I hope you will understand that architecture has nothing to do

Host: The evening light was soft, almost fading into the horizon, casting a faint glow over the quiet streets outside. Inside the café, the shadows were long, stretched across the worn wooden floors. Jack and Jeeny sat in the corner, their chairs angled toward each other as the hum of the city felt like a distant murmur. The air was thick with the smell of freshly ground coffee and the soft buzz of whispered conversations, but it was the words of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe that hung between them, a heavy weight neither seemed ready to move from.

Jeeny: “I’ve been thinking about something Mies van der Rohe said. He said, ‘I hope you will understand that architecture has nothing to do with the inventions of forms. It is not a playground for children, young or old. Architecture is the real battleground of the spirit.’” She paused, her voice soft but firm. “What do you think? Is architecture really that… serious? Is it a battleground of the spirit, or just about creating structures?”

Jack: He leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk curling at the corners of his lips. “Oh, I get it. Architecture is this high and mighty thing, a struggle of the soul, huh? I mean, come on, it’s buildings, Jeeny. Sure, it’s not just about making things look pretty, but at the end of the day, it’s about practicality, function. I’m not sure Mies was talking about all these grand philosophical battles when he was designing skyscrapers. What’s important is that they stand, that they work. Art and spirit come second.”

Host: The room seemed to thicken with Jack’s words, the rhythm of the café’s background chatter almost disappearing in the wake of his bold statement. Jeeny’s eyes narrowed slightly, her hand tightening around her cup as she leaned forward, her expression unwavering, though the tension between them was palpable.

Jeeny: “But that’s just it, Jack. It’s not just about function. It’s about the experience of the space. The emotions it stirs, the mood it creates. Architecture is a reflection of who we are, of how we see the world. If we’re only focused on function, if we strip it down to just practicality, then we miss the deeper impact of design.” She paused, her gaze steady on him. “Mies wasn’t just building boxes to live in. He was shaping human experience, challenging the way we see ourselves in the spaces around us. Don’t you think that’s worth something?”

Jack: He shook his head, leaning forward now, his voice sharp with conviction. “Sure, I get the whole idea of creating a feeling in a space, but let’s be honest—what are we really talking about here? Buildings don’t need to be some grand spiritual statement. They need to be practical, safe, and usable. You can have all the spirit in the world, but if the damn thing falls down or doesn’t serve its purpose, what’s it worth? Mies was just using grand language to make his point sound bigger than it was. It’s about getting things done, not about some battleground.”

Host: The air seemed to crackle now, the weight of their opposing ideas heavy in the space between them. Jeeny’s eyes flashed with something akin to frustration, while Jack’s expression had hardened, his words cutting with a bite. The room, though still full of life, felt distant as their conversation turned more personal, more intense.

Jeeny: “But Jack, that’s the problem, isn’t it? When we reduce architecture to just a function, we lose the very essence of what it means to build. We stop seeing the human element in it. Every building, every structure, is a statement about who we are, what we value, and how we interact with the world. Mies understood that. He knew that architecture wasn’t just about creating a place to live, it was about creating a place to feel, to experience, to exist in a way that shapes your soul. How can you ignore that?”

Jack: He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at his coffee cup, his fingers tapping the side of the ceramic. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, the tension of their debate suspended in time. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, though still resolute. “I’m not ignoring it. I’m just saying that at some point, the feelings and experience you’re talking about have to come second to the realities of function. If you’re not creating buildings that work—places people can live and thrive in—then what’s the point? Architecture might be about the spirit, but if the spirit’s trapped in a shaky structure, what’s it worth?”

Jeeny: “Maybe it’s because you’re not seeing the bigger picture, Jack. It’s about balance. Yes, function is important, but soul and purpose matter too. Imagine a city where every building is just a box—nothing inspiring, nothing that makes you stop and think. You’d lose that human connection to the places you inhabit. Mies was trying to show us that the real battleground is about merging those two elements—function and spirit. It’s not just about standing tall, it’s about standing for something.”

Host: The café, which had seemed full of noise and life just moments before, now felt almost hushed around them. The weight of their exchange hung in the air, the sharpness of their words reflecting their passion, while the world outside carried on as if nothing had changed. The light had grown dimmer, and with it, the atmosphere between them seemed to settle into something quieter, more introspective.

Jack: “So you’re saying that a building has to be more than just a place to live? It has to be something that speaks to you?” His voice was quiet now, less defensive, though still tinged with skepticism. “That’s all well and good, but what if it doesn’t speak to the people who need it most? What if they just need somewhere to go, to exist, to survive?”

Jeeny: “But that’s the point, Jack. Architecture is about more than survival. It’s about making people feel like they belong. Like they matter. Buildings are symbols of who we are, of what we care about. Mies knew that. That’s why architecture is the real battleground of the spirit—it’s where we define our humanity. It’s the place where form and function meet, where we decide not just how to live, but how we want to feel while we’re living.”

Host: The rain had started again, a soft patter against the window, its sound almost soothing compared to the heat of their words. The space between them had softened, though the intensity still lingered. Jack and Jeeny sat in the quiet after the storm, their coffee cups now empty, but the conversation still swirling around them.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. I guess I just don’t always see the spirit in it. But I get what you’re saying. There has to be something more to it than just building to survive.”

Jeeny: She smiled, the tension easing from her shoulders. “Exactly. It’s not just about survival. It’s about creating a world that feels like it’s worth living in. And that’s why architecture is such an important battleground. It’s where we fight to create a world that reflects the best of us.”

Host: The light from the café window had softened further as the night settled in. The rain outside had slowed, leaving only the whispers of droplets against glass. Jack and Jeeny sat in quiet understanding, their words no longer a clash but a mutual recognition that perhaps, in the world of architecture, the battleground was not just for form or function, but for the very soul of how we live.