Originally posted on sciy.org by Debashish Banerji on Tue 14 Jul 2009 08:24 PM PDT
A CRITICAL HISTORY OF ARCHITECTURE
IN A POST-COLONIAL WORLD:
A View from Indian History
Swati Chattopadhyay
Department of Architecture
University of California at Berkeley
Colonial history offers multiple advantages for such an examination. Inherent in the production of colonial history are indelible prints of a power struggle that linked the world together and formed the intellectual and social consciousness of the emerging disciplines of the nineteenth century. These power struggles are often more tangled and muted within metropolitan culture, whereas the amplified power differentials in colonial discourse permit a clearer reading of interpretive strategies and illuminate the need to control architectural discussions within prefigured boundaries. Ref.1 What connects the metropolitan and colonial contexts are the shared set of cultural assumptions and dichotomies used to differentiate them -- progressive west vs. static east, developed vs. undeveloped, active vs. passive, creative vs. mimetic. Colonial historiography also provides the most obvious position to understand the links between modernism and colonialism, an issue that has received limited attention, despite the profound influences of colonialism in shaping ideas about modernism and modernization. Since the scope of such an investigation is too wide to be encapsulated in a short essay, I will concentrate on a sliver of this debate -- the presentation of India in the 1886 Colonial and Indian Exhibition in London -- to demonstrate the nature of connections between colonial ideology and the idea of modernity in the context of Indian architectural history.
One of the important monuments of twentieth century modernism, Le Corbusier's 1951 plan of Chandigarh, the capital of the province of Punjab in India, has received its share of criticism for lacking a viable urban scale.Ref.2 The plan was based on a 1200 m. x 800 m. grid, with the major buildings designed as objects in the vast plain of Punjab. Although well-endowed with green spaces and spacious roads and plazas, obviously missing was a well-articulated continuity between public and private spaces. In such a plan, the streets and plazas become mere diagrams, lacking volume or the capacity to engage multiple uses. Most of the architect's attention was lavished on the architectural scale instead of the urban scale.
So it is not unreasonable to ask why Corbusier did not incorporate the ideas of public space found in contemporary Indian cities in his design. The answer to such a question also seems very simple. As a modernist, he was uncompromisingly opposed to the traditional city in Europe as well as in India. But the significance lies in the premise of his negation of Indian architecture. Corbusier's notion of India was that of a 'peasant culture,' and he filled his notebooks with examples of Indian village life.Ref.3 He seemed oblivious of any living urban architecture in India. India, he conceded, had great monuments of antiquity, but contemporary Indian cities offered no positive lessons for the twentieth-century urbanist. He believed that India had no modernity, and it was his responsibility, as a representative of the west, to impart to India this modernity. Of course, Indian architects and administrators agreed with Corbusier in believing that India did not have a viable contemporary urban heritage. In expressing his ideas about Indian architecture Corbusier, however, was not being particularly original. He was drawing from a nineteenth-century colonial discourse that conceptualized India as a static, timeless object whose greatness resided in the past, but was now lost. Thus it was the west's civilizing mission to awake India from this stupor.
From the late eighteenth century onwards British scholars and administrators developed a large body of authoritative literature in their attempt to understand the Indian people, their arts, religions, customs and laws, and simultaneously to justify British rule of India. This body of knowledge, constituting the bulwark of British Orientalism primarily addressed a European audience, spoke for the Indian and claimed to represent the authentic India.Ref.4 It was multi-dimensional and contained various, even conflicting viewpoints regarding the relationship of Britain and India, as it was structured by successive generations of Romantics, Utilitarians, Liberals, and Conservative imperialists. Two enduring assertions, however, emerged from this multi-textured body of knowledge. First was the notion of India peculiarly suited to despotism -- a medieval landscape of feudal chieftains and princes. Second was the idea of India as a conglomeration of villages and village economies governed by a theocracy that had changed little since antiquity.These visions, despite their apparent conflict, were used simultaneously throughout the nineteenth century.
Late eighteenth-century stalwarts of Oriental scholarship such as William Jones sought to place Indian civilization in the world of European antiquity by claiming shared origins and resemblance in mythology and linguistics.Ref.5 Similarity, however, was always superseded by difference.Ref.6 For scholars schooled in the Enlightenment principles of eighteenth-century Europe, the idea of 'progress' took on monumental significance and provided the critical point of departure between the contemporary condition of India and Europe. While Europe had progressed through several stages to arrive at its 'modern' state, India had languished behind with little or no change in its religion and culture. Consequently, in India's eighteenth- and nineteenth-century customs and laws one could read the antiquity of Europe. This shared past and subsequent superiority alone could justify British rule of India. Jones, perhaps the most sympathetic of Oriental scholars of India and an admirer of Sanskrit literature, argued that even though India supplied many 'hints' for improvement of European culture, there was no doubt about Europe's superiority in terms of useful knowledge.Ref.7
This idea of fundamental, natural 'difference' between Europe and India was taken further by the nineteenth-century successors of Jones and was structured ultimately around racial distinctions and an evolutionary paradigm of history, even when their philosophies disavowed any such racial implications. The Utilitarians and Liberal Reformers used 'culture' as the criteria for establishing difference. James Mill, in his History of British India vigorously refuted Jones' suggestion that India had ever achieved a high degree of success in the arts and literature.Ref.8 Instead, he claimed, utility was the only measure of progress and consequently banished India to the near-bottom rung of civilization, and then sentenced India to British tutelage. Using historical development as the criteria to create an ordered hierarchical world, the British could assure themselves of being in a privileged position in that new order.
Henry Maine, writing in the second-half of the nineteenth century used the idea of the 'village community' as the central explanation of Indian culture. Ref.9 In India he saw the earliest stage of the village community, and its ultimate development in nineteenth-century England. In such an explanation he could conveniently tie the idea of civilization, progress and property rights to argue for the superiority of European culture. The lack of India's historical development still had to be justified. Maine was in agreement with William Jones about the ancient similarity between Europe and India and their 'Aryan' beginnings. In India, however, the Aryan civilization had been arrested at an early stage of development having degenerated in contact with the Dravidians and other tribal groups. This theory of Aryan 'purity' which allowed the flourishing of arts and cultures and contamination by cohabitation with inferior cultures resulting in decay prominently appeared in the understanding of Indian arts.Ref.10
As Victorian scholars set about articulating the essential difference of Britain and India and at the same time assert British right to rule a less civilized culture with which it claimed ancient similarity, they attempted, in Henry Maine's words, to keep their watches set simultaneously to two longitudes. In doing so they resorted to a whole range of explanations and characterizations, shot through with contradictions, but united ultimately by a nineteenth-century historicism that could conveniently address a theory of Indian decline and British progress. As Thomas Metcalf explains: 'the history of India was made to accommodate not just the existence of the Raj, but a course of historical development that made the imposition of British rule its necessary culmination.'Ref.11
The portrayal of India and Indian architecture within such definitional boundaries of a static culture was most clearly demonstrated in the nineteenth-century international exhibitions, the same ones that gave us such well known modern monuments as the Crystal Palace and the Eiffel Tower. What is often forgotten in discussing these modern engineering feats is that their modernity was claimed not only by the technological improvisation involved in their design, but through their juxtaposition against oriental architecture and artifacts that were considered primitive and static.Ref.12 The 'modern' necessarily requires a 'pre-modern' to construct its own identity. Mobilizing public support for the 1851 Exhibition, Prince Albert noted in his speech at the Mansion House banquet: "the Exhibition of 1851 is to give us a true test and a living picture of the point of development at which the whole of mankind has arrived."Ref.13 The Prince Consort's message was not lost on nineteenth-century visitors to these exhibitions.
The main objective of the exhibitions in which India was presented as a British colonial possession was to educate the British public on the merits of empire and to reinforce the idea of a Great Britain inextricably linked with imperial gains. The Royal Commission in charge of colonial exhibitions hoped that pride in empire could be instilled among the common people who came to visit these exhibitions. Pride in empire would also forge national identity; visitors would receive a first hand account of the technological achievement of Great Britain clearly juxtaposed against the technological backwardness of Indian crafts.Ref.14 The objective was to present a dual picture of technological backwardness on the one hand and the exotic artifacts that titillated the imagination and desire to possess on the other. Such a graphic display of difference, and therefore, Britain's right to dominate as the superior culture, was asserted by incessant repetition of the same themes made credible by the verity of their own repetition.Ref.15
Many of those in charge of the exhibitions were deeply interested in Indian art and architecture, whether they adored or deprecated such art. But their understanding of Indian art was also inextricably linked to how they perceived their role within British imperialism. They wanted to illustrate that India had a living artistic tradition, although the natives were unaware of it, and they considered it their responsibility as rulers to rescue it from oblivion: "The spirit of fine art is indeed everywhere latent in India, but it has yet to be quickened again into operation. It has slept ever since the Aryan genius of the people would seem to have exhausted itself in the production of the Ramayana and Mahabharata."Ref.16 In their determined effort to rescue India's artistic past, men like George Birdwood and John Lockwood Kipling began to develop their own standards for judging and categorizing Indian arts and crafts. Collecting art specimens and organizing them according to 'scientific' principles was driven by the nineteenth-century British preoccupation with division and classification, exaggerated in the colonial context by the desire to fathom the diversity of Indian culture. More importantly the classification of arts and crafts were tied directly to economy;Ref.17 it was supposed to provide a medical, social and economic understanding of native society.Ref.18 Thus the systematic classification of arts and crafts implied a larger ordering of the landscape according to 'modern' rational principles, a project that Indians because of their lack of objective understanding of the natural world were supposedly incapable of undertaking.Ref.19 British intervention was necessary to set India on a 'modern' path, and yet these scholars could not embrace the implications of fulfilling their goals. India's modernity had to be perpetually deferred to a distant future.
In their classification process Birdwood and Lockwood Kipling blatantly ignored the Indian view of 'types' of artifacts, and adopted historical evolution as the criteria for classification and regional, even state boundaries, as appropriate lines of division.Ref.20 Such an exercise produced categories that had little relevance to cultural processes, but they found profitable use in international exhibitions. Although both men made impressive careers from collecting, cataloging, exhibiting, and explicating Indian art, they differed in their understanding of the state of Indian arts and crafts. Lockwood Kipling, like his compatriot, struggled to tease apart the foreign influences in Indian crafts in his search for the 'original.'Ref.21 Kipling was, however, very critical of labor practices in India, had limited expectations of 'reviving' the craft industry for economic gain, and took pride in the technological changes in nineteenth-century India as long as they did not affect architecture and the crafts. Birdwood, in contrast, had a more idyllic view of Indian crafts which he saw firmly rooted in the Indian village community and the theocratic conception of village life. In explicating the state of Indian art he painted a picture of India as a fantasy land of princely patrons and simple people steeped in tradition, a world in which everybody had a secure and fixed position. The Code of Manu, he suggested with warm approval, was the reason behind the unchanging tradition of Indian art. Birdwood, was however, cautious in his praise of Indian art: 'It is not of course meant to rank the decorative art of India, which is crystallized tradition, although perfect in form, with the fine arts of Europe, wherein the inventive genius of the artist, acting on his own spontaneous inspiration, asserts itself in true creation.'Ref.22 Change and 'spontaneity' in Indian art had in his view always produced unsatisfactory results, leading to grotesqueness and mongrelization. In this concept of decay Birdwood was echoing his archaeologist/historian compatriot James Fergusson.Ref.23 Both complied with the Aryan theory to explain the triumph and tragedy of Indian arts. In short, this theory claimed that the superior forms of Indian art were derived from the Greeks and the earliest flowering of Vedic Aryan art.Ref.24 This early success story was cut short by the influence of the Dravidian and Turanian races, until it was revived again by the Persian invasion. Nothing, however, they claimed had such debilitating effect on Indian art as the influence of European architecture and machines. The nineteenth-century champions of Indian art were unanimous on this account. While much of the adoration of the village community and undesirable effect of machines was implicitly and sometimes explicitly a critique of the effects of the industrial revolution on the crafts industry in nineteenth-century England, it was also a discourse necessary to ensure that 'Indian-ness' could be distinguished from 'British-ness.'
The objective of the 1886 Colonial and Indian Exhibition in South Kensington, London, was "to give to the inhabitants of the British Isles, to foreigners and to one another, practical demonstration of the wealth and industrial development of the outlying portions of the British Empire."Ref.25 Within the secure, controlled bounds of the exhibition space the objects and people brought from the far corners of the empire became tools to provide 'scientific' demonstration of Orientalist theories. Here the decontexualized objects and settings could be arranged to generate a narrative of empire that would not have been possible in the colonies. This narrative that sought to justify the merit of empire and the necessity of British tutelage for the colonies was conveyed in several ways: the choice of settings and their arrangement, catalogues explaining the exhibits, and the ceremonial and commemorative artifacts of the exhibition. The relationship between the colonies and the 'mother' country was most explicitly represented in the commemorative diploma presented to the participants. The diploma contained a picture of the colonies, each represented by a female figure, paying tribute to Britannia seated on her throne in an Audience Hall, supported by the figures of commerce and industry. In the background was "Britannia's realm -- the sea, with a suggestion of the white cliffs of Albion, a fort and a quay. On the sea is one of the seven troopships which are ever engaged bearing soldiers to and fro from the Indian Empire."Ref.26 Clearly the organizers were not shy to demonstrate, despite the rhetoric of brotherhood that pervaded the discussions of the exhibition, that the colonies were subjugated ultimately by superiority of arms. Britain's moral responsibility of 'developing' the colonies had to be ensured by force.
Every important colony had their own catalogue of objects with explanatory notes, while the Royal Commission issued a general catalogue for the entire exhibition, a special one for the Indian section, and a general handbook for the British Indian and Colonial Empire.Ref.27 The catalogues contained not just an explanation of the objects but a complete classified list of all the 'races' in the British empire. The entrance hall to the exhibition displaying various representations of colonial landscapes and trading ships set the tone of the exhibition. A colossal map of the world with the British empire clearly marked was placed in the center of the exhibit space to reinforce the magnitude of the empire and its resources. Although the stated objective included the 'industrial development' of the colonies, industrial machinery was de-emphasized and use of newer production methods discouraged. Reminiscing the 1886 Exhibition Frank Cundall wrote that the sparseness of machinery was partly due to 'the fact that the colonies, still trust, in great measure, to the mother country to make finished articles of their raw produce.'Ref.28 The necessity of displaying the wealth of the colonies and their lack of modern technological expertise had to be emphasized in the exhibitions.
 Figure 1: The four settings representing India (Source: Illustrated London News, July 1886) |
The Central Court was subdivided amongst provinces and states each being distinguished by a carved screen illustrating the art of that particular province.
The Imperial Economic Court had four small native shops, which were "similar to those found in an average Indian village."Ref.31 In addition it contained a curious collection of artifacts indicating the all-encompassing nature of the economic agenda of empire: a model of an indigo factory and a temple of Kali, trophies of grain and rope, and twelve ethnological groups representative of the 'races' of India.
 Figure 2: The Gwalior Gateway (Source: Illustrated London News, July 1886)
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To demonstrate authentic Indian arts the exhibition authorities suggested examples of crafts that they believed had little or no European influence. Although they saw European influence resulting in 'contamination,' they did not view their own intervention in cataloging Indian art or designing the pavilions of the exhibitions as unauthentic. Authenticity was conveniently limited to the means of production. In fact their choice of architectural styles to represent India was highly idiosyncratic, and based on individual familiarity with the Indian continent. That parts of Rajasthan, Central India and Punjab were represented more prominently not only was dictated by the collectors' history, but also by the British understanding of these princely states as the 'true' representation of India.Ref.37 Such a vision appropriately coincided with the popular notion of India as an exotic land of oriental luxury. In the choice of artifacts and architectural vocabulary the exhibition organizers faithfully reproduced the authoritative pronouncements of men like Birdwood, Lockwood Kipling, and Fergusson.
In discussing Indian architecture of the 1886 Exhibition The Illustrated London News emphasized that "Hindu architecture is so conservative that it varies little at different periods."Ref.38 Although so called 'traditional' Indian arts had started to assimilate foreign themes in their designs through trade and conquest long before British arrival, these 'inventors' of Indian art chose only a narrow range of Indian art and architecture that fitted their static conception of Indian society and arts.Ref.39 These examples not simply met the criteria of 'true' India, but were those that the organizers' hoped the Indian Government would promote. Conspicuously missing were designs that did not abide by the standards of purity set by Birdwood and Fergusson, including Hindu architecture from South India and any example that betrayed European presence in the Indian landscape. The temple architecture of South India, for example, belonging to a later period in Indian history had been decried by a succession of British architectural historians for its 'monstrous,' 'impure' decorations with which they drew a direct correlation of a decaying society.Ref.40 Similar mongrelization occurred in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Indian architecture that borrowed generously from European sources. Many nineteenth-century terra-cotta temples of Bengal, for example, incorporated European themes in their architecture. Several of them contained decorative motifs that spoke of European presence in the social landscape of Bengal, including figures of missionaries, European judges and soldiers, and neo-Palladian buildings. In addition, a favorite theme was that of steam ships and railways.Ref.41 But a conception of 'pure' Indian art, unadulterated by outside influence, allowed them to reject these new themes emerging in Indian arts and architecture as unauthentic and even ridiculous.
The native culture that was most prone to such ridicule was that of the urbanized middle classes, whose dress, manners, and architecture were all caricatured as poor attempts to mimic the west.Ref.42 In architecture this was the denial of the urban vocabulary of nineteenth century Indian cities which contained a mixture of Indian and European design idioms to express the identity of their inhabitants -- the urbanized middle class of cities like Calcutta.Ref.43 Such hybrid vocabulary was disconcerting to Britons because it attempted to blur cultural boundaries that they presumed justified British rule. The central problem with such hybridity was not just that it implied a changing native culture but that it also indicated the impossibility of generating a sovereign British existence untouched by native culture. A clear distinction between authentic and contaminated, art and non-art, Indian and European, was necessary to reject the similarities between the east and contemporary west.
 Figure 4: The 'hut' and 'palace' (Source: Illustrated London News, July 1886) |
Defined thus and when confronted with other cultures (in this case the culture of the colonized) debates arose concerning the desirability and inevitability of modernization, and the capacity of these cultures to adapt modern systems.Ref.45 Although the negotiations were enormously complex, a set of simple dichotomies were used to characterize the qualities of the 'impacted' and the 'impactor.' Lost in this debate was the notion that these categories were not apriori entities, they were constructed.Ref.46 The juxtaposition of thematically opposite entities were at the heart of such construction.
Just as architects of the exhibitions juxtaposed their reformed modern monuments against unreformed oriental architecture, Le Corbusier's design for Chandigarh, hailed and blamed as the epitome of modern planning, was perfectly located. One may argue that its impact on the world of modern architecture could not have been as great had it been built in Europe or North America. Indian architecture, judged as the ultimate example of a tradition whose virtues lay in the ancient past, provided the perfect counterfoil for Corbusier. It was against the background of this tradition that he could explicate his modern concerns. Modernism was finally emancipated from the quibbling over narrow differences by being transferred from the metropolitan to a colonial domain where such distinctions could be set up with more violence but less protest.
If colonial administrators, politicians, and western intellectuals used the culture of a particular time and period -- the culture of European modernity -- to interrogate the cultural, economic and political movements in the rest of the world, post-colonial history until very recently acquiesced to such interrogations. Those historians and scholars who challenged the idea that Indian-ness was incompatible with modernity rarely questioned the idea of a universalized modernism that was also inherently western.Ref.47 It is important to reiterate here that the idea of modernity and modernization have always been value-laden and seen as inextricably linked to the idea of progress and improvement. While creative efforts were made to disprove the theory of backwardness, architecture and planning questions in the twentieth century were based on the received framework of an essentialized east and a monolithic west, developed and developing.Ref.48 Consequently, recent architectural history of India suffers from three symptoms: the binding proposition of global capitalism,Ref.49 the desire to interpret Indian history as part of a western authoritarian discourse, and the refusal to see the changing aspects of Indian architecture as indigenous processes. A foundational notion of global capitalism subsumes race, gender and ethnic fractions within it, and denies the colonized and ex-colonized diverse positions from which to challenge its binding proposition.Ref.50 In doing so it selectively erases the politics of representation and masks the possibility that a 'modern' culture can be internally wrought in the 'non-west.'
The adoption of homogenizing frameworks parallels the preoccupation among recent historians of India to concentrate on the western component of colonial Indian architecture and planning.Ref.51 Despite E. B. Havell's rebuke almost a century earlier, historians have not totally abandoned reading Indian architectural history as part of a western discourse.Ref.52 Such assertions require a complicated balancing act of constantly figuring out the difference between the west and the ex-colonized, while at the same time trying to domesticate the ex-colonized within the framework of the west. Because if one cannot do that, the historiography of Indian architecture and planning, in fact that of the non-west, can not be claimed as contained within western history.Ref.53 This process is strikingly similar to the ideological tension in colonial exhibitions where the authorities struggled to clearly distinguish between the west and non-west, and yet desired to contain the non-west within a domesticated idiom.
In this project of claiming turf, the colonial conceptions of authentic-India-is-unchanging-India and the idea of change necessarily initiated by the west has been internalized by historians and critics to a remarkable degree. For example, the insistence of historians that Indian architecture degenerated in its cohabitation with European styles is based on the fundamental assumption that the authenticity of Indian architecture is in its unchanging nature.Ref.54 If it is changing it is not authentic Indian, it is westernized (for good or bad). There is no third option in between being authentic Indian (either despotic or servile) and being western (either debased or enlightened). Within the definitions used there is no site from where one could create a modern Indian architecture or any other Indian form of modern culture. Any attempt by Indians to deviate from a traditional repertoire labels them as westernized -- a paradox that 'westerners' do not confront as consumers of a world culture. Wearing Indian fabric or cherishing Indian art does not make anyone 'Indianized,' simply free individuals operating in the world market, which does not require them to surrender their American or British identity, for example. Given the present structure of discourse it is almost impossible for the 'non-west' not to lapse into western definitional captivity. Borrowing a term from Indian colonial history I call the process the 'Doctrine of Lapse.' It demonstrates that twentieth century modernism and modernization theory took off where nineteenth century orientalism left off, leaving a foundational discourse intact.Ref.55 In challenging the rigidity of the models of modernism and global capitalism, I am not claiming that the notion of modernity or the mechanisms of modernism are false, or that global capitalism is a fiction. Rather I reiterate an important point made recently by historiansRef.56 -- we need to deconstruct these categories if we are to fully appreciate the processes they imply, the resistance they invite, and how such categorical fixities are transgressed.
Twentieth century architectural historians have stubbornly reproduced cultural categories conceived in the past two centuries with the result that these categories accumulate meaning beyond their immediate use as labels of convenience. To avoid such reification we need to question the ideological underpinnings of the history we have inherited, and rethink how we conduct architectural history. Jettisoning a false opposition between formal and social analysis, we need to examine buildings as part of a larger landscape, paying attention to the space of everyday experience in which rhetorical and cultural boundaries are most often transgressed. Even the most authoritarian social or political power cannot possibly contain human experience within pre-determined boundaries. The sensory world is too fluid to be held hostage to classification, and human desire too determined to be contained by definitional incarcerations.Ref.57 In the light of spatial experience categories such as colonized/colonizer, east/west are inherently unstable and provide the loci to disrupt their essentializations. For example, despite the desire to draw clear boundaries along race lines, cities like nineteenth-century Calcutta illustrated the difficulty of realizing such distinctions. The nineteenth-century building plans of the 'white' town, inspired as much by Indian precedents as by British aesthetic choices, created a hybrid spatial order that resisted the creation of difference. The dependence on native labor made the most intimate spaces of these residences accessible to natives -- a transparent world in which the natives moved in and out with clothes, food and orders. Similarly the opaqueness of the 'black' town was penetrated by the census and the police. In short, the critical aspect of colonial cities resided not in the clarity of white and black, colonizer and colonized, but in the blurring of such boundaries and in the creation of a hybrid topography that defied easy classification.
Developing the idea of hybrid spaces is beyond the scope of this short essay, but future inquiry must take the concept more seriously instead of dismissing such artifacts as irrational or in poor taste. If architectural historians have concentrated on how boundaries in the form of walls, fences and spatial extension are constructed, how access is defined, and how form is intended to contain and shape experience, it is also time to recognize how such boundaries are penetrated and dissolved, how formal meaning is reinterpreted and changed, and how the insertion of an individual work in the cultural landscape irretrievably makes it part of a larger structure, its meaning and experience open to interpretation and appropriation. If the power structure in such a landscape is diffuse, we need to scan the landscape for the mobile and uncertain loci of resistance to such power. Such a mobile perspective would help us recognize the historicity of architectural knowledge -- a good place to begin a critical history.
Copyright 1997 by Swati Chattopadhyay
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