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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: Taylor & Francis, Ltd. on behalf of the Association of Collegiate Schools ofArchitecture, Inc.Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/1425401 .

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Struggle

n

the

Studio:

A Bourdivin

LookatArchitectural

edagogy

GARRY

TEVENS,

niversity f

Sydney

This

article eeks

to

establish wo

propositions.

irst,

architecturalduca-

tion,

although

bviously

ntended

s vocational

raining,

s also intended s a

formof

socialization

imedat

producing

very

specific

ype

of

person.

t

s

contendedhat heeffects of this

process

have been

considerably

nderesti-

mated

by

architectural

ducators.

Second,

his

process

avorscertain

ypes

of

students-those from

well-to-do,

ultivatedamilies-at the

expense

of

others.The

sociological

rameworkf Pierre

Bourdieu

s

enlisted o conduct

the

analysis.

Toward

Sociology

of

Architectural

edagogy

All formsof education ransmit

knowledge

and skills.All formsof

educationalso

socialize tudents nto

some sort of ethos or

culture.

These

two

functions

are

inseparable.

Much

hasbeenwritten n

these

and other

pages

about the firstfunctionof

architectural

ducation,

about how

architects

should be

trained,

about what

they

should

know.

Very

ittlehasbeenwritten

about he

second.

Although

every

academicknows

that there s a

definiteculture nto

whicharchitec-

ture

studentsare

socialized,

usually

described

s

a

form of

romantic

individualism,

iscussion bout t has

remained nformal

and theo-

retically

narticulated,

sThomasDutton

noted,

beyond

his ownuse

of

the notion of

hidden

curriculum

o

describe t.'

I

present

here

what I believe to

be an

especially

nteresting

and

challenging

model

of

the

architectural

nculturation

process

based

on

the work

of

the

French

sociologist

Pierre

Bourdieu.Two

reasons

articularly

ommend

Bourdieu's

theorizing

o

architecture

educators.

First,

the

discipline

and

profession

of

architecture re

deeply

embedded

n

the cultural

world,

and

as Scott

Lash

aid

n

the

introduction to a

volume on

modern cultural

sociology,

"Bourdieu's

eneral

ociology

of

culture

s

not

only

the

best,

but it

is

the

only

game

n

town."2His

workon the

relationship

f

culture

to

society

has

important

hings

to

say

about

architecture's

place

n

the social

world.

Second,

he

is

a

leading

ociologist

f

education

and

has

for

manyyears

beena locus lassicus

or

European

ducators.His

theorizing

n

that area

can

explain many

otherwise

puzzlingphe-

nomena about

architectural

ducation.

Reading

Bourdieu

Pierre

Bourdieu

s not

a name that the

architectural

eader

s

likely

to

have

encountered

n

the

way

that

one

encountersotherFrench

intellectuals like Michel

Foucault or

Jacques

Derrida

or

Jean-

Francois

Lyotard,

although

a

poll

of

French

intellectuals

ranked

him

among

the

ten most

influential

intellectuals.3

Well known in

France,

he has

only

had

a

major

mpact

on the

Anglo-American

field in

the

past

ten or so

years

since the

publication

of his

book

Distinction.4

n that

time,

"he,

morethan

any

other

comparableig-

ure,

...

has cometo

personify

he continuedvalue

and

vigour

of

a

distinctly

French ntellectual radition

within the social

sciences."5

His

impact

on architecture

as been minimal:

a few

scattered

references nd

the

occasional

borrowing

f some

key

concepts,

of-

ten

wrongly

(albeit

nnocently)

attributed o

others.6

The

reasons

are not

hard o find. Unlike

other French

uminaries,

he has

never

claimed he robes

of a

philosopher-king,

arments specially

llur-

ingto architecturalheorists. nstead,he

positions

himself

squarely

in the

field of

sociology.

He has

conspicuously

avoidedthe

volu-

minous and

verbose

debates that

constitute

the

discourse

of

postmodernism.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

audience

twenty-fiveyears

agoduring

architecture's

riefflirtation

with

the

social,

but

contemporary theory

and

writing,

being

a sort

of

nouvelle

cuisine

Heidegger,

has no

place

for

someone

so

unpalatably

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

unappealing

Bourdieu's

extensive

empirical

studies

and would be

disillusioned

on

finding

that his

work

s

collaborative

nd

collective,

relying

on

the

efforts

of

his

co-

workers

at a French

state

researchnstitute.

His

writing

is

long-winded,

discursive,

onvoluted,

formal,

and

rhetorical;

henone

canunderstand im

at

all,

it is

easy

o

take

him

as

arguing

or

positions

to which

he

is

strenuously

pposed.9

His

theoretical

ormulations

re

scattered

nd

diffuse,

rendering

t

difficult o

give

precise

references.

Reading

Bourdieus

like

watch-

ing

a Peter

Greenaway

ilm:

Beneath

he

tortured ococo

exquisite-

nessone can

dimly

makeout

that he

really

has

something

profound

and

mportant

o

say,

but it isoften

difficult o

determine

just

what

it is. One

perseveres

s

one

perseveres

with

Derrida

or

Foucault,

knowingthat thestylistic heatricshat arepartof the repertoire f

all French

ntellectuals

re

crucial

o

the

content of their

thought.'o

Finally,

whereasall

previous

ociological

work

has

analyzed

architecturen

terms

of

a

sociology

of the

profession,

Bourdieu

has

no

distinct

nterest

n

professions.

He

regards

he

whole

concept

as

more

misleading

han

useful,

arguing

hat a

specific

sociology

of

professions,

ather

han a

general

ne of

occupations,

does no

more

than

accept

he

professions'

mage

of

themselves

s somehow

nher-

entlysuperior

ortsof

workers." n

this he

moveswith

the

general

trendof

sociology

o

abandon he whole

notionas

inadequate.'2

Journal

ofArchitectural

ducation,

p.

105-122

?

1995

ACSA,

Inc.

1

05

Stevens

This content downloaded from 147.91.246.195 on Thu, 4 Dec 2014 09:55:50 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions






In

a

critical

and

polemicaldiscipline,

Bourdieu

s

more

po-

lemic thanmost.

Every

sociologist

believes

hat,

in

society,

things

are

not

as

they

seem;

hat

societyoperates

n

some sense

beyond

he

control

of

the individuals

who

comprise

t;

and

that

social

patterns

can

be

produced

and

persist

ven whenthe

people

n

themareun-

aware

of

their existence and

do not

want

them.

However,

Bourdieu's

ttempts

o unmask

he

realitiesbehind the surface

p-

pearances

f

our

everyday

xperience ive

his work

an

especially

tri-

dent

tone,

which

his

baroque

tyle

does

nothing

to

ameliorate.

He

is

a critical heorist

n

the technical ense

of someonewho not

only

has

ideasabout

how

society

does

work,

but

also abouthowit should

work.13Bourdieu s an

angry

man,

his works

"pounding

with the

rhythms

of

philosophical

doom,"

propelled

by

a tide

of

deep pas-

sion,

motivated

by

the

conviction thatmodern

society

s riven

by

profound niquities,iniquities

the

greater

or

being camouflaged

and

receivedas

perfectly

cceptable

nd natural

practices.'"

re his

polemics

necessary?

Within his theoreticalramework

hey

certainly

are,

just

as

they

are

for Derridaand Foucault.

His

theorizing

de-

mands

of readers

hat

they

take a stand and

think

through

ts

im-

plications

or theirown lives."With

that

said,

and

knowing

that,

as he

himself

admits,

he

has to

overstate

is

case

n

order

o state

t

at

all,

I

can

proceed

o outline

his model of

society.

TheSociologyof PierreBourdieu

Power

n

Society

The

startingpoint

is

the

unremarkable

ssumption

hat all societ-

ies

are

distinguished

y

competition

between

groups

o furtherheir

own interests.These

struggles perate

at

many

different evels:

be-

tween

individuals, amilies,

classes,

and

all

sorts

of other

types

of

collectiveentities.

It

is

also obviousthat some

groups

succeed

n

furthering

heir nterests

better

han others:

They

controlmore re-

sources.

Not

only

do

they

have

control,

but

they

keep

ontrol,

and

this is

only possible

by

denying

heseresourceso

competitors.

This

fundamental

ocial

fact means

that

in

the

many

intersecting

ields

that

make

up

society,

some

groups

aredominantand some

are

sub-

ordinate.The control of resourcesboth requires ndgivespower,

and it is with

power

that Bourdieu s

primarily

oncerned:

how

it

is

exercised,

who wields

it,

and for whose benefit.

The most

obvi-

ous sortof

power

s

physical

orce,

but

only

a few

groups

(for

ex-

ample,

the

more violent

sortsof

criminals)

use

physical

orce. It is

inefficient,

and mostsocieties

grant

he

monopoly

on the use

of le-

gitimatephysical

violenceto

the

state.

A

second

type

of

power

s economic.The

importance

f this

is

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

capitalthey

control.

One

of

Bourdieu's

major

contributions to modern

sociological

theory

hasbeen to extend

Max

Weber's

ociologizing

nd

decisively

demonstrate hat this is

not

so,

that there is a

third,

more

potent

and

more

pervasive,

ormof

power-the

symbolic.Symbolic

power

involves he

wielding

of

symbols

and

concepts,

deasand

beliefs,

o

achieveends. It is much easier o control resources

f

a

group

can

simply

convince

competitors

hat t

shouldcontrol

hem.This is the

essenceof

symbolic

power.

No

need

to

carry

a

big

stick

if

all

your

rivalsare

flagellating

hemselves

n

your

behalf.

No

need

to

cajole

if

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 idea

of

challenging

t

just

never

occurs o

anyone,

neither he

powerful

nor the

powerless.

So,

for

example,

n

medievaland

early

modern

Europe,

t

was

takenas

absolutely

atural hat

an

absolute

monarch

should

govern

absolutely.Only

the most tremendous

upheavals,

such as the American

nd French

revolutions,

ould show that the

taken-for-granted

id

not

have

to be.

Second,

this

perception

of

naturality

is a

misperception

or,

in Bourdieu's

terminology,

a

"misrecognition."

ike

fish

in

water,

ndividuals

n

societies

move

throughthe taken-for-grantedymbolicorderthat structures he

whole of

lived

experience,

but that

structures

t so

completelyby

precisely

not

being

seen

to

structure

t.

The fact hat

symbolicpower

is

misrecognized

as natural makes

it

much

more

effective

than

physical

power,

which

is

always

iableto overthrow.

From his

fol-

lows the

third

characteristic,

he arbitrariness

f

symbolicpower.

Only people

not

embedded

n the

particular

ocialorder eethat

it

is not

natural,

but

just

one

particular ay

of

doingthings.

To

those

vast numbers

of

us

who

are

not

part

of

the haute

couture

ndustry,

the ten-thousand-dollar

reationsof

high

fashionare

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-

logicalexposition.Likepsychology, ociologyattempts o describe

our most intimate

and

familiar

xperience

n

theoretical erms

hat

often seem

to contradict

common

sense.

Unlike

psychology,

in

which

since

Freudwe havebecomeused

to the idea

that

things

are

not what

they

seem,

sociological

descriptions

of the

way

society

worksstill

often

strike

readers s

decidedly

peculiar.

f

I

must

often

use

examples

rom

alien

milieus-fashion,

early

modern

Europe-

it

is because

examples

aken

from

our own

milieu of architectural

educationwould oftenstrike 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

power

over

subordinate

ones,

who

misperceive

the

power

as

legitimate

and

are

thereby

co-opted

into their own

subordination.

By

accepting

the

state

of

affairsas

natural,

the

subordinate

groups

allow the

dominant

groups

to exercisetheir

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

decisively

the

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 resort

to

force

to

maintain

their dominance. The

point

is that most

people

accepted

the state of

affairs

as

perfectly

natural. Societies

experience

significant

social

upheaval

just

when

the dominant

ideology--the

ideology

of

the

dominant-fails,

when

people

in

subordinate

posi-

tions

start

to

see the

arbitrarinessof their

subordination.

So much

for

an alien

exemplification.

What

if

I chose

instead

your

own

society?

Would

not

you

reaction

most

likely

be,

"

What

domination?

What

dominant classes?I see

no

symbolic

power

being

wielded Isn't everyone free to become what they want?"What if I

chose

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 to

obtain

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 be

written

in

part

as

a

contest between Church

and

State,

a

conflict

between two

dominant

groups,

to establish the

dominant

principle

of

domination.

Cultural

Capital

At the

highest

level,

that

of

society

as

a

whole,

we

call the field in

which

symbolic

power operates

"culture."

As economic

power

flows

from

the

possession

of

economic

capital,

so

symbolic

power

flows

from the

possession

of

symbolic

or cultural

capital.

Just

as,

in all

societies,

groups-from

families

to

organizations

to classes-com-

pete

in

the

economic arena to increase their economic

wealth,

to

maximize

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

social

theory.

Fourbasic ormscan

be

distinguished:

nstitutionalized,

b-

jectified,

ocial,

and embodied. hree

are

quite

straightforward.

n-

stitutionalized ultural

capital

consists

of academic

qualifications

and educational

ttainments,

nowing

hings,

and

being

certified

as

knowing

hem.

Objectified

apital

s cultural

bjects

or

goods,

such

as artworks

r

any

of the

many symbolic

objects

produced

n

soci-

ety.

Social

capital

consists

of durablenetworks

f

people

on

whom

one

can

rely

for

support

and

help

in

life.

Before

elaborating

on

the fourth

form,

I

must

reiteratean

importantpoint

about

cultural

orsymbolic)capital,

and that s

its

arbitrariness.

n this

respect,

ultural

apital

differs rom

economic

capital.

Money

is

money,

but one

person's

ultural

apital

may

not

be

another's.An

architect's etwork

of

business

ontacts onstitutes

considerable ocial

capital

o that

person,

but is

quite

worthless o

a

priest.

Being

an

accomplished

ailor

s

considerable

ultural

capi-

tal in the

architectural

ircles

of

Sydney,

with

its annual

Architects'

Boat

Race,

but

would count for

naught

n Vienna.A

bow

tie,

small

round

glasses,

a

beret,

a

cape:

unimpressive

ymbols

o

a

carpenter,

rathermore

potent

to an

architect,

although

had Le

Corbusier

or

Frank

Lloyd

Wright

worn

a

cravat,

monocle,

a bowler

hat,

and a

trench

coat,

these

particular

nd

equally

arbitrary ymbols

would

have

carried he same

potency.

The point is thatculturalcapitalhasdifferentvalues n dif-

ferentfields. The

term

field

is a Bourdivin

one,

denoting

the

vari-

ous

arenasof which

society

is

composed.

The word is

meant

to

connote

images

of a

battlefield-because

people

struggle

o

enhance

their

position

n a field-and also

a fieldof

force-because

the

state

of each field

depends

on the relationsbetween

ndividuals.

Archi-

tectural

cademics re

part

of thefield of

education

and also

part

of

the

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.

Although

symbolic

or cultural

bjects

have

different

alues

n

different

ields,

it

is,

in

the last

resort,

heir

value n the

field of

power

that

allows

them to be

arranged

n

one

overarching ierarchy.

hus someforms

of cultural

apital

arevalorizedas worthier hanothers

bysociety

s

a

whole.The

underprivileged

may

despise

the tastes of

the

privi-

leged,

but

they

also know

that

society

values he

person

who

values

Mozart and

M6et

more

than

it

values the

person

who

values

Metallicaand

McDonalds.

The

essential

arbitrariness

f

symbols,

of

cultural

goods,

is

what allows hem

to be

the

object

of

struggles,

where

groups

ry

to

convince othersto

value their

own

capital

more than

that of

their

rivals. f

cultural

oods

werenot

arbitrary-in

the sense hat

money

1 07

Stevens







Table

1.

Participation

n Arts Activities

and Preference or

Music

by

OccupationalGroup

Proportion ttending

%)

ArtsEvents Musical

Preferences

%)

Occupation

Income

$)

Opera Plays

Dance

ArtMuseums ClassicalMusic

Country

nd

Western

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 21

Skilled

Manual

27,000

1

6

2

14

3 36

Laborer

23,000

1 6 1

15

0

21

U.S.

Population

28,000

7 13

5

24

7 23

Source: .A.

Petersonnd

A.

Simkus,

HowMusical astesMark

Occupational roups,"

nM. Lamont ndM.

Fournier, ds.,

CultivatingDifferences

Chicago:

Chicago

University

Press,

1992),

pp.

152-186.

is not

arbitrary

(it

is nonsensical to

argue

that

my

$100

is

worth

more than

your

$100)-there

would

be

no

possibility

of

competi-

tion.

Everyone

would

agree

that Mies is better than a

project

home

and 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

occurs

between

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

valued

much

higher

by

architects

and

their

patrons

than the ideas of the

American

progressives.

The

story

of the

Modern

Movement

is

pre-

cisely

the

story

of

that

avant-garde's

ultimately

successful

attempts

to

devalue

completely

that form of

capital

in favor of

their own.17

There

is, therefore,

a

dominant culture

that valorizes

certain

cultural

goods

and

has

persuaded

society

to-however

reluc-

tantly-accept this evaluation. Some analysts criticize the notion

that

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 indicates

that

although

there

is a

greater

commonality

of

material culture

between

classes than

Bourdieu would be

prepared

to

admit,

there

are substantial

differences

in

that area

Bourdieu

thinks is

most

im-

portant,

nonmaterial

or

symbolic

culture.'9

If

we take what some

critics often

use as a

counterexample

to

Bourdieu's

notion of a so-

ciety

with a

dominant

culture,

he

United

States,

we

find

that there

are in fact

great

differences

n

the class

participation

of what we

think of as

"high

culture."

Table

1

shows the musical

and

artistic

preferences

f

Americans ersus he

occupation

of

the

respondent.

Architects

elong

o

the

"Professional,

ultural"

category.

Those

in

the wealthiest

occupationalgroup, "High Managerial,"

r in

any

one 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 reasonscannot

explain

this

is

clear when we examine the data for free or

nearly

free cultural

forms,

such as art

museums,

or

when we recall hat

a

rock concert

is

about the same

expense

as an

opera,

or that a

night

at the bar or

pub listening

to a

local

rock

group

is about the same

cost

as

an

evening

at the

theater.

Embodiedultural

apital

The fourthform of culturalcapital s much moresubtle,and it is

the element that makes Bourdieu's

notion of

cultural

capital

so

important.

t

is

obvious hat one does not have

o

have

a

private

rt

gallery

or

a

slew

of

diplomas

to be

considered

cultured,

and

it

is

entirely

possible

o own

vast amountsof cultural

goods

and a

de-

gree

or two

yet

be considered

ulgar,

crass,

and boorish.Possession

of

goods

or

qualifications

s

one

way

to own cultural

capital,

but

there

s another

way

to

possess

t,

by simply

being

ultured.

This is

embodiedcultural

apital.

By

"embodied"

ourdieu

means

that it

November995 JAE

49/2

1

08







existswithin

ndividuals,

s

attitudes, astes,

preferences,

nd

behav-

iors. How

we

talk,

walk,

and

dress,

what we like to

read,

he

sports

we like to

play,

the carwe like to

drive,

he sortsof clotheswe

wear,

the

entertainments

we

prefer-.all

of

the multitudinous

ways

in

which taste and

attitudes

are manifestedare markers f

embodied

cultural

capital.

AsTerrilMoi has

noted,

part

of Bourdieu's

impor-

tance

is

in

perceiving

hat

the

most

apparently

rivial

and natural

practices-the

clothes we

wear,

the

foods

we

like,

the

friends

we

make-are all crucial.20

The

peculiar

otency

of

this sortof

capital

ies n

the fact

that,

culturally peaking,ownersof the otherformsareonly whatthey

have,

whereas he

possessors

of

embodied

capital

only

have to

be

what

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

usethe nonsexist

but archaic

erm).

You

do

not

have o own

anything

or to

declare he fact

by

any

other

meansthan

simply

being

one.

The

possession

of economic

capital

allows

consumption

of

economic

goods

by

the mere act of its

possession:Everyone

nows

how to

spendmoney. Symbolic

goods

can

only

be

consumed

f

one

has the

right

mentalschemesof

appreciation,

f

their

meanings

are

understood.

Symbols

are

always

codes of one sort or

another

and

must

always

be

decoded.

An

accountant

looking

at

a Peter

Eisenman ouseseessomethingverydifferent romanarchitect.An

Amazon

Indian

given

a

red

rose

gets

a

spikyplant,

a westerner

gets

a

symbolic

object

redolentwith

significance.

This

accounts or

the

peculiar

mportance

of

embodied

cultural

capital.

Because

he en-

sembleof

dispositions

hat allowus to

consume

ymbolic

objects

are

part

of our

embodied

capital,

t follows

that this

form of

cultural

capital

affects the

rate

of

return

received from

the other forms.

Moreover,

because

embodied

capital

s

not

perceived

s

capital,

t

operates

surreptitiously, overtly.

One has

different

reactions

on

hearing

that

Donald

Trump

has

purchased

a

Vermeer

than

that

Gore

Vidal

has:

The amount

of

symbolic

capital

hat

we

perceive

Trump

as

receiving

by

this

purchase

s

rather ess

than the

amount

that we

perceive

Vidal

to

receive.

Why

should this be?

Becausewe

understand hatVidalis acultivated

person

and that

Trump

s not.

Vidal can

appreciate

he

painting:

Trump

cannot.

Cultural

and economic

capital

are

quite

distinct forms al-

though

interconvertiblen different

ways

at

different

rates

of

ex-

change.

For

example,

he

educational

ystem

allows

cultural

capital

to be

converted o economic

capital

by

providing

access

to

high-

paying

sectors

of

the

labor

market;

he

"old-boy

network" onverts

social

capital

ntoeconomic

capital

by

providing

business ontacts.

Because

he

exchange

atesare

quite arbitrary,

hey

arean

object

of

struggle

between

different

groups,

each

trying

o maximize

he

rate

of returnon the

particular

orts of

capital

they

have. A

hundred

years

ago,

anAmerican rchitect

whose

only

formal

education

was

a few

years

at the

Elcole

des Beaux

Arts was set for

a

rapid

rise,

as

the existence

of the elite

Society

of BeauxArts architects

and

the

careers

f RichardMorris

Hunt and CharlesMcKim attest.22

he

cachet

so

obtained

wouldhave

been ratheress n the

sixties,

before

the

Society's

closure.

TheUses

f

Culture

Bourdieuuses the notions of economic and culturalcapital to

model

society

as a

two-dimensional

space

in

which

individuals,

groups,

and

classes an

be

located

(Figure

1).23Because

t is

always

better o have morethan lessand

those withmore can

further

heir

interests

better than

those with

less,

society

naturally

divides into

subordinate

nd

dominant

classes.

Here

Bourdieu

operationalizes

the

concept

of class

in a

fundamentally

different

manner

than

Marxist heorists.

n Marxist

erms,

a class s

defined

by

its

relation

to the means

of

production

and

is

motivated

by

some

sort

of

rec-

ognition

of

identity.

n Bourdivin

erms,

a class s a

group

of

people

occupying

similar

positions

n social

space.

In

a

sense,

there

are

as

many

classesas there

are

distinguishably

ifferent

points

in

social

space,

but

a division nto

threeserves

he

purpose

well

enough.

The

subordinate lassconsistsof thosewithlittleof eitherformof capi-

tal.

Because,

n the last

resort,

conomic

capital

dominates

ultural

capital,

he

dominantclass

tselfdivides

nto

a

dominant

and sub-

ordinate raction:The

dominant

arethosewith

the most

economic

capital

(entrepreneurs,

anagers,

nd

so

on),

and

the

subordinate

consists of

those with

more

cultural

capital

(intellectuals,

artists,

professionals).

A

catalog

of all

of

society's

ultural

objects

and

practices,

ll

of

the

myriad

ormsof

cultural

capital,

wouldbe

a

very

arge

document.

At

first

sight,

it

mightappear

hat

therewas little

relation

between

all

of the

many

orms,

but

if

we look at

them

from

he

point

of

view

of

stratification,

remarkable

oherence

emerges.

By

simply

know-

ing

an

individual's

occupation,

or

example,

we can

make

quitegood

guesses

as to

the sort of

foods she will

like,

the

sports

she will

par-

ticipate

n,

or the

clothes

she will

buy.

Tastes,

ifestyle,

ulture,

and

classare

intimately

inked,

a

fact

known

o advertisers

or

quite

a

long

time.

As,

for

example,

hown

by

Table

1,

simply

knowing

hat

some-

one is a

social

worker

"Professional,

ocial

Service")

llows

us to

predict

hat his

musical

astesare muchmore

likely

to

be

classical

than

country.

Any

experienced

cademic

ould tell a

lectureroom

full

of

engineering

tudents romone of

architecture

tudents,

and

any

practitioner

ould

distinguish

n

engineering

ompany's

Christ-

1

09

Stevens







I

Dominant

fraction

0

Managerial:

igh

evel

of the dominant

class

0

Prof:

cientific

SSales:

High

evel

..

.Prof:

Socialservice

o

Prof:Cultural

E

Prof":

Technical

O

t

Service:Protective Artists

0

LU

.

i

. l

:

il

,..

......

..........

unskilled

iManagria:Jnio

?iSkiled

Manuaui

l

:Farmer

....

~S•.le

s:

Low evel

.......

SubrdiSenatce:killeste

: •Transport

i~Ciu:Ciiiii

~C

iu

iiiiii

Of

the

dominant

class

S

...Clrworkerca

m

F a

............Ski e

rvice:

••

k

rilled

Ju ira nst

to••:•••ate

fra

woFarabor

0 S u b o r d i n

t e r

c l a s s e s e m i s k

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 social

functions-in

particular,

how

it

works as

symbolic

power.

Much of

his

work

has

been concerned

with

showing

how taste and culture

are

used by groupsto define and bound themselves,to preventthe intru-

sion of

outsiders,

and

to maximize

homogeneity.

All cohesive

groups

operate

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,especiallyprivileged

ones,

require

not

only

this institutionalized form of

cultural

capital,

but

also

par-

ticular

forms of embodied

capital.

It

is

these

implicit requirements

that

although

absent from the formal

occupational

description,

are

nonetheless

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

awarethat 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 becauseone does not have the team spirit, the visceralsense

of

belonging,

of

fitting

in,

of

being

one of us. There is no

greater

barrier

to

success

than

failing

to

possess

all the tacit

requirements

demanded

of

an

occupation,

a barrier all

the more formidable be-

cause

no one sees it. The

construction

worker

who drinks

fine

wines

rather

than

beer,

attends classical

concerts

rather

than the local rock

group,

and

spends

lunchtime

reading

French

philosophers

will find

life on

the

building

site

difficult,

for

all the same reasons that

these

qualities

would

subtly

enhance

the

prestige

of an

architect.

To

say

one 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

designbuildings,

t is to

say

that one has

a

certain

et of

attitudes,

astes,

and

dispositions-all

of

the embodied

capital

hat

distinguishes

n architect

rom a mere

builder.

The Double

Function f Architectural chool

No

notion

has

impeded

the

progress

of architectural ducation

more than the idea that the

only

educational unction

of

university-

basedarchitecturechools

s

to

produceprofessional

rchitects.

his

is, of course,a

principal

unction,but it is not the

only

one. Two

observations

suggest

his.

First,

t is

hardlynecessary

o attend

any

sort of formal

higher-education

nstitution o becomean architect.

Whereas he two

archetypal rofessions

f law and medicinehave

been

embedded

in

universities since their creation

in

the

early

Middle

Ages,

formal,

full-time architectural ducationdates back

only

to

Jacques-Francois

londel'sreformationof the Academie

Royale

d'Architecture

n

1762,

and

in

the

English-speaking

orld

only

to the foundationof schoolsat

MIT, Cornell,

and

Illinois

just

over

a

century

ago.24

Until

then,

the

apprenticeshipystem

worked

perfectly

well to

reproduce

he

profession.25

ne of the most reveal-

ing

featuresof architectural

ducation, ndeed,

is that

institution-

alizationproceeded eryslowly.In themid-fifties,only 56 percent

of American

architectshad

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

American

architects id not havea

degree.27

ven

n

the

mid-eighties,

he

pro-

fession n the United States

wanted

o ensure hat a

degree

was

not

a

mandatory

equirement

or

licensure.28

f

we further

recall

hat,

as

is

often

stated

with an almost

wistful

malice,

many

of the

most

honored

architects f the

firsthalf

of the

century

did not attendor

complete

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,

it

must becomeclear hat the

reproduction

f the

producers

f archi-

tecturecan be handled n placesandwaysother thanthe onesmost

common in

the

English-speaking

orld.

The second observation s twofold.

First,

factoring

out

the

usual

changes

in

participation

rates

caused

by

changes

in

the

economy,

somewhere etweenone-third

and one-halfof thosewith

an

architectural

qualification-depending

on the

time and

place--

are not

working

as

architects.29

econd,

about

one-quarter

f the

studentswho

complete

a

preprofessional

egree

n

architecture

a

Part

1

degree

n theUnited

Kingdom)

choosenot to

complete

heir

professional

education. In

Italy

and

Germany,

the

participation

ratesof

graduates

n the

profession

or which

they

havebeen

trained

is

even

lower.30

We are eft with the conclusion hat

quite

a

propor-

tion of the studentsenrolled

n architecturalducationdo

not

be-

come

practitioners

nd

quite

possibly

haveno intentionof

doing

so.

AsBourdieuhas

pointed

out,

the

higher

education

ystem

as

a

whole

not

only

reproduces

he

producers

f the

dominant

culture,

it,

more

important,

roduces

onsumersf that

culture.31

nly

a

few

thousand

university

graduates

each

year-from

whatever disci-

pline-will

become cultural

producers,

but all of the

hundreds

of

thousandsof

graduates

will

become consumers.This

is

the

double

function of architecture chools:

reproduction

of

producers

and

production

of

consumers,

only

some

of

whom become

producers.

In

their

capacity

as

consumers,

graduates

re not

simply

consum-

ing

architecture,

ut all of thecultureof the

dominant,

rom archi-

tecture to wine to

clothes. Even

in

their role as

reproducers

of

producers,

he schoolsare not

necessarily

reatingproducers

f ar-

chitecture.

Many

students

work in

quite

differentareasof

cultural

production,

uch as theatreor the

visual arts.It is

regrettable

hat

educators

have so

single-mindedly

ocused their attention

on the

reproduction

unction,

because

n

so

doing,

they

mistake

he true

nature of the cultural

capital

provided

by

an architectural

duca-

tion. Of

course,

architectural

ducation

provides

an

institutional-

ized formof culturalcapital,adiploma n architecture,ut justas

important,

t

also

provides

a

particular

orm of

embodied

apital.

Habitus

To call t

"capital"

s

not

quite

correct.

Bourdieuuses

another

erm,

habitus,

a

neologism

derived

ultimately

rom

scholastic

logic. By

this he

refers o a construct hatisboth

psychological

because

t is

in

people's

heads)

and social

(because

we

can referto a

group

or

class

having

a

habitus).

The

habitus

s

a set of

internalized

disposi-

tions that

incline

people

to act

and react

n

certain

ways

and

is

the

end-product

of

what

most

people

would call

socialization or

enculturation.To a

large

extent,

we do not

choose to be

what we

are,

but receive rom

our

family

a

way

of

looking

at

things

and

of

doing things,a habitus,handeddown frompreviousgenerations.

In a

very

real

sense,

habitus

s

a social

analog

of

genetic

nheritance.

This

identity

s

modified

as

we

pass

hrough

he

educational

ystem

and as we encounterother

ndividuals

throughout

ur lives.

None-

theless,

the

possibilities

or

change

are

circumscribed

y

our own

history,

he

history

of our

class,

and the

expectations

f

the

groups

with 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.

t

is

at

once

the filter

through

which

we

interpret

he social

world,

1

1

1

Stevens







organizing

our

perceptions

of other

people's practices,

and

the

mechanism we use to

regulate

our actions

in

that

world,

producing

our 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

we

use;

our

bearing,

gesture,

and

posture-all

of the subtleties

that

show how we relate

to the social world.

Two

important points

must be made.

First,

the habitus must

not be

conceptualized

in

the

structuralist sense: It

is not a

passive

collection

of

knowledge,

a set of rules

we

apply

to social situations.

It is

an

active,

unconscious

set

of unformulated

dispositions

to act

and 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

with

a

practical

mastery

of social

situations,

telling

us

"instinctively"

what

to do.

It

provides

the feel

of the

game.33

When 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

quite

knowing

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,

habitus

is a sort of embodiment

of the entire social

system,

and we all

carry

around

in

our heads

the whole

history

of

our

social

space.

Habitus does

not

determine,

but

it does

guide.

Individuals

are both

completely

free and

completely

constrained,

as

in

Bourdieu's

metaphor,

the

good

tennis

player

is,

who,

though being

completely governed

by

the

play

of the

game,

nonetheless

com-

pletely

governs

it.34

Nature

ofthe

Architectural

abitus

Let me

reiterate: All

forms of education

transmit

knowledge

and

skills,

and

all forms of

education

also inculcate some

form of

habitus.

The two functions

are

inseparable.

The

importance

of

this

process

of inculcation

in the educational

process

depends

on the

relative

worth

of intellectual

or

institutionalized

capital

vis vis

embodied

capital.

It

is of least

importance

in

the fields

within

which

the

procedures

and

processes

of

production

and

acquisition

of

knowledge

are

objectified

in

instruments, methods,

and

techniques,

and

it

is of

greatest

mportance

n

the areas n which excellence s

held to

be

almost

entirely

owing

to the

natural

ifts

of

individuals,

their raw talent.

It is

clear

that in

architecture,

he

procedures

nd

processes

of

design

arenot at all

objectified-as

the

dismal ailureof the De-

sign

Methods movement

attests-and

that

architecture,

unlike

medicine

or

engineering

or even

law,

requires

not

only

knowing

something

but

being omething:

We

colloquially

all

this

quality

of

being "genius."

Architectural

ducation

s intendedto inculcatea

certain

ormof

habitus

and

provide

a form of a

generalized

mbod-

ied cultural

capital,

a "cultivated"

isposition.

Ofcourse

a

young

architecture

raduate

must know how to

draw;

of

course

e

must

understand

uilding

codes,

he

rudiments

f structural

nalysis,

nd

the

principles

of

construction,

but

right

from the

moment

he

sits

down at the

drawing

boardof his firstoffice to the

day

he

retires,

the

smoothness

or

difficulty

of his career

will be mediated

by

his

habitus

acting hrough

his

cultural

apital.

Habitus

multiplies

du-

cational

apital.

Thosewith the

right

habitus

and

capital,

hose

with

the

feel of

the

game,

will find that doors

open

more

readily,

heir

peers

and

superiors

ome

to

respect

hem

more

easily,

and clients

look more

favorably pon

them.

In earlier

imes,

educators ot

only readily cknowledged

ut

positively loried n thefactthat architecturalducationwasa culti-

vatededucation

ntended o instillthe

appropriate

abitus.

Writing

to

parents ending

heirsons to board

n

Paris o attend

his revital-

ized

Academy

f

Architecture

n

the

late

1700s,

the

originator

f full-

time architectural

ducation,

Jacques-Frangois

londel,

reassured

them that he would

provide

or:

"fencing,

music

and

dancing;

xer-

cises to

which

particular

ttention s

paid,

since

they

should form

part

of the education

f allwell-born

persons

who devote hemselves

to

architecture,

nd who are

destined o

live

in

the best

society."35

As the

AIA

Committee

n Educationo

clearly

ut

it

in

1906,

"An

architect

s a

man

of

culture,

earning

nd

refinement,"

nd

the

purpose

of architectural

ducation

was "the

breeding

of

gentlemen

of

refinement."36

gain,

the American

Academy

at Rome

strove o

select ellows"amonghoseonlywhowill berecognisedsgentlemen

by

instinctand

breeding."37

t

is no

longer

politic

o

say

such

things;

but

they

remain

as

appropriate

description

now

as

then,

as

John

MorrisDixon

observed

n the

only

article

have

been

able to find

brave

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

ndividuals

who are

attempting

n

reality

o

acquire

an

embodied

orm

of

capi-

tal. Architecture

chools devalue ntellectual

capitalcompared

o

embodiedcultural

apital

becausentellectual

apital

s

simply

not

November

995 JAE

49/2

1

1

2







essential

o achieve uccess. n their moresardonic

moments,

some

architects

ee this:

"Intelligence,

n

any

absolute

ense,

s not a

ma-

jor

factor n the

production

f

distinguished

rchitecture.

rrogance

coupled

with a sense of

competition

and a

pleasure

n the

fashion-

able and

exotic,

are much more

important.""3

The failure o

recognize

hat

architecturalducation

s a

cul-

tivated

education more

than an intellectual

one

may

explain

the

many

problems

of architecture

n

the

university ystem.

As

many

have

pointed

out,

architecture

chools

do

not

really

it

in.40

Archi-

tectural

cademics o little

research;

either

hey

nor the

profession

find it relevant.41ndeed,thereis often a positivehostilityto the

very

idea of this most

intellectual

and

academic

of

activities,

be-

cause,

of

course,

designingbuildings-not publishing

papers-in-

crements the architectural

academic's

symbolic

capital.42

No

wonder

that

pressures

o conform

to

university

deals of

academe

are

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.Manypeople

end

up

in

places

hey

do not wish

to be.

We

like to think

thatwestern

ocietiesare

gener-

ally meritocratic,with those with moreabilitydoing better than

those

with

less,

and that this

meritocracy

s

ensured

by

the

educa-

tional

system,

which

enables tudents o

acquire nowledge

nd

skills

so

they

can find

appropriate laces

n

the

labor

market

according

o

their

testedmerit.

If

this

were

true,however,

we would not find the

intergenerationalontinuity

of class hat we

do. In one

of

his

most

influential

works,

Bourdieu

argues

hat the modern

educational

sys-

tem is not

at

all

meritocratic.44

ust

as

the economic

ystem

works

n

favorof thosewith

the most economic

capital,

he

education

ystem

works

n

favorof thosewith

most

cultural

apital.

t

allows he

trans-

formation f cultural

capital

nto

educational

capital,

whichcan

then

be used to

acquire

conomic

capital

and further

ultural

capital.

n

so

doing

t

ensures he transmissionf cultural

capital

across

genera-tions andensures hat

preexisting

differences n

inherited

cultural

capital

are

transformed

into academic

credentials

that

are

misperceived

s

being

won

by

natural alentalone. Far

rom

open-

ing up

the

social

tructureo

all,

the

system

works o

preserve

he ex-

isting unequal

distribution of

capital

by

transforming

what

are

actually

ocial

classifications

nto academic

nes.

The

architectural

ducation

ystem

works o

preserve

he ex-

isting

socialstructure f the

professionby

likewise

disguising

what

is

actually

social

process

f selection

hatfavors he

privileged

with

what

appears

to be a

purely

meritocratic academic

one

favoring

nothing

but native talent.

It does so in several

ways:

*

The

disadvantaged

eliminate

themselves from

architectural

education.

*

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-eliminationfthe Disadvantaged

Students from

disadvantaged

backgrounds-those

of

low-economic

and -cultural

capital-select

themselves

out of the

system.

People

try

to

augment

their

various

capitals

and

to that end

pursue

strate-

gies

of

investment

that

will

produce

the

highest

returns.45

The

fields

they

decide to enter

(carpentry

or

architecture),

their

manner of en-

trance

(when

young

or

old),

and

what

they

do

there

(salaried

or

own

practice),

depends

on

their

perceived

chances

of

success. We

all

adjust

our

aspirations

and

goals

to

the situation we find

ourselves

in

by

virtue of

our

place

in

the

social

structure. We

attempt

what

we

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

by

the

dominant.

To see

the

power

of this

effect,

we

have

only

to examine

Table

2,

which

shows the

proportion

of

people

from

each

social

class

participating

in

higher

education. A

variety

of

nations

have

been

shown to

demonstrate the

universality

of

the

effect. In

the

United

States,

we

would

expect

the

cost

of

higher

education to

work

against

the

lower

classes,

but the same

cannot

be

said for the

other

nations.

Not

Australia's

removal of

all

university

fees

in

the

seven-

Table 2.

Proportion

(%)

of

Each

Social

Class

Participating

n

Higher

Education

Social

United

United

Class

Australia

Kingdom

States

Sweden

Poland

Top

third

33

18

75

23

21

Middle

third

15

5 27

8

7

Lowestthird

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.

1

1

3

Stevens







Table

3.

Proportion

(%)

of Entrants

o the

University

of

Sydney

Who Attended PrivateSchool

(1991-1992),

Expressed

as a Deviation

from the Mean

for the Whole

University,

by Faculty

(School)

Faculty Proportion

(School)

ofEntrants

%)

Music

42

High

Cultural

Capital

Law

35

Visual

Arts

30

Architecture

21

Arts 18

Economics 17

Veterinary

cience

11

Medicine

7

Social Work

1

All

0

Science

-2

Engineering

-15

Education

-22

Pharmacy

-32

Dentistry

-43

Nursing

-43 LowCultural

Capital

ties,

not the United

Kingdom's

edbrick

niversities,

ot Sweden's

democratic

ocialism,

nor Poland's

communism

have altered

he

fact that

the

most

privileged

lassesare

vastly

more

likely

to send

their

children

o

university.By

saying

"This

s

not

for

me,"

he dis-

advantaged

xclude

hemselves

o

much

more

effectively

han

any

economic

penalty

would.

One

may

also see

the effect

operating

within

the

university

system,

as students

distribute

hemselves

mong

the various

acul-

ties

on the basis

of

their

current

economicand

cultural

capital

ac-

cording to their perceptionsof how successful they will be in

increasing

hose

capitals.

Table

3

showsthe

proportion

of entrants

to the

various aculties

schools)

at

my

own

institution,

he Univer-

sity

of

Sydney,

who

haveattended

a

privatehigh

school.

The nature

of Australian

ociety

s such

that

attendance

t such

a school

is an

indicator

of cultural

apital.

t becomes

clear hat

theareas hat

re-

produce

he cultural

roducers

music,

visual

arts,

architecture,

rts)

attract

tudents

who

already

have

sufficient

cultural

capital

o

ob-

tain

a

good

rateof

return,

while

the

fieldsfor which the

possession

of cultural

capital

s

less

relevant

nursing,

dentistry,

ngineering)

Table

4.

Social Class of

Students

at the BartlettSchool

Father's All

Unversity

f

Bartlett Bartlett

Occupation

LondonStudents

%)

Applicants

%)

Entrants

%)

Managment

64

68

78

and Professional

Clerical

9

29

20

SkilledManual

21

3

2

Unskilled

6

0 0

Total 100

100

100

Source:

M.L.J.

Abercrombie,

.

Hunt,

and

P.

Stringer,

Selection

nd

Academic

Performance

f

Students

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

very

rare:

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

the

most

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.46

For

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,

the

overselection

of students

from the

upper

classes into the

university

as 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

the

selectors

in the interview

process

removes

those

with

middling

amounts

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

especially

common

in

the

more

elite institutions

and

in those

disciplines

in

which

such

capital

is

most

important

for success.

Consecrating

rivilegebyIgnoring

t

The

higher

education

system

as

a

whole has

the essential

function

of

conserving

and

preserving

the culture

of

society,

of

passing

it

down

from

generation

to

generation.

It

is clear

that it does not

transmit

the

totality

of

society's

culture.

It transmits

only

the

portions

that

those

who

run

the

system

consider to

be

worthy

of transmission:

the cul-

November

995 JAE

49/2

1

1 4







ture

of the

dominant,

euphemized

as "liberal

education." There are

continual

debates,

of

varying

vehemence,

about

just

what

should

be

transmitted,

but these are internal

struggles

between intellectuals and

academics,

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

in

terms

of

that

culture,

the

education

system

of

necessity

favors those

who

have

already

been inculcated

with it from

birth,

those

for

whom this culture is as natural, familiar, and

easy

as

walking.

By

assuming

that

students

are

broadly

homogeneous-for

no one

be-

lieves

they

are

exactly

alike-institutions

of

higher learning privilege

the

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

university

education

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.

We

should also remember

that students

can have the same

practices

without

experiencing

them

as the same. To

say

that

two

students

have

part-time

jobs

as sales clerksin a store

disguises

the distinctions

between the

privileged

student

who

works

in

the most

up-market

department

store

in

town for

pocket

money

and the lower-class

one

who works at a

supermarket

checkout stand

in

order

to

live.47

To

say

that the architect's

daughter

and the

unskilled laborer's

son

are

both 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 latter

memorializes

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

Arts

between

those from architectural

families and

those not when "an

architect's son [in choosing an atelier] would listen to his father's

advice

following

the

latter's

personal

inclination,

inquiries

or

past

loyalties"?48

And

how must students

in

the

contemporary

U.S.

school

who

could

not afford

the

cost have felt

when,

being

praised

for her

design

in

a

jury

session,

another student

was told that

"I

had

demonstrated

an

understanding

of Roman urban

planning,

and

clearly

had

spent

time in

Europe"?49

It 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 start

the academic

year

with a

celebration,

an

event

that

would

be

both

entertaining

and

instructive.

The

event

was a

day-long

series

of

talks

and exercises for the entire student

body,

physically

and

metaphori-

cally

centered around

his firm's

day-sailer,

which

he had assembled

in

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 sort

of

yacht

is

widely

used

for

amateur

racing.

The differential

symbolic

effect this had

on

the students

was

unintended.

Sailing

on

the harbor

is one of the favorite

pursuits

of

Sydney's

elites,

among

whom must be counted the better-off of the

city's

architects.

Many

architecture

firms

have

their own

boats,

the

favorite

of

which

is the

day-sailer.

For

many years,

there has been

an annual

racing

competition

for

architects,

and

participation

in

that

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

implicit

affirmation

of

the

quality

of

that

recreation,

a

comforting

confirma-

tion of the match between their

cultural

capital

and

that

required

for

the

profession.

To the students

from lower-middle-class

back-

grounds,

the skiff

was a

novelty

that made them

uneasy.

In a

man-

ner more

potent

and effective than

mere words could have

done,

the

cultural

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

he

Ideology

f Giftedness

Success,

of

course,

depends

on

having

some sort of talent and skill

in

the

occupation

of choice.

In

different

degrees

in

different

fields,

success also

depends

on the

ease

with

which one can

acquire

the

culture offered

in

the education

system.

Students

with a habitus

that

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

heavy

investments

in artistic or architectural

cultural

capital,

come

to

school with a habitus

ready-made

for

reception

of

the

peculiar

edu-

cation

that

is

architecture.

Such students

appear

to be

naturally

gifted,

but this

natural

gift

is-as

well

as

being

a

talent-the feel

for

the

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

1

15

Stevens







not in the

way

that

the

speakers

intend. Baldassare

Castiglione

un-

derstood

the

importance

of natural

grace,

of

the

"airof

good

breed-

ing,"

when,

writing

five hundred

years

ago,

he said that a courtier

mustbe

endowed

by

nature not

only

with

talent and

with

beauty

of

countenance and

person,

but with that certain

grace

which

we call

an

"air,"

which shall make him at first

sight pleasing

and 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 the

favour of

every

great

lord.

... The

Courtier

must

accompany

his

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,

it

can be said that he who

has

grace

finds

grace.

But since

you

have 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 makes

them

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 is

the

ideology

of

giftedness,

and

in no

field

is

this belief more

strongly

held than in art and

architecture.

No one

confident

of their own

gift-

edness can

accept

the

unpalatable

idea that their

giftedness

owes as

much to the unchosen

determination

of

their

own

social milieu as to

their

own

undetermined

choosing."

If this

ideology

were

true,

we

would

expect

to

find some sort of

commonality

to the

psychologies

of creative artists or

architects

and,

conversely,

no

commonality

to

their social

origins. Precisely

the

opposite

is

the case. The lack of a

common

psychology

in

architecture

students has

quite

defeated the

many

attempts

of

researchers o

devise selection

procedures superior

to the

hodgepodge

now

operating

in

the

world's

schools.52

If

the

analysis

presented

here is

correct,

they

should

really

be

looking

for

students from

families with

high

cultural

capital. Perhaps

such a cri-

terion

that,

it is

believed,

could

not

possibly

lie behind the creative

success of the

young

architect-to-be,

would be

as

repugnant

to

the

schools as its

discovery

was

disheartening

to

Jacob

Getzels

and

Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

in their

study

of

young

artists: "The

data

make clear

that,

to achieve success

as an

artist,

it

helps

to come

from

a

well-to-do,

educated,

higher

status

family.

(This

is a

disillusioning

thought.

One would like to believe

that,

at least in

art,

money

and

status

play

no

part

in

determining

success.)""53

Researchers have

been

oddly

reluctant to

acknowledge

the

implications

of theirown

findings, politely declining

to

look

behind

the

individual

to the

symbolic

wealth

sustaining

him

or her.

Donald

MacKinnon,

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

not

interested

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

examination

that the

key

to

fame

was

working

with

a master

in

one of

the

master'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

was

their

background

of

familial

wealth, culture,

or

influence.5

Underestimating

chools'Inculcationunction

Educators

usually

talk

about

how students are socialized into

"ar-

chitectural culture" in disparaging tones, as though it were some

incidental side-effect or were

easily

rectified

by

simply

not

teaching

students certain

things.

The

process

of

inculcation,

I have

argued,

is no

mere

epiphenomenon,

but

an

integral

part

of

architectural

education. This

process

operates

at a much

deeper

level

than

is

im-

plied

in

the

notion of

a hidden

curriculum.56

One cannot

manifest

cultivation

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

be

obtained

at

secondhand.

They

must be

slowly

absorbed from those

who

are

already

cultivated. If cultivation were

obtained

easily

and

readily,

by

simply reading

a

few

books

or

attending

a few

lectures,

it

would not have the value it

does. Its

acquisition

is

essentially

a

matter of

directly

experiencing

it,

of

soaking up

all the

many

small

things

that

comprise

it.

Nor

can

its

content

be

enumerated.

No

book 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 that

paragon

of the

cultivated

architect,

Leon

Battista

Alberti,

said,

"There is no

one even

slightly

imbued with

letters

who does not in

his

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

November 995 JAE

49/2

1 1

6







than he

drowsily

thought,

he strives toward this

goal

by

reading

every

available

book,

as

if

we

could

acquire

our

style

from

books

alone,

rather

than

by

our own intense

efforts."58

A more

recent

statement in

almost

exactly

the same

terms can be

found

in

Paul

Cret,

who wrote in

1934

of his school

at the

University

of

Penn-

sylvania,

"Alleducation in Fine Arts

...

has for its

main

object

the

development

of

the

artist's

personality.

A

consequence

is that

such

a result

can be

accomplished

only

through personal

effort

and

not

through

a

perusal

of

textbooks."59

This is

the

crux of

the matter: The

cultivated

habitus

cannot

be

acquired

through

labored

study.

That is the

way

of

the

pedant,

the

plodder.

One must have not

only

the

right

culture, but the

right

re-

lationship

to

that

culture,

and that

relationship depends

on

how

the

culture was

acquired.60

The

dominant

definition of

the

right way

to

acquire

cultureis

by

direct

experience,

actually

being

there.

Does

not

every

architecture

student

aspire

one

day

to

make the

Grand

Tour,

the

leisured

journey,

the

pilgrimage,

to

actually

see

and

experience

the

sacred sites

of

architecture?As

Spiro

Kostoff

wrote on

the

virtues

of

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.

We

understand the

needs

of

others to the extent

that we

have

insisted

on

a full life

for

ourselves;

we

can

provide

for the

settings

of

social insti-

tutions to the

extent

that we

have been

broadly educated, broadly

read,

given

the

wherewithal to reflecton the

course

of

human

affairs

and 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.

Bourdieu

distinguishes

between

a

scholastic

and a

charismatic

mode

of

incul-

cation.62

The

scholastic

mode is what

we

normally

recognize

as

pedagogy,

the

formal

and

explicit

teaching

of

formal

and

explicit

knowledge

and

skills. The

charismatic

mode

is the

informal

and

implicit

method

of

inculcation,

which is

the

only

possible

means of

transferring

embodied

cultural

capital.

The former

is

intended to

produce

knowing,

the

latter

being.

Hence the

strong

identification

between

work

and

person,

so common in

architectural

design,

which this anecdote illustrates:"One day a professorapproachedfor

a

mid-project

desk crit

and

pointed

to the

model

I

had

constructed.

..

.'Is

this

you?'

he

asked.

Hoping

to

build a

casual

rapport

with

this rather

stern

young

teacher,

I

responded

jokingly,

pointing

to

myself,

'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

you

and this

is shit ' It

was

an

incredible

high

when the

unity

between

self

and

work

brought

us

praise,

but

quite

devastating

when

our

efforts

were

insulted."63

Lecture courses

play only

a

small

part

in

this

process-and

then

only

some

courses.

Subject

areas in architecture

are

strongly

stratified, with

design by

far the most honored.

If we were to

con-

struct

a

hierarchy

of curricular

prestige,

it would

correspond

more

or less to the

degree

to which

the

subject

can utilize the

student's

cultural

capital.

Thus

design, history,

and

theory

would be at

the

top,

and

environmental

science,

structures,

and

building

services

would

be at the bottom. When

students

protest

that courses

are

not

relevant,

quite

often

they

are

simply

protesting

against

courses

that

prevent

them from

displaying

their

cultivation.

The

design

studio is the site

par

excellence

for the

operation

of a charismatic mode of inculcation. It is no

happy

accident

that

the studio

system

has been at

the

very

heart

of

architectural

educa-

tion

throughout

its entire

history.

The studio

system

is

essentialfor

socializing

students

with

a

cultivated

habitus.

As

Kathryn

Anthony

pointed

out,

the studio

is a

very

peculiar

form

of

education.6

In

conventional

university

education,

students

sit in

anonymous

lec-

tures

for a few hours

a

week,

work alone

and receive

little

input

from other

students or

academics,

who must

be

actively

sought

for

assistance.

Examination

is in

the form of written

documents

and

is

conducted

in

private.

Design

students

aresurrounded

by

their

peers

for

many

hours a

week,

often

relying

on them for

assistance.

The

studio 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

of

having

practicing

architects

as

teachers);

by

displaying

in

all

the

slight

ways

of

manner,

dress,

and taste that

one is

becoming

what

one wishes to

be,

the

student

absorbs

that

cultural

capital

in

the

only

possible

way, by

presenting

to the studio

master's

gaze

their

whole

social

being.

The student

can neither

present

nor

the

teacher

assess

embodied

capital by

the usual

university

means of

lecture

and

writ-

ten

examination.

No doubt

this

explains

the riots

that

broke

out

in

the

old IEcolewhen

the

government

tried to

make the

Ecole's

own

lecture courses

compulsory.

The

government

backed down

soon

enough, and the architecture students happily resumed their old

practices

of

ignoring

lectures for

the

ateliers.65

The

ever-present

dangers

of

contamination are

minimized

by

socially

isolating

students

from

peers

in

other

disciplines

and

even

from

family:

"The

prolonged,

intense

interaction

across an

aca-

demic

term can result

in a familial

atmosphere-with

the best

and

worse

aspects

of

family

life

manifested on

a

day-to-day

basis.

The

intense contact

with

studio-mates

often

makes it

difficult for

design

students to

maintain

their

friendships

with

those

in

other

years.

As

1

17 Stevens







many

students have

admitted,

the more

years

they

spend

in

design,

the fewer

nondesign

students

they

have as friends.

Cloistered into

the

captivity

of

the

studio,

the

studio commands an

increasingly

greater

role as the centre of students' social

lives,

and

consequently

the

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.67nsisting

that

all of their

faculty

have a

professional degree

in

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 the

studio

master wishes students

to

absorb.68

As

Anthony reported

one

student

saying,

"Architecture

school

was

like boot

camp:

twelve

hours a

day

seven

days

a

week

in

basic

design.

...

In

retrospect

t was

the

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

being

made

to feel like a

first-grader ....

My

first

design

instructor was a

bit like a

drill

sergeant.

You're

more or less

being

broken."''69

FavoringheCultivatedHabitus

One can succeed

more

easily

if one is

already halfway

successful.

The

design

studio,

by

relying

so much on the

presentation

of the

self to those

who will

assess

the

self,

favors those

who come to

ar-

chitecture

already

knowing

some of the

strategies

of

the

game

of

culture.

The

natural

grace,

the

feel of the

game,

which those from

cultured-and

especially

architectural-families

possess,

makes

them 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

anything

useful

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

deal

of

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

the

basic

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 or

the nature

of

the

game they

are

playing.

This

may

also

explain

the

never-ending

calls for

"integration,"

by

which is

invariably

meant

moving everything

into

the

studio,

thus

transforming performance

in

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

wrong

sort of

cultural

capital

even the

least chance

of

asserting

their com-

petence

in

some area

of

architecture.72

Favoring

ThoseWhoFavor

Them

All

processes

of

enculturation must

accomplish

two

things:

(1)

suc-

cessfully

enculturate and

(2)

remove those who

will

not be

enculturated. The result

is

to

produce

individuals

who

want

to

play

their

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 endured

now are but

necessary

steps

on

the

path

to election

hereafter.73

Those 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

game

of architecture

is

a serious

game

worth

playing seriously.74

The

enculturation

process

is most

clearly

seen

operating

in

the

change

of

dress and

manner that students

undergo

through

their

long

time

in school. This is no meretransitionfrom adolescence

to

adulthood.

As

I

have observed

it

in

my

own school over

many years,

students

become more alike

in

dress, taste,

and

deportment.

Within the educational

system

students

are

kept

in

a more

or

less

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 these

externalities

for

legitimation

to

quiet

the fractious.

In

areas,

like

architecture,

where

excellence

is

embodied

in

individuals,

the

sys-

tem

adopts

other means to convince all

of the worth of the

game

and

to make students

love to

play

the

game.

November 995

JAE

49/2

1 1

8







The

means

used

in

architectural education to enforce

this

state

of

docile

acceptance

is

by

keeping

students

in

a

permanent

state of insecure

expectation.

In

the

old

Ecole

des Beaux

Arts,

a

par-

ticularly

effective means

of

doing

so

was

to

allow students an

in-

definite

period

to

complete

their

studies." Whatever other

virtues

it

may

have

had,

this

held out

to all

the

possibility

that

success

may

come next

year

if

not

this,

if

only

a little

more

work

were

done,

if

only

the

game

were

played

a

little

better.

Financial,

legal,

and

in-

stitutional

pressures

have

removed this

mechanism from

most

places,

although

it

is still

in

use

at

nonuniversity

elite

schools. To-

day,

there

are

three

ways

to

ensure

docility.

The first

is

by

the

con-

trol of students' time. Design studio may represent some 70

percent

of

their

credit

hours,

but

it

consumes

90

percent

of

their

time. The

number of

nights

without

sleep

becomes a

currency

of

great symbolic

worth,

a

currency

of

devotion,

whereby they

dem-

onstrate

to

the

studio

master that

they

are

coming

to

love the

game.

The

second

is with the

use of

vague,

allusive,

and elusive

language

in

the

design

studio,

which

requires

students to

struggle

to

wring

meaning,

to

worry

about whether

they

have

understood,

to franti-

cally hope they

will

please:

Anyways,

we

would

be

working

in the

studio,

designing

swim-

ming

pools

(which

our

professor

called

"negative

volumetric

spaces").

This

professor

would walk

around

the

studio as

we

worked,

pausing

beforeeach student's

drawings

to

say

"the ...

space

... it

lacks ... the

purpose

of

essence

... in

its own

idea

of...

limitation ...

but within

the constructs of

the

idea of

...

space

within ...

time ... it

reflects ...

conscience ..."

and he

would

look off

into

space

for a

while

in

silence and

then

just

wander

off.

Behind

him

came the assistant

professor

who

would

whisper

to us

"You

should

make

that

line

heavier,

clean

up

those eraser

marks,

and re-draw

that curve

there."

It was a

curious

mix

of the

ephemeral

with the

practical.76

Throughout

the

year,

we had each been

responsible

or

present-

ing

a

historical outline

and

drawings

of

landmark

buildings

by

a

handful

of

"masterarchitects."

.. I

generally

iked

the

house

I

worked

on

...

but I

could not isolate

what

made it

good,

or

in

advance

of

its time.

To

me,

many

of

the other

examples

were

as

confusing.

When

the

teachers

gave

clear

identification of

what

they

valued about these

masterworks,

we took

what

they

said

as

gospel

and

stored

it in

our

nervous

minds.77

The

third

is

by

encouraging

intense

competition

between

individuals. The

notion of

competition,

between

individuals,

be-

tween

schools,

between

firms,

is one of the

enduring

values of

ar-

chitecture.78

At

the

Ecole,

competition

was lauded

as a virtue

in

it-

self,

and

progress

was

by

success in

competition.79

Anthony

has

documented

in detail the necessities

that

competition

forces on

stu-

dents:

the

sleepless

nights,

stress,

and

anxiety.80

Such

competition

creates

a whole

symbolic

market

whereby

students

can show

their

dedication

to the

game. By

atomizing

the student

body,

the

studio

system

obliges

students

to

play

a serious

game seriously,

to

realize

that

they play

the

game

against

others,

and to devote their

energies

to the

playing

ratherthan

to

questioning.

The

disciplines,

ordeals,

and vexations

of studio

competition-most

especially

in the

com-

petitions where there can only be one winner, as in the world of

practice-demand

from students

a

specific acquiescence

and in

par-

ticular

a

special

form of

acceptance.8'

By

constantly

competing

for

approbation

and for

approval,

students

can

display

to their

teach-

ers

their desire for and

acceptance

of

the

game

of

architecture.

Conclusion

This

analysis

throws some

light

on two

interesting aspects

of

archi-

tectural education.

The first is the

extraordinary

longevity

of

the

studio

system.

In

the

opening years

of the nineteenth

century,

the

founders

of the new

school for

engineering,

the

Ecole

Polytechnique,

devised a new method of

pedagogy.

Prior to the

Polytechnique,

engineering

in the

various

French

schools

had been

taught

by

practicing

engineers

to small

groups

of

students.

If

some

theoretical

instruction

was

needed,

it

was

provided

by

the

profes-

sor of

engineering

or a senior

student on

an

ad

hoc

basis.

The

Polytechnique

introduced

the

idea of

having

academics

teach

gen-

eral

theoretical

subjects

like

mathematics

and

mechanics

for several

years

before

introducing

students

to

specialist

knowledge

in

one

or

another

of the branches

of

engineering.

The

school also

introduced

the now

standard

pedagogical technique

of

the

lecture to

a

large

number of

students.

Interspersed

with

the

lectures were

laborato-

ries taken

by

subgroups

of the

whole,

working

under

a

tutor.82

These

techniques

have become

standard in the world's uni-

versities

for

many

disciplines.

One of

the

interesting

aspects

of

ar-

chitectural education is

that

it

retains at its

heart the

rather

older

methods that

the

Polytechnique

abandoned but

that were

preserved

by

the

Ecole

des Beaux Arts

and

passed

down to

modern

American,

and to a lesser

extent

British,

schools.

I

have

argued

that

part

of the

reason

for

this

longevity

is

that the

studio

system

acts as a

particu-

larly

effective

social

filter,

ensuring

that

only

students with

the

right

sort of social

being

pass

through

the

system

to

graduate.

1 1

9

Stevens







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

students

for

a

professional

world

that

simply

does not

exist.83

Perhaps

these

complaints

can be

understood

if

we

understand

that

architectural

education 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.

Sylvia

Ficher,

and Professor

Kathryn Anthony

for their

readings

of this

paper

and

their

helpful critiques.

Thanks

guys.

Notes

1. ThomasA.

Dutton, ed.,

Voicesn Architectural ducation:

CulturalPoli-

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,"

in

C.

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

article

did not discuss Bourdieu

for what he

could contribute

to

architectural

theory,

but

for

what 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 PostmodernFacade

(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

Champ

of 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 York

Press,

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,

Architectural

Practice:

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 able

to

implement

some of

his ideas

in

his

capacity

as the

most

prominent

adviser to the

French

government

on

education.

14.

Quote

from R.

Collins,

"Cultural

Capitalism

and

Symbolic

Violence,"

in

Sociology

ince

Midcentury:

ssays

n

Theory

Cumulation

New

York:Academic

Press,

1981),

p.

173.

15.

The

analogy

with

Greenaway

continues to hold. Readers

may

find the

content

unpleasant,

even

profoundly

disturbing,

but

they

are

forced to

engage

the

author-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

and

Kegan

Paul,

1991).

19. D. Gartman, "Culture as Class Symbolization or Mass Reification? A

Critique

of

Bourdieu's

Distinction,"

American

ournal

of Sociology

97/2

(1991):

421-47.

20. T.

Moi,

"Appropriating

Bourdieu:

Feminist

Theory

and

Pierre

Bourdieu's

Sociology

of

Culture,"

New

Literary History

22/6

(1991):

1017-49.

21. P.

Bourdieu,

Distinction.

22.

P.R.

Baker,

RichardMorris 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

a

Period of

Cultural

Expansion:

The Social

Composition

of Arts Audiences

in

the

United

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

Occupational

Groups,"

in M. Lamont and M.

Fournier,

eds.,

Cultivating

Differences

(Chicago:

Chicago University

Press,

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 laws

of the market with

an

immediacy

that the much slower

reacting

schools,

who will

always

attract

sufficient

students to fill

them,

cannot

hope

to match. See R.

November995 JAE

49/2

1 20







Gutman,

Architecturalractice:

CriticalView

Princeton:

Princeton

Architectural

Press,

1988);

and R.

Gutman,

"Architects

nd Power:

The

NaturalMarket or

Ar-

chitecture,"

Progressive

rchitecture

3/12

(December

1992):

39-41.

26.

J.

M.

Mayo,

"Dilemmasof Architectural

Education n the

Academic

Political

Academy,"

AE

44/2

(February

1991):

80-89;

and M. Bedfordand

S.

Groaik,

Current

ssues

n

UK Architectural

ducation,"

Architectural ducation

3

(1983):

7-41.

27.

Arthur

Derman,

"Summary

of

Responses

to

the

1974

AIA/ACSA

TeachersSeminar

Survey

f the Concernsand Interests f Architectural

ducators,"

JAE

28/1-2

(1975):

10-22.

28.

O.

J.

Mitchell,

"ACSA-The MemberSchools

Should

CelebrateTheir

Diversity,"

Architectural ecord

Jan.

1984):

17-18.

29.

B.

Westergaard

nd

R.

Gutman,

"WhatArchitectureSchools Know

aboutTheir

Graduates,"

AE

31/2

(1978):

2-11;

Transbinary

rchitecture

Group,

Facing

heFuture:A

Report

n

AdvancedCoursesn Architecture

London:

National

Advisory

Body

for Local

Authority

Higher

Educationand the

University

Grants

Committee,

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

TeachersSeminar

Survey

of the Con-

cerns

and

Interestsof

Architectural

Educators,"

AE

28/1-2

(1975):

10-22.

30.

H. B.

Ellwood,"Introduction,"

n

K.

Hall, ed.,

Architectural

ractice n

Europe

:

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

PierreBourdieu:

Recognizing ociety

Milton

Keynes:

Open University

Press,

1991);

and

Jenkins,

PierreBourdieu.

33.

The

game

metaphor

s

defectivebecause

t

is usedwithout

connoting

hat

anyonecansaywhattherulesof thegameareor whether hereareexplicitrulesat all.

34.

P.

Lamaison,

"From Rules

to

Strategies:

An

Interview with Pierre

Bourdieu,"

CulturalAnthropology

/1

(1986):

110-20.

35.

Collins,

"18th

Century

Origins,"

p.

3

36.

J.

Draper,

"The

tcole

des

BeauxArtsand theArchitectureProfession

in

the United

States:The Case of

John

Galen

Howard,"

n

S.

Kostoff,

ed.,

The

Architect

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,"

Progressive

Architecture

Nov.

1994):

55-61.

39.

A.

Balfour,

"On the Characteristic nd Beliefs of

the

Architect,"

AE

40/2

(1987),

p.

2.

40.

Mayo,

"Dilemmasof

Architectural

Education";Cobb,

"Architecture

and

the

University."

41. R. Plunz, "Comments on Academic Research n Architecture n the

United

States,"

AE

40/2

(1987):

62-64;

J.

Musgrove,

"Architectural

ducation:

The Growth of a

Discipline,"

ArchitecturalEducation

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,

"Statementor 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

Bedfordand

Groaik,

Current s-

sues

in

UK Architectural

Education."

42. These issuesarediscussedat

length

n G.

Stevens,

"Angst

n

Academia:

Architecture,

he Schools

and the

Profession,"

ournal

fArchitectural

nd

Planning

Research

forthcoming).

43. R.

Filson,

"CanSchools

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

Systems

of

Thought,"

nter-

nationalSocialScience

ournal

19/1

(1967):

338-58;

Pierre

Bourdieu,

"Cultural

Re-

production

and Social

Reproduction,"

n R.

Brown,ed.,

Knowledge,

ducation,

nd

Cultural

Change

London:

Tavistock,

1973),

pp.

71-112;

and PierreBourdieu

and

J.-C.

Passeron,

Reproduction

n

Education,

ociety

nd Culture

London:

Sage,

1990).

45.

Pierre

Bourdieu,

"Price

Formationand the

Anticipation

of

Profits,"

n

J.B.

Thompson,

ed.,

Language

nd

Symbolic

Power

Cambridge,England:

Polity

Press,

1991),

pp.

66-102.

46.

J.A.

Davis,

Undergraduate

areer

Decisions

Chicago:

Aldine,

1965).

47. PierreBourdieu

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.,

Voicesn

Architectural

ducation,

p.

100.

50.

Baldassare

Castiglione,

TheBook

ofthe

Courtier

1528)

New York:An-

chor,

1959),

pp.

30,

41.

51.

Bourdieuand

Passeron,

nheritors.

52.

D.E.

Domer,

"Building

a

Student

Body,"

JAE

34/4

(Summer1981):

24-25;

D.E. Domer and

A.E.

Johnson,

"SelectiveAdmissions

and

AcademicSuc-

cess: An AdmissionsModel for

Architecture

tudents,"

College

nd

University

58

(1982):

19-30;

P.

Stringer,

"The

Role of

SpatialAbility

in

a FirstYear

Architec-

ture Course,"ArchitecturalResearch 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 nto

Higher

Education,

1969);

and

M.L.J.

Abercrombie,

S.M.

Hunt,

and P.

Stringer,

"Follow

Up

of

the

SelectionProcedure

Used at

the

Bartlett

School,

1964-66,"

Ar-

chitectural esearch

nd

Teaching

2/2

(1972):

76-87.

53.

J.W.

Getzelsand M.

Csikszentmihalyi,

TheCreativeVision:A

Longitu-

dinal

Study fProblem

inding

n

Art(New

York:

ohn

Wiley

&

Sons,

1976),

p.

165.

54.

D.W.

MacKinnon,

Personality

nd

the

Realization

f

Creative

otential,"

American

Psychologist

0

(1965):

273-81;

D.W.

MacKinnon,

The

Natureand

Nur-

ture

of

Creative

alent,"

American

Psychologist

7

(1962):

484-95;

D.W.

MacKinnon,

"GenusArchitectus

CreatorVarietas

Americanus,"

IA

ournal

Sept.

(1960):

31-35.

55.

R.K.

Williamson,

American

Architects nd the

Mechanics

ofFame

(Aus-

tin,

TX:

University

of

Texas

Press,

1991);

A.D. Seidel,

"Review

f AmericanArchi-

tects

and theMechanics

ofFame,"

AE

47/1

(September

1993):

56-59.

56. Dutton, "DesignandStudioPedagogy."

57.

It is

vulgar

o

inventory

the

attributesof

cultivation.

Perhaps

his ex-

plains

why

the

approximately

,900

full-timearchitectural

cademics

n

the En-

glish-speaking

world seem to have

so little to

say

on

the

subject:

Any

perusal

f the

Journal

ofArchitectural

ducationwould show

that-until

recently,

at

least-only

about one-third

of its

contents,

regardless

f

its

excellence,

deal

in

any way

with

education.

Thus we

may

also

understand

he sad

histories

of

two

journals

more

specifically

evoted o

educational

theory.

Architectural

esearchnd

Teaching,

ater

the

Journal

ofArchitectural

esearch,

ad a

fitful

life

from

1970

to

1980.

The

Royal

121

Stevens







Institute of British

Architects-sponsored journal,

Architectural

Education,

survived

but four issues in

1983

to

1984.

58.

L.

B.

Alberti,

DinnerPieces

Intercenales):

edieval nd

Renaissance exts

and

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

n

the

Sociology

ofEducation

(London:

Methuen,

1974),

pp.

338-71;

Pierre

Bourdieu,

Homo

Academicus

(Stanford,

CA: Stanford

University

Press,

1988);

and Bourdieu

and

Passeron,

Reproduction

n

Education,

ociety

nd Culture.

61.

S.

Kostoff,

"The Education

of

the Muslim

Architect,"

in

Proceedings

of

SeminarTen n theSeriesArchitectural ransformationsn theIslamicWorld: rchi-

tectural ducation

n theIslamic

World(Granada:

ga

Khan

Award

or

Architecture,

1986),

p.

3.

62. Bourdieu

and

Saint-Martin,

"Scholastic

Excellence,"

Pierre

Bourdieu,

"The Scholastic Point

of

View,"

CulturalAnthropology

5/4

(1990):

380-91;

and

Bourdieu

and

Passeron,

Reproduction

n

Education,

ociety

nd Culture.

63.

Willenbrock,

"Undergraduate

Voice

in

Architectural

Education,"

p.

102.

64.

Kathryn

H.

Anthony,

Design

uries

on Trial:TheRenaissance

f

the

De-

sign

Studio

(New

York: Van Nostrand

Reinhold,

1991).

65.

R.

Chafee,

"The

Teaching

of Architecture

at the

t1cole

des 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

(May

1985):

61-63;

Thomas

A.

Dutton,

"Architectural

Education, Postmodernism,

and

Critical

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,"Ecoledes 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,

"Ecoledes

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,

Historyof 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.

November

1995 JAE

49/2

1 22

struggle in the studio a bourdivin look at architectural pedagogy

Documents