Architecture as an act of love

Europe’s recent heat waves have, once again, exposed an uncomfortable truth: many of our cities have become increasingly difficult places in which to live. We speak constantly about housing shortages, property prices, planning policies and economic growth. Yet, amid these debates, we seldom ask a more fundamental question: What are our buildings for? Why do human beings build at all?

The architectural theorist Alberto Pérez-Gómez, in his ‘Built upon Love: Architectural Longing after Ethics and Aesthetics’, invites us to recover precisely this question.

He challenges the modern tendency to regard architecture primarily as a technical undertaking or an exercise in aesthetics. Buildings are not merely objects to be admired or commodities to be traded. At its deepest level, architecture emerges from a profoundly human longing: the desire to create places where life acquires meaning and where human relationships can flourish.

This reflection is particularly relevant to Malta. Much of our public discourse on development understandably revolves around economics, investment and regulation. Debates often focus on densities, permits, heights and square metres. These matters are importan but they are not sufficient.

A society must also ask whether the environments it creates foster belonging, neighbourliness and a sense of shared life. Are we building communities or are we merely constructing structures?

The question is not a sentimental one. Human beings do not simply occupy space; they dwell. To dwell is more than to have shelter. It means finding oneself at home in the world, inhabiting places that allow one to form attachments, cultivate memories and encounter others meaningfully. The places in which we live invariably shape our experience of ourselves and our relationships with those around us.

In my own past research into Heideggerian dwelling and its relationship to the common good, I came to understand architecture as an act of love. The phrase may initially sound poetic or even idealistic but it expresses something profoundly practical. To build for others is ultimately an act of care (or concern – Sorge in the Heideggerian sense). Every home, every street, every square and every public building contributes to the conditions in which people will live, raise families, celebrate, grieve and forge lasting memories.

Architecture is, therefore, never morally neutral.

Indeed, every architectural decision carries existential consequences. The design of neighbourhoods influences social cohesion. The character of public spaces affects the quality of civic life. The arrangement of homes shapes family interactions and determines whether communities become places of encounter or environments of isolation. Buildings do not merely occupy land; they help form the social and moral landscape of a nation.

Modern societies, however, have often become preoccupied with what can be measured and quantified. Efficiency, functionality and profitability have become dominant criteria in assessing the built environment. Yet, some of the most essential dimensions of human existence resist calculation. Belonging cannot be measured in square metres. Memory cannot be expressed through financial returns. Love cannot be reduced to a planning parameter.

Are we building communities, or are we merely constructing structures?- Alan Xuereb

This is why Pérez-Gómez’s insight is so significant. To suggest that architecture is built upon love is to remind us that the ultimate purpose of building is not simply to produce physical objects but to create places that enable human flourishing. Love, understood philosophically, is an orientation towards others. It is the recognition of human dignity and the willingness to shape conditions that allow people to live meaningful lives together. What I call (d)well-being.

Seen from this perspective, architecture is fundamentally an exercise in hospitality. It seeks to create spaces where people can feel at home, where communities can emerge and where relationships can deepen. Beauty itself acquires a new significance. It is not merely decoration or visual pleasure but the manifestation of an order that invites human beings into a meaningful relationship with their surroundings.

This conversation acquires particular urgency at a time when many cities around the world are increasingly characterised by alienation and placelessness. It is possible to build extensively and, yet, fail to create places in which people genuinely wish to live. One can produce environments that are economically successful while remaining socially fragmented and spiritually impoverished.

Ultimately, the places we construct reveal what we believe about the human person. If we regard individuals merely as economic agents, we will build accordingly. If, however, we understand human beings as relational creatures who seek belonging, meaning and community, our architecture must reflect these aspirations.

Perhaps the time has come to recover a more profound understanding of building itself. Our societies do not simply need more development. They need places that allow people to dwell well together. They need architecture capable of serving not only economic necessity but also human flourishing.

For, in the end, architecture is not merely about erecting structures of stone, steel or concrete. At its best, it is an act of care directed towards others, a gift to current and future generations and, ultimately, an act of love.

Alan Xuereb is a lawyer-linguist.