By Amy Vanderwal

Guest Writer

The east campus architectural project has tilted heads and tickled ears. An article in these pages judged the new DeVos Communication Arts and Sciences building and Prince Conference Center to be a thin stretch from the philosophy of William Fyfe, Calvin's original architect. Yet, after discussing the project in depth with Calvin's present architect, Frank Gorman, I see the new buildings as potentially very sensitive to Fyfe's philosophy, and perhaps much more promising than they seem in their incomplete phase.

It is crucial to understand the mission of Calvin to make accurate judgments about the new communications buildings budding east of the Beltline. Calvin's catalogue and 1991 facilities planning manual plainly state that Calvin ``seeks to serve Christ and his kingdom.'' This is the philosophy of the chief designers of Calvin. In the ongoing stages of development of the master plan, it has featured prominently in the work of both Fyfe and Gorman.

The principles for design Fyfe bequeaths to Gorman include sensitivity to site, program, materials and technology. Fyfe's ``credo'' for design based on these four root principles essentially follows nine concepts taken from the facilities master plan: 1. The quality of learning is influenced by the physical environment. 2. A campus and its facilities should reflect the purposes and programs of the institution. 3. A unifying character to a campus should be identifiable without being monotonous. 4. Buildings do not, of themselves, create a campus. However, a consciously created composition of facilities and open spaces does create a campus. 5. A natural or architectural element should symbolize the campus. 6. The physical organization of a campus should express in an orderly manner its functions without rigidity nor regimentation. 7. The design and arrangement of campus facilities should reflect the character of the site. 8. There must be allowance for growth and change. 9. Campuses are for people. The scale should be human and not monumental. The buildings should be dignified but not forbidding. The atmosphere should be stimulatingly busy but not crowded. The facilities should be convenient for pedestrians and not intruded upon by automobiles.

Another primary principle is the ``integration of all knowledge.'' This is noted in the ``Principles for the Development of the Master Plan'' prepared by Perkins & Will, the architecture firm Fyfe was affiliated with during his term as Calvin's master planner. The ``oneness of all knowledge'' calls the campus plan ``a single court, centrally located on high land and embracing all of the academic buildings.'' ``Oneness'' suggests that although ``the buildings are shown for the most part as separate entities, any degree of continuity may be established.'' Fyfe imagines an integrated campus where ``buildings may be completely separated, as on the present campus; they may be connected by covered or enclosed passageways; they may be developed as a continuous building; or a combination of these alternatives may develop.'' Fyfe concludes, ``Regardless of the program developed, the over-riding consideration is a sense of a partially cloistered academic world dominating the campus.''

The argument that Gorman has not protected Fyfe's principals for site, program, materials and technology is a fragile one. ``Times have changed,'' Gorman remarks. ``We have changed the whole architectural principle.'' There are different demands today than there were fifty years ago. Gorman calls himself the ``conductor of an orchestra'' directing a program influenced by structural codes, traffic and parking requirements, environmental demands, donor requests and many more current and dynamic variables.

The solution to conducting so many inputs is what Gorman calls ``a counterpoint,'' a way to relate to something. ``That's what Calvin is all about. We want to relate to each other.'' An architect's job is to balance the inputs that stretch him so many different directions. The new and old buildings interplay between north and south, inactivity and activity. Entries to most buildings on campus face south; few face north. This little unknown element in the master plan creates a complex barrier between the light, noise and pollution from the south and the nature preserve in the north.

The new buildings, like the already-existing buildings, are also integrated with the landscape, sensitive to its bending and giving. Like the FAC, Spoelhof Center, and Hiemenga Hall, there are entries on multiple levels in the DeVos and Prince buildings. The objective in layering the buildings is to give the ground room to breathe, not to suffocate it. These are examples of how Gorman approaches obstacles in his planning, holding closely to what Fyfe intended.

Maybe the most vibrant component of the ``counterpoint'' is the overpass that connects it. A major concern was that the overpass would become an icon, the main symbol of the college. Instead, Gorman calls it ``a beautiful symbolic gesture of what we as Christians should be. We need to be a bridge to all of humanity.'' Gorman recalls Matthew 5:14-15, ``You are the light of the world - like a city on a mountain, glowing in the night for all to see. Don't hide your light under a basket! Instead, put it on a stand and let it shine for all'' (The Living Bible).

Fyfe equips us with principles for design that closely correspond with Calvin's objective to sincerely honor the Lord. In a 1955 dissertation on the long-range plan for Calvin, Fyfe concludes, ``No forward move was ever made without the boldness of faith. Using the talents of judgment which God has given us, resorting much to prayer, and enjoying the confidence of our constituency, we can and must be daring.'' Whatever is required in order to sustain such reverent audacity, Fyfe dares us to do it.

Gorman has accepted the challenge, and he is intrepid. Gorman strives to exhibit a vernacular of design that demonstrates his devotion to Christ. It is his intent with every new day to employ an architectural rhetoric that demonstrates his gratitude to our excellent Lord. Gorman's latest project is, ``like a city on a mountain, glows in the night.'' The communications buildings surfacing in the east are in the limelight ``for all to see.'' It is a brilliant testimony of our security in Christ at a time when protection comes at a high cost. Even when fires seethe, towers collapse, fine brothers exhale one last time; we stand unscathed in the fiery furnace of this world, protected in Christ. We are ``unburned, walking around in the fire. We are not even hurt by the flames!'' (Dan. 3:25).

Like Nebuchadnezzar, we cannot keep the miracle of God's satisfying security silent any more. Instead, ``I want you all to know about the miraculous signs and wonders the Most High God has performed for me'' (Dan. 4:2). As children of God, this is our awestruck avowal. Gorman's response: ``Let the architecture speak for itself.'' What compels Gorman in his design is nothing but the supreme will of the Lord. He submits, ``If no one else agreed, I would still seek the Lord's will.''

Part of Fyfe's philosophy was that ``one does not see a building, one experiences it.'' We all will be able to experience these buildings in just a couple of months. All we see now is the cover to a potentially thrilling book, and even more, it is only one book in a series yet to unfold. The campus project is not complete; it is an ongoing, ever-changing, fascinating thing. A city on a hill.