AAD-001 Technology is Not the Savior of Architecture

001 - Technology Is Not the Savior of Architecture

2026/07/25 by Yaduo Liu

We live in a time of intense technological fervor.

Ever since the Industrial Revolution in the 19th century, it has become a mainstream consensus that technology will make our lives better almost indefinitely—that through it we humans can achieve almost anything, alter almost anything, and bend everything to our will, at least in theory. And it is true that technology has improved our living standards to an extent unimaginable in the pre-industrial eras.

The folly in this consensus is that it reduces this complicated world to a simple machine and assumes we humans are capable of knowing and controlling everything. This apparent arrogance has begun to be noticed by more and more people as they realize that technology also brings many unforeseen problems, such as the disconnection between people and an emotionally barren society—even though we now possess the technology to communicate instantaneously. So, obviously, technology is not omnipotent.

Yet this realization seems slow to catch up in the field of architecture. It is evident that architecture as a field still holds significant meaning for society, but it has also become apparent that architects are complaining about the disregard from the general public for their profession. Many architects argue that the financial reward does not compensate proportionally for their years of learning, and that they are not even fully respected by clients, consultants, and—for obvious reasons—the contractors.The reasons for this problem are multi-fold, and I intend to explore them gradually in the following articles. Here, I wish to express one possible reason: the complete shift of focus toward technological advancement has caused architecture to drift from its core, which is to design spaces with souls—spaces that contain atmosphere, presence, emotional resonance, and a sense of cultural and human depth.

After Modernism in the 20th century completely turned architecture to a new page, the dominant value of architecture has been absent to this day, ever since people realized that Modernism carries the inherent issue of creating generic buildings everywhere. There have been many theories and attempts to define what architecture should be after the rise of Modernism. Even the avant-garde figure Le Corbusier, who famously claimed in his early career that “a house is a machine for living in” (une maison est une machine-à-habiter), turned in his later career to the exploration of the spiritual aspect of architecture—creating quite a controversy at the time. This absence of a core value has created a panic about the profession’s survival after so many theories failed to outline the future of architecture in a holistic and detailed way.

Even though there is still no obvious dominant value (in a theoretical sense) of architecture, there has been a consensus—or a sort of collective agreement—to place the future of architecture in the hands of technology. Currently, the architecture profession leans heavily into measurable, technical solutions such as sustainability and energy performance to determine whether a work of architecture is good or bad. It relies on digital tools like Revit to streamline collaboration and on parametric design to generate complex forms. With AI advancing rapidly, there is heated discussion about how to transform the profession through its integration.

Sustainability is therefore a basic requirement of architecture, not its ultimate objective or core. We can—and should—build sustainably, but sustainability must not dictate the direction of design.The same holds for energy performance, function, sunlight, fire protection, circulation, and other practical metrics. All are essential and must be met. Comfortable, well-functioning spaces matter. But they remain baseline conditions, not the standards by which architecture is ultimately judged. It is like eating and drinking: essential to human life, yet not its purpose. We seek high-quality sustenance in the service of emotionally and spiritually satisfying lives—not for its own sake.

We should care about the environment and work efficiently. Yet we do not build for the sake of building, nor solely for the sake of minimizing environmental impact. Our relationship with the earth is mutual: we take resources with consideration and, in return, create varied ways of living that enrich the world. Some impact is unavoidable, but a harmonious relationship remains mutually beneficial so long as we avoid reckless exploitation.

These tools and concerns are genuinely valuable. Better environmental performance, greater efficiency, and more sophisticated digital processes can and should improve how we build. But all these attempts, in my opinion, fall into one obvious trap: the tool used to make architecture has become the main focus of architecture itself, confusing the tool with the core.

The Acropolis of Athens inspires us through its sacred proportions; the Pantheon in Rome through the divine power emphasized by the oculus in its dome; the Milan Cathedral through the divinity expressed in its stone craft; the Fallingwater by Frank Lloyd Wright through its harmonious integration with its surroundings; La Tourette by Le Corbusier through its raw monastic character; the Salk Institute by Louis I. Kahn through its open courtyard that connects to infinity; the Church of the Light by Tadao Ando through the cross-shaped opening that admits light as a spiritual presence in a dense urban setting; Therme Vals by Peter Zumthor through its authentic expression of bathing in a valley. These and many other precedents show that it is the invisible spiritual quality—the atmosphere, presence, and emotional depth—that ultimately captures our attention and stirs lasting affection for the world. It is not envelope performance or LEED metrics that made them great.

The same logic applies to architecture. We want high-quality practical requirements met in the service of creating spaces that are emotionally and spiritually resonant—not practicality for practicality’s sake.Technology, as the means that enables architecture to satisfy these practical requirements, is essential. Yet it cannot be the savior of architecture’s declining identity. We need to return to the essence of architecture and reflect on what makes it a lasting component of every society.

When we speak of architecture praised for hundreds or thousands of years, we are not speaking of its practical aspects. We are speaking of how it makes us feel: the magnificence of its presence, the dignity of its forms, the ingenuity of its makers, and the intimacy of our encounter with it. It is the emotion it arouses, the realization that the world can be a wonderful place, and the gratitude that we are able to experience and help shape the environments around us. The practical requirements of architecture are the baseline, not the end goal.

Technology is a tool that materializes architecture into the physical world with a soul intact. Technology is not the savior of architecture; only architecture itself is. And a return to its spiritual dimension might be a necessary beginning.

NOTE:

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