Rudimentary Architecture for the Use of Beginners: The Orders and Their Æsthetic Principles

In Short

This instructional text serves as a primer on the classical architectural orders—Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian. By moving through the history and mechanics of these forms, the author argues that architecture is a Fine Art rather than mere construction. The book bridges the gap between professional technicality and public appreciation, urging students and laypeople alike to see beyond the stone. It remains a vital document for its clear, opinionated defense of Greek principles and its insightful critique of the stylistic evolution of buildings across London.

The Story

The narrative begins with a call to arms for the architectural education of the public. The author asserts that architecture has been unfairly relegated to a closed circle of professionals, a "fatal mistake" that prevents a genuine appreciation for the built environment. To rectify this, the text establishes the fundamental language of the craft, beginning with the anatomy of the Order. The argument unfolds through a systematic deconstruction of the column and entablature, emphasizing that these elements are not arbitrary decorations but logical expressions of "beginning, middle, and end."

The journey continues into the specific Orders, starting with the primal, sturdy Doric. The author meticulously distinguishes between the "genuine" Greek Doric—defined by its lack of a base and its reliance on the triglyph—and the "Modern Doric," which he critiques for its decorative drift toward excessive slenderness. The story of these forms is one of tension: between the desire for structural purity and the temptation of ornamental license. As the reader moves into the voluted Ionic and the foliage-rich Corinthian, the text shifts its focus toward the clever solutions architects devised to handle the inherent irregularities of these styles. The resolution of the Ionic corner, for instance, is presented as an "admirable artistic contrivance," a testament to the ingenuity required to maintain symmetry when classical rules collide with practical space.

The progression reaches its climax in the analysis of "Columniation" and "Intercolumniation." Here, the author examines how the spacing of columns dictates the rhythm and mood of a building. He moves from theoretical geometry to the streets of London, citing examples like St. Pancras’ Church and the British Museum to ground his aesthetic theories in reality. The narrative concludes with a look at the "Modern" era, where he debates the validity of innovations like the pulvinated frieze and the controversial "entasis." By the end, the book rejects the idea that architecture is merely about following established patterns; instead, it presents the art as a living, breathing discourse between the architect’s intent and the viewer’s eye, where even the most "prosaic" materials can be kindled into poetry by a designer’s touch.

How It Unfolds

The opening argument The text asserts that a beginner’s education must prioritize reasoning over rote memory. It establishes the central thesis that architecture should be accessible to the public as a Fine Art.

Defining the anatomy The author breaks down the Order into its two primary components: the column and the entablature. He establishes the diameter of the column as the universal module for all subsequent measurements.

The Doric character The investigation turns to the Greek Doric, highlighting its structural logic and its rigid reliance on the triglyph. The author contrasts this with the modern tendency to add bases and increase height, which he views as a dilution of the original spirit.

The Ionic challenge The narrative shifts to the complexity of voluted capitals and the difficulty of placing them on corners. The author defends the "diagonal" solution as a clever, necessary adjustment to ensure harmony in colonnades.

Corinthian variety The discussion moves to the foliaged capitals, where the author explores the infinite potential for modification within the Corinthian form. He uses the Bank of England as a case study for how a unique, historic example can be successfully revived in a modern context.

Practical application The final movement grounds the theories in London’s landmarks. By cataloging porticoes and facades, the author provides a concrete curriculum for the reader to study, observe, and judge for themselves.

The People

The book is less a story of individuals than a debate between schools of thought, dominated by two primary figures: the Classical Purist and the Modern Architect.

The Classical Purist—the author’s preferred persona—seeks order, logic, and the "genuine" application of Greek principles. He is wary of "whimsicality" and "capriciousness," advocating for a transparent, truthful expression of structural elements. His opponent, the Modern Architect, represents the restless, sometimes misguided urge to innovate. This figure is frequently chided for adding unnecessary bases, misusing the pulvinated frieze, or obsessing over "nugæ difficiles" like entasis, which the author dismisses as a pedantic attempt to solve non-existent problems.

Interspersed among these are historical masters like Sir John Soane and Inigo Jones. The author views Soane with a mix of relief and respect; he is pleased that Soane chose to copy a historical model for the Bank of England rather than invent a "new Order," which the author suspects would have been a "monstrosity." Inigo Jones is cited as a master of the Italian mode, serving as a benchmark for the reader. These figures act as anchors in the narrative, representing the tension between the weight of tradition and the temptation of the architect to assert their own signature upon the city.

In Its Own Voice

The author argues that without underlying logic, instruction is merely a burden to the student.

“It is important that an elementary treatise,—more particularly if it profess to be a popular one, intended for the use of beginners as well as for professional students,—should not only give rules, but explain principles also; and unless the latter be clearly defined, the memory alone is exercised, perhaps fatigued, owing to the former being unsupported by adequate reasoning.”

The author discusses the specific aesthetic effect created when the abacus of a column projects beyond the architrave.

“Now this would produce a most unsightly effect were the columns of the same, or nearly the same diameter throughout; instead of which, the architrave, and consequently the general plane of the whole entablature, actually overhangs the upper part of the shaft.”

What It's Really About

The central argument is that architecture is a language of visual logic rather than a collection of static rules. The author contends that beauty arises from the tension between structural necessity and artistic variety. He is deeply concerned with the "why" behind design: why a column must have a base, why triglyphs must align with columns, and why symmetry is necessary for repose. Beneath the technical discussion lies the question of the public’s role in art. The book posits that a society that understands the grammar of its buildings will naturally reject the "prosaic" and demand the "poetical." It is an appeal for visual literacy, arguing that one cannot appreciate the character of a city without first understanding the principles that hold it up.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the intersection of history, philosophy, and urban observation will find this book deeply rewarding. It reads like a crisp, nineteenth-century lecture—authoritative, opinionated, and occasionally sharp-tongued. Those who find the contemporary built environment cluttered or confusing will appreciate the author’s insistence on "breadth and repose."

The book is not without its hurdles. Readers unfamiliar with the specific vocabulary of the nineteenth-century architectural profession will need the provided glossarial index to navigate terms like "triglyph," "entablature," and "intercolumniation." Furthermore, the author is unabashedly elitist regarding his taste; he expects the reader to share his reverence for Greek antiquity and his disdain for what he deems "corrupt" specimens of the Renaissance.

However, the experience of reading this work is akin to being taken on a walking tour by a guide who refuses to let you simply pass by a building without understanding its skeleton. The author’s wit—seen in his dismissals of "sublimated transcendental niceties" and his defense of the word "æsthetic"—keeps the text from feeling like a dry manual. What stays with the reader is the challenge to look up from the street level and see the hidden geometry of the city. You will finish this book and find yourself unable to walk past a columned facade without checking for its triglyphs or contemplating the proportion of its base.