What a building inspired by Dante’s Divine Comedy taught me about long-term vision
How one man’s vision of legacy contrasts with today’s fleeting creations
In Archanes, about 15 km north of Central Athens, sits the Olympic Village, built for the 2004 Summer Olympics. With seats overtaken by weeds and structures rusting away, the village is abandoned and decaying—a symbol of short-term thinking.
Standing there nowadays, you would know it wasn’t meant to last. Rusted benches and crumbling walls whisper a strange indifference, a reminder that this space was designed for brief spectacle, not enduring presence.
Meanwhile, 11,671 kilometers from Athens, in Avenida de Mayo 1370 in Buenos Aires, Argentina, stands the Barolo Palace—a testament to long-term vision. It was built between 1919 and 1923 by Luis Barolo, an Italian immigrant and textile entrepreneur, to preserve the legacy of Italian poet Dante Alighieri and his enduring masterpiece, The Divine Comedy, in a time of global uncertainty1.
In our world, which often favors the immediate over the enduring, the Barolo Palace challenges us to reflect on what it means to build with purpose and foresight.
The Divine Comedy in brick and mortar
I visited the palace last May and was struck by its grandeur and meticulous thought behind each detail—a testament to the kind of care and purpose that’s often missing today. Divided into three main sections—Inferno, Purgatory, and Paradise—the structure echoes Dante's journey. Its height reaches 100 meters, symbolizing the 100 cantos of Dante’s poem, while its 22 floors reflect the 22 stanzas of the verses.
The entrance, with its nine vaults, represents the nine steps of initiation and the nine infernal hierarchies.
As you ascend, the upper floors and the dome symbolize the seven levels of purgatory. At the very top, a lighthouse crowns the building, representing the nine angelic choirs—a beacon that metaphorically leads the soul toward enlightenment.
During the visit, my tour guide explained how the building is split into two sections, with 11 offices per block on each level, reinforcing the numerological significance—22 in total, mirroring Dante’s structure in his 100 cantos.
As you walk through the palace, you notice how the architectural detailing becomes simpler with each floor. Intricate sculptures, mosaics, and symbolic carvings give way to more minimal designs as you ascend. This progressive simplicity mirrors the journey of purification in Dante’s Divine Comedy, shedding worldly concerns as one approaches Paradise.
Each floor’s diminishing decor symbolizes a spiritual ascent, where material embellishments give way to light, clarity, and a purer vision.
As I climbed higher, each step felt like leaving something behind—a small weight I didn’t know I was carrying. By the time I reached the top, it was as if the building had quietly asked me to think beyond the clutter of everyday life and see the bigger picture.
Buildings like this remind us that architecture can be more than functional; it can be an intentional space that invites reflection and growth. In a world that often values efficiency and immediacy over depth, the Barolo Palace is a reminder of the power of intention and lasting beauty. I walked away, hoping we, too, might create with such care and purpose.
Barolo’s Vision vs. the Drive for Immediate Results
Barolo’s vision was a rare act of foresight—one that looked far beyond his own lifetime to preserve cultural legacy in a time of global turmoil. In contrast, this long-term vision is largely absent today, which is obsessed with immediate results—from digital content created to go viral and be forgotten the next day to buildings and infrastructure designed without thought for future generations. In a culture that values rapid consumption over lasting impact, true legacy-building has become a rarity.
The Olympic Village is not an isolated incident. In today’s fast-paced world, short-term thinking governs much of our behavior.
From tech gadgets deliberately designed for obsolescence (hello, software updates that slow your laptop down) to the rise of fast fashion, many industries thrive on short-term gains, leaving little room for enduring value and sustainability. This isn’t just a market strategy—it’s a symptom of a deeper cultural shift that rewards speed, novelty, and convenience at the expense of building anything that lasts.
Economic pressures push companies to focus on quick profits, while cultural trends reward the newest and fastest over the lasting and meaningful. As a result, true craftsmanship and sustainability are sacrificed for what's easily consumed and replaced. This shift doesn’t just affect the fleeting products of the moment; it erodes our collective ability to build anything of enduring significance. If we continue down this path, what will we leave behind?
The consequences of this are abundant, such as cultural amnesia, where once-cherished architectural styles or local artisanal skills fade into obscurity, and lost innovation, as research on long-term solutions like alternative energy or enduring building materials is often sidelined for projects with faster returns, leading to a broader loss of our ability to sustain anything meaningful, like art and culture.
We've lost the ability to imagine futures worth working toward. But the cost of this mindset is clear: without a long-term vision, we risk losing not just our past but our ability to shape a meaningful future.
Monuments for the future
Barolo’s decision to build a palace as a monument to Dante Alighieri reflects a commitment to preserving something far greater than himself. Having migrated to Argentina in the late 19th century, he feared that Dante’s remains could be lost amidst the devastation of World War I and aimed to bring the poet’s ashes to Buenos Aires for safekeeping. Though Dante’s remains ultimately stayed in Italy, the Barolo Palace would honor his legacy in a lasting, meaningful way.
This investment wasn’t just financial; it was cultural and deeply personal. By embedding architectural symbolism from The Divine Comedy, such as the three sections representing Inferno, Purgatory, and Paradise, Barolo demonstrated a commitment to creating something enduring. The palace speaks to the journey of human existence—an ode to values and ideas meant to last, even as the world increasingly favors fleeting trends and impermanence.
In a time when so many creations are disposable, Barolo's palace reminds us that some things are worth building to last beyond our lifetimes.
Lessons from a Legacy Builder
Barolo’s commitment to legacy offers a rare contrast to today’s short-sighted mindset. Through his story, we see how deeply he valued creating something to outlast himself, something that speaks to generations. We, too, have a responsibility to look beyond the present to build for the future.
Luis Barolo, who envisioned this monument, never saw its completion. He passed away in July 1922, one year before its inauguration in 1923. However, he embodied a mindset we need more of: one where we think beyond our immediate needs and desires to shape a future that endures. His vision preserved an important part of the culture that outlives its creator.
This matters because, without long-term thinking, we risk losing cultural, intellectual, and societal progress. I fear a world where our shared history and creativity become disposable, where the works that have shaped who we are—literature, art, philosophy—are overshadowed by fleeting trends. What would it mean if we lost the drive to preserve the wisdom of past generations? If we no longer invest in creating things that inspire or challenge us to think beyond ourselves? This loss would affect not only the culture we leave behind but also the depth of experience we bring into our own lives.
Reflecting on Barolo’s story, I question the lasting impact of my choices and contributions. In a world where instant results and rapid change are the norm, I’m often tempted to pursue short-term gains at work, in my writing, and in other parts of my life. But Barolo’s legacy reminds me of the importance of investing in enduring things.
What we are missing as a society is this kind of long-term vision–the ability to think beyond the immediate toward legacies that shape future generations. The Olympic Village in Athens symbolizes short-sighted ambition, while the Barolo Palace, still resonant a century later, embodies the power of foresight and intention.
The legacies we create today will determine how we’re remembered tomorrow. Our world desperately needs more Barolos—those willing to build with foresight, intention, and dedication to a lasting legacy. So, I leave you with this question: What legacies are we building today? If we commit to building things that last, we can shape a world worth inheriting.
–Catalina
Despite his intention, Dante’s ashes never made it out of Italy.
Beautiful Catalina. I especially loved the contrast of the Olympic village rusting and crumbling with the Barolo Palace... and of course the irony of it being the Olympics themselves which harkens back centuries. The photos also really helped to bring the piece alive. And the ideas of questioning our fast-paced, throw away world. Thanks...
This is an awesome essay. I don't come from an architecture background or familiar with Dante's inferno, but it was well made. Love the overall message with choosing the long term and 'enduring' work like art