Juhani Pallasmaa tells us, “We do not only inhabit space; we also dwell in time.”

But what does it mean to dwell in time?

According to The Oxford Dictionary, the verb “dwell” means to live somewhere. Time is the continued sequence of existence and events that occurs as a progression from past to future. Pallasmaa, in this short, emphatic statement; seems to suggest that we do not only live in the current state of the continuum of time - but that we - in some respects also live in time immemorial. That we dwell in the present moment, but that we also dwell in the time of the history of the past.

One might ask, isn’t this somewhat of an odd proposition to put forward? Our ancestors actually lived in the previous age, and we live in the current one - how is he inferring that, we too, live in a time in which our ancestors lived; inasmuch as we are living in the time of the present moment, since we were not born to experience that which they experienced? Pallasmaa proposes that it is the art of architecture that has provided a portal; and allows one, in some real sense, to dwell in the time of that which previous generations dwelt. Our existence, as we are in the here and now, facilitates an embodied experience of the continuum of time. Architecture informs one of the slow process of history, and to participate in cycles of time that expands beyond our short lifespan.

In a published interview with Open Edition Journals, Pallasmaa explains it like this, “42J.P.: The ancient and historical masterworks teach us the meaning of the cultural continuum. They also make us understand that the mental, spiritual and artistic aspirations in architecture have not fundamentally changed; architecture still articulates and expresses the human condition, aspires to find meaning in existence, to mediate between ourselves and the world, and to elevate or dignify our lives. Art is a miraculous phenomenon in being independent of time. “An artist is worth a thousand centuries”, Paul Valéry wrote. It is truly miraculous that thirty-thousand-year-old cave paintings are as vivid as any art of our own day. In the arts, you can travel centuries back and forth, and the time element as a linearity has no relevance for the power of the emotive encounter. In every individual experience, the work is re-born in its sensory and mental essence, so mentally, artworks exist in a timeless present.”

Unfortunately, since the Modernist age, our culture seems to have appropriated somewhat of a hostile attitude toward the past. In the 20th Century, a violent schism took place, where we witnessed our ancestral history and its traditions being ripped apart from its roots and disposed of, paving the way for the rebirth into the dissident modern age - manifesting itself expressly in all facets of life - including, and most aptly, toward the traditions of the architecture of old. This severing of ancestral ties has paved the way for a rapacious forward outlook to a new ideal - one in which, one might argue, has left our culture in a state of disillusion. Just like the explorer, who looks to the maps of old as an anchor to explore new territory, cannot know where he is going if he disposes of such precious knowledge; since he has cut himself from the information of that in which he came from. In the same way, we cannot know where we are going in the culture, if we do not know where we have come from - architecture provides an integral blueprint.

Unfortunately, this annihilating ideology toward old architecture is being galvanised on societies at large. We witness this hostility in almost every city, where we observe this antithetical attitude toward the past resulting in the total annihilation of beautiful, old buildings. They are being heartlessly razed to the ground to make way for soulless, concrete ant-heaps. Virtually, almost every community in most parts of the world find themselves in a constant battle with local, state and federal authorities to protect these inestimable artefacts. Whilst most community members can’t quite articulate why the heritage of their communities in which they reside is of such great significance; many have an embodied sense; an attachment to these buildings, and the strong impression they manifest. They know that they are a vital organ to the life of their neighbourhoods and an essential thread to the urban fabric. To remove these precious gems, would be to lacerate a culture; no longer providing the opportunity to dwell in the continuum of time; thus, breaking the vital link that allows for human beings to participate in this continuity.

What is worse, in the name of progress, they are being replaced with something that speaks of a language that is completely antagonistic. These replacements seem to lack any remnant of the philosophies that once informed the buildings of the past - the philosophy that one should produce a great and enduring work - to create a building with a strength - for the greater a work, the stronger is its resistance to time. Today's architecture can seem flimsy and ephemeral compared to the architecture of old. So why do bureaucrats and oligarchies insist on removing the heritage of the past; whilst inflicting these burdensome, fleeting edifices upon humanity, at large?

In his book, Why old places matter, how historic places affect our identity and well-being, by Thomas M. Mayes, he explains the current predicament like this: “Although many people study place, only a handful choose to focus their work on older and existing places. Almost all the attention is on new places - on placemaking rather than place sustaining. For example, in the world of environmental sustainability, much attention is given to green products and to building new green buildings, but little attention is given to the importance of continuing to use the resources we already have. Similarly, in the world of planning, particularly new urbanism, much attention is given to building new communities that are walkable, and dense in a way that fosters people’s capacity to form community, but very little attention is given to sustaining existing communities, which have already become community through the intertwining of people and place over time. It’s almost as if these existing older places are so much a part of our lives that they are invisible… by the very nature of the individual disciplines that study place, almost none of them strives to see the whole - the overarching totality the role of old places play in our lives.”

In a 1966, a critical document With Heritage So Rich was released as a call to action in response to the rising tide of the destruction of many nations’ patrimonies. The document stipulates that, “a sense of orientation to our society, using structures and objects of the past establish values and time and place.” The preservation of our heritage is important because “It anchors us to place. It is something from which we derive our identity. It gives us a grounding in the world.” "Without heritage, people lack that anchoring, that identity, that sense of community.”

As Pallasmaa, in one of his seminal essay’s tells us, “We have a mental need to experience that we are rooted in the continuity of time. We do not only inhabit space, we also dwell in time… buildings and cities are museums of time. They emancipate us from the hurried time of the present and help us to experience the slow, healing time of the past. Architecture enables us to see and understand the slow process of history and to participate in time cycles that surpass the scope of an individual life.”

Our heritage buildings matter. They matter more than we realise. They matter more than we know how to articulate. To remove these buildings would be to remove a piece of our humanity, since our buildings have the capacity to express who we are as a culture in a real, deep sense. They tell the stories of the past and thus are an integral foundation by which we secure and plant humanity on the trail of the continuum of time. Whilst we should not remain stagnant, since history has never been frozen in one time, we should equally not remain reticent. We need to work to preserve what we have, whilst seeking to add another small layer to the great legacy left behind.

Our heritage buildings matter, and there are many reasons for why this is the case - stay tuned for the second part of why our heritage buildings matter. In the meantime, I will finish off by leaving you with a thought, by the great 20th Century writer and thinker, G.K. Chesterton:

“So strong is tradition that later generations will dream of what they have never seen.”

Journal

Why Heritage Buildings Matter

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