When do golf architects start peeing in the wind?

I'm assured it's one of the most photographed golf holes in the world, so I can only plead dumb ignorance that I have only just been officially blown away by the 13th at Glassy Golf Course.

Officially the yardage is 159 but the more relevant number is 75 - the number of miles you can see from the green on a clear day. Click on the photograph for an aerial view of the hole in its entirety.

Now here's my quandary, were I the architect, rather than Tom Jackson. If I have a breathtaking piece of terrain with which to work, how good, architecturally, should I make the hole?

This may sound an odd question but it stems from another I often ask myself: do great holes punctuated by several holes that are merely good, provide the ideal blend for a golf course, or must the objective always be 18 stellar holes?

As I see it, the good holes throw the great holes into stark relief in a player's mind, whereas if you confront your public with wall-to-wall excellence, they might struggle to take it all in.

The 13th at Glassy provides a variation on this theme: is there a point at which you accept that the view is king and so rein in the architecture to avoid a busy piece of landscape that throws too much at those who use it?

By way of analogy - certain sporting careers are so overwhelmingly successful, you can't grasp the full import of what you're looking at. There's an element of this, I think, in the growing chorus of Tiger-sniping. On the other hand, we often warm more readily to the sportsman whose career is touched by just occasional splashes of greatness (John Daly?) because we can assimilate his achievements more easily.

So, getting back to Glassy; is there any point in a hole jam-packed with options and strategy, when most of its patrons are likely to have eyes only for the horizon? The course notes talk of a deceptively sloping green and variable wind shifts funnelling through the gap in the trees. Might these defences be sufficient argument for losing the bunkers altogether and complementing the complexity of the view with the minimalism of the hole?

Would that be good architecture or just plain lazy?

Am I ever going to stop asking questions?

If so, when?

I'm not trying to second-guess Tom Jackson in any way here, I must stress: I'm just thinking aloud. Comments, particularly from any of you who are formally qualified in this field, would be most welcome, as always.