‘Architecture’ has often been taken to be impressive buildings such as these. In that way of thinking, buildings that impress us are to be called ‘architecture’, while those that don’t impress remain as mere ‘buildings’. In fact we might not need to call them anything at all, because they probably just fall out of the picture. I want to argue that ‘architecture’ is not the same thing as ‘good buildings’ but is the cultural aspect of any building at all, good or bad. The putting together of materials belongs to the realm of building, but the building’s gestures — the extravagance, exoticism, and exuberance — belong to the realm of architecture, as would simplicity and ruggedness, if those were the building’s particular qualities. The point is best explained by thinking about ‘vernacular architecture’, which is the term used to refer to the ordinary buildings put up by ordinary people, traditionally agricultural workers building for themselves or their neighbours. If we were to look at these buildings through the eyes of an 18th-century landowner, then we would see them as ‘hovels’, places to live that had few comforts — though for the people who lived in them they would have had all the complicated connotations of ‘home’. When we as tourists in the Lake District see them they are ‘vernacular architecture’ and a charming part of the scenery, protected by legislation. Even when the actual fabric of the building has not changed much, there has been a change in sensibility, which can be traced back to the influence of the Romantic poets, especially Wordsworth. The point to be made is that ‘architecture’ did not seem to be anything to do with these buildings when they were built, but it does seem to be there now. The stones have not moved. It is the culture that has shifted. Architecture is not an attribute of a building in itself, but of a building that is experienced in a culture — and we all bring some culture or other to bear on a building when we experience it. This is not to say that all buildings are equally good, or important, only to say that every building has its cultural aspect, and if we choose to notice it then we are looking at that building as architecture. Without some cultural intuitions we would not be able to sense any significant difference between the peasants eating round the fire in a little cottage, and the nobility and revellers eating in the dining room of the Brighton Pavilion — more food, more noise, more people. The peasants may not have taken a self-conscious decision about what kind of dining set defined them as people, but nevertheless the way they dined, or rather supped, speaks volumes about them and their way of life. The architecture is caught up in a way of life, and we make inferences about the life from interpreting the architecture. Conversely we either deliberately choose to live in surroundings that reflect our ideas about who we are, or else find ourselves living in conditions that somehow reveal more about us than we realize.
4. Great Pyramid of Khufu, Giza, near Cairo, Egypt (2723–2563 BC); architect: unknown. The Egyptian pyramids astonished the ancient world, and in the modern world have been a byword for mystery. They were built in the north of Egypt as burial places for the pharaohs — the god-kings who ruled in ancient times. The one illustrated here was the largest of them, built for the burial of Khufu, who is also known by the Greeks’ name for him: Cheops. All the large pyramids date from the Old Kingdom of Egypt, after which the country was ruled from Thebes, 500 miles further south, and the burials were in cave tombs in the Valley of the Kings. The Great Pyramid is huge, and consumed vast amounts of effort from the society that built it — without the help of such advanced technology as iron tools or pulleys of any kind. Everyday buildings were built in mud-brick and timber, and they do not survive, but the pyramids were designed to last forever.