The tradition of Yale
Whenever I travel abroad, I make it a point to visit universities, not only to admire their architecture but also to observe how their traditions are reflected in campus life and physical spaces.
Thanks to my family’s friendship with professor David E. Apter (1924–2010), I had the pleasure of visiting Yale University in the early 1990s. He served as the Henry J. Heinz II Professor Emeritus of Comparative Political and Social Development and was a renowned scholar of the political development of emerging nations.
I previously had the honor of accompanying Apter to several cities in Korea in the early 1980s, an experience that deepened my admiration for his intellect and character. Guided in part by his insights, my later visit to New Haven stood out for the conversations I had and the campus's architectural beauty. But what impressed me most was something modest: a small pane of cracked glass.
This tiny imperfection caught my eye not for its flaw, but for how it was treated. The crack was reinforced with the same material as the original frame, preserving the damaged piece rather than discarding it. That single detail spoke volumes about the university’s values of reverence for continuity, care for history and tradition, and a commitment to restoration over replacement.
Yale, alongside Princeton, is widely regarded as one of the most beautiful campuses in the Ivy League. While Harvard favors brick architecture, Yale’s neo-Gothic stone buildings exude a timeless, old-world charm. For over three centuries, the university has nurtured this atmosphere. From grand architectural preservation to humble repairs like that cracked window, nothing seems too small to deserve attention.
In an age dominated by efficiency and convenience, it is tempting to replace a broken windowpane with modern glass — faster, cheaper, and better insulated. However, such materials often lack the character of century-old glass, with its subtle irregularities. At Yale, damaged panes are softened with high-temperature steam and reinforced using frames that match the historic style. This is a gesture of respect for the passage of time.
This philosophy of restoration reminded me of “kintsugi,” the art of mending broken pottery with lacquer. Rather than concealing the damage, kintsugi celebrates it
The cracks become veins of beauty — marks of resilience and transformation. Though the piece does not regain its original form, it emerges with deeper character and meaning, where imperfection becomes a testament to survival. In honoring what is old and imperfect, we are reminded of our own humanity.
The wear and tear of time tells a story of care, endurance and history. While Yale University boasts iconic architecture such as Eero Saarinen’s Ingalls Rink (the university’s ice hockey arena), Paul Rudolph’s Art & Architecture Building and Louis Kahn’s Yale Center for British Art, it was that simple window that resonated with me most powerfully. It embodied a quiet philosophy, showing that even what is broken can still carry beauty and meaning.
In a world increasingly obsessed with perfection and disposability, particularly in Korea’s fast-paced, image-conscious society, Yale’s tradition of thoughtful restoration offers a vital counterpoint. It reminds us that the marks of time are not to be erased but embraced. As the ancient Persian poet Rumi is supposed to have written, “The wound is the place where the Light enters you” — a timeless expression of the idea that beauty and growth often emerge through imperfection and pain.
Choe Chong-dae (choecd@naver.com) is a guest columnist of The Korea Times. He is a recipient of Sweden’s Royal Order of the Polar Star, one of the nation’s most distinguished honors.