Will there be a return of MABA: Make Architecture Beautiful Again?

The change in administrations in Washington, D.C., in January may signal a return to President-elect Donald Trump's previous aesthetic crusade making civic architecture beautiful again.

Critics will reply as they did before: Who's to say it's not beautiful now?

The 2020 executive order required federal buildings to dump modern styles for classical designs. The government had mandated modern designs before, and this had severed American civic architecture from its cultural roots. As the order said: The Guiding Principles [of 1962] implicitly discouraged classical and other traditional [architecture] designs known for their beauty, declaring instead that the Government should use 'contemporary' designs." And the order quoted 19th-century British architect Christopher Wren: "Public buildings [are] the ornament of a country. [Architecture] establishes a Nation, draws people and commerce, makes the people love their native country. ... Architecture aims at eternity."

The defenders of modernism would note that Wren was speaking of England, not America. This is a nation founded on shaking off the shackles of the Old World, and we're not building palaces for nobility. Classical had a nice run, the modernists decided. Architecture should reflect the possibilities and innovations of the 21st century.

Good points. But too many architects in the 1970s built dull dun-hued bunkers, and too many modern architects seem interested in self-amusement and cheeky transgressions, resulting in buildings that do not aim for eternity, unless you're spending it in hell. The Twin Cities has some examples, but nothing as bad as the bunkers of the nation's capital.

Most government buildings from the post-classical period aren't bizarre — they're just dull. Consider St. Paul's Capitol complex. The magnificent golden-domed capitol, Cass Gilbert's solid iteration of the standard legislative warehouse, is flanked by smaller structures of similar style. But down the street are two long dullards from the post-classical era — the MnDOT and Centennial Office buildings. They're boring blocks with nothing to offer, just bricks, windows, flat roofs, and maybe a slab of marble to lend some undeserved gravitas.

There is one style that might satisfy both camps. Let's call it "Post Office Moderne." The humble post office is the most numerous example of federally supplied architecture, and served as an instrument of community identification and civic uplift throughout the 20th century. The post office was the embassy of the distant government, erected in thousands of towns and hamlets. There were no standardized plans. Each was designed individually, and care was taken to make them a symbol of the culture's values.

"They are generally the most important of local buildings, seen daily by thousands, who have little opportunity to feel the influence of the great architectural works in the large cities," reported The Architect in 1918. A sample of the glorious Grand Central Station, right on your Main Street.

The Beaux Arts classical style — think the State Capitol, the St. Paul Cathedral — was the civic vernacular for other buildings as well, from train stations to banks to concert halls. This style was dated by the time the Great Depression got its claws into the culture. It looked old and fussy, a poor fit for the lean new world of machines and men who planned society from atop.

The post offices of the 1930s — many designed by private architects until the Department of the Treasury took over the job in 1937 — had two styles. The Colonial style looked back — with stately New England features including white pillars and a pediment.

The other was a stripped-down style that has been called "Starved Classical." It had columns and carvings, but they were streamlined and abstracted. They were very much like the fascist architecture of Europe, perhaps, but lacking the cold, dominating, overbearing character.

Minneapolis' central post office (1933, 100 S. 1st St.), which was completed in 1933 and is now known as the Martin Olaf Sabo Post Office, is a grand and glorious example of the style. It's monumental and expresses the abilities of the state, but it's we-the-people, not hail-the-leader. It's intended to impress, but not intimidate. Monumental but not lavish, as fits the lean times. A sensible use of civic money that still has space for patriotic stone eagles.

Perhaps that's the compromise style to make everyone happy. After all, modern buildings erected in the old classical style never quite get it right. They try too hard — hey, folks, look, columns! With old-style capitols! A big portico! Cupolas! They look like famous-historical-battle re-enactors.

If we have fewer contorted, asymmetrical buildings with unusual shapes. and more buildings with a sense of balance and a connection to previous cultural norms, you'll have less outrage. You'll have less surprise, as well, and less startling innovation. A modest design that references the traditions of our civic buildings ages better than something intent on smashing our expectations and yelling about how special it is.

Modernism has been the preferred language for civic architecture for so many decades that it's become the tradition, and supplanting it with more classical forms is revolutionary. Transgressive, you might say.