3.1 Article 1 - Global Built Environment Review

Ali Faruki M
GBER Vol. 3 No. 1 pp 15-25
Locating Dhaka:
A Study of Potential Inspirations for Louis Kahn’s
National Assembly
Mustafa Ali Faruki∗
School of Oriental and African Studies, London
Abstract
Two decades have passed since the completion of Louis Kahn’s Citadel of the
Assembly in Dhaka, Bangladesh. In that span of time, the National Assembly
building has received both enthusiastic praise and harsh criticism from
architectural designers and scholars alike. This paper focuses on a particular aspect
of recent critical responses to Kahn’s work in Dhaka: that is, interpretations
surrounding the conceptual origins of the building’s design. While Kahn never
explicitly linked his work to South Asian architectural paradigms, such a connection
has gained popularity. The paper endeavours to both explore and problematize this
historicist view. Alternative explanations of the motives behind Kahn’s Assembly
building are also examined. While no rigid conclusions can be immediately drawn
in relation to this rather abstract study, the paper attempts to present what may be
an additional means of understanding the National Assembly, via aspects of work
completed elsewhere in Kahn’s design career.
Introduction
Is Louis Kahn’s design for Dhaka’s National Assembly inspired by a Bengali - or even
Indian - tradition?1 While some have emphatically argued—often in praise of Kahn—that the
complex is distinctively ‘of the land’, the reality, I think, leads us not necessarily to that
conclusion (Rashid, 1991: 39). Although it is true that Kahn studied extensively major
monumental works of architecture in Pakistan, India, and even Iran quite immediately before
the onset of his work in Dhaka, these preliminary explorations should not be viewed as
tantamount to the architectural foundations of the National Assembly (Sevcenko, 1984: 72).
To begin with, Kahn’s writing and thought process with regards to the Assembly building
stridently question the assertion that the project sought to conform to Bengali, Mughal, or
South Asian paradigms. Indeed, the architect himself was particularly averse towards any
endeavour seeking to re-locate an historic Mughal architecture into the designs of the modern
day. In expressing his thoughts about the use of Islamic designs in contemporary building,
Kahn wrote, “[T]hese lies, these frauds, do not exhibit Islamic Architectures. These can
appeal to only those who are fond of outward manifestation of religion without basic
fundamental purity of thought and action”. In essence, Kahn aspired to what he deemed to be
an ‘honesty of purpose’ in architectural design, one in which only the techniques and
materials of the present day would be used to create the structures of contemporary times
(Hossain, 1992: 44)2. Moreover, a determination to avoid oversimplified pastiche or obvious
references to the forms of the past was a concomitant of Kahn’s personal approach to design.
Indeed, when given the suggestion by his client that the Assembly’s intricate series of
punctured vertical sky-light walls might easily be arranged into a dome-like shape, thus
replicating a ‘local style’, Kahn refused outright (Goldhagen, 2001: 181). In her recently
published work detailing the major projects of Kahn’s career, Goldhagen proposes that the
∗
Mustafa Ali Faruki is MA student in history of art at the School of Oriental and African Studies, London.
Email: [email protected]
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architect’s ‘modernist sensibilities’ as well as his pursuits of honesty and ‘authenticity’ in the
design process most probably explain Kahn’s eschewal of overt quotations of Mughal or
Islamic forms in his designs for the National Assembly (2001: 186).
Notwithstanding Kahn’s own ruminations surrounding his work at Dhaka, a series of recent
interpretations of the National Assembly - including that of Goldhagen - have sought to
connect that building to aspects of the Mughal planning tradition. This paper focuses on these
assertions of a link between Kahn’s Assembly building and Mughal South Asia. To start, I
will discuss various connections of this sort that have recently been made by both Western as
well as Bangladeshi scholars and architects. In the hope of casting doubt on these historicist
analyses, I will offer alternative possibilities regarding the inspirations of Kahn’s work that
have been presented by additional publications on the National Assembly and its meanings:
these include the view - often expressed as criticism - that the Assembly is simply an
articulation of Kahn’s Beaux-Arts architectural training and experience. Also mentioned,
however briefly, is the notion that the National Assembly building represents a ‘universal’
approach to building design as espoused by the architect. The paper will culminate with my
suggestion that Kahn’s work in Dhaka might best be understood when viewed in conjunction
with other examples of the architect’s later design projects. In sum, my primary motive is to
problematize the idea that, through the National Assembly, Kahn sought to re-present
principles of Mughal architecture; theories ascribing the Assembly building - part and parcel
- to the beaux-arts predilections of the architect are also, it will be argued, somewhat
incomplete.
View of Assembly Building
Vaulted roof over Assembly Chamber
This paper relies heavily on the above mentioned publication by Sarah Goldhagen, as well as
on the critical assessments of Lawrence Vale and Sten Nilsson; the published research of
Delwar Hossain regarding the symbolism and potential origins of the National Assembly
building has also been of great assistance. These authors, along with the other writers
referenced in this paper, have gone beyond a simple laudatory description of Kahn’s
assembly building, opting for a more critical and analytical approach. While my paper rests,
in comparison to the in-depth research and fieldwork of my sources, on a more superficial
level, I have nonetheless attempted to emulate this style of critical interpretation in my work.
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The Mughal Aspect: Connections and Misconnections
Arguments supporting a relationship between the National Assembly and the Mughal
building tradition have utilised both specific architectural details as well as more general,
abstract links in the hopes of advancing their cause. For example, Delwar Hossain, following
in William Curtis’ footsteps3, has highlighted a connection between the plans of the National
Assembly and those of “rectangular three-domed mosques found all over Mughal Bengal”.
Hossain notes that the roof structures of this Bengali Mughal architecture is reflected in the
floor plans of Kahn’s Assembly (through the use of a change in tile pattern or floor levels);
however, Hossain cautiously adds that this ‘subliminal relationship’ may not have been a
‘conscious decision’ of the architect, who never elicited such a scheme in discussing the
project (Hossain, 1992: 30). I must admit that Hossain’s inclusion of mosque floor plans—
part of the author’s attempt at linking those structures with the Assembly building - is rather
more confusing than helpful (Hossain, 1992: fig. 3.11). Kazi Ashraf has, in his writing
surrounding the National Assembly, indicated a more conceptual “spiritual communion with
certain aspects of Mughal planning and even the architectural order in such monastic
complexes as Nalanda and Paharpur; still, these claims are never substantiated in Ashraf’s
text, nor - once again - in Kahn’s own words” (Ashraf, 1989: 58). In any case, I think that
references - subliminal or otherwise - to Buddhist or Hindu paradigms would in no way
converge with the goals of architect or client in the Dhaka project.
In reading Sarah Goldhagen’s recent interpretation of Kahn’s National Assembly, one
realises that that author is also quite convinced of an outward link between the Assembly
building and “the architectural tradition of the people whom it serves”: her chapter on Kahn’s
work at Dhaka clearly articulates this theory by connecting the site’s reflecting pools,
building arrangements, and other various details to elements of the Taj Mahal and Fatehpur
Sikri in India (2001: 183, 186). Unfortunately, Goldhagen withholds an exploration of these
“oblique references”, most probably because they are not the focus of her overall
examination of Kahn’s singular brand of modernist architecture. A somewhat curious
example from Goldhagen’s book, however, is her reference to the marble inlays of the
National Assembly building as a Kahnian allusion to similar detail on monuments of the
Mughal tradition (2001: 183). In briefly making this connection, Goldhagen neglects to
mention the raison d’être of the marble bands: Kahn - for the sake of practicality – imposed a
vertical limit of five feet with regards to one day’s concrete pour, thus giving the Assembly a
standard unit of dimension, at least in height. However, the architect “did not like the cold
joints left by placing one day’s concrete directly on top of the previous day’s work”. To
remedy this, Kahn separated the daily pours of concrete with a 6-inch band that would later
be covered by marble inserts, thus creating “a design out of a necessity” (Steele, 1994: 131).
Indeed, for some of the building’s critics, the bands of marble actually solidify the National
Assembly’s distance from local traditions, presumably because of Kahn’s rather functional,
standardised use of a material that, in the Mughal context at least, carries functions of a more
decorative sort (Taylor, 1982: 38). As such, the question of whether this marble banding was
seen by Kahn as simply an evocation of tradition remains, I think, a debatable one; however,
its existence - in the first place - is, I would argue, a dictation of the architect’s personal
method and style, as opposed to a quotation of ‘local’ precursors.
Goldhagen also proposes that the system of lakes and waterways that encompasses the
National Assembly and its adjacent ministerial housing facilities is, yet again, evidence of
Kahn’s inspiration from a Mughal design aesthetic - specifically, a reference to the reflecting
pools of the Taj Mahal (2001: 180). Others have also taken this line, pointing to both the
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lakes as well as the surrounding gardens as symbolic links to the Mughal mausoleum
building tradition (Hossain, 192: 26). With regards to these waterways, I think a connection
to a localised format in more plausible; however, I question if ‘Mughal tradition was the
local’s sole contribution to the formulation of the lakes and canals. Indeed, Bangladesh’s
landscape has, historically, been conducive toward settlement generated by waterway
movement: could it be that Kahn was paying tribute to the geographic realities of his working
site? (Nilsson, 1978: 183). Goldhagen has mentioned Kahn’s defence of the Assembly’s
waterways in response to a sceptical and flood-wary client during the project’s early planning
stages: by claiming that they were part of a drainage system for the overall site, it appears
that the architect hoped to depict the lakes as more than just a historical allusion or stylistic
preference (Goldhagen, 2001: 180). As such, one could argue that Kahn’s waterways were
indeed a response to local environs. Moreover, aside from their flood-abating potential, the
lakes would, as a result of the earth-removal necessary for their creation, allow for the
erection of the raised platform on which the National Assembly itself would be built
(Hossain, 1992: 28). It would appear, then, that the inclusion of lakes and canals from the
onset and throughout the development of Kahn’s landscape plan for the National Assembly
complex may have drawn on localised, practical inspirations; still, I am dubious of
speculations ascribing the waterways to a suggested aesthetic historicism on the part of the
architect.
While some have praised Kahn’s lake system at Dhaka as a powerful demonstration of the
manner in which water can be controlled, others have been less impressed (Steele, 1994:
131). For these critics, the waterways are more representative of the architect’s failure to
consider local principles. Vale, for example, accuses the architect of ‘domesticating’ the
region’s traumatising memory of flooding into the hearts and minds of the Bangladeshi
people through his superfluous use of water around the National Assembly (1992: 259). Of
course, it is true that Kahn’s reliance on waterways, as an integral component of his plan was
a risky one, considering low-lying Bangladesh’s cyclone and flood-prone position. However,
I think that the risk was worth taking. It must be noted that the lakes and canals have not
proved to be an ostensible problem for the site, especially in comparison to the maintenance
woes encountered by other portions of the Capitol complex (Hossain, 1992: 36; Sevcenko
1984: 73; Steele, 1994: 133). As such, I think the waterways produce a significant—and
real—statement regarding the National Assembly’s possible connection to the realities of the
local context for Kahn’s work in Dhaka.
Alternative Approaches: Kahn, Universalism and the Beaux-Arts
Many contemporary interpretations of Kahn’s National Assembly at Dhaka, including some
of those mentioned earlier in this paper, have focused on the notion of that project as an
example of a ‘universalist’ approach to building design: these critics argue that the architect’s
work in Bangladesh was, at least in part, a fusion of local and Western building traditions
(Ashraf, 1989: 58; Goldhagen, 2001: 178). Al-Radi, for instance, views the integration of
such disparate elements as Humayun’s tomb, Agra’s Red Fort, and Roman baths and
pantheons as representative of a kind of symbolic ‘universalism’ embodied by the Assembly
building (Steele, 1994: 131). While al-Radi does not elaborate on this hybrid symbolism, my
guess is that the towers and barbicans of the Amar Singh and Delhi Gates at Agra have
probably played an important role in her conclusions. With respect to Humayun’s tomb, both
that building and the National Assembly stand on a grand platform; both structures also share
some elements in plan - for example, an essentially square design with subdivisions and cut
corners (Tadgell, 1995: 245). Incidentally, these similarities, though still vague in the final
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analysis, are, in my mind, much stronger than other alleged connections linking Kahn’s
marble bands (discussed earlier) to the Taj Mahal and the Assembly’s underground library to
Fatehpur Sikri’s Diwan-e-Khas (Goldhagen, 2001: 183). In promoting a somewhat similar
view of Kahn’s ‘universalist’ endeavours, Goldhagen outlines an emerging realisation among
Western designers in the 1950s regarding the (often negative) impacts of Euro-American
interference with other cultures. Did this new cultural sensitivity prompt Kahn - and many of
his peers - to pursue, at least in their work abroad, a hybridised architecture, one connecting
East and West (2001: 186)?
Kahn, the architect-social engineer, set out to construct a political and
symbolic capitol that actualised the political values he held to be universal.
He eventually did so in a manner that transcended the Eurocentrism of his
initial impulses. He developed an idiom that was a genuine “cross between
Western and Eastern” in an attempt to make Bengalis aware and proud of
their local traditions…(Goldhagen, 2001: 186).
The problem here is that, according to Goldhagen, Kahn is implementing a design strategy
based on what he believes to be universal principles. In short, if Kahn’s universalism stems
from his own (rather intricate) philosophies on architecture, their universality, in my mind,
comes immediately into question. Equally important - with respect to this essay - is the
question of how Kahn managed to incorporate these “universal values” into the design of the
National Assembly. Does the (supposed) inclusion of more than one design “tradition” in a
building project imply that the work engenders a kind of universalism, as espoused by the
architect? An additional problem associated with this supposition of universality with relation
to the Assembly building is the issue of construction materials: Kahn’s insistence of the use
of concrete, a substance completely alien to the building traditions of Bangladesh,
complicates notions of the architect’s universalist tendencies (Rashid, 1991: 38)4. In any
case, this issue of universality itself is of debatable significance, as Kahn never designated
elements of his work at Dhaka as part of a ‘universal’ design paradigm.
Still other critics have pointed to a more abstract breed of hybridity lurking - perhaps
coincidentally - in Kahn’s National Assembly. Ashraf, for example, points to Kahn’s
“philosophical speculations about the universal qualities in architecture” as strikingly
appropriate for a region that has historically witnessed a complicated tension between
resistance to and acceptance of norms imposed by Western influence (1989: 55, 58). Though
thought provoking, Ashraf’s explanations with regards to the subject of universality and
Kahn’s project in Dhaka does little to advance the notion of the National Assembly as a
product of cultural fusion, most probably because the author himself does not ostensibly see
the building as literally such (Ashraf, 1989: 58). Vale, among others, is heavily sceptical of
this notion of universalism in Kahn’s work. In criticism of Kahn’s view that “the language of
form transcended cultural differences”, Vale writes:
Architecture is produced not only by brilliant form-givers but also by the
culture that gives it meaning and by the heterogeneous society in which it
must stand. Especially when the architect comes from a different social and
cultural background from those who sponsor the architecture, it is hard to
avoid the temptation to elevate unacknowledged bias to the status of universal
truth (1992: 241).5
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It follows from the above discussion, then, that a link between Louis Kahn’s designs at
Dhaka and an indigenous architectural tradition is seen by various critics as ranging from
possible to obvious. Nevertheless, still other examiners of the National Assembly have traced
the building to a history quite apart from its Bengali site. Some have pointed to his statement
that “my designs at Dhaka are inspired actually by the Baths of Caracalla” as adequate proof
of Kahn’s adherence to the Beaux-Arts thinking of his practical training, in which the
architect could rely on the structures of the past - most notably those of classical Greece or
Rome - for guidance and inspiration (Hossain, 1992: 28; Scully, 1962: 11). Indeed, Lawrence
Vale has elaborated on this theory by finding a ‘perceptual’ relationship between the
Assembly’s top lighting and the Pantheon of Rome; others have drawn upon “ the concept of
enclosed space surrounding a sphere” as a significant connection between these two buildings
(Hossain, 1992: 29; Vale, 1992: 242). Still others have argued that, in citing the Roman
baths, Kahn was discussing not the National Assembly but his never-built “Citadel of
Institutions”, which, facing the Assembly building, would have housed a stadium, art
schools, facilities for exercise, and baths (Nilsson, 1978: 203)6. Nilsson is rather sceptical of
Kahn’s grandiose outlines for this un-built Citadel, noting that its elaborate program ‘seems
pathetic’ when considering the stark, harsh realities of day-to-day existence for most
Bangladeshis (1978: 203). In any case, both Vale and Nilsson would agree that Kahn’s vision
for Dhaka was a function of his own training and experience as opposed to a thoughtful
consideration of local factors and traditions.
The actual floor plans of Kahn’s National Assembly, as well as the overall site plans for the
entire Sher-e-Banglanagar complex (including the unbuilt Citadel of Institutions), could all
be, in my view, tentatively linked to Kahn’s training in the Beaux-Arts style of design.
Indeed, students of Kahn’s building career have argued that “the Beaux-Arts predilection for
classicizing symmetry”, along with its emphasis on dominating diagonal lines, remained a
consistent element of the architect’s design work (Scully, 1962: 13; Vale, 1992: 242). Of
course, one could posit that the centrality and symmetry of Kahn at Dhaka hearkens back to a
Mughal tradition; however, the architect’s designs for the Ewing Township Bathhouse in
New Jersey (1955), the Exeter Library (1972), and the Yale Center of British Art in New
Haven (1974) all point to a method of planning that cannot be connected, in totality, to
Kahn’s interest in South Asian tradition. Indeed, a look at certain portions of these and other
designs by Kahn belies the architect’s rigorous utilization and advancement of the principles
set forth in his Beaux-Arts schooling at the University of Pennsylvania in the 1920s7. The
geometries and ‘Piranesian systems’ of the National Assembly’s intricate plan - and that of
Sher-e-Banglanagar as a whole - might even explain why Kahn’s endeavours at Dhaka are
viewed by some as representative of the many ideals espoused by the architect throughout the
course of his design career (Goldhagen, 2001: 162; Nilsson, 1978: 193).
The Mark of Kahn: Similarities in the Later Works
Thus, the National Assembly’s symmetrical composition, diagonal interior arrangements, and
potential aesthetic links to the Roman-style baths and pantheons - all characteristics shared
by other Kahnian works - points rather convincingly towards a strong correlation with the
Beaux-Arts tradition. However, I think additional comparisons - aside from historical ones can also be useful in locating the potential origins of Kahn’s Assembly in Dhaka. For
example, various similarities between the National Assembly and the Salk Institute
Community Center (1959), also designed by Louis Kahn, should be highlighted. As the latter
project, due to the financial limitations of the client, remains un-built, a full-fledged study of
the links between these two buildings has never been undertaken (Lobell, 1979: 84).
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However, I believe that the two projects share significant characteristics - both in detail and
concept - and that a brief exploration of the two might be helpful in locating some of the
inspirations for the National Assembly8.
On the surface, it may appear that the National Assembly and the Salk Institute Community
Center - which is also referred to as the Salk Meeting House - have little in common, at least
with regards to their respective plans. However, a closer inspection would demonstrate that
the Salk building, like the Assembly, is a series of connected spaces enveloping a large,
enclosed interior. The Community Center’s expansive central court - although empty - was,
for Kahn, that building’s primary characteristic—“a fertile potential, a place for things which
are not yet, which still ‘desire to be’” (Lobell, 1979: 84). Indeed, the court might be used for
small gatherings or formal meetings, activities that may accurately satisfy the program of this
proposed work - a “meeting house”. In correlation with this emphasis on the significance of a
central space is Kahn’s Assembly Chamber at Dhaka, which is also a large hall in the centre
of the Assembly building. Unlike the Salk Center, Dhaka’s central chamber is not empty, but
full of - at least, in theory - busy legislators undertaking the tasks of governance. Yet here
again, Kahn has put at the centre what he saw as the building’s paramount function, that is:
“a place of transcendence for political people” (Lobell, 1979: 90). It appears, then, that at
least part of Kahn’s building design at Dhaka was informed by the architect’s own conceptual
concerns with interior arrangements and the significance of order through centrality (Scully,
1962: 43).
This Kahnian emphasis on the ideological importance of a large, structurally central space as exhibited in both the National Assembly and the Salk Meeting House - has made its mark
on some of the architect’s other, later works. Notably, Vale has compared Dhaka’s Assembly
Chamber to another one of Kahn’s full height central spaces, the great void of the Library in
Exeter, New Hampshire. In connecting the two structures, Vale is troubled by “the ease with
which the Bangladeshi legislators could be made to occupy the voided centre of the Exeter
Library” (1992: 244). In this instance, however, I think that Vale has missed the point of the
Exeter building, which, like the Salk Center and the National Assembly, carries a great
degree of conceptual consequence at its otherwise empty core. In the building’s centre, Kahn
saw all the complexities the Library would produce: that is, meaningful interactions between
the librarian, reader, books, and light (Lobell, 1979: 100). Thus, the Exeter Library, like the
Salk Community Center, provides us with additional insight into the arrangement of Kahn’s
plan at Dhaka, which places the philosophical heart of the project in a full-height space at the
building’s centre. I would add that this type of conceptual planning is, I think, less
conceivably linked to the Beaux-Arts school of design, which is concerned primarily with
order on a more physical and less abstract level.
Aside from parallels in their ideological make-up, the National Assembly and the Salk
Community Center share other, more aesthetic attributes. At the most superficial level, one
notices the elongated, cylindrical forms that appear, often in repetition, at both Dhaka and in
the model for the unbuilt Meeting House, possibly referenced by al-Radi in her Agra
comparisons, as discussed earlier. (The towers of Kahn’s Prayer Hall in Dhaka find their
realized compatriots in the design for Philadelphia’s Mikveh Synagogue (1963); that building
consists of a square plan cornered by four, full-height towers, much like the Assembly’s
Prayer Hall (Hossain, 1992: 20)9. In addition, both the Meeting House and the National
Assembly integrate large scale, square-in-circle geometries into their respective elevations.
Importantly, the Assembly Building, Community Center, and the Exeter Library all share an
intricate system of roof lighting, in which sunlight is alternately channelled inside and
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reflected around the buildings’ interior volumes and surfaces (Lobell, 1979: 84, 90, 100).
Finally, it is worthwhile to mention that the never-built Salk Community Center, like Kahn’s
work at Dhaka, has been attributed to elements of the architect’s Beaux-Arts training:
“[P]atterns … from Ancient Rome as imagined by Piranesi at the very beginning of the
modern age, have played a part in the process at the Meeting House”; meanwhile, the origins
of the Salk Institute’s Laboratories (1965) - which were actually realized - have been traced,
by some, to the shapes of (once again) the Baths at Caracalla (Scully, 1962: 37). However, in
eliciting these relationships, Scully adds that the Laboratories symbolize Kahn’s achievement
of “an expression the Beaux-Arts had never quite attained”; that is, the project, along with
other works from the later portion of the architect’s career - some of which have been
mentioned above - reflect the progression made by Kahn through nearly a half-century of
design experience (Scully, 1962: 38).
View into the Light well to ministerial offices
Corner of the Prayer Hall
Conclusions
In light of the above (albeit brief) discussion surrounding some of Kahn’s later works, I
would, in conclusion, argue that one could potentially view the National Assembly building
at Dhaka, along with the Salk Institute, Exeter Library, and Yale Center for British Art
(among others) as representing a fruition of the many beliefs Kahn held about architectural
design; I would add that these principles go beyond a straightforward adherence to BeauxArts paradigms. Indeed, it has been noted elsewhere that both the Salk Institute and the
National Assembly constitute “the first full realization of Kahn’s mature architectural vision”
(Goldhagen, 2001: 162). At the very least, I think that the similarities between the Assembly
building and elements of Kahn’s other, late projects far outweigh less tangible connections to
Mughal traditions, or even, for that matter, Roman works such as the Pantheon. While I do
not doubt that Kahn was inspired by some of the many monumental architectural works he
visited while touring South Asia prior to designing the National Assembly, the architect’s
own explanations of the Dhaka building, as mentioned at the start of this paper, do little to
support the view that he took a great interest in recreating a Mughal vocabulary of design. If
anything, it would appear that Kahn sought to ‘give’ his client meaningful elements of his
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own architectural thinking, as opposed to re-applying the traditions of his client’s past.10
Moreover, recent interpretations of the Assembly building linking that work to historical
precedents have also provided little in promoting this ‘historicist’ view, aside from usually
surface-level allusions to either details or abstract concepts. While a more tempting linkage
of Kahn’s waterways at Dhaka to Mughal mausoleum complexes has also been endeavoured
by some, I have maintained that this use of water may stem from the architect’s own
understanding of the Bengali context for his project, as opposed to a direct inspiration from
past sources.
This paper has also touched upon the notion of the National Assembly as encompassing a
‘universalist’ paradigm in architectural thinking and design that may have been a
concomitant of Kahn’s place in time. However, the meaning of this paradigm is complicated
at best, and I think it is fair to question its value in assessing Kahn’s work in Dhaka. More
convincing are proposed connections between the National Assembly and the architect’s
Beaux-Arts training; the floor plan of the building does, as I have argued, sustain physical
connotations characteristic of that school of design. However, less superficial - and more
conceptual - elements of the Assembly bear a resemblance to corresponding precepts in some
of the later works of Kahn’s career, most notably the never realised Salk Meeting House. My
discussion of the Meeting House, along with tangential references to other Kahn projects, has
sought to highlight an additional possibility with regards to the ‘inspiration’ for the National
Assembly: that is, a combination of forces, fuelled by the Kahn’s Beaux-Arts schooling, and
embellished upon during the span of the architect’s densely productive design career. Of
course, I doubt that one could produce a single source with regards to the origins of Kahn’s
plan at Dhaka. As such, I have put forth this suggestion regarding the correlation between the
architect’s later works as a point of reference and further study which might - along with
forays into the Beaux-Arts, ‘universalist’ planning, and even Mughal architecture - shed
additional light on Kahn’s motives with regards to the design of the National Assembly
building in Bangladesh.11
Bibliography
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Curtis, W. J. (1986) ‘Authenticity and Abstraction and the Ancient Sense: LeCorbusier and
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University Press.
Hossain, D. (1992) Architecture and Identity: Bangladesh and the Spirit of Louis Kahn, MSc
Dissertation for University College, University of London.
Langford, F (1982) ‘Concrete in Dhaka’, Mimar 6: 51-54.
Lobell, J. (1979) Between Silence and Light: Spirit in the Architecture of Louis Kahn.
London: Shambala Publications.
Nilsson, S. (1978) The New Capitals of India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh. London.
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Rashid, H. (1991) ‘Construction and Kahn’s Capital’, Mimar 38: 38-39.
Scully, V. (1962) Louis Kahn. New York: Braziller.
Sevcenko, M. (ed) (1984) Continuity and Change: Design Strategies for Large Scale Urban
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Steele, J. (ed) (1994) Architecture for Islamic Societies Today. London: Academy.
Tadgell, C. (1995) The History of Architecture in India. London: Phaidon.
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Press.
Endnotes
1
The focus of this paper is Louis Kahn’s National Assembly building in Dhaka, modern day
Bangladesh (also known as the ‘Citadel of the Assembly’). The initial client of Kahn’s work in South
Asia was Ayub Khan’s government in Pakistan. Lawrence Vale (1992) has given a concise
description of the design and construction of this project with relation to civil war in Pakistan and the
subsequent formation of Bangladesh in 1971. Hossain (1992) has offered a more detailed explanation
in his dissertation.
2
Hossain has devoted a chapter to “The Philosophy of Kahn” (1992: 41-45). The bulk of Goldhagen’s
book (2001) is dedicated to an investigation of Kahn’s modernist approach to design. Lobell’s more
poetic overview of Kahn includes the architect’s own words with regards to the importance of Form
in Design (1979: 28).
3
Curtis (1986) has argued for the adherence to tradition in the architecture of Dhaka, as well as in that
of LeCorbusier’s Capitol Complex at Chandigarh..
4
An exhaustive account of the preparations for Bangladesh’s first monumental concrete structure is
given by Langford (1982) and a qualified defence of Kahn’s (often controversial) use of concrete is
presented in an interview with architect Mehmet Pamir (Sevcenko, 1984: 77-78).
5
Vale is not alone in his scepticism regarding Kahn’s supposed ‘fusion’ between East and West.
Delwar Hossain has criticized the architect in a similar vein: “By rejecting the greater part of Mughal
architecture, historic forms of the country have been sacrificed, whilst classical aesthetics both
theoretical and visual have been adopted relating the building to such monuments as the Baths of
Caracalla and Ledoux’s Saltworks. Kahn has merely expressed an affiliation to one idiom over
another.” (1992: 44)
6
The never built Citadel of Institutions forms the remainder of the Sher-e-Banglanagar (lit. City of
the Bengal Tiger) complex originally planned by Kahn, and named ‘Ayubnagar’ prior to Bangladeshi
independence. Explanations on the concepts behind this ambitious design project can be found in;
Hossain 1992: 23-29; Lobell 1979: 86-89; Vale 1992).
7
In his in-depth analysis of many of Kahn’s projects, Scully (1962) has used metaphors of Hellenic
Greece and Rome as a means of understanding the inspirations behind Kahn’s architectural vision.
However, Scully’s work was published before the initial planning stages of Kahn’s work at Dhaka.
8
Both Lobell (1979: 84-85) and Scully (1962: 37-39) offer an overview of the Salk Institute’s
Community Center; as this project was never realized, research surrounding it focuses on Kahn’s
model and initial plan for the building, which have been re-printed in Lobell.
9
The National Assembly’s Prayer Hall has been investigated (and criticized) in many of the
publications referenced by this paper. Hossain (1992: 31-33) gives details surrounding the Prayer
Hall’s (which he refers to as the Mosque, using Kahn’s original terminology) conception, subsequent
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planning alterations, and final physical make-up; Nilsson (1979: 203) has linked the Hall to pyramid
ancestry, and has discussed, briefly, its symbolic relevance; Vale (1992: 261-264) has extensively
analysed what he views as Kahn’s ‘overcompensation’ with regards to religion and the misplaced
symbolism of the Assembly’s Prayer Hall.
10
As Kahn himself noted with regards to the Dhaka project: “What I’m trying to do is establish a
belief out of a philosophy I can turn over to Pakistan, so that whatever they do is always answerable
to it.” (Lobell 1979: 90, emphasis added).
11
In her book, Goldhagen offers an additional explanation that may help in understanding the
Assembly building: “[Kahn] wished to strengthen communal sentiment in his users and believed that
one of the principal means for doing so was to create the impression of monumentality” (2001: 207).
As such, the National Assembly, with its sweeping scale, full heights and dramatic ambulatories,
could be connected (also) to Kahn’s vision of the community and its use of the monumental spaces he
would create. Lobell’s discussion of Kahn’s emphasis on the notion of “institution” and its relation to
architecture might also provide yet another jumping-off point for those seeking to understand the
reasoning behind the design of the Assembly building (1979: 65).
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