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ARCHITECTURE AND ETHICS: 
AUTONOMY, Architecture, art
NOëL CARrOLl

Introduction

This paper concerns the relation(s) between 
architecture and ethics. Perhaps needless to say, the 
intersections between architecture and ethics are 
manifold. Architects, for example, should not cheat 
their clients or endanger them by using substandard 
building materials. Nor should they take risky short-
cuts or evade building codes. They bear certain 
responsibilities for the safety of  the inhabitants 
of  their buildings. Their structures should stand 
firm. They should not collapse under predictable 
pressures. If  the client has paid for one kind of  
stone, the architect should not try to counterfeit it 
with a cheaper substitute. 

Architecture intersects so often with ethical 
issues that it is plausible to suggest that there 
are more connections between architecture and 
morality than there are in the case of  any other art 
form. 

However, while conceding this, it may also 
be said that a great many of  these relations do 
not have to do with architecture-as-architecture. 
Many, rather, concern architecture-as-business and 
the ethics thereof. Architects are business persons 
and, like all business persons, they should not, all 
things being equal, cheat their customers. Building 
Potemkin villages, for instance, is immoral. 

But, if  “business” sounds like too narrow a 
concept here, we might categorize the pertinent 
relations in question in terms of  architecture-as-
service. The architect is a provider – a provider of  
services – and her clients have the right to expect 



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that their contracts and their agreements with their architects will be 
fulfilled, including expectations grounded in prevailing social expectations, 
such as: that houses not fall down. 

The relevant ethics here are fairly generic – deriving from the kinds 
of  responsibilities any provider has to her clients, albeit with specific 
reference to the sorts of  contractual relations and social expectations that 
bind builders to those for whom they build. 

Nevertheless, admitting these connections between ethics and 
architecture-as-service leaves open the question of  the nature of  
the relation (or relations), if  any, between ethics and architecture-as-
architecture. This is the question I will address in this paper.

Architecture as Instrument

In order to engage the issues of  the relation of  architecture-
as-architecture to ethics, we need to get a handle on the notion of  
architecture-as-architecture. As a first approximation, let us think broadly 
of  an architect as a designer who constructs places – a person who shapes 
or builds environments – by arranging material forms, enclosing spaces 
and opening them. Conceived this way, architectural activity as such is 
patently related to ethics in that architects can be seen to be organizing 
spaces for morally assessable purposes. 

For example, designing airport terminals in such a manner that 
passengers are confused about how to find their way out of  the shopping 
area in search of  their departure gates is to be complicit in chicanery; as is 
designing shopping malls that effectively entrap the clientele so they keep 
circling the same stores, constantly tempted into buying something. 

Likewise designing highway overpasses so that they are too low 
to allow buses carrying poor people to travel to the parks and beaches 
frequented by the better-off  is another example of  designing space for 
immoral purposes. 

Of  course, spaces can also be organized for eminently righteous 
goals as in the case of  much contemporary green architecture. Similarly, 
Shigeru Ban’s designs for emergency disaster relief  habitats are creations 
of  indisputably great humanitarian value.1

Thus, there can be no question that architects as designers of  built 
environments can use their skills for good or ill, morally speaking. 
Nevertheless, those who are interested in the relation of  ethics to 
architecture-as-architecture – or architecture qua architecture – will protest 
that these are not the sorts of  examples that need to be explored. For, they 



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will argue that the relation of  architecture to moral 
or immoral purposes is an external relation. That is, 
it is the purpose of  the organization of  the space and 
not the design itself that is subject to moral assessment. 
And, furthermore, that purpose is external to the 
practice of  architecture qua architecture. This is not 
to say that the architect is not culpable if  he/she is 
complicit in implementing an immoral scheme. But 
his/her guilt is not, so to speak, architectural guilt. 
Or, maybe a related, but somewhat different way of  
getting at this general point is to say that the moral 
wrong in this case is attributable to the architect and 
not to the structure – i.e., not to the architecture.

Architectural Obligations

The very notion of  architectural guilt brings 
to mind, and possibly implies, that there must be 
something like architectural obligations. If  there 
were architectural obligations – commitments 
architects incur simply by being architects – they 
would secure an internal relation between ethics 
and architecture qua architecture inasmuch as 
these putative obligations would be internal to the 
practice of  architecture as such. Part of  what it is to 
be an architect, then, would be the responsibility to 
abide by said obligations. Any builder would have 
to live up to these duties and any building would 
have to meet the standards they imply. Failure to 
do so would be immoral. These obligations would 
constitute an ethics of  architecture qua architecture. 
The rhetoric of  such an approach is resonant in such 
phrases as “truth to the materials” and “structural 
honesty.”2 Some well-known candidates for alleged 
architectural obligations are: 

1) that architects should be “true to” or 
beholden to their materials.

2) that architects should practice structural 
honesty – that they should not mask the true 
structure of  their constructions.

3) that architects should embody or articulate 

The very 
notion of 

architectural 
guilt brings 
to mind, and 

possibly 
implies, that 

there must be 
something like 
architectural 

obligations.

“

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the spirit of  their age,

or even more radically,

4) that architects should by their buildings shape the spirit of  their 
age prospectively.

Let us look at each of  these proposals in turn. 

The requirement that architects should be true to their materials 
appears to rest supposedly upon the moral principle of  honesty. Don’t 
try to palm off  so-called crystal glass as true crystal, to cite an example 
of  Ruskin’s cited by Pevsner.3 Of  course, if  your client is paying for true 
crystal, there is an obvious moral infraction here in terms of  the ethics 
of  architecture-as-business. But what are the grounds for suspecting that 
there must be a moral infraction from the perspective of  architecture qua 
architecture? The worry seems to be that there is deception afoot. But 
suppose that it is freely advertised that it is crystal glass?

I suspect that those who maintain that architects are beholden to their 
materials will still contend that there is a breach of  architectural obligation 
in this case. But what could it be? What are the grounds for this alleged 
moral transgression? Maybe it will be proposed that, even if  it is widely 
advertised, many may still take the crystal glass for true crystal. But whose 
fault is that and, in any event, who is harmed and how? The “true to 
the materials” line of  thought sometimes makes it sound as though the 
materials have rights. Yet that’s just superstitious.

Similar objections may be leveled against the appeal to structural 
honesty. This is the idea that the built environment should show forth 
its structure. It should not hide it underneath ornament, for instance. It 
should not suggest that it bears its weight anywhere other than where it 
actually does. But again, it is hard to identify who is harmed if  the structure 
of  a building is not evident to your average observer. Is one harmed if  one 
takes the beams on the façade of  Mies van der Rohe’s Seagram’s Building 
to be its central weight bearing structure rather than the beams recessed 
behind them?

One may call for foregrounding the structure of  a building in the 
name of  clarity, but it is an equivocation to equate a taste for intellectual 
clarity with honesty in the moral sense.

Moreover, it cannot be a moral transgression to fail to make manifest 
the structure of  a building to outside observers since very often the 
structural supports are not visible to the naked eye – for example, the 
underground timbers upon which rest the Richardsonian Romanesque 
Trinity Church in Boston. Indeed, the view that there is a moral imperative 



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to reveal architectural structure appears to confuse 
a stylistic preference with an ethical concern. 

Hegel began his grand survey of  the history 
of  art with what he called the symbolic stage, 
which was best exemplified by the great pyramids 
of  Egypt. These structures, he claimed, revealed 
the level of  Consciousness’s self-understanding 
of  itself  at a very early stage, one whose lack of  
inwardness was putatively reflected symbolically in 
the limited interiority of  the pyramids. At least since 
Hegel, it has become common for art historians to 
approach artworks with an eye to establishing the 
way in which they articulate the spirit of  their age. 
Various architectural theorists have taken this role 
of  emblematizing the spirit of  the age as the brief  
of  architecture as such.4 It is not clear how this is 
a moral obligation, unless we endorse an extremely 
broad sense of  the notion of  ethics; perhaps it may 
be argued that when architecture performs this role, 
it provides a social good. However, if  this is the 
idea, then it makes it seem as though architecture 
cannot but help doing good all of  the time, since 
it is difficult to imagine the failure of  any work of  
architecture to reflect its time. Even something like 
Horace Walpole’s antiquarian fantasy Strawberry 
Hill reflected at least one strand of  his cultural 
moment. That is, since even nostalgic architecture 
will reflect its times, it seems impossible to fail in 
this regard which would place all architecture qua 
architecture on the side of  the angels. This not 
only seems too rosy an outlook, but also is too 
intellectually indiscriminate to be informative even 
on its own terms. Moreover, connected to the 
problem that all architecture reflects its time is the 
underlying fact that this is so precisely because there 
are so many different, often conflicting, tendencies 
going on during the same time period. It seems 
doubtful that there is ever a spirit of  the age in the 
sense of  a singular, all-encompassing theme. But if  
that is true, then the claim that architecture should 
articulate its age is an impossible obligation, since 

The ‘True to  
the materials’ 

line of thought 
sometimes 

makes it sounds 
as though 
materials 

have rights. 
Yet that’s just 

superstitious.

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there is no singular spirit to embody. Thus, to the extent that “ought” 
implies “can,” there can be no architectural obligation to emblematize the 
(one and only) spirit of  the times.

Not only have some argued that architecture should reflect the spirit 
of  the age. Some have gone further, contending that architecture should 
abet the development of  the age prospectively, bringing supposedly 
positive tendencies in the present into fruition in the future by means of  
built environments that reinforce and guide those tendencies.5 Much of  
the rhetoric of  modern architecture sounds this clarion call. In this case, 
structural honesty is sometimes invoked as a commitment to the kind of  
intellectual clarity associated with the rationality of  allegedly enlightened 
times. Truth to the materials of  modern industrial society – like steel – is 
linked to the notion of  being true to our times. Modern architecture, it 
was believed, not only reflects the emerging rational-industrial culture, but 
would hasten it as life in various machines for living and working would 
blossom into an enlightenment utopia, specifically a blue print utopia – to 
take advantage of  a very useful notion introduced by Nathaniel Coleman. 

(Parenthetically, there is a parallel dystopian story told about how 
this apotheosis of  so-called rationality contributes to the tyranny of  
instrumental reason and neoliberalism.)

The notion of  architecture’s obligation to being on the side of  history, 
of  course, inherits the liabilities of  its component parts, including the ideas 
of  truth to the materials, structural honesty, and the emblematization of  
the spirit of  the times. Just as there is no singular spirit of  the times, 
for example, there is no privileged path to the future, no end of  history 
to which the architect must be committed. As commentators like David 
Watkin have persuasively demonstrated, architectural modernism rides 
on the same faith in a teleological view of  history that Karl Popper 
discredited under the rubric of  historicism.6 History has no preordained 
narrative and, even if  it did, it is not clear how architects could know 
it. Consequently, it cannot be their moral obligation to realize it. Indeed, 
added to the epistemological limitation of  not being able to discern 
the course of  history, architects would also confront another epistemic 
roadblock, namely the lack of  the kind of  causal knowledge that would 
be required to influence the historical process in determinate, predictable 
ways. Think of  all of  the unintended consequences modern architecture 
has set in motion. So, even if  architects knew where history was headed, 
neither they nor anyone else knows how to get there. 

(This lack of  causal knowledge also bedevils dystopians, although 
in a different way. Juhani Pallasmaa claims that the privileging of  vision 



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in modern architecture leads to detachment and 
contemporary alienation.7 But that is an immensely 
complicated causal hypothesis, one so complex that 
it is hard to know how to even begin to isolate the 
variables needed to test it empirically.)

Of  course, so far I have only challenged some 
of  the leading versions of  the idea that there are 
architectural obligations. That does not conclusively 
prove that there are no such obligations. But it does 
shift the burden of  proof  to the friends of  the 
conviction that there are ethical obligations internal 
to the practice of  architecture. So, in the absence 
of  a creditable proposal from their side, it may be 
useful at present to pursue another tack in an effort 
to establish an internal relationship between ethics 
and architecture qua architecture. 

Art and Architecture

At this juncture, I propose to parse the notion of  
architecture qua architecture in terms of  architecture 
qua art. Architecture is a matter of  building 
environments but not all built environments are 
architecture. What makes a building architecture? I 
suggest that it is its claim to art status. 

Of  course, I need to say more about what is 
involved in a building’s possession of  art status. 
Nevertheless, it should be uncontroversial that 
it is by being considered art that buildings are 
commonly identified as architecture. That is, if  a 
built environment is art, then it is architecture. 
Thus, architecture-as-art is one – perhaps the 
most common – way of  satisfying the formula, 
architecture-as-architecture.

Moreover, if  this is acceptable, it suggests 
a straightforward way of  linking architecture 
qua architecture internally to ethics. Namely, 
architecture-as-architecture will be connected to 
ethics at least in the way or ways that art in general 
qua art can be connected to ethics. 

at this 
juncture, i 

propose to 
parse the 

notion of QUA 
architecture 

in terms of 
architecture 
QUA art.

“

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However, this strategy immediately faces a challenge, namely the 
contention that art is categorically separate from ethics. Call this view 
autonomism. Obviously autonomism must be tackled head-on before we 
can take advantage of  any putative link between art and architecture.

Autonomism

Autonomism is a viewpoint that begins to take its modern form in the 
eighteenth century in discussions of  beauty. Francis Hutcheson, borrowing 
the notion of  disinterestedness from the Earl of  Shaftesbury, characterized 
beauty as an immediate feeling of  disinterested pleasure. “Disinterested” 
for Hutcheson meant “independent of  personal advantage.” To find a 
building beautiful was to take pleasure in the mere sight of  it rather than, 
say, taking pleasure in it because it belongs to you. The disinterestedness 
of  the lover of  beauty, for Hutcheson, is just like the impartiality of  a 
judge in a court of  law. In both cases, they are required to issue judgments 
independent from their personal interests and advantages. 

Kant took on board much of  Hutcheson’s conception of  beauty – or 
what he, Kant, called free beauty – and argued that judgments of  free 
beauty (also known as aesthetic judgments) were based upon experiences 
of  disinterested pleasure. However, Kant expanded the range of  pertinent 
interests to be bracketed for the sake of  disinterest, encompassing purposes 
in general, including ethical ones, and reference to concepts, possibly, at 
least in part, because concepts are typically connected to purposes. 

Subsequently, interpreters, or perhaps more accurately misinterpreters 
of  Kant, erected a theory of  art upon Kant’s theory of  free beauty. 
Stated crudely, it presumed that the function of  art is to afford aesthetic 
experiences, experiences divorced from purposes, such as ethical ones, 
and that are instead valued for their own sake. This transmogrified into the 
art-pour-art (art-for-art’s sake) slogan in France, popularized by Benjamin 
Constant and Madame de Stael and which also provided the impetus 
for nineteenth century aestheticism as practiced by Pater and Wilde, the 
latter of  whom famously denied the relevance of  morality to literature, 
maintaining books were only well-written or not.  

Of  course, if  art, properly so called, is divorced altogether from purpose, 
that bodes ill for architecture’s claim to art status, since architecture is so 
wedded to serving ulterior purposes. This is why so often in nineteenth 
century hierarchies of  the arts, architecture’s status is typically demoted to 
the lowest art form on the totem pole, if  it is not disenfranchised entirely. 
Under earlier theories of  art, architecture suffered for not being imitative. 
Things did not get better under the dispensation of  aestheticism, because 



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architecture was linked to non-aesthetic purposes 
and thus to uses and interests.

In the twentieth century, earlier art-for-
art’s sake tendencies were refined and worked 
into a theory called the aesthetic theory of  art 
which we can regard as the contemporary form 
of  autonomism. In rough outline, it holds that 
something is a work of  art if  and only if  it is made 
with the primary intention to afford aesthetic 
experience, which nowadays is generally conceived 
to be an experience valued for its own sake and not 
for some other purpose whether cognitive, moral, 
religious, political, etc. This theory can allow that 
architecture is an art so long as and to the extent 
that it is made with a primary intention to afford 
aesthetic experience, such as contemplation of  the 
visible form of  a building. But, at the same time, 
this theory severs architecture-as-art from ethics. 
The aesthetic theory of  art has been extremely 
influential among analytic philosophers of  art. 
Even those who would never profess allegiance to 
it outright show themselves to be under its sway 
when, for example, they consult their “intuitions” 
and find that art and ethics are necessarily twain.

However, despite the authority of  the 
aesthetic theory of  art, it fares badly empirically 
when weighed against the history of  art. Most 
art historically was and arguably continues to be 
made with primary intentions other than affording 
aesthetic experiences. Commissioned by churches, 
rulers, guilds, aristocrats and so forth most art has 
been made with the primary intention to serve 
religion, politics, cognition, morality and so on. 

Catholic painters for centuries composed their 
devotional pictures with the primary intention 
of  engendering reverence. They would have 
considered it blasphemous to suggest that their 
work be contemplated primarily for the disinterested 
pleasure it imparted to viewers. 

Similarly, the Maori of  New Zealand have a war 



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dance called the Haka in which they stamp their feet ferociously, bulge 
their eyes, stick out their tongues and wave their arms aggressively for the 
purpose of  scaring off  intruders. Were the enemy to sit down and savor 
a Haka for the sake of  contemplative pleasure, the dance would be self-
defeating, since it was made with the primary intention of  driving away 
invaders in terror.8 Nor can the aesthetic theory of  art be repaired by 
dropping the requirement that the intention to afford aesthetic experience 
be primary because that will make the theory too broad. For example, 
almost every commodity in the industrialized world today is made with 
some intention to support what are called aesthetic experiences. Yet no 
one mistakes the cereal aisle in the grocery store for a modern day art 
gallery. 

So, the aesthetic theory of  art, at least as characterized thus far, is 
dubious. For our purposes, that removes a major barrier blocking the 
strategy of  extrapolating the relation of  architecture qua architecture to 
ethics via the relation of  art to ethics.

Art and Expression

To model the relationship of  architecture qua architecture to ethics on 
that of  the relation of  art to ethics requires saying something about how 
we understand art. Obviously I cannot elaborate on a full-scale theory 
about how to identify art in the middle of  the already large project of  
exploring the relation of  ethics to architecture. So allow me to cut some 
corners.

Let us say that pronounced expressivity is a pretty reliable symptom 
of  art status. By this, I do not mean to be defending some version of  
the expression theory of  art. I am not claiming that art is necessarily 
expressive; some art, like Duchamp’s readymade canine grooming comb, 
is not. Nevertheless, pronounced intentional expressivity is a fairly reliable 
symptom of  art. It is because the Haka projects such an intentionally 
pronounced and coherent aura of  fearsomeness and male aggressivity that 
we are provisionally disposed to classify it as dance art. 

Interestingly, from our point of  view, pronounced expressivity is also 
frequently cited as a mark of  architectural art. 

Paul Goldberger says: “Architecture begins to matter when it goes 
beyond protecting us from the elements, when it begins to say something 
about the world…”9 As is well known, Nelson Goodman thinks that 
buildings are architectural art when they mean. He writes, “A building is a 
work of  art insofar as it signifies, means, refers, symbolizes in some way.”10



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For Gordon Graham, architecture as such 
ideally expresses its function; he observes of  Marble 
Hall in Holkham Hall in Norfolk, England, that its 
elegance expresses its function, i.e. to display the 
elegance of  its owners.11

And Paul Guyer argues that Kant holds that all 
art, including architecture, involves the expression 
of  aesthetic ideas. For example, by way of  illustrating 
Kant, Guyer notes “that a (Protestant) church must 
keep its décor simple to induce the proper mood of  
humbleness.”12

Not all of  these characteristics of  the art of  
architecture amount to exactly the same claim, 
but they agree broadly in taking some measure 
of  pronounced expressivity, albeit understood in 
different ways, to be a sign of  architectural art. For 
example, it is the pronounced expressivity of  the 
curving colonnades, reaching out from St. Peter’s 
Cathedral in Rome, that prompts us to regard them 
as architectural art. For they gather together and 
embrace the crowds in the plaza in their “arms” in 
a way that is welcoming.

Or consider the majestic central staircase in 
the Museum of  Modern Art in New York City. 
Its majesty marks with heightened significance 
and drama the experience we are about to have 
of  the museum’s magnificent collections. August 
and ceremonial, the stairway expresses the pride 
appropriate to the holdings it introduces.

Perhaps pronounced expressivity may even 
be an ingredient in a sufficient condition for 
architectural art status. However, be that as it may, it 
is enough for my purposes that there be a recurring 
internal relation between architectural art and 
pronounced expressivity. For inasmuch as certain 
expressive properties are ethically charged, their 
architectural projection will be ethically assessable. 

For example, the façade of  the Georgian 
doorway at 16 Bedford Square in London with its 
fanning window by Thomas Leverton radiates the 

So, the 
aesthetic 

theory of art, 
as least as 

characterized 
so far, is 

dubious

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most energetic hospitality, bursting with cheerful amiability, epitomizing 
the virtue of  sociability.13 Or, for architectural art on the dark side, consider 
the narrative relief  in the palace of  the Assyrian King Ashurbanipal which 
was designed with the express intention to celebrate the king’s wanton 
cruelty.14

Thus, we see that architecture qua architecture maybe related to 
ethics by way of  expression. The case goes like this: some art, including 
architectural art, is expressive. Some of  that expressive art, including 
architectural art, is ethically charged. If  some architectural art is ethically 
charged, then that architecture is potentially ethically assessable. Thus, the 
relation of  some architectural art to ethics can be internal because it is 
rooted in the nature of  architectural art. Consequently, there is at least this 
one way in which architecture-as-architecture is internally related to ethics.

Moderate Architectural Autonomism

Undoubtedly the autonomist will be suspicious of  the preceding 
maneuver. Thus far the autonomist has been represented as claiming 
that art is categorically divorced from purpose and use, including ethical 
purposes. This is a very radical position. But the autonomist, upon hearing 
the previous arguments, may retreat and regroup, counterattacking with a 
position that we can call “moderate autonomism.”

The moderate autonomist concedes that art may be made for many 
purposes, not only affording aesthetic experience, but also commanding 
reverence, advancing ideologies, bringing consolation, promoting virtue, 
rallying the troops, etc. Call ‘affording aesthetic experience’ the aesthetic 
dimension of  art. This dimension is allegedly distinct from the others 
just mentioned. Though these others can be considered legitimate features 
of  art qua art, they contrast with the aesthetic dimension. The former 
features of  the artwork are artistic features of  the artwork, but they are 
not aesthetic features. The aesthetic dimension is comprised of  properties, 
like form, that afford aesthetic experiences thereof  and which are valued 
for their own sake. 

Furthermore, the moderate autonomist maintains that only those 
aesthetic affordances are relevant when considering architecture qua 
architecture. If  there is an argument here, it probably relies upon severing 
aesthetics from purposes. And that will putatively segregate categorically 
the aesthetic properties of  the artwork from the artistic ones, including 
the ethical ones, in the process of  distinguishing mere building from pure 
architecture or architecture as such or architecture qua architecture. In this 
way, the moderate autonomist may recoup at least part of  her position in 



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the face of  the considerations that I raised earlier.

Moderate Architectural Moralism

According to the moderate architectural 
autonomist there is a categorical distinction to be 
drawn between the aesthetic dimension of  the 
architectural work of  art and the ethical dimension. 
The ethical dimension may be a legitimate part of  
the architectural artworks qua art, but it is not ever 
part of  the aesthetic dimension which is putatively 
the only dimension that counts in considering 
architecture qua architecture. One important 
corollary of  this view is that an ethical defect in a 
work of  architecture will never count as an aesthetic 
blemish in architecture qua architecture because the 
aesthetic properties are categorically distinct from 
the artistic ones, including the ethical ones. 

This is autonomism to the degree that it 
asserts that there is a domain of  pure architecture 
qua architecture where moral considerations never 
play a role. It is moderate autonomism because it 
allows that things like ethics, religion, politics, etc. 
are legitimate concerns of  art. They are just never 
aesthetically relevant where aesthetic relevance is 
what determines the domain proper of  architecture 
qua architecture.

Moderate Architectural Moralism is the 
rejoinder to Moderate Architectural Autonomism. 
The moderate architectural moralist contends 
that some works of  art, including some works of  
architectural art, feature moral defects that are also 
aesthetic defects, specifically formal defects. Thus 
the moderate moralist argues contra the moderate 
autonomist that the aesthetic dimension and the 
ethical dimension of  the arts, including some 
architectural art works, are not absolutely cleaved, 
since sometimes there can be an internal relation 
between the ethical dimension of  a given artwork 
and its aesthetic dimensions as evidenced by the 
possibility that sometimes an ethical defect in an 



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artwork can also count as – i.e., be identical with – an aesthetic defect.

The moderate moralist might proceed defensively, questioning whether 
the moderate autonomist’s argument for the categorical separation of  the 
artistic properties and the aesthetic properties can be advanced without 
begging crucial questions. However, the moderate moralist may also 
propose a positive argument on behalf  of  his conclusion. 

The first step in the moderate moralist’s argument is his definition of  
form: the form of  an artwork is its ensemble of  choices which realize the 
point or purpose of  the artwork. Formal features then are choices that 
contribute to the point or purposes of  the works. Architectural theorists 
should be familiar with this conception of  form, since it echoes the 
architectural slogan that form follows function. 

Next the moderate moralist points out that the point or purpose of  
many artworks is to engender emotional responses. The point of  a comedy, 
like Shaw’s You Never Can Tell, is to elicit comic amusement. Characters, 
situations, and plot coincidences are designed to that effect. 

Clearly architectural artworks often have the purpose of  provoking 
emotional responses. Both the interiors and the exteriors of  Gothic 
cathedrals are predicated upon instilling awe by means of  their vaulting 
spires and naves. They are literally designed to take our breath away and 
to reduce us to hushed silence. Often the mood or emotion we identify as 
expressed by a building is connected to the feeling it arouses in us. So in 
the case of  the Gothic cathedral, we say the cathedral is awesome. 

The emotions aroused in us by artworks do not arise by happenstance. 
They, like all emotions, are governed by certain conditions of  
appropriateness. The appropriate object of  fear is perceived danger. If  an 
object does not appear threatening to us, it is not an appropriate object of  
fear, and if  we are sound of  mind, it will not be frightening to us. One of  
the conditions for awe is that the object be perceived to be of  great size 
or power. If  the object does not meet this condition, the object will not be 
experienced as awesome.

These observations about the emotions have obvious applicability to 
the arts, including architecture, since artworks are often in the business 
of  eliciting emotional responses. Horror fictions, for example, are in the 
business of  provoking horror, a compound emotion of  fear and disgust. 
Thus, horror fictions must design characters to this end. Were one to 
present as the monster a figure like Casper the Friendly Ghost in what 
is intended as a genuine horror fiction that would be a failure in design 
because Casper is too nice to be scary and too clean to be disgusting. 
Casper would be a design choice that would be a defect because he 



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would fail to realize the purpose of  horror fiction. 
That is, the choice of  Casper would be a formal 
failure. Similarly to build out of  papier maché an 
architectural structure such as a triumphal arch, 
meant to project strength, would be a formal error 
since it would dissolve in even a mild rainstorm. 

But, what has this to do with ethics? Simply this: 
many of  the emotions are related to ethics either 
because they involve moral conditions – as anger is 
concerned with justice being done to me or mine; 
or they are moral emotions on their own terms, 
like righteous indignation. Eliciting these emotions 
requires meeting certain ethical conditions. If  these 
are not met, the intended emotion will not take 
hold and the artwork will fail in its purpose. 

For example, with respect to an Aristotelian 
tragedy the central character cannot be an evil, truly 
reprehensible character because we will not feel 
tragic pity for him, but joy at his being dealt his 
just desserts. To present the historical Hitler as the 
protagonist of  a play intended to elicit tragic pity in 
the Aristotelian sense would be a design error – a 
formal defect – because it involves the choice of  an 
element not suited for – in fact at odds with – the 
purpose of  the work. The audience is more likely to 
shout “well done” when calamity befalls Hitler than 
to shed a tear for him.

Moreover, notice that the formal error here 
is rooted in an ethical defect. Tragic pity depends 
upon an object that is morally undeserving of  the 
calamity that befalls him. The historical Hitler does 
not meet that condition. He deserves whatever 
he gets. To attempt to mandate tragic pity will 
encounter imaginative resistance on the part of  
morally sensitive audiences. The creator of  our 
abortive Hitler tragedy has a morally defective 
understanding of  what is required for tragic 
pity. Thus he makes the wrong design choice in 
constructing the protagonist of  his play. But this is 
simultaneously a formal error, precisely because it 



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is a moral error. Thus, sometimes a moral defect in an artwork is a formal 
defect just because it may block the audience’s intended emotive uptake. 

A similar possible scenario can be sketched with respect to architectural 
art. Imagine a memorial constructed after a bloody civil war between the 
As and the Bs. Made of  granite, it is divided into two equal halves that 
formally mirror each other. On the left slab are listed all of  the names of  
the fallen As. On the right side are all of  the names of  the fallen Bs. The 
structures are enormous, granting each side enormous gravity. Each side 
looks the same. The only differences appear when you get close enough to 
read the names which differ from one side of  the monument to the other. 
Otherwise, neither side of  the memorial diverges in appearance from 
the other. Neither side receives special architectural accent or emphasis. 
Architecturally the two sides are equal and the design calls upon viewers 
to feel sorrow equally for and to admire or honor equally the dead of  both 
sides of  the civil war. 

But, in point of  fact, one side – let’s say the Bs – were guilty of  
horrible atrocities, bombing civilians with poisonous chemicals, employing 
rape to demoralize and subdue villages that showed sympathy to the As, 
and worse. Many of  the names of  the fallen Bs on the memorial belong 
to known war criminals. For the morally sensitive viewer, the two sides 
of  the civil war are not deserving of  equal sorrow and honor. The Bs 
don’t merit sorrow at all. Thus the morally sensitive audience will resist the 
architectural rhetoric of  the monument. 

For that reason, the choice of  presenting the As and the Bs as equal 
visually is a formal error because it is a design choice that fails to realize 
or to implement the purpose of  the memorial. But it is simultaneously a 
formal defect because it both exhibits and mandates a morally corrupt 
point of  view – one that equates war criminals with the honored dead who 
opposed them. Thus, the uninflected handling of  the two sides of  the 
memorial represents a formal, aesthetic flaw, exactly because it embodies 
a morally defective viewpoint that undermines the purpose of  the work 
by thwarting audience uptake. Consequently, moderate architectural 
autonomism is false.

A Brief Summary

We began with the challenge to ascertain whether there might be an 
internal relation between architecture qua architecture and ethics. Although 
there may be more, we identified at least one such relation by construing 
architecture qua architecture as architecture-as-art. We then modeled 
the relation of  architecture to ethics on the relation of  art to ethics, 



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specifically with reference to art as expression. 
This led to the conclusion that architecture can be 
ethically assessable as architecture when it projects 
properties expressive of  moral import.

We then considered how a moderate 
architectural autonomist might respond to this 
conclusion and disputed that response by mounting 
an argument on behalf  of  moderate architectural 
moralism, the position that maintains that in some 
cases a moral defect in a work of  architectural art 
may be constitutive of  an aesthetic defect. 

Endnotes

1. See Dana Goodyear, “Paper Palaces,” The New 
Yorker, Volume XC, Number 23, August 11 and 18, 
2014: 66-75.

2. See: Joan Ockman, “Ethics and Aesthetics after 
Modernism and Postmodernism” in The Hand 
and the Soul ed. by Sandra Iliecu (Charlottesville: 
University of  Virginia Press, 2009), 45. Quoted 
in Stefan Koller, “Architects on Value” in Ethics, 
Design and Planning of  the Environment ed. by Claudia 
Basta and Stefano Moroni (Dordrecht: Springer, 
2013), 59. 

3. Quoted in David Watkin, Morality and Architecture 
Revisited (Chicago: University of  Chicago Press, 
1977, 2001), 108-9. 

4. See Sigfried Gideon, Space, Time and Architecture 
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1941); Nikolaus 
Pevsner, Pioneers of  the Modern Movement (London: 
Faber and Faber, 1936); Karsten Harries, The Ethical 
Function of  Architecture (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 
1997).

5. Pevsner, op. cit.

6. Watkin, op. cit.

7. Juhani Pallasmaa, The Eyes of  the Skin (Oxford: 
Wiley, 2005).

8. An alternative account of  the Haka was offered 

In some cases 
a moral 
defect in 

a work of 
architectural 

art may be 
constitutive of 

an aesthetic 
defect.

“

”



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at the conference on architecture and ethics in Delft in July of  2014. An 
audience member argued that the function of  the Haka was to present 
rivals with a performance that they assessed in terms of  how formidable 
the dancers appeared. However, even if  this, rather than the account 
offered above, is the correct account of  the Haka, it remains clear that 
the dance was not created with the intention to be valued for its own sake. 
Moreover, the same could be said about much of  the armor designed for 
European knights. It was made to strike terror in the hearts of  the enemy 
and not to deliver disinterested pleasure.

9. Paul Goldberger, Why Architecture Matters (New Haven: Yale University 
Press, 2009), ix. 

10. Nelson Goodman and Catherine Z. Elgin, Reconceptions in Philosophy 
(Indianapolis: Hackett, 1988), 33. See also: Remei Capdevila-Werning, 
Goodman for Architects (London: Routledge, 2013), 13.

11. Gordon Graham, Philosophy of  the Arts 3rd edition (London: Routledge, 
2005), 178-182.

12. Paul Guyer, “Kant and the Philosophy of  Architecture”, The Journal of  
Aesthetics and Art Criticism, Volume 69, Number 1 (Winter, 2011), 15.

13. See Alain de Botton, The Architecture of  Happiness (New York: Vintage 
Books, 2006), 99.

14. See Noël Carroll, “Art and Recollection” in Art in Three Dimensions 
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 171.


