Who Is Afraid of Architecture as a Language?
If we attribute the beginning of the widespread introduction of concepts and formal elements from European architecture to the closing period of the Qajar dynasty — owing to the Iranian movement toward modernity through the Constitutional Revolution — and if we attribute the intensification of Iranian architects' attention to European architecture to the modernization drive under Reza Shah and assign it to the Pahlavi era, we must recognize that from the very outset, architects were both consciously and unconsciously influenced by the enduring tradition of Iranian architecture and its glorious past. There has always been a constant challenge before the architects of this land: how to engage with the architecture of Iran's past and how to contemporize that architecture. Iranian architects have faced this challenge in different ways across different periods, offering responses appropriate to their time. Although these responses have always been colored by their interpretation and approach to Iran's past architecture, one must also acknowledge that they have been significantly shaped by the day-to-day transformations, styles, and tendencies in European architecture. For example, in Iran, the archaeological discoveries of the late Qajar and early Pahlavi periods unveiled the secrets of a magnificent empire called the Achaemenids, and the excitement of this glorious past attracted the attention of the Pahlavi government, with its nationalist proclivities. The result was a style known as the "National Style" or "Reza Shah's neoclassicism" — a combination of Achaemenid, Qajar, and European neoclassical architecture. (Images 1 and 2) One must note, however, that this form of engagement with the past and the eclecticism of traditional and modern concepts existed simultaneously in Europe, and our architects were certainly influenced by the Art Deco movement in Europe in giving such an answer to the problem. Another current of attention to Iranian architecture emerged from the late 1940s and the beginning of the 1950s — a current undeniably influenced by the significant role of Master Pirnia in reintroducing the historical architecture of Iran not with an Achaemenid approach, but with one that later came to be called "Iranian-Islamic." It was also shaped by the intellectual currents of mystical Islam, influenced by Seyyed Hossein Nasr, who introduced noted architects such as Ardalan, Farmanfarma, Diba, and Amanat to Iranian architecture — architects who left enduring works such as the Museum of Contemporary Art, the Azadi Tower, and others. The influence of modern European architectural transformations that led to the rise and apex of postmodernism cannot be overlooked either. This form of engagement with historical architecture, despite the departure of these great figures after the Islamic Revolution, was continued by their students with a neo-Qajar tendency in Iranian architecture, and it lost its momentum with the decline of postmodernism in Europe by the mid-1970s. Nevertheless, it can be acknowledged that with the strengthening of the historic preservation movement, the architecture of the past has once again come to the fore, confronting architects once more with the old challenge: what is the role of Iran's historical architecture in the architecture of the future, and what will be our age's answer to this question? A fundamental question arises in confronting this challenge: does something called "Iranian-Islamic architecture" exist? Can precise characteristics be laid out for a style of architecture by means of which one can draw a boundary between two architectures, so that one is called Iranian and the other non-Iranian, or one Islamic and the other non-Islamic?
The answer to this question can be put as follows: the specific geographic territory we know as Iran is related to the contemporary era of a nation formed with a constitution — the concept of modern Iran is shaped by the concept of the constitutional state. This concept did not play in the past the role it plays in Iran's identity today, and it has no precise cultural or architectural equivalent. (Images 3 and 4) As we observe similar architecture on both sides of Iran's current borders, wherever else we draw such a boundary, we find great cultural similarities on both sides. Cultural transitions from one domain to another are continuous. Furthermore, the culture and architecture of this land are the product of a combination of Turkish, Arabic, and Indian cultural spheres with the Persian cultural sphere, and no independent, pure identity can be imagined for any one of these spheres without the others — much less drawing a geographical boundary to seek to separate these cultural spheres and to define precise characteristics for the culture and architecture of a given geographical area. If I use the phrase "Iranian architecture" hereafter with some latitude regarding its meaning, I extend this concept to the past, while knowing that we are dealing with a complex concept that cannot be confined to a specific geography or a specific time. On the other hand, the suffix "Islamic" for this corpus must also be considered: first, we are dealing with an architecture and culture with a long history; second, Islam as a religion does not, by nature, articulate specific architectural principles. But the Islamic empire, over a long span of time, had provided for remarkable cultural admixture among its constituent parts — and the land of Iran was part of that empire and influenced by these transformations. Just as Alexander's empire added a stream of concepts to our architecture, the Islamic empire also provided the opportunity for the interaction of broader cultural spheres for the lands it encompassed. One may therefore speak of Iranian architecture in the Islamic era, and the suffix only points to such a presence. Not mentioning it creates no problem for the study of this architecture.
With this introduction, I turn to an account of two important currents in the definition and description of Iran's architecture. Master Pirnia played a very important role in redirecting the architects of his era toward Iran's historical architecture, and in several books he presented two fundamental schemes for articulating Iranian architecture. The first was a stylistic classification — or "schools" of Iranian architecture, as he called them — and the second was the identification of principles in Iran's historical architecture, which, inspired by Le Corbusier's five points for modern architecture, proposed five principles for Iranian architecture. Today, in the Iranian architectural community, critiques of this book and its weaknesses have been written — points such as the lack of clear breaks between architectural periods (since some buildings display the characteristics of two different schools), and the five principles themselves, which strongly emphasize the role of climate, construction techniques, and social traditions, while these five principles are found in nearly all vernacular and historical architectures of the world, and although they apply to Iranian architecture as well, they do not distinguish this architecture from others. Most importantly of all, Pirnia considered the Qajar period as an era of decline in Iranian architecture, unworthy of inclusion in any of its schools.
1 — The Shahrbani Palace, a building from the Reza Shah era designed and executed in the National Style by Qelich Baghliani. 2 — Masoudieh Palace, Tehran, a work from the Naser al-Din Shah period, showing the presence of imported models in it. 4 — The borders of Iran in the Qajar era.
3 — The borders of Iran in the Achaemenid era.
The second current formed more or less in parallel with Master Pirnia's approach to Iranian architecture and is influenced by a mystical approach to Iran's culture and civilization — its philosophical representative is Dr. Seyyed Hossein Nasr, and its architectural theorist is Nader Ardalan, who, with the writing of the book The Sense of Unity, theorized this perspective in architecture and left a profound influence on architects from that time to the present. They held that Iranian architecture has a transcendent essence shaped by the symbols and secrets of Islamic mysticism and its worldview, and that this architecture is an assemblage of symbols for expressing the complex and elevated concepts of mysticism. Naturally, they imagined architects to be people versed in these secrets, and assigned to every space, every motif, and every ornament a substantive rationale. Today, this theory — despite its serious presence and influence on many theorists of Iranian architecture — has also come under critique. The most important criticism is its central focus on a few iconic buildings such as the Isfahan mosques or the architecture of wealthy patrons in Kashan, Yazd, and the desert-rim cities, remaining indifferent to the architecture of ordinary, simple, unornamented houses. Even more important, it presents such an unattainable, otherworldly vision of this architecture that it restricts entry into it to a select few, and ultimately does not specify what path architects should follow in design when confronted with a project. But my primary critique of both currents rests on their methodology. Throughout these books and the other theories that are in some way influenced by these two currents, the argumentative structure relies on a causal methodology — the dual process of cause and effect. But causal methodology is unable to answer certain architectural questions. For example, the two cities of Yazd and Naein share similar conditions: identical climates, Persian as the language of both cities, the same religion, and even nearly identical forms of mourning observance for Imam Hossein — yet they have two different forms of husseinieh. The Naein husseinieh complexes have one courtyard and one covered assembly hall with a corbelled vault beside it, and a fixed skyline for all four sides. The Yazd husseinieh complexes, however, have a high, stepped facade, the apex of which is seen in the Amir Chakhmaq. Therefore, neither climatic, nor social, nor mystical reasoning can explain this difference. Or, Master Pirnia regards the existence of four-iwan mosques and the positioning of the dome in the qibla section as a kind of movement toward transcendence, and enumerates multiple reasons for the formation of this spatial organization, attributing it to Iranian ingenuity. Yet in eastern Iran, mosques are single- or double-iwan, and almost without a dome chamber. So is this spatial organization a solution? Neither Pirnia's theory nor Ardalan's mystical theory can answer. From this writer's perspective, the causal methodology is incapable of answering such questions — not only in the domain of architecture, but also in the domains of language, dialect, clothing, food, and so on. In fact, in this methodology applied to culture, whenever we cite a reason for the occurrence of a general phenomenon, we will quickly find a counter-example. Therefore, another approach to explaining similarities, differences, and patterns of change had to be sought. The similarity between the differences in dialect and language on the one hand and the differences in architecture on the other drew my attention to the relationship between language and architecture. Although prior to this, architectural theorists such as Christopher Alexander had made references to language in architecture, it seems to me that these theorists used the word "language" loosely, with a predominantly individual dimension in mind, referring to concepts such as the language of one person's architecture or even of a style — meaning the expressive structure within the totality of a text. The present author, however, is concerned with the resemblance of architecture to language in its purest and most general sense. Language, which is formed on the basis of the relationship between signifier and signified and is accepted with a specific structure by a linguistic community, is not the creation of a particular individual but has become complex through an evolutionary process. In this sense, architecture, music, clothing, and even food in traditional cultures have had a linguistic structure, and each, as a semiotic language, obeys the same laws that spoken language obeys. The most important characteristics of language are as follows: • Language is formed on the basis of a set of signifiers; • The relationship between signifier and signified is arbitrary, not inevitable; • A signifier does not necessarily refer to one particular signified and can encompass a range of signifieds; • The relationship between signifier and signified functions through the acceptance of a linguistic community; • Language is not formed on the basis of grammar; rather, grammar is written to better understand language, and it will never be able to explain all the structures of language. For this reason, exceptions exist in all languages.
Here a very important point must be noted: language is formed on the basis of the abstraction of concepts — or rather the abstraction of things — and it seems that the mind of present-day Homo sapiens, through an evolutionary process, has been able to generate language through a specific algorithm. The concept of language in other creatures is largely based on sounds related to states, and lacks the capacity for combination and decomposition; whereas the language of abstraction can not only reach signifier-signified relationships, but can perform these abstractions repeatedly within language itself and create more complex signifier-signified relationships grounded not merely in real things but in language itself. For this reason, language, in its substance and primary structure, is a universal concept. It is therefore conceivable that language is itself part of evolution, and is necessarily governed by the laws of evolution. Also, in explaining the diversity of human language — whether in the scale of dialect and spoken variety or of language itself — the concept of the 70,000-year-old migration out of Africa must be taken into account and studied from this perspective. The most important principles of evolution and life that govern linguistic transformations are as follows: 1 — Just as life is founded on the precise and flawless replication of a living organism by its parents, language must also be protected from change; for if language changes rapidly and suddenly, it loses the consensus of the linguistic community. In other words, just as DNA guarantees flawless replication, the acceptance of language by the linguistic community opposes changes and inclines toward the stability of signifier-signified relationships. 2 — Just as DNA changes despite its original organization and in the process of selection becomes the ground for evolution and the diversity of species — enabling new species to adapt to new conditions — language also changes despite the inclination of the linguistic community, and in the process of selection acceptable changes are retained while others are eliminated. 3 — Charles Darwin, in a precise view of evolutionary processes, emphasizes that large changes are doomed to extinction; it is small changes that find the possibility of being selected. In languages too, the linguistic community resists large changes and accepts small ones. 4 — In the evolutionary process, two types of selection govern changes: first, natural selection, and second, sexual selection. In language, selection bears a greater resemblance to sexual selection (since gender has no meaning in language, we have named these two types of selection inter-specific and intra-specific selection, and the selections of a linguistic community are of the intra-specific kind). 5 — Just as in natural selection, population size, time, and geographical isolation are effective in generating diversity and in the pace of change, these same factors also govern language. Larger communities are more exposed to linguistic transformations, and the parameter of time is effective in these changes. For instance, in every geographical isolation, a dialect forms over a span of several decades; varieties form over centuries; and languages acquire their independent, distinct identity from the parent language over spans of several centuries and even millennia.
The most important result of raising this relationship between language and evolution is the evolutionary methodology itself. Darwin was perhaps the first person to have proposed a new methodology for explaining phenomena: the "process-oriented" methodology. In evolution, the cause of change in DNA is merely an error and is never directional nor performed for a specific purpose. Darwin, without entering into a discussion of the reason for change, focused only on the processes governing selection, and in this methodology presented the environment not as a cause but as a selector. The selection made is only one of many possible selections, and the examination of all factors influencing the selection cannot be determined and assigned their roles.
5 — Map of early human migration out of Africa. 7 — Naein husseinieh complexes and their stepped structure. 8 — The dome chamber of Bibi Samarkand Mosque and its high drum.
12 — Classification of patterns constituting Iranian architecture. 14, 13 — Instructions for placing patterns in a hypothetical courtyard.
10 — The lofty iwan of the Torbat-e Jam complex, Mausoleum of Sheikh Ahmad Jam, South Khorasan.
9 — The Shah-i-Zinda mausoleum in Samarkand, with its high dome structures.
11 — The lofty iwan of the Mausoleum of Mowlana Abu Bakr Taybadi, Taybad, South Khorasan.
6 — The Amir Chakhmaq husseinieh in Yazd — the pinnacle of the husseinieh structure in historical Iran.
Darwin took the most important step toward articulating a specific methodology that governs language and all its branches, including architectural language. Therefore, to understand changes and diversities in linguistic and cultural phenomena, it is better to abandon causal methodology and turn toward process-oriented methodology.
Justifying Similarities. To justify similarities, several processes must be closely examined. First, the origin of all cultures is a small population that left the African continent about 70,000 years ago. All languages and all cultures carry a part of that small population's culture with them. About 45,000 years ago, the European branch of humanity separated from the Middle Eastern population. The similarities of the myths of these two domains go back to this common root. Second, the smaller the geographical distance between domains, the greater — beyond shared roots — the possibility of return and admixture. (Image 5) We observe this in the similarity and proximity of languages within a domain compared to languages with greater geographical separation. European languages share great similarities, but the Indo-European Latin languages that are geographically closer together — such as Greek, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese — share far greater similarities; just as Kurdish and Persian are very closely related. These same similarities are found in architecture as well. The matter of geographical proximity is effective both in the proximity of language roots and in the creation of opportunities for subsequent exchange. Just as in the tree of life, branches close to one another have greater similarities, and even the most distant branches share something in common. It must be remembered that we share approximately 95 percent of our genome with chimpanzees, and approximately 40 percent with garden grass. Such a tree can be drawn for architecture too, and the present author calls it "evolutionary archaeology of architecture."
Justifying Differences. This theory is even more effective in justifying differences. The effect of geographical isolation is clearly arguable. Even today, villages on two sides of a mountain that have little contact with urban areas have different dialects. The dialect of the people of Naein is different from that of Yazd, and if the distance increases further, it differs even more from the dialect of the people of Kerman. The Dasht-e Lut and the Jazmurian Desert greatly limit the contact between the people on either side, so that we are no longer dealing with two dialects — Balochi is a variety on the verge of constituting an independent language. If geographical distance increases, the difference becomes even greater — especially if a powerful geographical phenomenon such as the Himalayan mountain range completely cuts off communication between its two sides. It is not surprising that Chinese differs profoundly from Indian and Persian and the languages in between, such as Urdu and Pashto. Interestingly, since the populations on both sides of this great range are among the largest human populations, the intensity of difference will certainly be greater — for the larger the linguistic community, the faster the pace of change. When we move northward and the mountain range becomes lower and gives way to plains, the Mongolian language and the languages of Central Asia — Turkic — show their similarity, and Mongolian itself has a considerable closeness to Chinese. The migration of humanity must also be considered. The migrants who built Chinese civilization belong to a distinct group from those who built Indian civilization. If we combine this with the Mongol invasions and the Turkic dynasties of the first four centuries of the Islamic empire, part of these similarities and the presence of a notable linguistic island called Turkey among Indo-European languages becomes comprehensible — a language and culture that over approximately a thousand years has shaped part of the cultural identity of the languages and cultures surrounding it. Such differences and similarities can also be traced between Indian and Chinese architecture. But why does geographical isolation produce difference, even when climates are similar and there should logically be similar answers to climate? Here the concept of a chain of selection and the alignment of subsequent selections with prior selections becomes relevant. In intra-specific selection — which in the domain of language and culture we called inter-specific selection — there is a simple argument. A change is either not selected (which is equivalent to elimination), or it is neutral (which remains among the linguistic community with a very low proportion), or it is selected — for whatever reason, the reason itself being of no importance. If it is selected, every change in that direction will also be selected. For this reason, intra-specific selections are escalating, whereas not all inter-specific selections have this characteristic. Such a selection results in the formation of a dialect, and the intensification of a dialect can form a variety and ultimately a new linguistic form. Meanwhile, an inter-specific selection — the borrowing of a word from another language — does not have an escalating character. Therefore, intra-specific selection leads to the formation of the character of a language and moves in the direction of divergence from other languages; whereas selection from outside leads to convergence and similarity. We can now say that the husseinieh complexes of Yazd have followed the same path that Kurdish trousers or the Yazdi dialect have followed: a cumulative series of escalating selections. (Images 6 and 7) For this reason, the dome over mosques is selected and follows the path of becoming two-shelled and three-shelled, arriving at the extraordinary form of the dome in the Timurid era. (Images 8 and 9) Or, the four-iwan mosque is selected in western Iran and the single- and double-iwan mosque in eastern Iran. (Images 10 and 11) The existence of the Dasht-e Lut and the Great Desert has given shape to these two separate processes of selection. In eastern Iran, instead of the minaret rising, it is the iwan that grows in an extraordinary way, without serving any practical function. This is simply a series of cumulative escalating selections — which one can beautifully call the aesthetics of the people of eastern Iran. The limit of intra-specific selection is inter-specific selection. Earthquake, wind, soil composition, or construction techniques, as environmental factors, influence the determination of the ultimate limit of intra-specific selection. With this in mind, what is the language of historical Iranian architecture? To understand a language, one must pay attention to the words that constitute it. In this architecture there is a fundamental and unifying concept between words called peymon. Peymon is a multiple of brick or adobe that calibrates the dimensions of the spaces — or "words" — of this architecture, and enables them to relate to one another around a single order. The words used in this architecture are: 1. Single division. 2. Binary division. 3. Ternary division. 4. Quinary division. 5. Shakem-darrideh (belly-torn). 6. Chelipa (cross). 7. Hashti (octagonal vestibule). (In these patterns, the facade facing the courtyard is the criterion.) (Image 12) It can be confidently stated that all of Iran's historical architecture is built with these words — and apart from exceptional cases (which in every language one may encounter exceptions or words from outside the language) — from the house to the caravanserai and the mosque, these same words form the vocabulary of historical architectural language. The next point is the adjectives of this language. These words, depending on their location in the building or the function or functions they are assigned, receive an attribute. Such as hauzkhaneh (pool room), iwan, shahnishin (royal room), gushvareh (pendant)... And finally, the grammar of this language, which acquires meaning in the order of importance of these spaces. The importance of spaces from least to greatest is: single division, binary division, ternary division, quinary division, shakem-darrideh, chelipa, and hashti. The hashti can occupy both the highest and the lowest position in the hierarchy. Grammar is formed on the basis of this hierarchy. It must be noted that there are two types of spatial organization: introverted or courtyard-centered, and extroverted or pavilion-type. The courtyard in introverted architecture has an essential role, and it is the axes of the courtyard that define the structure of the building. Spaces are placed according to their importance along the axes (whether single-axis or double-axis). Naturally, any word can be used in the highest position, but a pattern of higher rank cannot be used in a lower position. Such order is observed within each face of a courtyard as well. If on one axis a certain rank is placed, on both sides of it an equal or lower rank must be used. And finally, the location of corridors or single division, in such a grammar, is placed in the corners or on both sides of the axial space. Courtyards too have a sequential arrangement. (Images 13 and 14)
15, 16 — Designing the plan of a hypothetical unit based on historical patterns.
21 — Basement plan of the Harris Cultural House.
24 — Cross-sections of the complex. 17, 18, 19, 20 — Early three-dimensional views of the Harris Cultural House.
Regarding the extroverted structure, the two themes of single-axis and double-axis lead to the single-facade and four-facade (chaharsufeh) pattern. The combination of these two patterns with each other is also possible along one axis. Just as in literature there exist the two forms of prose and poetry — and for poetry structures such as the ghazal, the qasida, the do-baytí, and for prose, structures such as rhymed prose and bahr-e-tavil — in architecture, for the introverted type, there is the house, the caravanserai, the mosque, the sara, and the timshe... and for the extroverted type, the pavilion, mosques without courtyards, mausoleums, mountain caravanserais... But all are formed from the same seven words, and the grammar is constant. It is only the overall structures and combinations that form these various types of architecture. Although in these few lines it is impossible to express the entirety of this language, my intention was to show that what forms Iran's historical architecture is form, not content. Language is entirely formal, but precisely because it is formal it can express any content. The approach to historical architecture must be linguistic — or, in other words, formal. A language cannot be known through its content; one must first learn its form and its formal relations. (Images 15 and 16) With what has been explained, the teaching of this architecture is subject to the concepts of language instruction. Learning a language is possible by two means. The first is immersion in a linguistic community — just as every child learns language, and just as any person at any age, upon entering a linguistic community, will gradually learn the language without instruction. This architecture too can be learned — like a language — through seeing, being present, taking measured drawings (rolvé), and ultimately in the best case by restoring it; and like a child who knows no grammar but produces correct sentences, one can practice correct architecture. Students must move through these buildings. Through rolvé they should learn by repetition, through restoration they should develop technical knowledge and learn construction techniques alongside the formation of the vocabulary of this language in their minds. But every language can also be learned by mastering its grammar — albeit stiffly and with an accent. Accent is acquired through listening, and the subtleties of language can be learned both through listening and through reading valuable texts. Outstanding works must therefore be read as one reads a text. Grammar only helps one to read and speak better. The grammar of this architecture has not yet been completed, and what has been set out in this article and the article on design methods is only a preliminary toward this grammar. What will our approach to building and architecture be? First, no historical building should be demolished — it must be preserved like a text and, through annotation of it, that is, through restoration, the meanings embedded in it must be read and made legible. This is better than formulating any regulation to arrive at this architecture. Historical architecture, like a language, gradually formed within a linguistic community and did not arrive here through regulation and rule — therefore it will not be revived through regulation and rule either. So all efforts to mandate things such as the compulsory use of brick, the use of vaults, or symmetric orders, will lead nowhere precisely because of their prescriptive nature. But can this architecture answer all the architectural needs of today's society? For two reasons, no. First, this architecture has not been in use for years and has not grown alongside changing concepts and needs. Therefore, one cannot build airports with it, or hospitals, or multi-story towers — at least not yet. Second, today's society differs from the integrated traditional society. Today's society is composed of different layers with varying views and tastes. The middle class, the newly wealthy, the old aristocracy, the intellectuals, government officials, and the lower economic strata each have their own taste and aesthetics, and naturally there will be no perspective, style, or architecture that can satisfy all these social strata. Nevertheless, Iran's historical architecture today has its devotees, and a market — albeit limited — can be imagined for it. It is therefore better that this market be taken out of the hands of those who do not know this language but sell it to their customers as a luxury commodity by placing a few ornamental historical motifs. By learning this language, one can express correct sentences — though perhaps composing poetry in this language is a difficult task requiring a lifetime of study. Nezami, speaking of the conditions of a poet, said the poet must first have thousands of verses memorized. To speak well in this architectural language, one must have seen hundreds of buildings well and memorized them like poetry. Perhaps someday the linguistic community speaking this language will grow larger, and the aesthetics of this architecture will be selected by a larger linguistic community.
Over the years of my professional work I have endeavored to acquire this language, so that in projects where clients showed a preference for this language — or in architectural competitions — I have designed using the method I have described. Below I will explain the language employed and the patterns (or words) and their various combinations in one of these projects. The Harris Cultural House was prepared after the Azerbaijan earthquake, by the Cinema House through the holding of a limited competition. This design was conceived both at the scale of the building and at the scale of the complex on the basis of historical architectural language. The physical program of three buildings placed within a garden was broken down into components. (Images 17–20) An Iranian garden is an enclosed landscape with an entrance, a pavilion or central building, and subsidiary buildings; these buildings, with a service function, are placed along the extensions of the main axes. A garden was therefore designed with forty trees in memory of those killed in the earthquake, along with an entrance gateway structure; a pavilion in the center which contained all the main functions; and a residential building of limited size for invited artists, placed at the end of the main axis against the garden wall. The water axis of the entrance used the common entry language of the half-hashti pattern, enabling entry from three fronts. Historical architects used to combine these spaces freely, or use them in open or semi-open form. (Images 21–24) Directly on the main axis and entrances at an angle of 40 degrees toward the basement, designed using the stepped-water-reservoir pattern, connected via a corridor in the basement also serving as a gallery, this corridor led to the basement of the pavilion. The straight path at ground level, along the main axis and beside the water axis, led to a platform on which the pavilion was placed. In designing the pavilion building, the chaharsufeh pattern was used — a part that in its classic form is a square with four corner rooms and four iwans between them, with a central space providing the connection between all eight other parts. The four corner spaces on the upper floor were allocated to classrooms, a café, and offices. The central space was designated as an open-air performance hall, and the four iwans as areas for audience seating. In this design, the staircase plays an essential role — providing seating, connection to the rooftop, and a view of the stage. This design attempted to emphasize the role of the stair, which is mistakenly assumed to have been neglected in historical architecture. Finally, the accommodation unit was designed using a traditional Iranian three-part pattern, with two suites and a meeting space. (Images 25–27)
Notes: 1 — The Qajar period can be divided into three sub-periods: the first up to the beginning of Naser al-Din Shah's reign; the second, the fifty-year reign of Naser al-Din Shah, called the Naseri period; and the third, after Naser al-Din Shah until the beginning of the Pahlavi dynasty. 2 — A suitable name for this architecture might be a compound word such as "the historical architecture of this land." 3 — Architects such as Pope, Godard, Maxime Siroux, and Donald Wilber have also worked on this architecture, but they were primarily concerned with accurate description of buildings — an approach that is, incidentally, of great importance. 4 — The schools of Iranian architecture include: Parsi, Parti, Khorasani, Razi, Azari, and Isfahani. 5 — Master Pirnia's five principles of architecture: devotion (neyayesh), human scale (mardom-vari), introversion (darungarayi), avoidance of futility (parhiz az bihudegi), and self-sufficiency (khodbasandegi). 6 — Christopher Alexander. 7 — Ferdinand de Saussure, structural linguist of the early twentieth century, Course in General Linguistics. 8 — Homo sapiens. 9 — Noam Chomsky, although he emphasized the concept of the universality of language, did not seriously consider its evolutionary aspect (cf. Language and Mind). 10 — The out-of-Africa migration of modern humans is the most widely accepted theory for explaining the diversity of cultures and the physical changes in Homo sapiens despite their shared DNA. 11 — "Evolution" is not a suitable word for genetic transformations, as it carries a value judgment, whereas evolution has no purpose. For this reason, the Persian words "fargasht" and "tatavvor" are today used in place of "takamol." 12 — Given the above concepts, can it be proposed that language is itself a new entity in the overall evolutionary process, and that the relationship between humans and language is like the relationship of a cell to the body of a multi-cellular organism? Thinking about this is fascinating, without any particular conclusion drawn in the argument I have raised. 13 — It must be borne in mind that science in Darwin's time had not yet discovered the existence and nature of DNA. 14 — In the article "Methods of Historical Iranian Architecture," this topic is explained in detail. 15 — A precise description of this grammar is given in the article "Design Methods in Historical Architecture."
25, 26, 27 — Three-dimensional drawings of the Harris Cultural House design.