Modernization had engaged the body of society at least since the Constitutional era and had left its effects on houses long before today, yet it had not led to the qualitative decline of houses to the degree we have faced in this past half century! From the mid-Qajar period, the impact of Iranians' encounter with Western thought manifested itself in all aspects of their lives. This matter was initially on its natural course; Iranians had previously succeeded many times in digesting and assimilating foreign achievements while preserving their own character. This time too, these efforts were made, especially by the wise members of society, to graft the newcomers onto existing possessions. These efforts were not born of weakness and self-abasement but entirely of open-mindedness and self-confidence, aimed at elevating what they already had. The efforts of figures such as Abdolghaffar Khan Najm ol-Dowleh, who on one hand translated Western books into Persian and on the other corrected and republished ancient Persian works, were of this kind. At this time, in the minds of intellectuals, Western offerings held no superiority over indigenous possessions and were imported merely because their knowledge was "not devoid of benefit" for us. In the houses of the aristocracy and the wealthy who could afford to travel to Europe, or who, if they had not gone themselves, were exposed to the reports of others, sparks of modernization appeared in decorations — decorations we know as "postcard-style" — followed by the adoption of motifs, for example the Western flower pattern in plasterwork, tilework, and so on. The general style of houses remained as before, and only in the decorations were Western elements introduced, which served more as salt and pepper and were nothing beyond that. Gradually, this influence became more serious in aristocratic houses; it spread from decorations to furniture and, in other words, to the arrangement of spaces, and then found its way into the style of the house itself. The arrival of tables and chairs, chandeliers, fireplaces, and the like, although initially meaning nothing beyond decoration, unconsciously became a factor in the transformation of lifestyle. If previously the urban houses of the aristocracy followed the central courtyard pattern and their garden houses were pavilions, this pavilion model, following Western villas, spread to their urban houses as well. Naser al-Din Shah's sleeping quarters in the Forough ol-Saltaneh courtyard, the old andaruni, was among the first examples of urban pavilions serving as houses, which later became a common model. The urban house of Mo'ayyer ol-Mamalek, the house of Mostowfi ol-Mamalek, the house of Ghavam ol-Saltaneh (the Glassware Museum), and others were all built in emulation of Western villas, yet they cannot be considered "villas" in the fully Western sense; because these houses were a blend of the pavilions amid suburban garden retreats in Iran and European villas — a blend that could still easily be considered Iranian. Until the late Qajar period, the situation in middle-class houses remained as before; the courtyard still played its role as the main and central space and was always an independent space that one did not enter directly from the front door; in fact, the courtyard was in the middle of the house; even if the house was small, the courtyard was bounded on at least two sides by structures — usually on one side the service spaces such as the storeroom, privy, and kitchen, and on the other the main living spaces, namely the shah-neshin and the rooms. The entrance was from the service side, and consequently everyone had to first enter the hashti and the corridor and then the courtyard. Even if such pre-entry spaces did not exist for whatever reason, a curtain was drawn in front of the entrance door, at a distance from the door, so that the courtyard space would be separated from the entry space. All of this shows that the courtyard was an important part of the house and not merely a joint for getting from the street to the house. In the middle of the courtyard was a pool that served various uses — for washing hands and face and performing ablutions, and Mo'ayyer ol-Mamalek mansion, Tehran. Houses with courtyard, Tehran. Luxury edifice, Qajar era. Naser al-Din Shah edifice. Mo'ayyer ol-Mamalek urban house; Sangalaj; late Naseri period. Tehran; Naseri period; urban houses with central courtyard. Hall of an aristocratic house; Mozaffari period. Naser al-Din Shah's sleeping quarters.
and in summers for irrigating the garden and courtyard, washing fruits, and even cooling fruits such as watermelons. But that was not all — the pool bestowed water, sky, and in fact light upon the house. Trees and greenery had their own place; even if only a single tree could be planted. So until this time, although the encounter with the manifestations of Western civilization had become serious, it had no fundamental effect on the houses of the general public, and modernization followed its own natural and internal course — that is, its main reliance was on ancient roots and it made changes only in outward appearances or was influenced by the West. The closer we get to the end of the Qajar period and especially during the first Pahlavi era, modernization no longer meant digesting new and foreign offerings but rather meant relinquishing what one had and replacing it. This had numerous causes, but the two main ones were, first, the weakened condition of Iranians at this time and, second, the nature of the new totalitarian vision in the West. Iranians, in encountering this new phenomenon, gradually felt weakness and a lack of self-confidence. This is the subject for which the term "modernism" seems appropriate. In this term, it is no longer merely the change and transformation of outward manifestations that is intended, but a kind of intellectual and perceptual "domination" in its deterministic sense is concealed — the domination of Western thought. In this sense, modernism differs from "becoming modern" or "modernization." This process of renewal was neither natural nor the result of digesting and assimilating foreign achievements. Modernism meant forgetting one's own character and relying on Western thought in a deterministic and imposed process. The product of modernism: comfort. Modern Western thought has a domineering nature; this was a reality that, although Iranians were greatly harmed by it during the Qajar period and the Russo-Persian wars, they still had confidence in their capacity to digest it. The effort to assimilate a vision that wants everything to resemble itself demanded double the time, capacity, and energy from Iranians unfamiliar with such thinking, and as we see, Iranians are still engaged in understanding and digesting it. Modernism in first Pahlavi-era Iran, both through its own force and through the support of the government, gained a double dominance, but with all its power it could not bring about a fundamental change in the concept of the house for Iranians; the image of first Pahlavi houses, even the most humble among them, is associated with courtyard, pool, tree, and porch, and this shows that familiarity with the Western way of life had not dissuaded Iranians from the previous qualities and their earlier conception of the meaning of house. But a new type of quality became relevant in this period, and that was comfort. The manifestation of comfort's growing importance in houses was the change of lifestyle, this time in the body of society, and no longer only in the houses of the wealthy and aristocracy. In this period, tables, chairs, sofas, and beds found their place in the houses of the general public. But this change of lifestyle was very superficial and did not fundamentally alter the essence of the meaning of house for Iranians. The authentic meaning of house: tranquility. When we travel, we miss our house — let us ask ourselves once: what do we miss? The table and chair and bed, or the plumbing, or the heating and cooling facilities? Certainly not; because these amenities are available in most hotels, often at a standard higher than our houses. If these qualities captured the heart, we would also miss the hotels where we had stayed for a while. So the feeling of comfort is secondary to another quality that makes a house a "house." "House" or "dwelling," as is evident from its name, is for us intertwined with the meaning of serenity and "tranquility." The house is our "abode" and a place where we must feel "tranquility." If comfort is the ease of the body, tranquility is the ease of the soul. How does the house bestow this tranquility upon us? Most of us have had the experience of being in darkness and are familiar with the sense of anxiety it produces — a result of the inability to orient oneself; in this state we feel suspended because we do not know where we are; fundamentally, we do not know what relation we have to the world around us; we do not know what distance we have from the surrounding objects, and consequently everything nearby appears threatening and hostile. In this condition, coming from darkness into light is accompanied by the pleasant sensation of release from being lost and, consequently, "being found." When gradually we recognize everything and the relationships between things, and more importantly, our place amid everything becomes clear to us, tranquility returns. The sense of tranquility that comes to us upon returning home is a kind of coming from darkness into light; this feeling that we are in our own place is a sensation that comes to us only in our house, and this is why we say "nowhere is like our own home"; in old houses, this tranquility arose in close connection with sky, earth, greenery, and water. Every house, regardless of how humble or grand it was, had its own exclusive share of sky, light, tree, and essentially earth, and this was something that was preserved even with the arrival of modernism. Modernism increased comfort in houses, or perhaps one could say it turned it into the main discourse in houses, without dissuading Iranians from demanding the most important quality in a house — namely, tranquility. The 1960s: a fundamental change in the concept of house. From the late 1950s, houses gradually transformed into what is familiarly called the "villa-style house." These mansions were now completely unlike even the urban pavilions before them. The courtyard was no longer the central courtyard, and service spaces had been merged with the house space. The pool was either eliminated or gave way to a swimming pool, and the porch became a terrace. The meaning of garden and tree changed to lawn and flower planting. The courtyard also took on the meaning of parking. In the past few decades, when we were deprived even of villa-style houses and moved to apartments, Ghavam ol-Saltaneh house; Ghavam ol-Saltaneh Street (Si-e Tir); Ahmad Shahi period. Mostowfi ol-Mamalek house; Chaleh Hesar, Sangalaj; Ahmad Shahi period.
we eliminated these elements from our houses — not because they were incompatible with modernism or in fact with the new lifestyle, but because in this half century we forgot what qualities they bestowed upon our houses; in fact, in our minds, the concept of house was reduced from the meaning of "abode" and a place of psychological and physical tranquility to the concept of "shelter." Whereas in a house qualities are the issue, in a shelter quantities are the main concern. The main cause of the substitution of quantities for qualities was, in my view, a crisis that affected Iranian urban and rural society from the early 1960s. With the land reforms, a process of displacement of urban and rural populations occurred in Iran — something that caused the notion of "belonging" and "attachment to place" to lose its validity, and the dream of a better life elsewhere plunged everyone into bewilderment. The increase in foreign exchange revenues from oil sales at this time gave the government permission to intervene in the complex and long-established production and agricultural relations in Iran. Contrary to what we imagine, the factor that fueled the migration of villagers to cities was the decline of rural life, not the attractiveness of cities. Many give this migration a recreational and elective dimension; whereas the land reforms had emptied the villagers' table and continuing life in the village had become impossible. These displacements, or in other words the "disruption" of society, caused us to face in cities and villages, instead of a "society" — which comprises a collection of individuals with defined roles and strong connections — a "population" — that is, a collection of dispersed individuals and scattered, unrelated parts. In other words, during this period all cities filled with people who were no longer in their own village, not in their own city, not in their own neighborhood and quarter. Naturally, dispersed individuals who were not in their own place affected the meaning of city, neighborhood, and quarter. The "city" no longer meant a single, living, and dynamic system but had become a collection of unrelated and separate parts. In a system, it is the existence of correct connections and relations that gives each part a role, and proportionate to that role, that member finds value, position, and meaning. When the connections between parts are impaired or destroyed, the parts in fact lose their role and meaning, and consequently the presence or absence of any part will have no effect on the destiny and life of the system. The collapse of the urban system and the destruction of relations and connections causes every "somebody" to become a "nobody," every "thing" to become a "nothing," and every place to become "nowhere." In this sense, the land reforms can be considered the harbinger of the storm or, so to speak, the "civic crisis." After the land reforms, the city was no longer a system but more of an administrative unit, and in fact was referred to as a statistical and physical unit. Similarly, the neighborhood and quarter no longer held for anyone those familiar concepts signifying a particular quality of solidarity and intimate human relations. In fact, the neighborhood was merely a name that did not denote any external reality. The crisis of civility and the destruction of the meaning of quality. In general, not being in one's proper place creates anxiety and disorder. The feeling of being a stranger and lacking roots in one's place deprives a person of tranquility. It is as if an earthquake and storm have occurred and flung everything in pieces in every direction. No one feels a sense of belonging to place, and everyone feels that in this storm they must merely cling to a rope until they can find their place again at the right moment. The feeling of perpetual instability and estrangement from place and the feeling of living in a storm naturally leaves no longing for quality; in crisis conditions, the house for us is not a place where generations are to live, and consequently it is not meant to produce in us a feeling of stability and calm; the house is merely a temporary shelter in stormy conditions. From the mid-1960s onward, this gradually struck the most effective blow to the concept of house. In the past, the main spaces of the house around the central courtyard bore names that referred more to their quality than to their function: talar, seh-dari, panj-dari, shah-neshin, eyvan, bahar-khab, sardab, and so on. Among these spaces, perhaps only the matbakh referred to the function of cooking. But after the 1960s, we know the spaces of the house by names such as living room, dining room, bedroom, kitchen, and so on. To introduce a house, we must state its square footage, the number of bedrooms, and the price per square meter. The courtyard is no longer a central courtyard bestowing serenity upon the house, nor even a private yard in a villa-style house, but simply means the remaining 40 percent of the 60-percent lot coverage. Therefore, the transformation of the house's nature from the mid-Qajar period to today can be considered the sunset of quality and the sunrise of quantity and functions; from the beginning of the last century, we witness the prioritization of the quality of comfort and the fading of the quality of tranquility, and in the last half century, we witness the decline of quality's relevance altogether, whether of the tranquility or the comfort kind. Today, only from the presence of paintings can one seek any trace of the longing for tranquility in the house — that is, tranquility has taken on an incidental form. The concept of comfort too has been reduced to the type of elevator, the material of bathroom fixtures, kitchen cabinet material, flooring, and so on. In the civic crisis of the past fifty years, the reduction of spatial qualities to quantities and functions was not confined to the house; the street, the square, the bazaar, and so on also suffered the same affliction. After the 1960s, all streets became merely roads and passages for getting us from one place to another. The proof is the abundance of streets with names like "30-Meter," "12-Meter," "20-Meter," or "45-Meter," and so on. What we know today as city, street, square, house, and so on is not the product of the natural course of Western thought's influence and its domination; this was something that affected our lives and mentality at most until the 1960s. From the 1960s onward, our cities, streets, squares, and houses were no longer mirrors of interaction with Western thought and modernization or modernism, but rather mirrors of our malaise. Ernest Hertzfeld in his office; early Pahlavi period. Moghadam house and museum; a house with multiple central courtyards; late Qajar.
Today, a concept called housing economics is not only the product of the formation of new social and economic relations, but also tangibly affects the design process on one hand and the choice of buyers on the other, and creates a set of ancillary issues in the design and execution of residential buildings that once again increase the volume of money circulating in this economy. House buyers rarely play a direct role in the design of the house, and the relationship between designer and audience is created through concepts shaped in this market, and the clients or investors too are situated within the framework of this housing economy space, with its secondary organizations and currents. An analytical look at the concepts governing this space shows that terms such as one-bedroom, two-bedroom, duplex, penthouse, parking, and storage have taken shape in this current — concepts whose task is to create a relationship between buyers, users, investors, and designers, and the executive organization is also constituted by real estate agencies or newspaper advertisements. Interestingly, even in transactions arising from friendly relationships where these agencies are eliminated, this language remains in place, which shows that the influence of this language on designers and design is undeniable. But did such a language exist in the distant past, specifically the era when historical architecture still bore the duty of designing and producing houses? Was housing produced on a large scale like today and then found its audience? In any case, through what language did ordinary people describe their houses? Historical studies show that none of these buildings that today bear the title of valuable and historical architecture were built for sale; rather, the builder was the same as the user — that is, a direct relationship existed between the user and the designer. In my article "The Relationship between Architect and Client," I explained the existence of a language with its signs — which are the patterns — and concepts, meaning the collection of functions and the importance and role of these pattern spaces in the organization of the house's space, which caused a relatively clear understanding of the commissioner's needs to form in the architect's mind, and the commissioner also had this same understanding of what would ultimately be built. This process has a fundamental and essential difference from what we know today as the design and construction process — just like the difference between the process of ordering a suit from a tailor versus the production of a garment by a famous brand in some corner of the world. In the second process, naturally the fashion designer, while not knowing the direct audience, must design and produce the appropriate garment based on a set of possessions and influential factors in the buyer's choice — from the price and quality of the material and the taste of the target market, to the latest aesthetic developments of the people — alongside competition with other producers, and must add a concept called advertising to the product to boost its sales. In this, the producer, although directing buyers' choices toward the desired direction as much as possible, is inevitably influenced by buyers' choices through an unavoidable process. Similar to this process, today in the mass production of houses — whether on the scale of large housing complexes or speculative build-and-sell houses — the same process occurs. But in the era of pattern-based architecture and within a completely different production context, housing was not produced en masse. Of course, very limited examples of relatively mass housing construction have been seen in fortress-villages that the wealthy built by digging a qanat and creating agricultural lands, but the difference from today's mass housing production is that the users, who were the same peasants, were obligated to live in these buildings and had no role in the selection process. The fact that people usually commissioned houses for their own use or that of their children did not prevent them from selling the building under certain circumstances; this means that some, instead of commissioning a house, bought it ready-made. The difference between this purchase and what happens today is, first, its negligible volume, and second, that the purchase was usually made secondhand or thirdhand. The Language of Housing in Typical Iranian Architecture. Faramarz Parsi. Ameri house, Kashan, decorative details. Ameri house, Kashan. Ameri house, Kashan, decorative details. Zoka house, Tabriz. Three-door room, Ameri house, Kashan, photo by Davoud Asadollahvash Aali. Ameri house, Kashan, photo by Davoud Asadollahvash Aali. Yazdi-bandi decorative details, Ameri house, Kashan, photo by Davoud Asadollahvash Aali. Yahya Zoka house, Tabriz, photo by Davoud Asadollahvash Aali.