1 Introduction
Architectural design is a process that always requires empathy. Through imaginative exchange of roles and viewpoints, the architect positions their own identity in the role of the intended inhabitant. In this process, the designer is compelled to act as an ephemeral representative of the future occupants. However, in most occasions, architectural design is associated with the process to merely “create” rather than to “emphasize”. According to cultural theorist Elke Krasny (2019), despite the fundamental function of architecture to support humans’ everyday living through providing protection and facilitating spaces, the idea of “the architect” is linked with independent genius and autonomy, rather than dependency, connectedness, or care. Meanwhile, modern architecture is frequently criticized for its lack of emotionality and detachment from life. Le Corbusier’s (1927) assertion that “Architecture is the masterly, correct and magnificent play of masses” conceptualized it as an aesthetically independent entity, disengaged from the lived realities of connected existence.
To re-evoke the sense of life and emotional attachment to the space, in recent years, calls for “care” in architecture are becoming prevalent. Yet, the frequent invocation of this term has rendered it a trendy expression, often deteriorating into a tool of commercial rhetoric. Beyond its function as a marketing gloss for sustainable architecture, neoliberal governance has made caring for “the self” prevalent in individualised biopolitical morality (Goodman and Boyd, 2011). People are summoned to care for everything, but foremost, for “ourselves”, our bodies and our lifestyle – reducing care to its most “parochial” caricature (Tronto, 1993).
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2 The Decline of Satoyama as a Wicked Problem
Hills and mountains cover more than 70% of the total land area in Japan. The Satoyama landscape is a small-scale agricultural landscape adapted to this topography that is often referred to as the symbol of the Japanese rural landscape in which a harmonious relationship between Sato (human communities) and Yama (mountain) is sustained. During the rapid economic growth period (1955–1973), Satoyama was first revalued as the site for suburban growth. However, since population shrinkage started in the 1970s, the size of Satoyama communities has been decreasing, life quality for the remaining residents is lowering, and the abandonment and collapse of communities are becoming inevitable (Diamond, 2005). Meanwhile, without sufficient management and traditional forestry and agricultural practices, biodiversity in both the Satoyama woodlands and paddy fields is also declining significantly.
As opposed to “tame” problems that are well defined, with limited goals and a set of well-determined rules, problems such as design and planning, are invariably “wicked” (Coyne, 2005). According to Rittel and Webber (1973), while researchers are ideally positioned to identify and solve tame problems through innovation and development, when confronting wicked problems, there is no definitive formulation, foreseeable resolutions or a clear endpoint. Historically, Satoyama was a crucial component of the cultural landscape in Kyoto that was nurtured carefully by generations of its residents. With its “optimum use” consummated to an end, nowadays, not only the natural landscape itself but also the residents who remain there are suffering from the consequences of abandonment and neglect. The decline of the Satoyama landscape is an interplay between both the cultural and natural landscape – it is a problem that cannot be tackled on either side alone. There are no “optimal solutions” or “ultimate tests” that yield universally conclusive and absolute responses, thus it is intrinsically “wicked”.
In order to reverse land abandonment and revive the Satoyama landscape, initiatives in the form of government programs and local citizens’ movements started as early as the 1980s. However, even though such regeneration measures have been continual and regular, overall, they have had little effectiveness in reversing either demographic shrinkage or landscape decay (Matanle and Rusch, 2011). In the form of designating Satoyama landscapes in Kyoto as “a background for the historical town”, the municipal government has adopted an environmentalist method that lets nature “take its course” and regenerate autonomously. However, relying solely on this “natural process” for forest regeneration entails a significantly extended timeline and may result in landscapes with diminished aesthetic appeal. An alternative proposed by local forestry experts involves the systematic replanting of selected species of trees in designated rows. Given the historical context of the original forest potentially being a postwar coppice wood production plantation, this strategy essentially constitutes replacing what was taken. Although the resulting new forests are expected to exhibit accelerated growth rates and enhanced aesthetic appeal to human observers, the soil’s capacity to support a diverse array of flora and fauna is expected to decline significantly (Brecher, 2000). Supported by local developers, a third approach is to convert abandoned Satoyama into recreational facilities such as parks, ski areas, or golf courses. Advocates argue that this option optimally utilizes abandoned land by facilitating public enjoyment. However, it is evident that this type of further exploitation of Satoyama could further compromise the ecological integrity of Satoyama, rendering it unsuitable for many indigenous species and exacerbating the challenges associated with soil fertility restoration. Furthermore, the introduction of infrastructure associated with recreational facilities, such as parking lots and increased exhaust and pollution, poses additional threats to the remaining local inhabitants and their living environment.
3 Issues with Current Responses
3.1 Environmentalism in the Context of Satoyama
In history, a vital and dynamic Satoyama landscape is maintained through connectedness between the village and the mountain. It requires long-term engagement and active devotion, with careful attention to each cypress and every segment of the paddy fields. The inability to sustain a balanced preservation scheme for Satoyama has uncovered underlying problems in projects that adopt a mere environmentalist approach. Fundamentally, these issues stem from a lack of empathy and neglect of interdependency.
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The primary concern revolves around the notion that the envisioned “natural landscape” may never authentically represent a truly “natural” state. While commendable efforts have bolstered the presence of certain wildlife species in Kyoto, such as the Sika Deer, the absence of natural predators has led to an abnormal surge in the local deer population, consequentially impeding the growth of secondary forests and exacerbating conflicts with nearby human communities. Meanwhile, for large conservation schemes, the aim of most Satoyama management projects is to restore a picturesque image of nature. Nevertheless, the history of Satoyama has always been dynamic and continually evolving in line with the changing values and livelihoods of successive generations (Fukamachi et al. 2001). Rather than “restore” a static image, it is more crucial to redevelop a contemporary relationship between local communities and resurgent Satoyama woodlands. A third challenge inherent in such conservation undertakings lies in delineating what is and what is not “worthy” of being preserved or systematized. While constituting a major inducement for increasing human-wildlife conflicts, local authorities are inclined to take the opposite view that nothing could be more “environmentally sound” than for nature to re-take over the space that humans are no longer occupying. This poses a further question: how do we discern the superiority or “naturalness” of one environment over another?
Due to the necessity of “preserving the wilderness”, environmentalist and conservation projects are only accelerating the humanization of the landscape through regulating “wilderness” under a human-defined system and defining what is “worth” to preserve and what is not. Although it is not such projects’ intention to domestic or exploit nature furthermore, following this same ideology, should all species and environments that do not satisfy our need for survival or won’t fit into our framework for nature be eliminated? Would doing the “natural” thing, the Darwinian process, be the “right” thing?
3.2 Professionalism: Carer | Architect Divide
Professionalism, the “classical paradigm of science and engineering” (Rittel and Webber, 1973), is supposedly well-suited for addressing “definable, understandable and consensual” problems. However, this paradigm is not applicable when it comes to wicked problems, as the once unified and authoritative body of professional knowledge begins to crack in open societal structures where uncertainties prevail. As pointed out by Schön (1963), a contributing factor to the failure of social professions in developing robust responses to wicked problems is the emulation of the occupational and cognitive approaches traditionally used in science and engineering.
In its most extensive sense, architecture provides protection that is indispensable to the survival and continuation of human life – this is evidently a form of sensibility and care. Nonetheless, despite the fundamental function of architecture to support humans’ everyday living through providing protection and facilitating function, the idea of “the architect” as a profession is linked with independent genius and autonomy. Independency, this glorified idea embedded in Western consciousness, is connected with creativity and intellectuality of the artist. Yet, as Krasny (2019) claims, the liberation of the artist from obligations of mundane drudgery is based exactly on dependency – the reproductive labour provided by caregivers. Within contemporary architecture, the myth of the architect as an autonomous creator has shaped the profession, distancing the architect’s identity and work from the realm of care. But can architects truly elude the responsibility to care, or their dependence on care?
Countless social factors, both corporeal and ethereal, are intertwined within the same ecosystem. The preservation and maintenance of the natural landscapes of Satoyama are entangled with both the narratives and the recollections. Surpassing a purely environmentalist approach that relies solely on scientific methodologies, a more promising resolution would be the formulation of an integrated system. This system would meld the essence of humanity with the precision of science, fusing emotional intelligence with logical reasoning to create a more holistic and effective paradigm.
4 The Empathetic Response
Design challenges are frequently characterized as intricate and inherently problematic (Buchanan, 1995). These “wicked” problems present a dualistic nature in design: they are a significant menace, yet they also unveil boundless opportunities to transcend conventional linear approaches and foster interconnectedness. The coexistence of diverse entities and disciplines within these complex issues necessitates a design process that actively seeks and establishes interdependencies among them. Despite the scientific and technological boundaries in identifying and measuring the interactions within a networked system, these challenges should not deter designers from striving to connecting with and establishing connections among the agents they design for. Empathy is a universal ability that transcends language, knowledge, and species barriers. It is key to establishing interdependency.
4.1 Empathetic Imagination
The architectural design process is an emotive journey that oscillates between the assimilation and externalization of ideas, underscored by a methodology of constant trials. As Valéry (1956) frames, every architectural project is “built” several times: they originate as diffuse visions and bodily feelings, and it is only until they are experienced as functional edifices within the tapestry of life, cultivating emotional resonance and spiritual echoes in the souls of those who inhabit it, will its true value emerge.
Science has its boundaries and may not fully elucidate all aspects of complex problems. Yet, as is the nature of humans, we employ imagination as a means to extend our perception beyond the tangible environment, transforming possibilities into reality. John Dewey (1934) highlights that it is through imaginative vision that we uncover the potentialities embedded within the reality of our existence.
Neither the imaginative nor the imaginary can exist independent of a bio-sociocultural context. The act of imagining forms and spaces transcends simple visual imagination; it involves a personal connection, a deep embodiment, and emotional investment in the entity as an imaginative extension of oneself. In the process of architectural design, “the being” is not only the architect themselves, but a collective and extensive existence of history and culture.
While imagination expands and intensifies our experience of time, drawing potentialities into existence, empathy extends our experience of space, permitting us to project ourselves into the internal experiences of others based on our own somatic existence (Robinson, 2015). Regardless of whether these others are people, animals, places, or objects, this innate and intuitive ability is a vibrant relational pattern that amplifies our consciousness of the extensive emotional resonances present in the world. Empathy broadens the scope of our individual existence to include the lived experiences of others, thereby deepening, augmenting, and shaping the foundation for our interdependent existence. Deeply interrelational and inherently ecological, empathy extends our engagement with the world and activates the entities we design for, whether they are human or more-than-human.
4.2 Emotive Engagement
Understanding another’s full experience might be inevitably unattainable, yet there’s a shared intrinsic purpose among all living beings: to survive and to sustain. This universal impulse transcends the need for scientific rationale - it is an inherent principle of life. We all possess the intrinsic capacity – our emotions - to recognize the distress of other beings, and as Leopold (1949) posits, within the broader biological community, there exists a moral imperative to mitigate suffering and contribute to the collective good. Echoing this sentiment, de la Bellacasa (2017) in her Speculative Ethics of Care, articulates that interdependency transcends contractual obligations or moral aspirations; it is an inherent reality of existence.
Certain emotions are indeed rooted in the physiological and psychological states of a being, yet every emotion is experienced in connection to the objects they are associated with. Dewey (1967) posited that objects and emotions are inseparable components of a singular consciousness. The bond between an emotion and its object is not external, but deeply integrated; the emotion embodies the object itself. Moreover, emotions initiate a wave of motion. Architectural spaces are not merely inert backgrounds for functions and activities. They orchestrate, direct, and provoke desires, emotions, and actions. The essence of architecture is thus not only found in its existential and poetic nature, but in the lived and felt experiences that bind us to the profound human historicity of inhabitance. As Pallasmaa (2015) illustrates, “we live in resonance with our world and architecture mediates and maintains that very resonance.” Consequently, instead of solely visual perception, spaces arise from our lived interaction with countless other lives that surround us and countless stories that are behind us. The lived and experienced attributes of architecture – as a space for interaction and interdependency – necessitate an approach for empathic imagination. Fundamentally, the architect does not transpose the space into their own present reality, they imagine the space’s own reality and position themselves within it, along with countless other lives.
4.3 Design Implication
Empathy is inherently present in design to grasp the prospective needs of those we are designing for. In smaller architectural projects, the design objectives are often straightforward. However, in more complex schemes like large-scale landscape and urban design, identifying a definitive group of clients and specific design objectives can be challenging. This is exemplified in the case of the decaying Satoyama landscapes in Japan - with the landscape’s “optimum use” consummated to an end, both the natural environment and the local inhabitants are suffering from the adverse effects of neglect and abandonment. Relying solely on scientific methodologies may create the impression that it is impossible to comprehensively discern and address the requirements of all stakeholders within such a multifaceted system or to map out all potential interrelations. However, this does not justify leaving the “wickedness” unaddressed or adhering strictly to an environmentalist approach without seeking to intervene.
Against extreme environmentalism, Clément (2006) proposes the notion of “humanist ecology”: an approach to conceptualising the relationships between living beings based on principles of ecology, but without ever excluding the presence of the human emotionality. In terms of dealing with decay in Satoyama landscapes, an empathetic notion would then indicate a path to confront and reverse the homogenization of the environment while preserving human senses, stories, and memories. In Kyoto, Satoyama mainly exists in the form of paddy fields. In addition to its food production nature and ecosystem services, Satoyama paddies in Kyoto also represent a spiritual homeland for citizens where they are able to find not only aesthetic values but also a strong bond with their ancestors and national identity (Aizaki, Sato and Osari, 2006).
Efforts to counteract land abandonment in Kyoto began in the 1980s, exemplified by initiatives like the new Tanada Ownership System. This program motivates non-farming individuals to lease and farm a plot of land with the guidance of the landowners. A study (Kieninger, Penker, and Yamaji, 2012) exploring the reasons behind the engagement of tenants and volunteers in this program highlighted that aesthetic and emotional considerations play a significant role in their decision to participate. The primary incentive for tenants was found to be a simple affection for rice terraces. Moreover, over 70% of tenants reported a heightened sense of spirituality and a deeper emotive connection with nature after engaging with the land over an extended period.
The Tanada Ownership System catalyzed a rural-urban exchange that began with communal rice and soybean farming and later expanded to include traditional crafts. The Preservation Association played a crucial role by providing support and facilities for a variety of cultural and recreational events, ranging from theatre and traditional music festivals to landscape photography contests, harvest celebrations, local craft workshops, and the restoration of historic homes for shared experiences and communal uses. This array of offerings enabled volunteers and tourists to cultivate a deep connection with the Satoyama landscape that is alive and active.
James Corner (2000) proposes that landscape recovery is a multifaceted process that intertwines the restoration of collective memory, the reevaluation of social functionality, along with ecological diversification and succession. Through this holistic approach, the vital cultural and natural processes that uphold the diversity of life are in a state of perpetual transformation. This evolution is nurtured through a sustained commitment to empathize with and care for the land, reinforcing the intricate web of mutual dependence and connection.
5 Conclusion
One may never be able to truly understand or imagine the existence of others, particularly when those “others” extend beyond human beings. However, this complexity should not deter architects from striving to understand and to empathize. This pursuit is a deliberate action connecting the designer to the broader world and aligns with the universal pursuit of life, continuity, and the enhancement of well-being within the broader ecological community, transcending societal or ethical frameworks.
The concept of an autonomous self, distinct and separate from others, is both philosophically and scientifically obsolete. Our identities are shaped by the interplay of biological, emotional, and socio-cultural influences. Evolution is therefore not just about individuals and their genetic endowments but about the dynamic interactions between organisms and their environments. Accepting this profound interconnectedness requires us to transcend traditional dichotomies that separate mind from body, nurture from nature, as well as architecture from its ecological roots.
Architecture materialises our cultural and political ideologies, serving as a physical manifestation of our intrinsic values and our engagement with the greater universe. Acknowledging the fundamental role of emotion in our interaction with the world, in decision-making, and in logic and understanding empathy as an ability that flourishes or diminishes based on our surroundings calls for substantial shifts in our educational paradigms and in the way we conceive and construct our habitats.
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