川普的拱門：古典建築的錯誤詮釋
川普的拱門：古典建築的錯誤詮釋
一八○六年時，巴黎仍深受革命留下的精神與物質創傷。巴黎聖母院曾一度被改為「理性神廟」，昔日定義巴黎生活的華美宅邸，不是閒置就是成了官僚機構的據點；殘存的教堂也被剝奪了裝飾、財寶，甚至是祭壇。街道疏於維護，落後的衛生系統導致市區污水橫流。拿破崙．波拿巴在奧斯特利茨戰役大獲全勝，面對軍隊發表演說時，心中想必正是這座滿目瘡痍的巴黎。據說他當時承諾士兵：「你們將凱旋歸來，穿過凱旋門。」如同拿破崙絕大多數宏大的願景，這並非僅是口頭支票。他所委託興建的凱旋門，既被視為一座彰顯勝利的實體紀念碑，同時也是在法國最亟需民族認同之際，一項精心設計的象徵。
凱旋門的工程耗時數十年，歷經無數工人開採石材、雕刻家雕琢士兵與勝利女神的浮雕，政權也隨之興衰更迭。直到一八三六年竣工時，它已完全融入法國的公民生活與情感之中。此後，無名戰士墓與長明火先後設置於門下，確保了這場勝利與背後的犧牲得以永世交織。今日的凱旋門既象徵輝煌的勝利，也透著肅穆的哀傷，將榮耀與失落緊密連結。
這種演變極具啟發性。凱旋門的偉大，不僅在於其規模，亦非僅因運用古典語彙，而在於其「克制」。其比例源自羅馬的前身，特別是紀念羅馬在猶太戰爭中獲勝的提圖斯拱門，並以約三倍的比例放大。拱門下部的墩座厚實，頂部的閣樓層則刻意設計得較輕盈，避免與整體爭奪視覺重心。巴黎石灰岩經過風化產生了一層古色（patina），隨著時間推移，陰影愈發深邃。從結構觀點來看，層次分明的提圖斯拱門確實是極佳的先驅。
拱門形式最早興起於古美索不達米亞，當時人們發現運用楔形石塊圍繞中央拱心石的方法，對於灌溉設施尤為實用。然而，真正將拱門昇華至儀式層面的是羅馬人。維特魯威主張，建築之美源於「秩序、配置、韻律、對稱、得體與經濟」，這為紀念性拱門奠定了理論基礎。羅馬後續的建築，如塞維魯拱門與君士坦丁拱門，皆源自此一哲學。
違背古典準則
正因為這段歷史演變，唐納．川普為紀念美國建國兩百五十週年所提出的紀念碑計畫，才會遭受評論家抨擊。川普政府曾援引凱旋門作為該計畫的靈感來源。初看之下，此計畫似乎符合古典傳統：凱旋門、白石、雕塑群與鍍金裝飾。然而，在許多重視古典精神的建築師與理論家眼中，這恰好體現了盧森堡建築師李昂．克里爾（Leon Krier）曾警告過的一個深層問題：現代人傾向於盜用古典形式，卻拋棄了赋予其靈魂的紀律。
克里爾的批評是哲學性的。在他看來，古典建築並非僅是一套可隨意拼湊的符號庫，而是一個受比例、階層與類型適切性所規範的連貫系統，正如兩千多年前維特魯威所言。當這些原則被忽視，最終產生的只會是傳統的諷刺畫——形式依舊，但內在邏輯已然崩解。
透過此視角檢視，川普的方案如同古典建築的仿製品。尚．布希亞曾嘲諷道：「美國是現代性的原始版本……而我們（歐洲）是配音或字幕版。」川普心中的美國願景，是抽離了歷史厚度的現代性。這或許很有參考價值：正因為美國缺乏舊大陸的歷史沉澱，其回望歷史的嘗試顯得支離破碎或格格不入，也就不足為奇了。
細看該方案本身，拱門體積過大且視覺上頭重腳輕，比例顯得極不協調。裝飾——尤其是顯眼的鍍金——看起來像是後期貼上的，而非與結構有機結合，賦予建築一種戲劇性，這與其宣稱傳承之建築應有的莊重感顯得格格不入。最令人側目的是，「ONE NATION UNDER GOD」（上帝之下，合眾為一）的銘文，將原本可能成為富有層次的公民紀念碑，轉變成更像是一塊宣示性的廣告看板。
傳統的衝動
然而，若僅是全盤否定推動此方案的初衷，不僅太過容易，也過於膚淺。撇開布希亞的憤世嫉俗不談，美國歷史中確實有許多值得欽佩之處，川普與許多美國前人一樣，在試圖為一個相對年輕的國家表達民族壯麗時，會選擇古典意象，這是有跡可循的。古典建築儘管講究智識嚴謹，卻也具備直觀的易讀性。它能以許多現代形式難以匹敵的方式，傳達穩定、延續與尊嚴。這點在公眾輿論中得到證實——一項由傾向保守的國家公民藝術協會所進行的民調顯示，百分之七十二的美國人偏好傳統與古典風格的聯邦建築與法院。
這種心態在歐洲也存在。查爾斯三世國王（當時為威爾斯親王）曾著名地斥責倫敦國家美術館的現代主義增建計畫是「摯友臉上的一顆恐怖肉瘤」，當時他在建築圈內遭到廣泛嘲笑，認為其抱怨顯得不夠專業。然而，他的評論卻引起了英國大眾的共鳴。國家美術館最終退讓，蓋了一座與建築群古典風格更為協調的側翼（賽恩斯伯里翼）。對英國傳統主義者而言，極具諷刺意味的是，該側翼最後是由兩位美國建築師——羅伯特．文丘里與丹妮絲．史考特．布朗——完成的。
無論對建築理論熟悉與否，許多人對於顯得有序、人性化且具歷史根基的形式，都有著直覺的偏好。就此而言，川普的直覺觸及了某種真實。這反映了大眾對於當代建築的不滿，因為當代建築常讓人感到冰冷且缺乏人性。轉向古典形式，至少部分可被理解為一種民粹式的修正：試圖找回普通人能辨識且常會讚賞的語言。
這是支持該計畫論點中最有力的一點。然而，即便是這種訴諸民意的說法，在細究之下也站不住腳。儘管古典建築整體上受歡迎，但此特定計畫已證實極不受美國大眾青睞。該項目在公眾意見徵詢中收到了「壓倒性負面」的回饋，本週在國家首都計畫委員會的會議中亦然。儘管如此，這並未阻止川普總統的藝術委員會繼續推進計畫。
然而，正是因為這種初衷是可理解的，其執行過程才顯得如此重要。追求古典建築，即是召喚了一種講究紀律的傳統。
這正是該方案失敗之處。其象徵意義過於直白，規模過於強勢，訊息毫無轉圜空間。從此角度看，它與其所宣稱的傳統不符，反而更符合現代對於「奇觀」的偏好。這就是為何「浮誇」這一指控——常被視為見仁見智——有了更精確的定義。問題不僅在於紀念碑視覺上過於喧鬧，而是它似乎為了鬧而鬧，缺乏足以支撐其奢華的脈絡與歷史底蘊。
形式的偏移
此外還有類型學的問題。凱旋門從古羅馬發展而來，並在現代歐洲早期復興，其目的在於紀念特定勝利、特定將軍或特定軍事輝煌時刻，無論是提圖斯擊敗以色列人，還是拿破崙擊敗俄奧聯軍。
從古典角度來看，將此形式用於兩百五十週年紀念，屬於範疇謬誤。誠然，建國兩百五十週年是一項了不起的成就，但這更需要的是對犧牲尊嚴與民主脆弱性的沉思。將此週年紀念與單純的戰場勝利相提並論，在某種程度上貶低了這一里程碑所蘊含的豐富情感。美國歷史上為最重要的紀念碑選擇了其他類型：華盛頓紀念碑的方尖碑、林肯紀念堂的希臘神廟形式，或是美國國會大廈的圓頂權威感。這些形式雖皆汲取古典前例，但皆精準地與其象徵目的相匹配。
反觀此提議中的拱門，似乎將「即時感」置於「深度」之上。其銘文讀起來更像是口號而非沉思。拱門上鍍金的雕塑搶盡風采，而非起到襯托作用，且其比例追求衝擊力而非和諧。裝飾尺寸大到近乎卡通化，讓拱門的墩座顯得渺小，且顯得死板教條。在古典傳統中，寓意畫往往存在但受到節制，且此類裝飾應融入浮雕或次要的雕塑計畫中。總體而言，這實際上是將古典建築轉譯成了當代政治文宣的語法。
此外還有「材料誠實」的問題。古典建築仰賴結構重量與物質感的清晰呈現——石頭就該看起來像石頭，量體應傳達出重力感。該方案呈現出一種精緻、近乎數位渲染的質感，搭配亮眼的金屬裝飾，恐將損及建築的永恆感。若能引入風化效果與重力感，不僅能賦予紀念碑更多威嚴，也能確保它隨著時間推移而顯得優雅蒼老。
社會責任
然而，最尖銳的批評或許不在於建築本身，而在於公民責任。紀念碑，尤其是與國家週年紀念相關者，旨在超越其創立的當下。它們應能跨越行政任期、政治歧見與世代隔閡。古典傳統若理解得當，因其具備「克制」特質，特別適合此任務。透過抗拒特定的政治指涉，它邀請民眾放下成見，去欣賞某些旨在永恆與團結的事物。
相較之下，此提議的拱門很難與其政治背景切割。其規模、銘文與美學選擇，皆傳達出一種不可磨滅的川普式國家願景，即強調宏大與力量。這恐將削弱紀念碑的包容性，並損害其作為共享公民象徵的能力。或許在當今政治兩極化的環境下，任何由一黨總統提出的方案皆會面臨另一黨的反對，但嘗試跨越黨派分歧，對於此類國家級週年紀念而言，依然是值得追求的任務。
讓這些擔憂雪上加霜的，是公共支出與民意的宏觀背景。儘管人們可能傾向將建築分析與政治分析分開，但事實上，兩者早已深度糾纏。理解這座拱門，需要同時理解執政當局的動機與當前的政治氛圍。
目前的美國正面臨巨大壓力——頑固通膨與飆升油價帶來的經濟負擔、一場極不受歡迎的伊朗戰爭、逼近四十兆美元（約一千三百兆台幣）的國債，以及嚴重分裂且充滿懷疑的選民。在這種氛圍下，大型紀念性計畫勢必引起嚴格審視。事實上，若不將此拱門的建造與川普的其他建築案連結，實屬困難。他那耗資三億美元（約九十七點五億台幣）的白宮宴會廳翻修工程同樣極不受歡迎，民主黨議員更直指這是濫用公帑。或許將國慶兩百五十週年紀念碑與總統私人住宅建設相類比並不公平，但當前的政治與經濟環境，讓人們對於任何帶有「與民脫節」味道的計畫，皆抱持深刻懷疑。
凱旋門之所以能名留青史，並非因為它與政治起源無關——恰恰相反——而是因為它具備足夠的紀律來超越這些起源。其比例、裝飾與象徵意義在連貫的傳統中紮根，使其能隨著時間推移吸收新的含義。在奧斯特利茨戰役過去數世紀後，它依舊保留了其魅力與神秘感。
川普的提議或許不具備這種潛力。它過度倚賴直白的訊息傳遞，將視覺衝擊置於比例和諧之上，並將一個具特定歷史背景的形式套用於更為模糊的目的，這使得它面臨停留在「構想當下」的風險。未來的世代會將此拱門視為美國民主計畫永恆的象徵嗎？還是會將其視為凍結在二○二六年，且帶有當時所有政治與文化包袱的產物？
一九四四年八月二十六日，二次大戰期間德國對巴黎的佔領剛告結束，誰將接管法國尚不明朗。盟軍對當時臨時政府主席夏爾．戴高樂極度不信任，各個法國抵抗組織也在爭奪權力。
正是那天，戴高樂開始沿著香榭麗舍大道行走，隨行的還有自發歡呼的巴黎群眾。儘管零星的德國狙擊手仍不時開槍，但群眾並未被嚇退。在他步行的尾聲，他經過凱旋門下，並停下腳步向無名戰士墓致敬。此舉向世界發出了一個響亮且明確的訊息：他是法國的繼承人，且在法國光榮的軍事歷史傳承中佔有一席之地。這座最初為紀念拿破崙征服而建的拱門，已進化為國家記憶的載體，其風化的古色反映了法國曾經的傷痕。
歷史未來將把誰視為美國的戴高樂，目前尚不明朗；但可以確定的是，正如過去兩百五十年一樣，這個國家將持續造就具備豐功偉業的偉大人物。我們只能期盼，無論為建國兩百五十週年興建何種紀念碑，它都能擁有足以超越時代的生命力。
In 1806, Paris still bore the psychic and physical scars of revolution. Notre-Dame had been turned into a “Temple of Reason,” the hotels that had once defined Parisian life sat either empty or converted into bureaucratic strongholds, and the remaining churches had been stripped of ornament, treasure, and even altars. The streets were poorly maintained, and deteriorated sanitation systems left the city teeming with sewage. It was this Paris that Napoleon Bonaparte was surely reflecting on when he stood before his troops at Austerlitz, fresh off their recent victory, and promised them something unusual. “You will return home,” he is said to have declared, “through triumphal arches.” As with most of Napoleon’s grand promises, this was not an idle flourish. The arch he commissioned—the Arc de Triomphe—was conceived as both a physical monument to victory and as a carefully calibrated expression of national identity at a time when France needed it most.
Construction would take decades, long outlasting Napoleon himself. Workers quarried stone; sculptors carved reliefs of soldiers, victories, and allegorical figures; regimes rose and fell. By the time the arch was completed in 1836, it had been absorbed into the civic and emotional life of France. Beneath it, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier would later be installed, and the eternal flame lit, ensuring that the victory itself and the human sacrifice behind it would forever mingle. The Arc de Triomphe in its current form is both triumphant and somber, intertwining victory with loss.
This evolution is instructive. The greatness of the Arc de Triomphe lies not in its scale alone, nor even in its classical vocabulary, but in its restraint. Its proportions derive from Roman predecessors, particularly the Arch of Titus, which was built to commemorate the Roman victory in the Jewish War, and against which it is scaled up by a factor of about three. The piers are thick, but the attic story is kept intentionally less substantial so as not to compete. The Parisian limestone weathers in a way that produces patina, deepening its shadows over time. The Arch of Titus, with its clear hierarchy, is a fitting predecessor from a structural standpoint.
Arches first became prominent in ancient Mesopotamia, after the discovery of the use of voussoirs—wedge-shaped stones arranged around a central keystone, particularly useful for irrigation. But it was the Romans who mastered arches for the sake of ceremony. Vitruvius argued that architecture’s beauty derives from “order, arrangement, eurythmy, symmetry, propriety, and economy”, helping to lay the theoretical foundation for commemorative arches. It was from this philosophy that Rome’s other arches, from the Arch of Septimius Severus to the Arch of Constantine, emerged.
Bucking the Classical Canon
It is precisely this historical evolution that critics of Donald Trump’s proposed monument for the United States’s 250th anniversary find lacking. The Trump Administration has itself cited the Arc de Triomphe as an inspiration for their project. At first glance, the Trump proposal appears to align itself with the classical tradition: a triumphal arch, white stone, sculptural program, gilded ornament. Yet to many classically minded architects and theorists, it exemplifies a deeper problem that Luxembourgian architect Leon Krier famously warned against: the modern tendency to appropriate classical forms while discarding the discipline that gives them meaning.
Krier’s critique is a philosophical one. Classical architecture, in his view, is not a toolbox of interchangeable motifs but a coherent system governed by proportion, hierarchy, and typological appropriateness—just as Vitruvius argued over two millennia ago. When these principles are ignored, the result is a caricature of tradition in which the forms remain but the logic dissolves.
Trump’s proposal, seen through this lens, reads like a simulacrum of the classical. Jean Baudrillard once quipped that “America is the original version of modernity… we [Europe] are the dubbed or subtitled version.” His vision of America is one of modernity stripped of its historical layers. This is perhaps instructive. Because America lacks the historicity of the Old World, it cannot come as a surprise that its attempts to look backward feel disjointed or misplaced.
Turning to the proposal itself, the arch is oversized and visually top-heavy, its proportions strained. Ornament—particularly the conspicuous gilding—appears applied rather than organic, lending the structure a theatrical quality that sits uneasily with the sobriety of its supposed lineage. Most strikingly, the inscription “ONE NATION UNDER GOD” transforms what might have been a layered civic monument into something closer to a declarative billboard.
A Traditional Impulse
Yet it would be too easy—and ultimately too shallow—to dismiss the impulse behind the proposal outright. Despite Baudrillard’s cynicism, there is much to admire in America’s history and there is a reason Trump, like many Americans before him, reaches for classical imagery when attempting to express national grandeur for such a relatively new nation. Classical architecture, for all its intellectual rigor, is also intuitively legible. It communicates stability, continuity, and dignity in a way that many modern forms struggle to match. This is borne out in public sentiment—a poll from the conservative-leaning National Civic Art Society found that 72 percent of Americans prefer traditional and classical architecture for federal buildings and courthouses.
This impulse exists in Europe as well. When King Charles III—then Prince of Wales—famously denounced a proposed modernist addition to London’s National Gallery as a “monstrous carbuncle on the face of a much-loved and elegant friend,” he was widely mocked within architectural circles. They thought his grievance was uncharacteristically middlebrow. Yet his remark resonated with the British public. The National Gallery relented, and ultimately built a new wing (the Sainsbury Wing) more aligned with the classical style of the rest of the complex. In what was surely a bitter irony for the British traditionalists, the Sainsbury Wing was completed by two Americans—Robert Venturi and Denise Scott Brown.
Many people, whatever their familiarity with architectural theory, share an instinctive preference for forms that feel ordered, humane, and historically grounded. Trump’s instinct, in this sense, taps into something real. It reflects a dissatisfaction with much of contemporary architecture, which can feel cold and inhumane. The turn toward classical forms can be understood, at least in part, as a populist corrective: an attempt to reclaim a language that ordinary people recognize and often admire.
This is the strongest version of the argument in favor of the proposal. And yet, even this argument for popular sentiment fails to hold up to scrutiny. Despite the popularity of classical architecture in general, this specific project has already proven wildly unpopular with the American public. The project has received “overwhelmingly negative” feedback in public comments, more of which were heard this week in a National Capital Planning Commission meeting. That has not, however, stopped President Trump’s Commission on Fine Arts from proceeding.
And yet, it is precisely because this impulse is understandable that its execution matters so much. To reach for classical architecture is to invoke a tradition that demands discipline.
Here the proposal falters. Its symbolism is overt, its scale emphatic, its message unambiguous. In this sense, it aligns less with the tradition it invokes than with a modern preference for spectacle. This is where the charge of gaudiness—often dismissed as subjective—acquires a more precise meaning. It is not merely that the monument is visually loud, but that it appears to be loud for its own sake, lacking the context and historical grounding that would justify its ostentation.
A Departure from Form
There is also a question of typology. The triumphal arch, as developed in ancient Rome and revived in early modern Europe, commemorates specific victories, specific generals, specific moments of military triumph, be it Titus defeating the Israelites or Napoleon defeating the Russian and Austrian empires.
To deploy this form for a 250th anniversary is, from a classical perspective, a category error. Certainly, a 250th anniversary is a triumphant feat, but it also one that necessitates somber reflection on the dignity of sacrifice and the fragility of democracy. To portray the anniversary as comparable to only victory in battle is in some ways to cheapen the richness of emotions that such a milestone necessitates. The United States has historically favored other typologies for its most meaningful monuments: the obelisk of the Washington Monument, the temple form of the Lincoln Memorial, or the domed authority of the United States Capitol. Each of these draws from classical precedent, but each is carefully matched to its symbolic purpose.
The proposed arch, by contrast, appears to prioritize immediacy over depth. Its inscription (“ONE NATION UNDER GOD”) reads as a slogan rather than a meditation. The arch’s gilded sculpture dominates rather than complements, and its proportions strain toward impact rather than harmony. The ornaments are almost cartoonishly large, dwarfing the arch’s piers, and painfully literal. In classical tradition, allegory is often present but controlled, and such ornaments would instead be integrated into reliefs or secondary sculptural programs. Taken as a whole, it is, in effect, classical architecture translated into the idiom of contemporary political messaging.
There is also a question of material honesty. Classical architecture relies on the legibility of weight and substance—stone that reads as stone, mass that conveys gravity. The pristine, almost digitally rendered quality of the proposal, combined with its bright metallic accents, risks undermining this sense of permanence. Introducing patina and gravity would both imbue the monument with more authority and ensure that it ages with visible dignity.
A Civic Duty
Yet perhaps the most pointed critique is not architectural but civic. Monuments, especially those tied to national anniversaries, are meant to transcend the moment of their creation. They should speak across administrations, across political divisions, across generations. The classical tradition, when properly understood, is particularly well suited to this task precisely because of its restraint. By resisting specificity, it invites people to put aside their differences and appreciate something intended to be timeless and unifying.
By contrast, the proposed arch is difficult to separate from its political context. Its scale, inscription, its aesthetic choices all contribute to a sense that it is inextricably associated with a particular Trumpian vision of the nation that promotes grandeur and strength. This risks narrowing the monument’s appeal and undermining its ability to function as a shared civic symbol. Perhaps it is an inevitable consequence of our current political polarization that any proposal by a president of one party will face opposition from the other, but trying to transcend those partisan divides is nonetheless a worthy task for such a national anniversary.
Compounding these concerns is the broader context of public spending and sentiment. While there may be a temptation to divorce the architectural analysis from the political analysis, the reality is that the two are deeply intertwined. Understanding the arch requires understanding both the administration’s rationale for it and the political public mood.
The United States, at present, faces significant strains—economic pressures from stubborn inflation and soaring gas prices, a deeply unpopular war with Iran, national debt approaching the $40 trillion mark, and a sharply divided and skeptical electorate. In such a climate, large-scale monumental projects inevitably attract scrutiny. Indeed, it is difficult not to view the construction of this arch in the context of Trump’s other building projects. His $300 million White House ballroom renovation is also deeply unpopular, with Democratic lawmakers arguing that it is a misuse of public funds. Perhaps it is unfair to analogize construction on behalf of the country’s 250th anniversary to construction that would benefit the president’s personal residency. Nonetheless, the current political and economic climate invites deep skepticism for anything that reeks of being out of touch.
The Arc de Triomphe achieved immortality not because it was free of political origins—it was anything but—but because it was disciplined enough to outgrow them. Its proportions, its ornament, and its symbolism were sufficiently grounded in a coherent tradition that it could absorb new meanings over time. Centuries after the Battle of Austerlitz, it has retained its marvel and mystery.
Trump’s proposed monument may not possess this capacity. By leaning too heavily on overt messaging, prioritizing visual impact over proportional harmony, and misapplying a historically specific form to a more diffuse purpose, it risks remaining fixed in the moment of its conception. Will future generations view this arch as an eternal symbol of the endurance of the democratic American project? Or will they view it as something frozen in 2026, with all the associated political and cultural baggage?
On August 26, 1944, the German occupation of Paris during World War II had just come to a sudden end and it was unclear who would inherit France. The Allies deeply distrusted Charles De Gaulle, then-chairman of the provisional government. Various French resistance groups were vying for power.
It was on that day that de Gaulle began to walk down the Champs-Élysées, with impromptu crowds of cheering Parisians following behind him. Occasionally, shots rang out from lingering German snipers, but the crowds proceeded undeterred. Near the end of his walk, he passed under the Arc de Triomphe, pausing to honor the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. In doing so, de Gaulle sent a resounding and unambiguous message to the world, that he was the inheritor of the nation of France, and that he had a place in its proud lineage of military history. The arch, which had been built to honor specific Napoleonic conquests, had evolved into a repository of national memory, its weathered patina reflecting the nation’s scars.
It remains unclear whom history will view as America’s de Gaulle, but what is clear that this country will continue to produce great men capable of great feats, as it has for the past two and a half centuries. We can only hope that whatever monument is built for our 250th anniversary, it will have the staying power to outlast them all.
