ACCORDING to the aesthetic of Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, architectural beauty resides in the simple, spare, almost chaste execution of a logical system.' Noteworthy examples of his work in Europe include the Berlin Monument to Karl Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg and the Barcelona Pavilion and, in the United States, the Seagram Building, the campus at the Illinois Institute of Technology, and several Lake Shore apartment houses. These constructions not only employ such techniques as free-hanging walls, glass skins, and simple repeated modules, they also exemplify a philosophy (de Stijl) and a set of principles. Geometric elegance is, of course, not the only imaginable major canon of beauty. Some architects prefer luxuriant, even fantastic, detail like that in Antonio Gaudi's Templo de la Sagrada Familia.2 Such tendencies also predominate in many temples of South and Southeast Asia and, closer to home, in the Watts Towers and in the library murals at the University of Mexico. The glass skin, one might say, is challenged for excellence by a profusion of gargoyles. Gargoyle research can sometimes, through sheer daring and inventiveness, be breathtaking to behold-and perhaps that in itself is also an index of beauty. Consider, for example, a study by Maslow, who recruited fifteen Barnard students for a ten-session, two-and-a-half-week, two-houran-evening experiment.3 The students met each time in the same room and occupied the same seats. Large, bright pictures by Maslow hung on the walls, and a metronome kept ticking largissimo in the background. The sessions were devoted to looking at a series of paintings by fifteen well-known artists,4 trying to write down and spell correctly the names of Russian women read to them by the experimenter, copying out of a book those sentences that contained key words provided on a separate list, and marking true-false tests. Throughout the experiment the students wore smocks, used grey rubber bands, large paper clips, yellow blotters, unlined 3 X 5 cards, used copies of books, yellow paper, and pens. Cookies were available for refreshment. These conditions prevailed generally throughout the sessions until the last few, when periodically the students were offered something different, without warning, or asked to make a judgment of personal preference. The students were offered a chance to change seats, to have the pictures on the wall removed, to have the metronome stopped; they were shown a matched series of paintings by the same fifteen artists and asked which in each matched pair was more beautiful; they were read a similar series of Russian women's names and asked which in each matched pair sounded nicer; they were offered the choice of copying significant parts rather than whole sentences and of writing original sentences rather than copying; they were offered an easier test-marking system; in addition, they were offered a chance to remove their smocks and to use red rubber bands, small paper clips, orange blotters, lined 3 X 5 cards, new books, blue writing pads, pencils, and a new kind of cookie.5