are those with the most economiccapital (entrepreneurs, anagers, nd so on), and the subordinateconsists of those with more cultural capital (intellectuals, artists,professionals).

A catalogof all of society's ultural objects and practices, llofthe myriad ormsof cultural capital,would be a very argedocument.At first sight, it might appear hat there was little relation betweenall of the many orms, but if we look at them from he point of viewof stratification, remarkable oherence emerges. By simply know-ing an individual's

occupation,or

example,we can make

quite goodguessesas to the sort of foods she will like, the sports she will par-ticipate n, or the clothes she will buy. Tastes, ifestyle, ulture, andclassare intimately inked,a factknown o advertisers or quite a longtime. As, for example, hown by Table 1, simplyknowing hat some-one is a social worker "Professional, ocial Service") llowsus topredict hat his musical astes are much more likely to be classicalthan country. Any experienced cademic ould tell a lecture roomfull of engineering tudents rom one of architecture tudents, andany practitioner ould distinguish n engineering ompany's Christ-

1 09 Stevens



IDominant fraction 0 Managerial: ighevelof the dominant

class

0 Prof: cientific

SSales: High evel

.. .Prof:Social service

o Prof:Cultural

EProf":

TechnicalOt Service:Protective Artists 0LU .i . l : il,..

................unskilled iManagria:Jnio

?iSkiledManuaui l :Farmer....

~S•.les: Low evel.......

SubrdiSenatce: killeste!:!•Transporti~Ciu:Ciiiii ~C iu iiiiii Of the dominant class

S...Clrworkerca

...m . . . F a orm er

............Ski e rvice:••

k rilled Ju ira nst

to••:•••ate

fra

woFarabor..... . 0 S u b o r d i nter

c l a s s e s e m i s k M a n u a l

. .........

. M a n e C u l t u r a l C a p i t a l. The Bourdivin odelof American ociety.

mas party from an architecture firm's. In their dress, deportment,speech, and tastes, people mark themselves as like.

Bourdieu's interest is in how culture is made to serve socialfunctions-in particular, how it works as symbolic power. Much ofhis work has been concerned with showing how taste and culture are

used by groups to define and bound themselves, to prevent the intru-sion of outsiders, and to maximize homogeneity. All cohesive groupsoperate some sort of mechanism of social closure. In modern society,one of the main mechanisms is provided by the education system,which formally certifies individuals as competent to join certain oc-

cupations. However, many groups, especially privileged ones, requirenot only this institutionalized form of cultural capital, but also par-ticular forms of embodied capital. It is these implicit requirementsthat although absent from the formal occupational description, arenonetheless just as necessary to join the group as the diploma.

Anyone who has experienced any form of discrimination-because of race, age, sex, or ethnic origin-is only too aware that fail-ure is not necessarily failure to know something, but failure to be

something. More subtle and more powerful is the discrimination

unrecognized by all-because it is practiced by all-in which success

is denied because one does not have the team spirit, the visceral senseof belonging, of fitting in, of being one of us. There is no greaterbarrier to success than failing to possess all the tacit requirementsdemanded of an occupation, a barrier all the more formidable be-cause no one sees it. The construction worker who drinks fine winesrather than beer, attends classical concerts rather than the local rock

group, and spends lunchtime reading French philosophers will findlife on the building site difficult, for all the same reasons that these

qualities would subtly enhance the prestige of an architect. To sayone is an architect is not only to say that one has a certain sort of

November 995 JAE 49/2 1 1 0



degree or that one can design buildings, t is to say that one has acertain et of attitudes, astes,and dispositions-all of the embodiedcapital hat distinguishes n architect rom a mere builder.

The Double Function f Architectural chool

No notion has impeded the progress of architectural ducationmore than the idea that the only educational unction of university-based architecture chools s to produce professional rchitects. hisis, of course, a principal unction, but it is not the onlyone. Twoobservations suggest his. First, t is hardly necessary o attend anysort of formal higher-education nstitution o become an architect.Whereas he two archetypal rofessions f law and medicine havebeen embedded in universities since their creation in the earlyMiddle Ages, formal, full-time architectural ducation dates backonly to

Jacques-Francoislondel's reformation of the Academie

Royale d'Architecture n 1762, and in the English-speaking orldonly to the foundation of schools at MIT, Cornell, and Illinois justover a century ago.24Until then, the apprenticeship ystemworkedperfectlywell to reproduce he profession.25 ne of the most reveal-ing features of architectural ducation, ndeed, is that institution-

alization proceeded ery slowly. In the mid-fifties, only 56 percentof American architects had a degree, and only about half of all ar-chitecture tudents n the United Kingdom were in full-time uni-versity education.26 As late as 1975, one-quarter of Americanarchitects id not have a degree.27 ven n the mid-eighties, he pro-fession n the United States wanted o ensure hat a degreewas nota mandatory equirement or licensure.28 f we further recall hat,as is often stated with an almost wistful malice, many of the mosthonored architects f the first half of the century did not attend orcomplete ormal education and also that some of the most interest-ing (Cooper Union, Boston Architecture Center) or influential Ar-chitectural Association) schools are wholly outside the system, itmust become clear hat the reproduction f the producers f archi-

tecture can be handled n placesand waysother than the ones mostcommon in the English-speaking orld.

The second observation s twofold. First, factoring out theusual changes in participation rates caused by changes in theeconomy, somewhere etween one-third and one-half of those withan architectural qualification-depending on the time and place--are not working as architects.29 econd, about one-quarter f thestudents who complete a preprofessional egree n architecture aPart 1 degree n the United Kingdom) choose not to complete heirprofessional education. In Italy and Germany, the participation

rates of graduates n the profession or which they have been trainedis even lower.30We are eft with the conclusion hat quite a propor-tion of the students enrolled n architectural ducation do not be-come practitioners nd quite possiblyhave no intention of doing so.

As Bourdieu has pointed out, the higher education ystemasa whole not only reproduces heproducers f the dominant culture,it, more important, roduces onsumers f that culture.31 nly a fewthousand university graduates each year-from whatever disci-pline-will become cultural producers, but all of the hundreds ofthousands of graduates will become consumers. This is the doublefunction of architecture chools: reproduction of producers andproduction of consumers, only some of whom become producers.In their capacity as consumers, graduates re not simply consum-ing architecture, ut all of the culture of the dominant, rom archi-tecture to wine to clothes. Even in their role as reproducers ofproducers, he schools are not necessarily reating producers f ar-chitecture. Many students work in quite different areas of culturalproduction, uch as theatre or the visual arts. It is regrettable hateducators have so single-mindedly ocused their attention on thereproduction unction, because n so doing, they mistake he truenature of the cultural capital provided by an architectural duca-tion. Of course, architectural ducation provides an institutional-

ized form of cultural capital, a diploma n architecture, ut just asimportant, t also provides a particular orm of embodied apital.

HabitusTo call t "capital" s not quite correct. Bourdieu usesanother erm,habitus, a neologism derived ultimately rom scholastic logic. Bythis he refers o a construct hat is both psychological because t isin people's heads) and social (because we can refer to a group orclasshaving a habitus). The habitus s a set of internalized disposi-tions that incline people to act and react n certain ways and is theend-product of what most people would call socialization orenculturation. To a large extent, we do not choose to be what weare, but receive rom our family a way of looking at things and of

doing things, a habitus, handed down from previous generations.In a very real sense,habitus s a social analog of genetic nheritance.This identity s modified aswe pass hrough he educational ystemand as we encounter other ndividuals throughout ur lives. None-theless, the possibilities or change are circumscribed y our ownhistory, he history of our class,and the expectations f the groupswith whom we identify. We can make our own history but not nec-essarily in the circumstances of our own choosing.32

Our habitus generates erceptions, ttitudes, nd practices. tis at once the filter through which we interpret he social world,

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organizing our perceptions of other people's practices, and themechanism we use to regulate our actions in that world, producingour own practices. As an integral part of our behavior, its most ob-vious manifestation is in our embodied capital: how we stand, walk,and talk; how we dress; how and what sorts of body language weuse; our bearing, gesture, and posture-all of the subtleties thatshow how we relate to the social world.

Two important points must be made. First, the habitus mustnot be conceptualized in the structuralist sense: It is not a passivecollection of

knowledge,a set of rules we

applyto social situations.

It is an active, unconscious set of unformulated dispositions to actand to perceive, and much of its power to structure our lives with-out us realizing it derives from the thoughtlessness of habit and ha-bituation that the habitus produces. The habitus provides us witha practical mastery of social situations, telling us "instinctively"what to do. It provides the feel of the game.33When our habitus is

correctly adjusted to the social game we are playing, we feel com-fortable, natural, at ease; we know how to react; we feel at home.When we move to another game-a plumber attending a high-so-ciety do, a socialite on a building site-our habitus may be inappro-priate to cope with the situation, and we feel uneasy, not quiteknowing what is the right thing to say or the right way to behave,

not quite liking what is going on.The second point about habitus is that it is the product of a

personal history. Because its enculturation starts from birth, it is a

product of the material and symbolic conditions of existence of our

family, conditions shaped by our class and therefore by the large-scale structures of society. In a very important sense, then, habitusis a sort of embodiment of the entire social system, and we all carryaround in our heads the whole history of our social space.

Habitus does not determine, but it does guide. Individualsare both completely free and completely constrained, as inBourdieu's metaphor, the good tennis player is, who, though beingcompletely governed by the play of the game, nonetheless com-pletely governs it.34

Nature ofthe Architectural abitusLet me reiterate: All forms of education transmit knowledge andskills, and all forms of education also inculcate some form ofhabitus. The two functions are inseparable. The importance of this

process of inculcation in the educational process depends on therelative worth of intellectual or institutionalized capital vis visembodied capital. It is of least importance in the fields within whichthe procedures and processes of production and acquisition ofknowledge are objectified in instruments, methods, and techniques,

and it is of greatest mportance n the areas n which excellence sheld to be almost entirely owing to the natural ifts of individuals,their raw talent.

It is clear that in architecture, he procedures nd processesof design are not at all objectified-as the dismal ailure of the De-sign Methods movement attests-and that architecture, unlikemedicine or engineering or even law, requires not only knowingsomething but being omething: We colloquially all this quality ofbeing "genius." Architectural ducation s intended to inculcate acertain orm of habitus and

providea form of a

generalizedmbod-

ied cultural capital, a "cultivated" isposition. Ofcourse a youngarchitecture raduate must know how to draw; of course e mustunderstand uilding codes, he rudiments f structural nalysis, ndthe principles of construction, but right from the moment he sitsdown at the drawing board of his first office to the day he retires,the smoothness or difficulty of his career will be mediated by hishabitus acting hrough his cultural apital. Habitus multiplies du-cational apital.Those with the right habitus and capital, hosewiththe feel of the game, will find that doors open more readily, heirpeers and superiors ome to respect hem more easily, and clientslook more favorably pon them.

In earlier imes, educators ot only readily cknowledged ut

positively loried n the fact that architectural ducation wasa culti-vated education ntended o instill the appropriate abitus. Writingto parents ending heir sons to board n Paris o attend his revital-izedAcademy fArchitecture n the late 1700s,the originator f full-time architectural ducation, Jacques-Frangois londel, reassuredthem that he would provide or: "fencing, music and dancing; xer-cises to which particular ttention s paid, since they should formpart of the education f all well-born personswho devote hemselvesto architecture, nd who are destined o live in the best society."35

As the AIACommittee n Education o clearly ut it in 1906,"An architect s a man of culture, earning nd refinement," nd thepurpose of architectural ducation was "the breeding of gentlemenof refinement."36 gain, the American Academy at Rome strove oselect ellows "among hoseonlywho will be recognised sgentlemenby instinct and breeding."37 t is no longer politic o saysuch things;but they remain as appropriate description now as then, as JohnMorris Dixon observed n the only article have been able to findbrave nough o discuss he class origins of architects.38

Objectified ultural apital n the form of educational iplo-mas is only marginally useful in producing cultivated ndividualswho are attempting n reality o acquire an embodied orm of capi-tal. Architecture chools devalue ntellectual capital compared oembodied cultural apital because ntellectual apital s simply not




essential o achieve uccess. n their more sardonic moments, somearchitects ee this: "Intelligence, n any absolute ense, s not a ma-jor factor n the production f distinguished rchitecture. rrogancecoupled with a sense of competition and a pleasure n the fashion-able and exotic, are much more important.""3

The failure o recognize hat architectural ducation s a cul-tivated education more than an intellectual one may explain themany problems of architecture n the university ystem. As manyhave pointed out, architecture chools do not really it in.40Archi-tectural cademics o little research; either hey nor the profession

find it relevant.41 ndeed, there is often a positive hostility to thevery idea of this most intellectual and academic of activities, be-cause, of course, designing buildings-not publishing papers-in-crements the architectural academic's symbolic capital.42 Nowonder that pressures o conform to university deals of academeare so stressful to architecture schools.43

HowArchitectural edagogy Favors he Favored

Not everyone an have everything he wants. Not every ob is high-paying, satisfying, r enjoyable. Many people end up in places heydo not wish to be. We like to think that western ocietiesare gener-ally meritocratic, with those with more ability doing better thanthose with less, and that this meritocracy s ensured by the educa-tional system,which enables tudents o acquire nowledge nd skillsso they can find appropriate laces n the labor market according otheir tested merit. If this were true, however, we would not find theintergenerational ontinuity of class hat we do. In one of his mostinfluential works, Bourdieu argues hat the modern educational sys-tem is not at all meritocratic.44 ust as the economic ystemworks nfavor of those with the most economic capital, he education ystemworks n favorof those with most cultural apital. t allows he trans-formation f cultural capital nto educational capital,which can thenbe used to acquire conomic capital and further ultural capital. nso doing t ensures he transmission f cultural capital across

genera-tions and ensures hat preexisting differences n inherited culturalcapital are transformed into academic credentials that aremisperceived s being won by natural alent alone. Far rom open-ing up the social tructure o all, the systemworks o preserve he ex-isting unequal distribution of capital by transforming what areactually ocialclassifications nto academic nes.

The architectural ducation ystemworks o preserve he ex-isting social structure f the profession by likewisedisguising whatis actually socialprocess f selection hat favors he privilegedwith

what appears to be a purely meritocratic academic one favoringnothing but native talent. It does so in several ways:

* The disadvantaged eliminate themselves from architecturaleducation.

* Architecture schools consecrate privilege by ignoring it.* Schools accept the ideology of giftedness.* Schools underestimate their inculcation function.* The studio system favors the cultivated habitus.* The schools favor those who favor them.

The Self-elimination fthe DisadvantagedStudents from disadvantaged backgrounds-those of low-economicand -cultural capital-select themselves out of the system. Peopletry to augment their various capitals and to that end pursue strate-gies of investment that will produce the highest returns.45 The fieldsthey decide to enter (carpentry or architecture), their manner of en-trance (when young or old), and what they do there (salaried or ownpractice), depends on their perceived chances of success. We all

adjust our aspirations and goals to the situation we find ourselvesin by virtue of our place in the social structure. We attempt whatwe think is possible. We show our practical acceptance of the reali-ties of social life by excluding ourselves from areas where we do not

think we can be successful. Thus the disadvantaged eliminate them-selves from the fields that they know are risky, those dominated bythe dominant.

To see the power of this effect, we have only to examineTable 2, which shows the proportion of people from each socialclass participating in higher education. A variety of nations havebeen shown to demonstrate the universality of the effect. In theUnited States, we would expect the cost of higher education to workagainst the lower classes, but the same cannot be said for the othernations. Not Australia's removal of all university fees in the seven-

Table 2. Proportion (%) of Each Social Class Participating n HigherEducationSocial United UnitedClass Australia Kingdom States Sweden Poland

Top third 33 18 75 23 21Middle third 15 5 27 8 7Lowest third 12 5 25 4 7

Source:D. Anderson, "Access o University Education n Australia,1852-1990: Changes n the Undergraduate ocial Mix," Australian Uni-versities eview 3/1-2 (1990): 37.

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Table 3. Proportion (%) of Entrants o the University of SydneyWho Attended Private School (1991-1992), Expressed as a Deviationfrom the Mean for the Whole University, by Faculty (School)

Faculty Proportion(School) ofEntrants %)

Music 42 High Cultural CapitalLaw 35Visual Arts 30Architecture 21

Arts 18Economics 17

Veterinary cience 11Medicine 7

Social Work 1

All 0

Science -2

Engineering -15Education -22

Pharmacy -32

Dentistry -43

Nursing -43 Low Cultural Capital

ties, not the United Kingdom's edbrick niversities, ot Sweden'sdemocratic ocialism, nor Poland's communism have altered hefact that the most privileged lassesare vastly more likely to sendtheir children o university. By saying "This s not for me," he dis-advantaged xclude hemselves o much more effectively han anyeconomic penalty would.

One may also see the effect operating within the universitysystem, as students distribute hemselves mong the various acul-ties on the basis of their current economic and cultural capital ac-

cording to their perceptions of how successful they will be inincreasing hose capitals. Table 3 shows the proportion of entrantsto the various aculties schools)at my own institution, he Univer-sity of Sydney, who have attended a private high school. The natureof Australian ociety s such that attendance t such a school is anindicator of cultural apital. t becomes clear hat the areas hat re-produce he cultural roducers music,visualarts, architecture, rts)attract tudents who already have sufficient cultural capital o ob-tain a good rate of return, while the fields for which the possessionof cultural capital s less relevant nursing, dentistry, ngineering)

Table 4. Social Class of Students at the Bartlett School

Father's All Unversity f Bartlett BartlettOccupation LondonStudents %) Applicants %) Entrants %)

Managment 64 68 78and Professional

Clerical 9 29 20

Skilled Manual 21 3 2

Unskilled 6 0 0

Total 100 100 100

Source: M.L.J. Abercrombie, . Hunt, and P. Stringer, Selection ndAcademicPerformance fStudents n a University chool fArchitecture(London: Society or Research nto Higher Education, 1969).

attract those without. Data in any form for the United States is veryrare: We have only one study, thirty years old, which ranked disci-

plines by the proportion of the senior year from the highest socio-economic class. Law, medicine, and the humanities attracted themost privileged students (about 70 percent of the year), while the

physical sciences, education, and engineering attracted the least

(about 45 percent). Unfortunately, the data does not list architec-ture separately, although the ranking is surprisingly close to that of

my own university, an ocean and thirty years away.46For a more specific example, we can turn to Table 4, which

shows the social origins of students at the University of London

entering its Bartlett School of Architecture. We note, as before, theoverselection of students from the upper classes into the universityas a whole (column 1). Next, the self-selection of students who ap-ply for Bartlett. Those with the least cultural capital eliminate them-selves by not even applying (column 2). Finally, the bias of theselectors in the interview process removes those with middlingamounts of capital who have not had the grace to remove them-selves (column 3). The interview process, indeed, is the most effec-tive mechanism for assessing cultural capital and the only means for

evaluating embodied capital.It is

especiallycommon in the more

elite institutions and in those disciplines in which such capital ismost important for success.

Consecrating rivilege y Ignoring tThe higher education system as a whole has the essential function of

conserving and preserving the culture of society, of passing it downfrom generation to generation. It is clear that it does not transmit the

totality of society's culture. It transmits only the portions that thosewho run the system consider to be worthy of transmission: the cul-




ture of the dominant, euphemized as "liberal education." There arecontinual debates, of varying vehemence, about just what should betransmitted, but these are internal struggles between intellectuals andacademics, none of whom doubt that there are some things (English,architecture) that should be taught in higher education and others(automobile repair, hairdressing) hat should not. No one thinks that

everything s worthy of a degree.By teaching and transmitting just one culture, that of the

dominant classes, and by defining excellence and achievement interms of that culture, the education system of necessity favors thosewho have already been inculcated with it from birth, those for

whom this culture is as natural, familiar, and easy as walking. Byassuming that students are broadly homogeneous-for no one be-lieves they are exactlyalike-institutions of higher learning privilegethe privileged, simply by ignoring their privilege. By referring sim-

ply to "students" it is possible to forget that the experience of uni-

versity life affects different students differently. Entering a

university is very different for the student for whom a universityeducation was expected as a natural career path, who has many fam-

ily members with degrees, who lived with stories of their parents'college days all their life, than it is for the student who has heard of

college life at third hand, who hardly knows what to expect. Weshould also remember that students can have the same practiceswithout

experiencingthem as the same. To

saythat two students

have part-time jobs as sales clerks in a store disguises the distinctionsbetween the privileged student who works in the most up-marketdepartment store in town for pocket money and the lower-class onewho works at a supermarket checkout stand in order to live.47To

say that the architect's daughter and the unskilled laborer's son areboth keen photographers conceals the fact that with this same prac-tice the former prepares herself for her chosen profession by care-

fully photographing interesting buildings, while the lattermemorializes a personal history-birthdays, weddings, graduations,the important moments in the life of family and friends.

What a gulf must have existed at the Ecole des Beaux Artsbetween those from architectural families and those not when "an

architect's son [in choosing an atelier] would listen to his father'sadvice following the latter's personal inclination, inquiries or pastloyalties"?48 And how must students in the contemporary U.S.school who could not afford the cost have felt when, being praisedfor her design in a jury session, another student was told that "I haddemonstrated an understanding of Roman urban planning, and

clearly had spent time in Europe"?49It is in this light that we can interpret an incident at my

school at Sydney some years ago. A new faculty member, an emi-

nent and successful architect on the national scene, wanted to startthe academic year with a celebration, an event that would be both

entertaining and instructive. The event was a day-long series of talksand exercises for the entire student body, physically and metaphori-cally centered around his firm's day-sailer, which he had assembledin the school's courtyard. His intention was to use the skiff as an ex-

ample of excellence in design, of the highest craftsmanship, of

subtlety and beauty of form, yet of perfect functionality as this sortof yacht is widely used for amateur racing.

The differential symbolic effect this had on the students wasunintended. Sailing on the harbor is one of the favorite pursuits of

Sydney's elites, among whom must be counted the better-off of thecity's architects. Many architecture firms have their own boats, thefavorite of which is the day-sailer. For many years, there has beenan annual racing competition for architects, and participation inthat event is a sign that a firm has made it. Almost all of the stu-dents from privileged backgrounds would have had sailing experi-ence, and many of their families would have owned such a yacht.To them, sailing was a perfectly everyday pastime, and the

professor's use of the yacht as an exemplar of design was an implicitaffirmation of the quality of that recreation, a comforting confirma-tion of the match between their cultural capital and that requiredfor the profession. To the students from lower-middle-class back-

grounds,the skiff was a

noveltythat made them

uneasy.In a man-

ner more potent and effective than mere words could have done, thecultural capital of architecture was identified with unknown expe-riences, and their own lack of familiarity and ease with yachting la-beled them as less prepared, less familiar with that culture, and less

acceptable as would-be entrants to the profession.

Accepting heIdeology f GiftednessSuccess, of course, depends on having some sort of talent and skillin the occupation of choice. In different degrees in different fields,success also depends on the ease with which one can acquire theculture offered in the education system. Students with a habitusthat predisposes them to play the game they have chosen to enter,

and to love to play that game, will do better than those without.Students from cultured families, especially from families with heavyinvestments in artistic or architectural cultural capital, come toschool with a habitus ready-made for reception of the peculiar edu-cation that is architecture. Such students appear to be naturallygifted, but this natural gift is-as well as being a talent-the feel forthe game that their habitus provides them, a "naturally natural

naturality" hat impresses all who see it as a natural ease, grace, style,and confidence. Those who are "born to be architects" ruly are, but

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not in the way that the speakers intend. Baldassare Castiglione un-derstood the importance of natural grace, of the "air of good breed-

ing," when, writing five hundred years ago, he said that a courtiermust be

endowed by nature not only with talent and with beauty ofcountenance and person, but with that certain grace whichwe call an "air," which shall make him at first sight pleasingand lovable to all who see him; and let this be an adornment

informing and attending all his actions, giving the promise

outwardly that such a one is worthy of the company and thefavour of every great lord. ... The Courtier must accompanyhis actions, his gestures, his habits, in short his every move-ment, with grace. And it strikes me that you require this in

everything as that seasoning without which all the other

properties and good qualities would be of little worth. And I

truly believe that everyone would easily let himself be per-suaded of this, because, by the very meaning of the word, itcan be said that he who has grace finds grace. But since youhave said that this is often a gift of nature and the heavens,and that, even if it is not quite perfect, it can be much in-creased by care and industry, those men who are born fortu-nate and as rich in such treasure as some we know have little

need, it seems to me, of any teacher in this, because such be-nign favour from heaven lifts them, almost in spite of them-selves, higher than they themselves had desired, and makesthem not only pleasing but admirable to everyone.50

The notion that one is born with natural talents completely n-

dependent of the privilege of being privileged by one's social class isthe ideology of giftedness, and in no field is this belief more stronglyheld than in art and architecture. No one confident of their own gift-edness can accept the unpalatable idea that their giftedness owes asmuch to the unchosen determination of their own social milieu as totheir own undetermined choosing." If this ideology were true, wewould expect to find some sort of commonality to the

psychologiesof creative artists or architects and, conversely, no commonality totheir social origins. Precisely the opposite is the case. The lack of acommon psychology in architecture students has quite defeated themany attempts of researchers o devise selection procedures superiorto the hodgepodge now operating in the world's schools.52 If theanalysis presented here is correct, they should really be looking forstudents from families with high cultural capital. Perhaps such a cri-terion that, it is believed, could not possibly lie behind the creativesuccess of the young architect-to-be, would be as repugnant to the

schools as its discovery was disheartening to Jacob Getzels andMihaly Csikszentmihalyi in their study of young artists: "The datamake clear that, to achieve success as an artist, it helps to come froma well-to-do, educated, higher status family. (This is a disillusioningthought. One would like to believe that, at least in art, money andstatus play no part in determining success.)""53

Researchers have been oddly reluctant to acknowledge the

implications of their own findings, politely declining to look behindthe individual to the symbolic wealth sustaining him or her. DonaldMacKinnon, for example, in his extensive studies of architects back

in the fifties, found that almost without exception, successful archi-tects came from families with high cultural capital, but he was notinterested in pursuing this most obvious of indicators.54 In her in-

teresting study of American architects and their interrelationships,Roxanne Williamson concluded after some torturous examinationthat the key to fame was working with a master in one of themaster's especially creative periods, but she seemed not to see the

simpler explanation-picked up by Andrew Seidel in his review-that the only characteristic uniting all of her famous architects wastheir background of familial wealth, culture, or influence.5

Underestimating chools'Inculcation unctionEducators usually talk about how students are socialized into "ar-

chitectural culture" in disparaging tones, as though it were someincidental side-effect or were easily rectified by simply not teachingstudents certain things. The process of inculcation, I have argued,is no mere epiphenomenon, but an integral part of architecturaleducation. This process operates at a much deeper level than is im-plied in the notion of a hidden curriculum.56 One cannot manifestcultivation by knowing, but by being. All the subtle signs of culti-vation that are what makes t cultivation-accent, manners, deport-ment, bearing, dress, attitudes, tastes, dispositions-cannot beobtained at secondhand. They must be slowly absorbed from thosewho are already cultivated. If cultivation were obtained easily andreadily, by simply reading a few books or attending a few lectures,it would not have the value it does. Its

acquisitionis

essentiallya

matter of directly experiencing it, of soaking up all the many smallthings that comprise it. Nor can its content be enumerated. Nobook can tell you that it consists of x, y, or z. This sort of cultural

capital exists in the tacit, unsaid qualities of individuals." As thatparagon of the cultivated architect, Leon Battista Alberti, said,"There is no one even slightly imbued with letters who does not inhis leisure conceive the hope that he will soon become a great ora-tor, even if he has only seen the face of eloquence at a distance. But,when he realises that mastery of this art involves more difficulty




than he drowsily thought, he strives toward this goal by readingevery available book, as if we could acquire our style from booksalone, rather than by our own intense efforts."58 A more recentstatement in almost exactly the same terms can be found in PaulCret, who wrote in 1934 of his school at the University of Penn-sylvania, "All education in Fine Arts ... has for its main object the

development of the artist's personality. A consequence is that sucha result can be accomplished only through personal effort and not

through a perusal of textbooks."59This is the crux of the matter: The cultivated habitus cannot

be acquired through labored study. That is the way of the pedant, theplodder. One must have not only the right culture, but the right re-lationship to that culture, and that relationship depends on how theculture was acquired.60 The dominant definition of the right way toacquire culture is by direct experience, actually being there. Does notevery architecture student aspire one day to make the Grand Tour,the leisured journey, the pilgrimage, to actually see and experiencethe sacred sites of architecture? As Spiro Kostoff wrote on the virtuesof the architectural education, "There is no substitute for the expe-rience of travel that opens the eye and builds up a storehouse of im-pressions. .... And beyond that comes life and learning. Weunderstand the needs of others to the extent that we have insisted ona full life for ourselves; we can provide for the settings of social insti-tutions to the extent that we have been

broadly educated, broadlyread, given the wherewithal to reflect on the course of human affairsand to scan the reaches of human achievement."61

As a means of producing a specific, cultivated habitus, archi-tectural culture can only be inculcated in a certain way. Bourdieudistinguishes between a scholastic and a charismatic mode of incul-cation.62 The scholastic mode is what we normally recognize aspedagogy, the formal and explicit teaching of formal and explicitknowledge and skills. The charismatic mode is the informal andimplicit method of inculcation, which is the only possible means oftransferring embodied cultural capital. The former is intended toproduce knowing, the latter being. Hence the strong identificationbetween work and person, so common in architectural design,

which this anecdote illustrates: "One day a professor approached fora mid-project desk crit and pointed to the model I had constructed... .'Is this you?' he asked. Hoping to build a casual rapport withthis rather stern young teacher, I responded jokingly, pointing tomyself, 'No, no this is me,' then to the model, 'This is my model.''No!' he replied firmly, putting his hand on my model, 'This is youand this is shit!' It was an incredible high when the unity betweenself and work brought us praise, but quite devastating when ourefforts were insulted."63

Lecture courses play only a small part in this process-andthen only some courses. Subject areas in architecture are stronglystratified, with design by far the most honored. If we were to con-struct a hierarchy of curricular prestige, it would correspond moreor less to the degree to which the subject can utilize the student'scultural capital. Thus design, history, and theory would be at thetop, and environmental science, structures, and building serviceswould be at the bottom. When students protest that courses are notrelevant, quite often they are simply protesting against courses thatprevent them from displaying their cultivation.

The design studio is the site par excellence for the operationof a charismatic mode of inculcation. It is no happy accident thatthe studio system has been at the very heart of architectural educa-tion throughout its entire history. The studio system is essentialforsocializing students with a cultivated habitus. As Kathryn Anthonypointed out, the studio is a very peculiar form of education.6 Inconventional university education, students sit in anonymous lec-tures for a few hours a week, work alone and receive little inputfrom other students or academics, who must be actively sought forassistance. Examination is in the form of written documents and isconducted in private. Design students are surrounded by their peersfor many hours a week, often relying on them for assistance. Thestudio master actively seeks them out to provide criticism, and ex-

amination is public and by oral presentation.By saturating students with the objects of architectural cul-

ture; by presenting them with role models, living examples of em-bodied cultural capital (hence the insistence on the importance ofhaving practicing architects as teachers); by displaying in all theslight ways of manner, dress, and taste that one is becoming whatone wishes to be, the student absorbs that cultural capital in the onlypossible way, by presenting to the studio master's gaze their wholesocial being. The student can neither present nor the teacher assessembodied capital by the usual university means of lecture and writ-ten examination. No doubt this explains the riots that broke out inthe old IEcole when the government tried to make the Ecole's ownlecture courses compulsory. The government backed down soon

enough, and the architecture students happily resumed their oldpractices of ignoring lectures for the ateliers.65

The ever-present dangers of contamination are minimized bysocially isolating students from peers in other disciplines and evenfrom family: "The prolonged, intense interaction across an aca-demic term can result in a familial atmosphere-with the best andworse aspects of family life manifested on a day-to-day basis. Theintense contact with studio-mates often makes it difficult for designstudents to maintain their friendships with those in other years. As

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many students have admitted, the more years they spend in design,the fewer nondesign students they have as friends. Cloistered intothe captivity of the studio, the studio commands an increasinglygreater role as the centre of students' social lives, and consequentlythe world outside the studio becomes less important.""66

This-which is actually a form of internment-produces a

socially and mentally homogeneous set of individuals whose homo-

geneity reinforces the socialization process and the closure of social

capital, limiting the chances of misalliances and laying the founda-tions for future patterns of cooperation later in career.67 nsisting thatall of their

facultyhave a

professional degreein

architecture,the

schools also intellectually isolate their students. Within the schools,this isolation is exacerbated by denigrating lecture courses and fail-

ing to set reading, except for those purely architectural nfluences thestudio master wishes students to absorb.68 As Anthony reported onestudent saying, "Architecture school was like boot camp: twelvehours a day seven days a week in basic design. ... In retrospect t wasthe beginning of a major shift in my education-a totally anti-intel-lectual period in my life. I can honestly say I hardly read a book in

my three years of architecture school. . ... Every minute, I was beingmade to feel like a first-grader .... My first design instructor was abit like a drill sergeant. You're more or less being broken."''69

Favoring he CultivatedHabitusOne can succeed more easily if one is already halfway successful.The design studio, by relying so much on the presentation of theself to those who will assess the self, favors those who come to ar-chitecture already knowing some of the strategies of the game ofculture. The natural grace, the feel of the game, which those fromcultured-and especially architectural-families possess, makesthem far better prepared to cope with the peculiarities of the lan-

guage of design. Consider these examples:

The language of the professor has an inherent logistical [sic]problem: it is vague. The ambiguity of the professor's lan-

guage renders the student unable to discern good from bad,to get a sense of value of their own or someone else's work.70

There is little effective communication of ideas in juries. Tan-

gential remarks are difficult to apply. The level of abstraction,

vague language and allusions, elliptical discourse, and often

denigrating commentary are barriers to drawing anythinguseful from the juror's response.71

It is obvious that talent in design is necessary for success in

design. It is less obvious that talent in talking about design is also

required. The studio system requires students to spend a great dealof time talking about their design, talking to other students, talk-

ing to professors at desk crits, and, of course, talking at jury presen-tations. Students from cultured families have already acquired thebasic dispositions required to further their symbolic mastery of ar-chitectural language. They already know how to talk and manipu-late culture, and most important, they already have a visceralfeel orthe nature of the game they are playing. This may also explain the

never-ending calls for "integration," by which is invariably meant

moving everythinginto the

studio,thus

transforming performancein the most objectified areas of architecture (construction, struc-tures, and so on), where possession of symbolic capital counts least,into assessments of social being, so denying those with the wrongsort of cultural capital even the least chance of asserting their com-

petence in some area of architecture.72

Favoring ThoseWhoFavor ThemAll processes of enculturation must accomplish two things: (1) suc-

cessfully enculturate and (2) remove those who will not beenculturated. The result is to produce individuals who want to playtheir game of choice (whether it be architecture or law or engineer-ing or whatever), to take pleasure in the game, to believe in the in-

nate rightness of the game, and to believe that hardships endurednow are but necessary steps on the path to election hereafter.73Those who rebel-and here you may pick your favorite architec-tural iconoclast: Wright, Corb, Eisenman-nonetheless believe,and in many cases believe more zealously than most, that the gameof architecture is a serious game worth playing seriously.74 Theenculturation process is most clearly seen operating in the changeof dress and manner that students undergo through their long timein school. This is no mere transition from adolescence to adulthood.As I have observed it in my own school over many years, studentsbecome more alike in dress, taste, and deportment.

Within the educational system students are kept in a more orless tame state, varying from place to place, time to time, and disci-

pline to discipline. In disciplines in which authority is lodged out-side the individual (such as the physical sciences or engineering),where criteria of excellence have been incorporated into objects,techniques, or instruments that can, it is thought, speak for them-selves, the enculturation process need no more than point to theseexternalities for legitimation to quiet the fractious. In areas, likearchitecture, where excellence is embodied in individuals, the sys-tem adopts other means to convince all of the worth of the gameand to make students love to play the game.




The second aspect of interest is the permanent tension be-tween practitioners and the schools. There is no shortage of profes-sional criticism, usually along the lines that the schools are

operating in some sort of unrealistic fantasyland, training studentsfor a professional world that simply does not exist.83Perhaps these

complaints can be understood if we understand that architecturaleducation is only partly a vocational training (reproducing produc-ers)-despite protestations to the contrary-and that much of its

logic derives from the fact that it is also producing consumers of the

general culture of the dominant groups in society.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank Professor Howard Lawrence, Dr. SylviaFicher, and Professor Kathryn Anthony for their readings of this

paper and their helpful critiques. Thanks guys.

Notes

1. Thomas A. Dutton, ed., Voices n Architectural ducation: Cultural Poli-tics and Pedagogy (New York: Bergin & Garvey, 1991); Thomas A. Dutton, "De-

sign and Studio Pedagogy," JAE41/1 (Fall 1987): 16-25.

2. Scott Lash, "Pierre Bourdieu: Cultural Economy and Social Change," inC. Calhoun, E. LiPuma, and M. Postone, eds., Bourdieu: Critical Perspectives Cam-

bridge, England : Polity Press, 1993), p. 193.3. "Le Palmards," L'Evenement duJeudi (February 2-8, 1989): 66. I can-

not resist adding that Derrida did not make the list.4. Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of Taste (Cambridge, MA:

Harvard University Press, 1984).5. R. Jenkins, Pierre Bourdieu (London: Routledge, 1992), p. 11.6. Dutton, ed., Voices n Architectural ducation: nd P.W. Clarke, "The

Economic Currency of Architectural Aesthetics," in M. Diani and C. Ingraham,eds., Restructuring Architectural Theory Evanston: Northwestern University Press,1989), pp. 48-59.

7. Scott Lash, Sociology of the Postmodern (London: Routledge, 1990).8. L.J.D. Wacquant, "Towards a Reflexive Sociology: A Workshop with

Pierre Bourdieu," Sociological Theory 7/1 (1989): 26-63; and L.J.D. Wacquant and

Pierre Bourdieu, "For a Socio-Analysis of Intellectuals: On Homo Academicus,"Berkeley ournal of Sociology 4/1 (1989): 1-29.

9. As Snyder did in one of the few substantial references to him in the archi-tectural literature: J.R. Snyder, "Building, Thinking, and Politics: Mies, Heidegger,and the Nazis," JAE 46/4 (May 1993): 260-265. It is characteristic that this articledid not discuss Bourdieu for what he could contribute to architectural theory, but forwhat he said about Heidegger. Sociologists with an abiding interest in architecture,such as Larson, have readily adopted much of his theoretical apparatus. See M.S.Larson, Behind the Postmodern Facade (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993).

10. J. Galtung, "Structure, Culture, and Intellectual Style: An Essay Com-

paring Saxonic, Teutonic, Gallic and Nipponic Approaches," Social Science Infor-

mation 20/6 (1981): 817-56; and C.C. Lemert, "Literary Politics and the Champof French Sociology," Theory nd Society 0/3 (1981): 645-69.

11. Examples include J. Cullen, "Structural Aspects of the Architectural Pro-fession," JAE 31/2 (1978): 18-25; M.S. Larson, "Emblem and Exception: The His-torical Definition of the Architect's Professional Role," in J.R. Blau, M.L. Gory, and

J.S. Pipkin, eds., Professionals nd Urban Form (Albany: State University of New YorkPress, 1983), pp. 49-85; J. Blau, "The Context and Content of Collaboration: Archi-tecture and Sociology," JAE45/1 (November 1991): 36-40; Dana Cuff, Architecture:The Story of Practice (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1991); and R. Gutman, ArchitecturalPractice: A Critical View (Princeton: Princeton Architectural Press, 1988).

12. E. Freidson, "The Theory of the Professions: State of the Art," in R.

Dingwall and P. Lewis, eds., The Sociology of the Professions (London: Macmillan,1983), pp. 19-37.

13. Unlike most other sociologists, he has also had the fortune to be ableto implement some of his ideas in his capacity as the most prominent adviser to theFrench government on education.

14. Quote from R. Collins, "Cultural Capitalism and Symbolic Violence,"in Sociology inceMidcentury: ssays n TheoryCumulation New York: AcademicPress, 1981), p. 173.

15. The analogy with Greenaway continues to hold. Readers may find thecontent unpleasant, even profoundly disturbing, but they are forced to engage theauthor-and they cannot but help admiring the technical excellence of it all.

16. Jenkins, Pierre Bourdieu.17. D. Brain, "Discipline and Style: The Ecole des Beaux Arts and the So-

cial Production of an American Architecture," Theory and Society 18/4 (1989):807-68.

18. B. Rigby, Popular Culture n Modern France London: Routledge andKegan Paul, 1991).

19. D. Gartman, "Culture as Class Symbolization or Mass Reification? ACritique of Bourdieu's Distinction," American ournal of Sociology 97/2 (1991):421-47.

20. T. Moi, "Appropriating Bourdieu: Feminist Theory and PierreBourdieu's Sociology of Culture," New Literary History 22/6 (1991): 1017-49.

21. P. Bourdieu, Distinction.22. P.R. Baker, Richard Morris Hunt (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1980);

and L.M. Roth, McKim, Mead and White Architects (New York: Harper & Row,1983).

23. Derived from P. DiMaggio and M. Useem, "Cultural Democracy in aPeriod of Cultural Expansion: The Social Composition of Arts Audiences in theUnited States," in A.W. Foster and J. Blau, eds., Art and Society: Readings in the

Sociology of the Arts (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989), pp. 141-71; and R.A. Peterson and A. Simkus, "How Musical Tastes Mark OccupationalGroups," in M. Lamont and M. Fournier, eds., Cultivating Differences (Chicago:

Chicago UniversityPress,

1992), pp.152-86.

24. P. Collins, "The 18th Century Origins of Our System of Full-time Ar-chitectural Schooling," JAE 32/2 (November 1979): 2-6; and H.N. Cobb, "Archi-tecture and the University," Architectural Record (Sept. 1985): 43-51.

25. One of the chief advantages of an apprenticeship system for reproduc-ing the profession is that it ensures an excellent, if not perfect, balance between

supply and demand. In difficult times, the number of architecture firms decreases,and apprentices are rarely taken on board. In boom periods, apprentices enter firms.By vesting reproduction in the industry itself, that function is subjected to the lawsof the market with an immediacy that the much slower reacting schools, who willalways attract sufficient students to fill them, cannot hope to match. See R.




Gutman, Architectural ractice: Critical View Princeton: Princeton ArchitecturalPress, 1988); and R. Gutman, "Architects nd Power: The Natural Market or Ar-chitecture," Progressive rchitecture 3/12 (December 1992): 39-41.

26. J. M. Mayo, "Dilemmas of Architectural Education n the AcademicPolitical Academy," AE 44/2 (February 1991): 80-89; and M. Bedford and S.Groaik, Current ssues n UK Architectural ducation," Architectural ducation 3(1983): 7-41.

27. Arthur Derman, "Summary of Responses to the 1974 AIA/ACSATeachers Seminar Survey f the Concerns and Interests f Architectural ducators,"JAE 28/1-2 (1975): 10-22.

28. O. J. Mitchell, "ACSA-The Member Schools Should Celebrate TheirDiversity," Architectural ecord Jan. 1984): 17-18.

29. B. Westergaard nd R. Gutman, "What Architecture Schools Knowabout Their Graduates," AE31/2 (1978): 2-11; Transbinary rchitecture Group,Facing heFuture: A Report nAdvanced Courses n Architecture London: NationalAdvisory Body for Local Authority Higher Education and the University GrantsCommittee, 1984); C. Thomas, Separation rom Professions nd Para-professions(Canberra: ustralian Government Publishing Service, 1988); and Derman, "Sum-mary of Responses o the 1974 AIA/ACSA Teachers Seminar Survey of the Con-cerns and Interests of Architectural Educators," AE28/1-2 (1975): 10-22.

30. H. B. Ellwood, "Introduction," n K. Hall, ed., Architectural ractice nEurope : Italy London: RIBA Publications, 1974), pp. 5-9; and M. Jenks and M.Lloyd, "Students f Europe 2," Architects'Journal Apr. 27, 1988): 48-53.

31. Pierre Bourdieu, "The Market of Symbolic Goods," Poetics 14/1(1985): 13-44.

32. D. Robbins, The Work of Pierre Bourdieu: Recognizing ociety MiltonKeynes: Open University Press, 1991); and Jenkins, Pierre Bourdieu.

33. The game metaphor s defectivebecause t is used without connoting hatanyone can saywhat the rules of the game are or whether here are explicit rulesat all.

34. P. Lamaison, "From Rules to Strategies: An Interview with PierreBourdieu," CulturalAnthropology /1 (1986): 110-20.

35. Collins, "18th Century Origins," p. 336. J. Draper, "The

tcoledes Beaux Arts and the Architecture Profession

in the United States: The Case of John Galen Howard," n S. Kostoff, ed., TheArchitect New York: Oxford University Press, 1977), p. 32.

37. S.B. Trowbridge, Annual Report of the American Academy n Rome(Rome: American Academy n Rome, 1919), p 31.

38. John Morris Dixon, "A White Gentleman's Profession," ProgressiveArchitecture Nov. 1994): 55-61.

39. A. Balfour, "On the Characteristic nd Beliefs of the Architect," AE40/2 (1987), p. 2.

40. Mayo, "Dilemmas of Architectural Education"; Cobb, "Architectureand the University."

41. R. Plunz, "Comments on Academic Research n Architecture n theUnited States," AE40/2 (1987): 62-64; J. Musgrove, "Architectural ducation:The Growth of a Discipline," Architectural Education 1 (1983): 105-12; J.W.Robinson, "Architectural esearch: Incorporating Myth and Science," JAE 44/1(November 1990): 20-32; M.J. Malecha, "Architectural ducation," Ekistics 328-30 (1988): 121-132; A. Rapoport, "Statement or the ACSA 75th Anniversary Ju-bilee) Issue of JAE," JAE 40/2 (1987): 65-66; T. Woolley, "Why Studio?"Architects'Journal Mar. 20, 1991): 46-49; and Bedford and Groaik, Current s-sues in UK Architectural Education."

42. These issues are discussed at length n G. Stevens, "Angst n Academia:Architecture, he Schools and the Profession," ournal fArchitectural nd PlanningResearch forthcoming).

43. R. Filson, "Can Schools Span he Gap to Practice?" rchitectural ecord(Nov. 1985): 59-63; and J. Templer, "Architectural esearch," AE44/1 (Novem-ber 1990): 3.

44. Pierre Bourdieu, "Systems f Education nd Systemsof Thought," nter-national SocialScience ournal 19/1 (1967): 338-58; Pierre Bourdieu, "Cultural Re-production and Social Reproduction," n R. Brown, ed., Knowledge, ducation, ndCultural Change London: Tavistock, 1973), pp. 71-112; and Pierre Bourdieu andJ.-C. Passeron,Reproduction n Education, ociety nd Culture London: Sage, 1990).

45. Pierre Bourdieu, "Price Formation and the Anticipation of Profits," nJ.B. Thompson, ed., Language nd SymbolicPower Cambridge, England: PolityPress, 1991), pp. 66-102.

46. J.A. Davis, Undergraduate areerDecisions Chicago: Aldine, 1965).47. Pierre Bourdieu and J.-C. Passeron, The nheritors: rench Students nd

Their Relation o Culture 1964) (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979).48. J.P. Carlhian, "The Ecole des Beaux-Arts: Modes and Manners," AE

33/2 (November 1979): 7.49. L.L. Willenbrock, "An Undergraduate Voice in Architectural Educa-

tion," in Dutton, ed., Voices n Architectural ducation, p. 100.50. BaldassareCastiglione, TheBookofthe Courtier 1528) New York: An-

chor, 1959), pp. 30, 41.51. Bourdieu and Passeron, nheritors.52. D.E. Domer, "Building a Student Body," JAE 34/4 (Summer 1981):

24-25; D.E. Domer and A.E. Johnson, "SelectiveAdmissions and Academic Suc-cess: An Admissions Model for Architecture tudents," College nd University 58(1982): 19-30; P. Stringer, "The Role of Spatial Ability in a First Year Architec-ture Course," Architectural Research nd Teaching 2/1 (1971): 23-33; M.L.J.Abercrombie, . Hunt, and P. Stringer, Selection ndAcademic Performance fStu-dents in a University School of Architecture London: Society for Research ntoHigher Education, 1969); and M.L.J. Abercrombie, S.M. Hunt, and P. Stringer,"Follow Up of the Selection Procedure Used at the Bartlett School, 1964-66," Ar-chitectural esearch nd Teaching 2/2 (1972): 76-87.

53. J.W. Getzels and M. Csikszentmihalyi, The CreativeVision:A Longitu-dinal Study fProblem inding nArt(New York: ohn Wiley & Sons, 1976), p. 165.

54. D.W. MacKinnon, Personality nd the Realization f Creative otential,"AmericanPsychologist 0 (1965): 273-81; D.W. MacKinnon, TheNature and Nur-ture of Creative alent,"AmericanPsychologist 7 (1962):484-95; D.W. MacKinnon,"Genus Architectus Creator Varietas Americanus," IA ournal Sept. (1960): 31-35.

55. R.K. Williamson, AmericanArchitects nd the MechanicsofFame (Aus-tin, TX: University of Texas Press, 1991); A.D. Seidel, "Review f AmericanArchi-tectsand the MechanicsofFame," AE47/1 (September 1993): 56-59.

56. Dutton, "Design and Studio Pedagogy."57. It is vulgar o inventory the attributes of cultivation. Perhaps his ex-

plains why the approximately ,900 full-time architectural cademics n the En-glish-speaking world seem to have so little to say on the subject: Any perusal f theJournal ofArchitectural ducationwould show that-until recently, at least-onlyabout one-third of its contents, regardless f its excellence, deal in any way witheducation. Thus we may also understand he sad histories of two journals morespecifically evoted o educational theory. Architectural esearch nd Teaching, aterthe Journal ofArchitectural esearch, ad a fitful life from 1970 to 1980. The Royal

121 Stevens



Institute of British Architects-sponsored journal, Architectural Education, survivedbut four issues in 1983 to 1984.

58. L. B.Alberti, Dinner Pieces Intercenales): edieval nd Renaissance extsand Studies, vol. 45 (Binghamton: Center for Medieval and Early Renaissance Stud-

ies, State University of New York at Binghamton, 1987), p. 127.59. J. Esherick, "Architectural Education in the Thirties and Seventies: A

Personal View," in Kostoff, ed., Architect, p. 274.60. Pierre Bourdieu and M. d. Saint-Martin, "Scholastic Excellence and the

Values of the Educational System," in J. Eggleston, ed., Contemporary Research nthe SociologyofEducation (London: Methuen, 1974), pp. 338-71; Pierre Bourdieu,Homo Academicus (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1988); and Bourdieuand Passeron, Reproduction n Education, ociety nd Culture.

61. S. Kostoff, "The Education of the Muslim Architect," in Proceedings of

Seminar Ten n the SeriesArchitectural ransformations n the Islamic World: rchi-tectural ducation n the Islamic World(Granada: ga Khan Award orArchitecture,1986), p. 3.

62. Bourdieu and Saint-Martin, "Scholastic Excellence," Pierre Bourdieu,"The Scholastic Point of View," CulturalAnthropology 5/4 (1990): 380-91; andBourdieu and Passeron, Reproduction n Education, ociety nd Culture.

63. Willenbrock, "Undergraduate Voice in Architectural Education," p. 102.64. Kathryn H. Anthony, Design urieson Trial: TheRenaissance f the De-

sign Studio (New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold, 1991).65. R. Chafee, "The Teaching of Architecture at the

t1coledes Beaux Arts,"

in A. Drexler, ed., The Architecture of the iEcole es Beaux Arts (London: Secker and

Warburg, 1977), pp. 61-110.66. Anthony, Design uries on Trial, p. 12.67. L.J.D. Wacquant, "On the Tracks of Symbolic Power: Prefatory Notes

to Bourdieu's 'State Nobility,"' Theory, Culture and Society 10/1 (1993): 1-17.

68. R. Gutman, "Education and the World of Practice," JAE 40/2 (1987):

24-25; A. Rapoport, "Studious Questions," Architects'Journal(Oct. 26, 1983): 55-57; T. Fowler, "What Are Students Concerned About?" Architectural Record (May1985): 61-63; Thomas A. Dutton, "Architectural Education, Postmodernism, andCritical Pedagogy," in Dutton, ed., Voices n Architectural Education, pp. xv-xxix;and Woolley, "Why Studio?"

69. Anthony, Design Juries on Trial, p. 15.70. Willenbrock, "Undergraduate Voice in Architectural Education," p. 107.71. Ibid., p. 114.72. M. Gelernter, "Reconciling Lectures and Studios," JAE 41/2 (Winter

1988): 46-52.73. Bourdieu, Distinction.74. J.B. Thompson, "Introduction," in Thompson, ed., Language and Sym-

bolic Power, pp. 1-23.

75. Carlhian, "Ecole des Beaux-Arts."76. From a private communication with a student who wishes to remain

anonymous (1993).77. Willenbrock, "Undergraduate Voice in Architectural Education," pp.

98-99.78. J. Bassin, Architectural Competitions n Nineteenth-Century ngland

(Ann Arbor, MI: UMI Research Press, 1984).79. Carlhian, "Ecole des Beaux-Arts."80. Anthony, Design uries on Trial.81. Pierre Bourdieu, "Manet and the Institutionalization of Anomie," in R.

Johnson, ed., The Field of Cultural Production (Cambridge, England: Polity Press,1993), pp. 238-53.

82. S. Timoshenko, History of Strength of Materials 1952) (New York:Dover, 1983).

83. P. Buchanon, "What Is Wrong with Architectural Education? Almost

Everything," Architectural Review (July 1989): 24-26.


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