Origen de La Arquitectura

McGill-Queen's University Press
Chapter Title: Architecture as a Technē
Book Title: Four Historical Definitions of Architecture

Book Author(s): STEPHEN PARCELL
Published by: McGill-Queen's University Press. (2012)
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt12f3w9.5
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2
Architecture as a Techne-
Elements of Practice in Technē
In the first century bce, Vitruvius notes that his treatise on architecture was
preceded by other writings from ancient Greece that have not survived.1
Consequently, we must use secondary sources and philological details to
discern elements of architectural practice in ancient Greece. The Greeks had
no word that corresponds to what we now call “architecture” – or even “art.”
They also did not distinguish between what we regard as fine art (painting,
sculpture, etc.) and craft (carpentry, weaving, etc.). All of these endeavours,
including building, were encompassed by technē, a domain with particular
meanings and relationships. Technē was the cumulative set of abilities that
the Greeks had acquired during their development into a civilized culture.
Techne- was not merely a catalogue of technical skills for making products;
it was a larger realm of knowledge and intervention that encompassed not
only artisans but also patrons and ancestors. It relied on cultural memory,
empirical experience, and strategies for circumventing limits.
The domain of techne- existed in both archaic and classical Greece but its
circumstances were somewhat different in each period.2 Archaic Greece and
the age of the epics must be distinguished from classical Greece, the age of
the philosophers. Hellenistic Greece and Rome were different again. In the
present chapter, emphasis is placed on technē up to the fifth century bce, the
early classical period when the Parthenon was built, prior to the philosoph-
ical reconception of technē by Plato in the fourth century. The following
eight sections correspond to the template of terms from Chapter 1.
1 Abilities
Archaic Greece did not distinguish between craft techniques and feats of
magic. Homer indicates that artisans made not only objects for daily use but
also things that were exceptional in action or appearance: devices that
produce magical effects (thaumata) and finely crafted luxury items for
nobility (daidala).3 Their mentor was Daidalos, the mythical artisan who
made things that were even more wondrous, including a costume to seduce
a bull, a labyrinth to contain a minotaur, and wax wings to escape from the
labyrinth.4 Metal workers also looked to Hephaistos, the patron blacksmith
who could make magical objects that moved and spoke by themselves
(automata).5 Although the abilities attributed to Daidalos and Hephaistos
were superior to those of their human descendants, the difference was a
matter of degree, not of kind. They used the same type of intelligence and
sought similar effects. This continuity and rapport among gods, mythical
ancestors, and humans was prevalent in ancient Greece.
Techne- in archaic Greece encompassed a wide range of occupations,
including prophets, healers, legislators, builders, minstrels, carpenters,
blacksmiths, metal workers, potters, acrobats, cooks, navigators, and horse
trainers.6 Some occupations were more manual; some were more intel-
lectual. Techne- included subjects that our modern era would categorize
as sciences, crafts, and arts. It could result in a physical object (a house, a
painting), a performance (a song, a dance), or an altered condition (health
in humans, training in horses).7 Its activities could be done both inside and
outside the home, by both women and men. These diverse occupations may
suggest that technē encompassed every activity that requires skill or manual
labour, but it did not. Techne- did not include agriculture. A farmer releases
the earth’s natural fertility, whereas an artisan shapes natural substance into
a different form for human use.8
In archaic and early classical Greece, technē was a classification below
mousikē. Mousikē was a ritualized fusion of poetry, music, and dance that
relied on divine inspiration. The gods would breathe words into poets, song
into musicians, and motion into dancers.9 Unlike technē, mousikē was over-
seen by the Muses and inspired directly by the gods. A clear line was drawn
between them: “The poet … was animated by a divine spirit as an instru-
ment of those forces which direct the world and maintain order in it,
22 Four Historical Definitions of Architecture
whereas the [artisan] was merely one who preserved the stock of knowledge
inherited from his ancestors.”10
Poets relied not only on divine guidance, but also on skills they had
acquired from their ancestors, indicating that their discipline spanned both
mousikē and technē.11 Conversely, the building of a temple or a significant
civic structure required not just technē but also divine guidance. On behalf
of a patron or a city, an official envoy – called a theoros, the root of the
words theoria and theory – would be sent on a pilgrimage to consult with an
oracle at a location such as the sanctuary at Delphi.12 The theoros received
instructive words or signs from the oracle, then returned to the city to deliver
them. As a messenger between the divine realm and the mortal realm, the
theoros had to be an extremely reliable, high-ranking citizen. Meanwhile,
the architekton remained at home and was not involved directly in this
“theoretical” activity. Later he would receive divine instructions indirectly
from the theoros and the civic committee, to guide his activities in the realm
of technē.
Techne- did not include political action in archaic or early classical Greece.
The knowledge of one’s craft was unrelated to the knowledge of moral virtue
on which political action was based. Artisans remained within their domain
of expertise. Later, with the advent of democracy in classical Greece, arti-
san-citizens would participate fully in the polis along with all other citizens,
but this change was due to a redefinition of the political realm rather than
a recognition that manual crafts and politics were related in an intrinsic way.
These two activities later found themselves in the same category when the
Sophists expanded the boundaries of technē to include rhetorical speech
and political government as skills that can be taught.13 This new classical
definition of technē – any ability that can be described and taught – shifted
the earlier archaic definition that had emphasized the transformation of
nature and the magical revelation of its life force.
Each technē was defined by its specific source material (e.g., leather)
and/or its specific end products (e.g., shoes, bridles). Techne- did not include
a generic “sculpture” or “architecture” category to refer to a family of formal
objects or a general discipline, separate from its material, its production, or
its use. Making a statue in stone was fundamentally different from making
a statue in bronze. Each technē remained distinct because it required differ-
ent techniques and was done by a different group of tektonai (artisans). The
Architecture as a Techne- 23
word architekton, as a classical extension of the archaic tekton (builder),
referred to a particular individual and his relation to other builders. In turn,
the word architektonikos was an adjective that referred to the architekton.
The more abstract word “architecture” (άρχιτεκτονία; architektonia) did
not appear in Greek before the second century ce, after architectura had
appeared in Latin.14 The Greeks apparently did not conceive architecture as
a general category or discipline in its own right. Therefore, to speak of “the
architecture of ancient Greece” – or even “architecture as a technē” – would
be an anachronism. Instead of abstract nouns (e.g., sculpture, architecture)
and general nouns (e.g., building, temple), the ancient Greeks had nouns
for particular things with particular uses, such as domos (house, house of
a god), oikema (dwelling place, room), oikos (house), hedra (sitting place),
naos (innermost part of a temple), and topos (place).15
The original Greek word architekton had been assembled from two units,
each with its own meaning: tekton ‘builder’ and archi- ‘chief.’ The compound
architekton was formed from two of what the Greeks called onoma, the name
of a person or thing. Linguists now call this grammatical element a mor-
pheme, the smallest unit of meaning.16 The Greek language consisted largely
of linked morphemes, combined in a rich variety of ways. This structural
characteristic suggests a particular way of thinking about things, in which
relationships are described additively and their original sources remain
evident. To modern readers, adding a hyphen to highlight the hinge between
morphemes – a Heideggerian and Derridean practice – disrupts the smooth
surface of the written (transliterated) language and provides a graphic re-
minder of the individual “names,” their etymological roots, and their linked
structure: for example, archi-tekton. Greek existed as a spoken language, a
continuous chain of morphemes and meanings, long before it was a written
language of discrete compound words. In fact, the Greeks originally had no
word for “word.”17 Their affinity for linked parts rather than singular wholes
is evident also in the Propylaea on the Acropolis, which the Greeks in the
fifth century bce considered a great success, although to modern eyes its
heterogeneous forms and the joints between them seem irregular.18
Translating the word architekton from Greek to Latin was not a benign
move. The Latin word architectus appeared around 200 bce and had two
different meanings: master-builder and inventor.19 The first meaning re-
tained the Greek etymology but the second did not. In Vitruvius, De archi-
tectura (ca. 25 bce), the earlier role of the architekton (a chief builder who
Etymology of the word “architecture” in Greek, via Latin.
directs other builders) is superseded by a different role that is more diverse

and less concrete but still inhabits the shell of the Greek word. The word
architectura (architecture), a derivative of architectus, is recorded first in
Cicero, two decades before Vitruvius.20 Its meaning is even more abstract
because it does not refer to a particular thing. The word architectura is
singular and indivisible. Adding a hyphen (archi-tectura) does not illuminate
its meaning. Detached from its Greek roots and no longer divisible in a
meaningful way, the Latin word architectura was free to make new associa-
tions and acquire new meanings.
2 Ancestors
Modern archaeology has determined that the Greeks were neither technical
inventors nor innovators. Their tools and technical knowledge had been
borrowed from the eastern Mediterranean and were not developed signifi-
cantly. Their myths about technē, however, tell a different story: Prometheus
stole fire from Athena and gave it to humans. Other gods provided tools.
Athena is credited with inventing the set-square and the line. Hephaistos,
the patron of metalwork, contributed the hammer and pincers. Daidalos, a
mythical human ancestor rather than a god, was credited with inventing the
saw, the axe, the plumb-line, and glue. In archaic Greece, tools were consid-
ered active collaborators that help bring an artisan’s work to perfection, step
by step.21 Both Hephaistos and Daidalos served as role models for artisans.
They used tools to transform natural materials into magical and well-crafted
objects for particular worldly desires. The intermediate steps, however, re-
mained a secret. In archaic Greece, technical secrets were kept within broth-
erhoods of artisans and were divulged only to initiates. The brotherhood
for builders was called Daedalidae (sons of Daidalos/Daedalus).
This still leaves the question, where did technē come from? Who dis-
covered how to work with these materials, and who discovered the models
for making objects that respond to worldly desires? According to mythol-
ogy, neither Athena nor Hephaistos taught artisans how to do these things.
Instead, artisans attributed these discoveries to the chain of ancestors who
had preceded them in their particular craft. Despite being prompted ini-
tially by gods, technē was largely a human development. Even Daidalos did
not invoke supernatural assistance to overcome obstacles; he relied on his
own abilities.
Techne- was acquired through apprenticeship, normally within a family.
A son observed and assisted his father, then followed in his footsteps. Even
Daidalos had learned his skills from his father and grandfather.22 Author-
ship in technē was essentially collective, not individual. On the occasions
when an artisan inscribed his name on a product, he typically added his
father’s name to acknowledge the ancestral chain of artisans. Inscribing
one’s name was an indication of pride in one’s inherited abilities, not a claim
for personal authorship.
Artisans attributed the development of their craft to a series of ancestors
who had refined their inherited techniques in response to the shifting
boundaries of worldly desires, not to individuals who set themselves apart
by inventing new techniques and new products for no particular purpose.
Tradition also provided a common ground for artisans within each technē.
Artisans shared the same basic concepts and practices and did not depart
significantly from their ancestral canon. Therefore, detailed on-site instruc-
tions were unnecessary.
3 Life Force
In archaic Greece, the principal materials used by artisans were wood from
trees, clay from the earth, leather from animals, and metal imported from
abroad. Stone came later. An artisan was defined first by the material in
which he worked and then by the things he made. Because his role involved
transforming nature into artifice, the particular material he obtained was
crucial to the product’s eventual success. An artisan either harvested and
prepared the material himself or inquired to understand its source: how
the timber had been harvested and cured, or where a piece of stone had been
situated in the quarry.23
Olive tree. Photograph by
Rodrigo Nuno Bragança
da Cunha, Wikimedia.
As one might expect in archaic Greece, natural substances had a certain

life force. Indra Kagis McEwen notes, “In preclassical Greece, hyle, as forest,
timber, or firewood, was part of a divine and deathless physis. Hyle, wood,
was cut up, probably with all the circumspection devoted to the cutting
up of a sacrificial victim, to be remade, in order that it might reappear in
another guise – as a boat or, even more magically, as flame.”24 Materials
belonged to nature and had to be sacrificed properly before they could reap-
pear in another form that would retain their original life force. If a similar
object was made by someone who had not been initiated in the technē, its
material would not retain this life force, would not be well crafted, and
would be considered essentially dead.
The archaic artisan was not a creator but a transformer who turned
something into something else. The etymology of technē indicates an anal-
ogy with birth: the root tec- refers to the act of making something appear.25
Several centuries later, Aristotle suggested that the processes of technē ex-
tend and imitate the processes of nature, and that these two processes share
a common purpose: “If a house were a natural product, the process would
pass through the same stages that it in fact passes through when it is pro-
duced by art; and if natural products could also be produced by art, they
would move along the same line that the natural process actually takes.”26
4 Patron
The patron, whether public or private, provided the primary motivation for
technē. The skills of the artisan – including those of Daidalos – led to a prod-
uct or action that extended the patron’s normal abilities. As Janet Atwill
notes, “In these ancient contexts, technē is never reducible to an instrument
or a means to an end. Instead, art intervenes when a boundary or limitation
is recognized, and it creates a path that both transgresses and redefines that
boundary. Fate and necessity may set temporary limits for invention, but
their boundaries are perpetually redrawn by technē.”27
By directing technē toward the patron’s abilities rather than the prod-
uct, the artisan had to respond strategically. Techne- therefore may be
characterized as the choice of a path; the making (poiēsis) of a product was
merely an intermediate step in the larger domain of technē. As Jean-Pierre
Vernant notes, “When considering a product, the ancient Greeks were less
concerned with the process of manufacture, the [poiēsis], than with the
use to which the article was to be put, the [khresis]. And for each piece of
work, it is this [khresis] that defines the [eidos] that the worker embodies
in matter. In effect, the manufactured object, like living creatures, is sub-
ject to final causes. Its perfection lies in its adaptation to the need for which
it has been produced.”28
One can imagine Daidalos and other artisans observing the patron in
action to find out if their strategy was successful. As with healers who used
technē to modify a patron’s health, the product was a means of changing the
capacities of the patron by employing the right action at the right time. An
innovative product would be developed only when the standard canon for
the craft could not satisfy a patron’s desires. An artisan in the technē tradi-
tion did not make innovative things for the sake of novelty.
An artisan also did not make things for the sake of self-expression.
Techne- was a collective domain. In archaic Greece, an artisan who worked
for the public good was designated as a demiourgos ‘public worker’ (demos
‘people’ + ergon ‘work’).29 Working for the public carried a responsibility
but also a certain prestige. Archaic artisans were paid nothing for their
public work but received gifts when they worked for private clients. When
technē was performed for a city, it manifested the public realm. Without the
artisan making objects and performing actions, the public realm would have
remained imperceptible. Consequently, the artisan had a dual responsibil-
ity to produce and to reveal. This is the sense in which Martin Heidegger
defines technē as a “letting appear.”30
5 Architekton
To become proficient in a craft required five to ten years of apprenticeship.

By then, the apprentice would have learned the ancestral traditions of the
craft and acquired sufficient experience to act intelligently in diverse situa-
tions. The technē category included many different occupations – includ-
ing architekton – and all were at the same level. Techne- included “every skilled
worker whose labours contributed to the manufacture of objects in durable
materials, and who depended on the exercise of his craft for a living. De-
fined thus, the miner, the bronze nail-maker, the goldsmith, the jeweller,
the quarrymason, the sculptor, the architect, the tanner, the cobbler, the
harness-maker, the lumberman, the shipwright, the joiner and inlayer, the
potter, are all equally deserving of consideration. None was any more or
less a professional and a craftsman than any other.”31
Tekton initially designated a carpenter but eventually referred to a builder
in either wood or stone.32 In occupations involving wood and woodworking
tools, the term tekton covered a range of artisans, from those who make fur-
niture to those who make ships. Although the word tekton referred to both
wood and stone, a carpenter usually was not also a stone mason. Stone and
wood have different origins and properties. Working in stone also requires
different tools and skills.
Architekton designated a chief builder. In Greek literature, the word
architekton first appeared in the fifth century bce, when Herodotus refers
to Eupalinos directing the construction of a water tunnel in Samos, carved
out of rock: “The designer [άρχιτέκτων (architekton)] of this work was
Eupalinos, son of Naustrophus, a Megarian.”33 Herodotus later mentions
another architekton: “Having viewed the Pontus, Darius sailed back to the
bridge, of which Mandrocles of Samos was the chief builder [άρχιτέκτων
(architekton)].”34 The word architekton ‘chief builder’ made sense in the
technē tradition because it referred to an individual who directs others. A
derivative word, architechnē, did not exist, as the notion of a “chief craft”
that directs other crafts would make no sense.
An architekton who directed the construction of a public building in
stone, wood, and metal did not have to be an expert in all of these technai but
had to know enough about them to converse intelligently with the artisans.35
Like other tektonai, his own technē was defined by material, but it included
more than one. The apprenticeship of an architekton was broader than for
other artisans, but still within the realm of technē. It involved the on-site
construction of public works, complemented by experience in the shops
of carpenters, metalsmiths, and stone masons. Belonging to a family with
expertise in several materials would have been beneficial for an architekton.
In addition to understanding materials and their traditions, an architekton
would have to be familiar with ancestral buildings and know how a new
building could extend the abilities of a patron or a polis. These types of ex-
pectations are consistent with the range of expectations for any artisan.
An architekton worked only on public buildings, not on houses. His-
torians have disagreed on whether this was because a temple, a theatre, or a
fortress involved many skilled artisans and needed someone to coordinate
them; or because a public building required someone with expertise in
geometry and ornamentation. The first option seems more credible in ar-
chaic situations, when technē was the prevalent mode of knowledge and
production. The second option would arise later, when Plato, Aristotle, and
then Vitruvius promoted a more theoretical mode of knowledge.
The distinction between tekton and architekton hinges on the meaning of
“direction.” A director can act in two ways: from the bottom up (to guide, to
keep something on a straight path, to regulate); and from the top down (to
order, to control, to prescribe).36 In the first scenario, a large group of tek-
tonai recognizes that coordination is needed and appoints one of its own
to step back from direct physical work so that he can direct them. In the
second scenario, an independent person establishes his own design and
directs the craftsmen to implement it. The first scenario is consistent with
the etymology of architekton, in which tekton is the common root and the
prefix archi- refers to a member of a group who assumes the elevated role of
chief or head. Other Greek words with this prefix also suggest an elevated
relationship, not a separate category.37 Along with architekton for carpentry
and building, the prefix archi- was applied in situations involving metal and
stone – archikamineutes (head smelter man) and archilatomos (head quar-
ryman) – but not clay, bronze, or cloth.38
Wages for working on a public building did not indicate a higher status
for the architekton than for other tektonai. In fact, the opposite was true. The
financial accounts for the construction of the Parthenon indicate that the
masons who carved the pediment figures earned slightly more than regular
masons and carpenters, and twice as much as an architekton.39
With the rise of the theoretical mode of knowledge in classical Greece,
the status of the artisan began to decline, especially in crafts that required
more physical effort than mental effort. The growing attention to contem-
plative and democratic life led to rankings within the category of technē.
Xenophon explained it differently: “Banausic occupations leave no spare
time for friendship or for the affairs of the city.”40 Despite the pejorative
connotation of “banausic,” his remark suggests that the problem was not
technē itself, but the fact that its demands on one’s time prevented political
participation.
The technē tradition distinguished decisively between two levels: the ini-
tiated tekton (including the architekton) and the uninitiated workers (thetes)
whom a tekton might hire to provide manual labour.41 Plato’s Politicus
[Statesman], a dialogue on government, draws a line in a different place:
between the architekton and everyone else. “Now consider a master builder.
No master builder is a manual worker – he directs the work of others … He
provides the knowledge but not the manual labor … so he might fairly be
said to possess one of the theoretical forms of science … The master builder
must give the appropriate directions to each of the workmen and see that
they complete the work assigned.”42 Here the architekton is associated only
with the mind and is raised to a level above all others, while the tekton is
indistinguishable from manual labourers (thetes) and is associated only with
the hand. This is a major departure from the archaic technē tradition, in
which an artisan attended not only to the immediate product or action but
also to the ancestral tradition and the patron’s abilities.
Aristotle echoed Plato’s distinction between thinking and doing by
drawing an even clearer line between the architekton and the tekton and by
extending it to all technai, not just to building: “The master craftsmen
[άρχιτέκτονας] in every profession are more estimable and know more
and are wiser than the artisans, because they know the reasons of the things
which are done; but we think that the artisans, like certain inanimate
objects, do things, but without knowing what they are doing.”43 Aristotle’s
doctrine of four causes distinguished clearly between the final cause (why)
and the efficient cause (how). As with Plato, the difference he describes
between the architekton and the tekton seems more like an illustration of an
emerging philosophical concept than a record of their traditional roles.
6 Construction
The Greeks distinguished clearly between the artisan and the item that was
made. They expected the finished item to respond perfectly to the patron’s
desires, but accepted that the artisan and the process of making could be
messy. When builders started using stone in the sixth century bce, the high
level of craft that had been attained in items made of wood, metal, and
leather was expected also in certain buildings. In general, public buildings
were highly crafted whereas private houses were not. Attention was paid to
craft from beginning to end, from the gathering of the natural materials to
the final polishing. As Alison Burford notes, “Soundness of construction,
exactness of detail, complete adequacy of function, ingenuity and boldness
of invention – the good craftsman’s best work displayed many if not all of
these qualities. With quite simple tools he could make a block of marble
exactly rectangular and perfectly level on every surface, which, where nec-
essary, would be polished smooth … The carpentry of the ships he built
would have the quality of cabinet work rather than boat-building, so fine
were the joints and so firm the resulting wall of wood.”44 Craft was not just
for the eyes. In public buildings, the stone in the underground courses was
dressed and joined just as carefully as the stone above ground.45 The same
level of craft was achieved throughout the building, regardless of visibility.46
Unlike a labourer who follows instructions and focuses on an immedi-
ate task, an artisan did not simply apply standard techniques. Because technē
emphasized the patron’s use of the product, the artisan had to customize it
accordingly. Marcel Detienne and Jean-Pierre Vernant have traced the rela-
tion between technē and mētis, a form of practical intelligence that uses cun-
ning and minimal effort to achieve its objectives: “In order to reach his goal
directly, to pursue his way without deviating from it, across a world which
is fluctuating and constantly oscillating from one side to another, he must
himself adopt an oblique course and make his intelligence sufficiently wily
and supple to bend in every conceivable way and his gait so ‘askew’ that he
can be ready to go in any direction … to devise the straightest way to achieve
his end.”47 A tekton making a ship out of wood would use mētis to achieve a
construction perfectly suited to the patron’s desired abilities. An architekton
directing the construction of a public building also would use mētis to make
subtle formal adjustments (column entasis, varied modules, rising stylo-
bates, etc.) in response to local circumstances. As mētis invokes the metaphor
of a circuitous route, it might guide the construction of a single column or
an entire building. The architekton and the tektonai would not visualize every
part in advance but instead proceed one step at a time, confident that the
ancestral canon and their own wits would guide them to completion.48
In technē, any departures from the ancestral canon were small adjust-
ments to address the particular situation. Ancient Greek artisans, including
the architekton, were not innovators but could be strategic when necessary.
Parthenon, Athens (447–438 bce), exterior detail.

Photograph © Scott Gilchrist, stock.archivision.com.
“In architecture one sees traditional forms undergoing slight but unmis-
takable changes in each new monumental structure; proportions differed
subtly, but without ever straying far from the path laid down in the imme-
diately preceding work, which in turn looked to the one before it, and so on
… At no stage did craftsman and patron start with an entirely blank page
before them.”49 “His techne depends upon fidelity to a tradition that is not
scientific; and outside this tradition any attempt at innovation would leave
him at the mercy of chance … There is no real experimentation.”50 “They did
not prize originality in art … Before Herodotus and Xenophon, nobody had
cited the names of artists. Even Aristotle had affirmed that an artist should
erase the traces of his person from a work of art.”51
7 Paradeigma
It remains an open question whether an architekton in ancient Greece used

drawings or models to visualize a building or to present it to a patron. The
few surviving scaled buildings and inscribed drawings seem to have been
made later for votive or funerary purposes, not for construction.52
Historical literature mentions three types of representations used in the
construction of public buildings. As soon as the patron and architekton had
decided on the size and general layout of a building, they specified the over-
all dimensions, materials, parts, and workmanship in a written inscription
(syngraphei).53 This construction contract enabled quarrymen to supply stones
that were reduced already to the approximate size and shape of each com-
ponent. A comprehensive set of drawings would not have been necessary.
As construction proceeded, the on-site architekton provided two other
types of representations to the builders to ensure that details in the finished
construction would be consistent.54 An anagrapheus was a full-scale flat
template that showed the profile of an extruded detail such as a molding. A
paradeigma was a full-scale volumetric sample of a more complex form,
such as a column capital.55 If the paradeigma had been carved in stone rather
than in wood, it could become part of the eventual building. Unlike mod-
ern representations, the anagrapheus and the paradeigma were not inter-
mediate steps from an ideal realm (a design) to a material realm (a building).
Instead, they remained within the material realm, where they enabled one
material detail to be replicated in another material detail. Coordinated by
the architekton, the builders worked out certain features as the building was
constructed gradually from bottom to top. They were guided by the terms
of the contract and the ancestral canon, but did not reproduce a compre-
hensive set of details that had been drawn in advance.
8 Deathless Building
The Greeks made certain things, such as private houses, in an expedient way.
These items did not invoke the technē tradition, did not require highly skilled
artisans, and were not intended to outlast their immediate use. Other things,
such as public buildings, did invoke the technē tradition, did require highly
skilled artisans, and were made to last forever. Both sets of objects existed
and were used, but were ontologically different. Items that were finely crafted
by an artisan looked back in time to invoke ancestral sources and looked
forward in time to outlast their immediate circumstances. In effect, they
became deathless. This extended life gave them an elevated status on that
Greek sliding scale from humans to ancestors to mythical ancestors to gods.
As noted by Indra Kagis McEwen, “Generally speaking, Homeric eyes fill
with wonder on one of two occasions: first, when the spectacle suggests an
unseen divine presence, and second, when the sight beheld is of something
particularly well made. These two instances are not unrelated … Gods were
divine because they were athanatoi, deathless.”56
The Greeks had no concept of creation by humans. Creation presumes
independent action and the ability to create something from nothing.57
Instead, technē was an act of making (poiein) that transformed natural
matter. It made something from something. Greek cosmogonic myths from
Hesiod to Timaeus also relied on the transformative concept of birth to
explain the origin of the world.58
Techne- did not privilege an original moment of invention. Instead, it
presumed a continuing refinement toward perfection. It relied heavily on
the discoveries that ancestors had made, providing a canon of successful
techniques and examples from which all artisans could draw when making
new items. In ancient Greece, the concept of plagiarism was unknown.59 The
Greeks expected artisans to copy previous examples, demonstrating fidelity
to tradition. They believed that willful invention by an individual would be
detrimental to the collective goal of perfection.
Because technē draws from actual items made by humans, these earlier
items can be considered “ancestral paradeigmata”: particular examples from
which subsequent particulars are made, similar to the physical paradeigmata
used by builders to replicate details for public buildings. This transfer from
particular to particular did not shift to an abstract mode of thought (such
as a general principle, a theoretical idea, or an ideal form) that is independ-
ent of the material and its use. Instead, it remained within the material world
of experience.
Beyond Technē
The ancient Greeks had no word that corresponds to what we now call
“music.” Mousikē was a more general category for inspired dancing and
singing, sometimes accompanied by instruments. Activities of mousikē
were patronized by the Muses, the goddesses of poetic inspiration. Dionysian
cults engaged in mimetic rites in an ecstasy of dance and song. Mousikē was
associated directly with the divine and therefore had a higher status than
technē, which invoked the feats of human ancestors and the ingenuity of
artisans.
Orphic sects in the sixth century bce introduced a more contemplative
understanding of music, distinct from the ongoing Dionysian rites. Privi-
leging the voice and the lyre, they focused mainly on words and pitch inter-
vals. In this tradition, Pythagoras (and/or his followers in the fifth century)
recognized that consonant pitch intervals correspond to simple numerical
ratios.60 Interpreting this empirical observation as a key piece of evidence
about the order of the world, the Pythagoreans inaugurated a search for
similar harmonic orders in other places and phenomena – including archi-
tecture – that would continue for several millennia. Music was only the
beginning of the search for harmony. “Given a world replete with internal
relationships, music can easily account not only for the mathematical mean-
ings of harmony, but for the entire generality of the term which develops
as part of a progressive musicalization of every aspect of experience … The
musician creates harmony in the pitch and duration of tone and in gesture;
man creates harmony in the conduct of his life; the statesman creates
harmony in society; the Demiurge creates harmony in the cosmos; the
philosopher creates the harmony of dialectic and the music of discourse.”61
The Pythagorean belief that the most important characteristic of music
is pitch, and that pitch can be reduced to number, eventually would imply
that the sound of music is inconsequential. Aristoxenus, a follower of Aris-
totle, later recognized this implication and developed a more comprehensive
theory based on the human experience of sounds and rhythms.62 Meta-
physical concepts of harmony were developed separately from the ethical
use of music in the Greek polis. The most significant venues for music were
public rituals, especially dramas and religious festivals that extended the
Dionysian tradition. These performances were devoted to important cul-
tural matters, not just entertainment. Their integration of words, melody,
dance, costumes, and instrumental accompaniment epitomized mousikē.63
Dance was one domain in which music and building shared some com-
mon ground, especially in archaic Greece. Dance was an integral component
of most forms of mousikē. Building was associated with dance by providing
a place for dramatic performances of mousikē that invoked the earlier archaic
myths involving Daidalos. The ritual dance defined a space of performance
that would be concretized in the building of the labyrinth. The labyrinth –
and later, the agora and the theatre – became evident only when ritual
actions manifested the worldly orders that had remained latent until then.
Greek categories of phenomena also established an alliance between
dance and building due to their intrinsic temporality. As Edward Lippman
notes, “The Greek division of the arts was not into the categories temporal
and spatial, but into temporal and static.”64 This suggests that public build-
ings were imagined not as inert masses but as paused figures with a capac-
ity to become metaphorically animated.65 This temporal characteristic
negates modern attempts to interpret ancient Greek buildings retroactively
as spatial compositions or as aesthetic objects.
In classical Greece, music and building continued their collaboration in
dramatic rituals, although music (as part of mousikē) was overseen by the
Muses whereas building (as a form of technē) invoked human and mythical
ancestors. Certain types of music departed from the domain of mousikē and
were associated instead with technē. Music for public ceremonies was required
to follow standard practice rather than inspiration, situating it firmly in the
domain of technē. Instrumental music (melos) for domestic events such as
weddings, funerals, and banquets was regarded also as a form of technē, in
which instrumental skills were dissociated from poetry and employed mainly
for immediate pleasure and human use.66 Aristotle considered human voices
to be superior to musical instruments because they belong to creatures with
a soul.67 Plato regarded instrumental music as a form of technē, but believed
that its status could rise in situations where music was used to promote moral
virtue.68 He called for the prohibition of certain modes because they would
encourage improper behaviour through imitation, suggesting that the effect
of bad music is like the effect of bad company.69
When the Pythagoreans discovered a mathematical analogue for pitch
intervals and harmony, this apparently universal property actually demoted
music in the eyes of the Greeks. Although musical harmony later became
extremely influential as the basis for universal analogies in the Pythagorean
and Neoplatonic traditions of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, in an-
cient Greece its association with rational knowledge rather than inspiration
led the Greeks to regard this property of music as a form of technē.70
The gods continued to permeate all of Greek life but the Muses did not
speak directly to artisans. Still, the artisans’ achievements rose far beyond
what we might associate with craft. The Parthenon has been glorified by our
modern era as the epitome of architecture, despite being produced within
the technē tradition that it shared with shoemaking and horse training.
The Demise of Technē
Some components of the technē domain began to erode in classical Greece.

Alongside the traditional model of apprenticeship, in which an ancestor
physically shows and describes a craft to a descendant, the Sophists described
the technē of rhetoric in written handbooks. In turn, this knowledge could
be taught to students without the physical presence of an ancestor. Separat-
ing the body of knowledge from the person and the setting was a first step
away from the immediacy of technē; however, these handbooks provided
examples of earlier successes, concrete advice for action, and guidelines on
how and when to use these skills. By emphasizing strategic action to trans-
form a worldly situation, they remained within the tradition.
The eventual demise of technē was anticipated by Plato, following the
lead of Socrates. The discussion of technē in Plato’s early dialogues gave way
to a discussion of theoretical knowledge and ideal forms in his middle dia-
logues.71 This new mode of knowledge continued to refer to the making of
human products but now devised an ideal, immaterial, eternal realm above
everything in the temporal world. Using dialectical induction, Socrates and
Plato sought first principles that would remain fixed. In turn, all worldly
products – including everything that had been made by ancestors – would
be reconceived as imitations that point toward ideal models. Ancestors,
patrons, and artisans suddenly became subordinate. Time was no longer an
immediate present with a deathless potential.
The concept of “first principles” was foreign to the technē tradition; it
presumed a different epistemological model.72 Although Aristotle brought
back technē for discussion, he subjected it to Plato’s distinction between the
ideal and the real by separating those who “know how” (efficient cause) from
those who “know why” (final cause).73 This effectively drove a wedge into the
middle of technē and undermined the central role of the artisan. Aristotle
joined Plato in placing a knowledge of timeless and placeless principles
above all else: “Now induction supplies a first principle or universal, deduc-
tion works from universals … The wise man therefore must not only know
the conclusions that follow from his first principles, but also have a true
conception of those principles themselves.”74 When Aristotle ranked the
two best ways to devote one’s life – contemplating universals (θεωρία; theo-
ria) and doing politics (πραξις; praxis) – he was thinking only of free citi-
zens with leisure time. He dismissed those with wage-earning occupations,
retailers, and those who pursue vulgar arts (technai) by making things
(ποίησις; poiēsis).75 He regarded theoria, the contemplation of timeless
universals, as the highest human activity.
Several centuries later, Vitruvius applied Plato’s epistemological model
to an architectural setting. In this regard, Vitruvius is Socrates’ descendant.
Although Vitruvius provides plenty of advice on how to deal with particu-
lar worldly situations and often refers to Greek precedents, he too has left
behind the technē tradition. The presence of fundamental principles at the
beginning of his treatise, along with his general ambition to be comprehen-
sive and timeless, indicates that the Romans were operating with a different
type of knowledge.76 Although ancient Rome was still a culture of myth and
ritual,77 in Vitruvius’s treatise there are many new elements of architectural
thinking that resonate with our own, including theoretical principles, a
desire for a static body of knowledge, a liberal education to develop the
virtuous character of a free man, the invention of a building by an individ-
ual, ideas of representation, the elevated role of an architect, and the subor-
dinate role of a builder. This new epistemological model and its various
institutional components were accompanied by a new word: architectura.

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McGill-Queen's University Press

Chapter Title: Architecture as a Technē

Book Title: Four Historical Definitions of Architecture

Elements of Practice in Technē

22 Four Historical Definitions of Architecture

24 Four Historical Definitions of Architecture

directs other builders) is superseded by a different role that is more diverse

26 Four Historical Definitions of Architecture

As one might expect in archaic Greece, natural substances had a certain

28 Four Historical Definitions of Architecture

To become proficient in a craft required five to ten years of apprenticeship.

30 Four Historical Definitions of Architecture

32 Four Historical Definitions of Architecture

Parthenon, Athens (447–438 bce), exterior detail.

It remains an open question whether an architekton in ancient Greece used

34 Four Historical Definitions of Architecture

36 Four Historical Definitions of Architecture

The Demise of Technē

Some components of the technē domain began to erode in classical Greece.

38 Four Historical Definitions of Architecture

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