The sheer cheek and explicitness of the Cité des Sciences et Industrie in Paris is impressive. It courageously shows off its raison-d’être: being a temple to scientific endeavour. Unlike the Beaubourg, Cité’s colourful cultural cousin or Lloyd’s, the monument to money, who both wear their insides out like fashionable overcoats, the Cité is in its essence dedicated to exploring these insides. The result is not so much a building as the world’s biggest didactic tool.
Embodied within the Cité is the idea of technology itself. Although nuts and bolts as well as rivets and welds hold buildings together and keep ships dry (or at least afloat), they take on almost religious significance in the Cité. Here technological know-how is used to display technological know-how itself. Although the result of this incest could easily have become vulgar, it in fact comes through as a well composed tribute to science. The appearance seems wholly fitting to the content, unlike some other sheds which were needlessly decorated with beams, pipes and cables, courtesy of high-tech architects.
The birth of technology itself is perhaps best represented in 2001: A Space Odyssey, where an ape starts to understand what could be done with a bone and later uses this new knowledge to intimidate its rivals. Even though the scene is fictional and obviously isn’t based on any historical record, it is very successful at portraying what the first ever realization of the sheer potential of technology might have looked like. From that moment onwards technology has become a faithful companion of man and was in some way or another involved in or responsible for all of mankind’s future aspirations. Some sort of technological appliance has been used in the conception and construction of everything from Stonehenge to Spring house.
And yet, the essence of technology is difficult to pin down. Combining concepts of quantum mechanics and windscreen wipers under a single roof and not leave any components out in the rain is a daunting task. One such attempt was by Heidegger who developed the concept of ‘standing-reserve’. He argues that willingness to be used is intrinsic to any technological device. Any tool is then essentially a potential extension of the user, waiting to be put into practice. The acceleration pedal will (albeit indirectly) take the driver to speeds that would otherwise be out of reach.
Because the idea of technology itself is so fundamental to the human psyche it is often difficult to be aware of its presence. It is often only noticeable when wholly absent (or hidden from view) or, contrarily, its presence is greatly emphasised.
One of the most successful cases of invisible technology is the wall-mounted Muji CD player. Unlike similar devices it is perversely blank, its purpose legible only to those familiar with inner workings of CD players. Devoid of any obvious controls, it only comes alive when coupled with a CD and its cord is gently tugged.
Alternatively, there is fetishisation of technology. Steampunk thrives on the romantic aspects of bolts and rivets, re-enacting a glorified industrial revolution. Here the elements enabling the standing reserve are grossly exaggerated and openly indulge in exhibitionism. Each tiny rivet is brushed until gleaming and every knob put on a pedestal.
It is worth noting that every single artefact ever created fits in at some point between these two poles. As Aristotle points out, anything not given to us by nature is created by man and as such inherently technological. And as the world is so thoroughly soaked in technology it is difficult, if not impossible, to find a dry spot. It is only natural then for architecture to echo this state.
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