The emerging field of neuroarchitecture raises important new ethical questions for architects, write Cleo Valentine and Heather Mitcheltree.
Several weeks ago we were contacted by someone who had recently moved into a multi-award-winning apartment. It has featured in a range of publications, and has been praised as leading the way in sustainable and ethical housing design. The person who contacted us was miserable.
Neurodivergent, and particularly sensitive to environmental stimuli, he explained that despite prior assurances by the architect that the apartment would meet his particular sensory needs, it doesn’t. He isn’t sleeping, his anxiety levels have risen. And now, he is selling up and moving out.
Elements like natural light, spatial layout and visual complexity don’t just impact on aesthetic sensibilities
He isn’t the only one. We have had a large number of people reach out to tell us their stories about how the spaces they inhabit are having a profound negative impact on their wellbeing.
And while for those with heightened sensitivity to environmental stimuli these experiences are particularly pronounced, the design of the built environment impacts on everyone. Yes, many of our everyday spaces are doing us harm.
Before you shout that we are being melodramatic, let’s unpack this a bit. Architects have always designed spaces with people in mind – balancing functionality, aesthetic design considerations, occupant needs and a range of other concerns.
The emergence of neuroarchitecture – which studies how the built environment affects brain function – deepens our understanding of how design influences occupant health and wellbeing. Evidence shows that elements like natural light, spatial layout and visual complexity don’t just impact on aesthetic sensibilities, they affect how we function, think, and impact on our physical and psychological wellbeing.
But how much of this research is getting through to the design community? In a design review we attended recently at an Australasian university, the lack of industry knowledge about the physiological impact of the built environment on occupants was emphasised with startling clarity.
A very polished rendering of a small, ultra-minimalist room with neon lighting, exposed concrete and services, low ceilings, poor natural lighting, no outlook and a single plastic garden chair in the centre of the room was being praised for its design skill. This was supposedly the future of affordable housing – insert horror face.
Neuroarchitecture is more than a new design trend
Concerns were raised about the potential impact of the design on occupant wellbeing. These comments were dismissed with the reply: “I don’t think we can say that spaces can cause depression.”
For much of the audience in the room, this design ticked the right boxes. The aesthetic du jour was apparently heroin-chic architecture with a side order of Gulag revival.
Design has a long way to go in terms of recognising and putting into practice the neurophysiological impacts of design decisions on health and wellbeing. As an industry, what we praise, publish and give awards to matters.
Neuroarchitecture is more than a new design trend or emerging research field. It is about understanding the broader public-health impact of the spaces that we create.
The challenge is integrating the research insights into real-world practice. To fully leverage this knowledge, it needs to be embedded within the complexities of architectural education, projects and practices.
This is not just an ideological soapbox, or do-gooder utopian vision. Designers have an ethical responsibility to create spaces that do not harm occupants.
There is a resultant ethical duty to minimise the negative effects that result from the design of the built environment
Professional codes emphasise architects’ responsibility to “do no harm”. And while these codes traditionally focus on structural integrity and safety, with the ever-increasing insights from neuroarchitecture, the concept of harm expands.
Design choices such as daylight use, spatial proportions, materiality and visual patterns directly affect psychological comfort, stress levels and health. For example, natural light alters circadian rhythms, impacting on sleep and wellbeing, while poorly designed spaces may contribute to occupants’ sensations of discomfort, or, in more extreme cases, induce migraines.
While design for wellbeing isn’t a new concept, traditionally the approach has predominantly been applied to healthcare settings. However, every built environment, from workplaces and schools to homes and public spaces, has a profound impact on the physical and mental health of its users.
Arguably, our ethical responsibilities grow with this knowledge. If design choices impact on stress, cognition or a range of other physiological functions, there is a resultant ethical duty to minimise the negative effects that result from the design of the built environment.
This ethical responsibility is not limited to architects. It extends to everyone involved in the design and delivery of the built environment. Developers, city planners, policymakers, engineers and even the end-users all play crucial roles in shaping our surroundings.
Collaborative efforts are essential to ensure that health and wellbeing are prioritised at every stage. Applying neuroarchitectural insights into practice isn’t simple. Projects face budget constraints, complex and often conflicting client needs, regulatory compliance, deadlines, and the list goes on.
Understanding of the public-health ramifications of architecture and urban design is urgently needed
Structural industry changes require support. Regulatory frameworks and guidelines need to evolve to embrace these insights.
This isn’t about adding bureaucracy, but providing tools that help create spaces that support wellbeing. Embedding neuroarchitectural knowledge into standard practice makes human health considerations as fundamental to project outcomes as structural safety.
In bringing about this shift, education plays a crucial role. Here we return to the design review, and the types of spaces and designs that we promote as an industry. If architecture students understand how design impacts emotions and occupant physiological responses, they will be better-positioned to understand the health ramifications of their design decision making.
Expanding industry understanding of, and education about, the public-health ramifications of architecture and urban design is urgently needed. Neuroarchitecture offers clinically evidenced pathways to achieving this understanding.
However, moving forward requires collaboration among architects, researchers, policymakers and educators to close the gap between research and practice. It’s about building systems that allow us to use this knowledge in every project.
In doing so, we redefine what it means to be architects and designers of spaces that support better, healthier lives.
Cleo Valentine and Heather Mitcheltree are researchers based at the University of Cambridge, specialising in the impact of the built environment on neurophysiology and wellbeing. In April, they published a paper on the ethical implications arising from the emerging field of neuroarchitecture in the journal Intelligent Buildings International.
The photo is by Scarbor Siu via Unsplash.
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