The colleges and gardens of Oxford, which I was recently blessed enough to visit for the third time, are so beautifully arranged and constructed that one can inexplicably sense the soul uplift. The environment almost demanded prayerful reflection. It was as if I was an extension of the worshipful praise that was channeled through the skill of those who started the chapels and rooms nearly one thousand years ago. There are places where large stone walls build by the Romans still serve their function. The weight of history cleansed petty thoughts. Yet there are also areas adjacent to these where cold, soulless modernist designs have infected what should be among the most pleasant scenery one can imagine.
It seems to me that the “nature” of a city or town is a natural byproduct of its way of life. The courtyards, gardens, designs, and alleyways are an extension of culture. And so we should all be weary of the modernist movement, with its stand against ornamentation and infatuation with dull uniformity. Many of these buildings are aesthetically soul-killing: there is no inspiration and no regard for the history of a particular place reflected by structure. They could be demolished tomorrow and who notice or care? Modernist architecture does not “cleanse,” but its disregard for sacred space does leave little room for the use of skill to the glory of God. These buildings are instead drab monuments to the supposed genius of the architect, and they are a disgrace to the notion of a lasting public act. Shared environments deserve better. If there are, as Catholics believe, universal principles intuitively understood, then can’t this be suggested by the many inspiring styles of civilizations past? By leaving a record of themselves through monuments of a higher purpose, we are afforded a small view of what it means to be a part of one human creation. This idea – true regardless of our lot and of our time – is too often mocked by steel and concrete.
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