The myths I have collected are those having to do with building science and building scientists, architecture and architects, and how architecture students are typically taught building science. I realize that something I call a myth may be your core belief, so let me first assure you that I mean no offense. My hope is that by bringing these ideas into the open we can determine whether these sacred cows and dead horses contain underlying truths that should not be discarded.

Myth #1. Building Science is a rigorous, logical, scientific discipline; architecture is soft and intuitive.

In my experience, it's the building scientists who are the wacky, goofy theorists who put forth all sorts of impractical schemes, and the architects who are the sober, practical and pragmatic professionals. For one thing, is what we call "building science" really science? Around my lab I often hear that building science is not "rocket science," meaning that real brain power is busy elsewhere. So I called some real rocket scientists I know at Cal Tech, and asked them how difficult their jobs are. They said, modestly perhaps, that it was nothing, really, just mixing chemicals and making explosions--stuff kids do. One astrophysicist volunteered that he needed help figuring out how to insulate his attic, and did I have any ideas.

I was particularly pleased to come across an essay by Edward Rothstein, "Contemplating the Sublime" (The American Scholar, Autumn 1997) that discusses how, in mathematics and the sciences, objects are studied to disclose a design or order. Rothstein quotes several mathematicians. The mathematician Hermann Weyl wrote, "My work always tried to unite the true with the beautiful; but when I had to choose one or the other, I usually choose the beautiful." G.H. Hardy wrote, "There is no permanent place in the world for ugly mathematics." Bertrand Russell, "Mathematics, rightly viewed, possesses not only truth, but supreme beauty--a beauty cold and austere, like that of sculpture." And Paul Dirac once proposed that if his theory were beautiful and an experiment proved it questionable, he would tend to doubt the experiment more than the theory.

A good example is the situation we faced when a client and the engineering consultant wanted us to model several energy alternatives for the National Museum of the American Indian, designed by the Canadian architect, Douglas Cardinal. At the time of the request the designer was still debating between including one atrium or two, whether the galleries should be open to unconditioned space ("everything needs to flow") and whether the roof should be made of glass. Without these decisions in place, we couldn't begin to make recommendations on the energy systems. All we could do was to speculate that the west- and south-facing glass would need to be reoriented. Obviously the difficulty is drawing the line at the point where there is enough information available on which choices can be based before key elements have been determined. Although incremental changes can be made at any point in the design and construction process, change orders can be expensive. Changing a glazing spec at the working drawing stage is relatively inexpensive (although HVAC sizing will be affected) but changing glazing size can be very costly.

There is another concern here that when design tools become easy to use, any "tool user" can become an expert, without necessarily understanding the consequences of his or her actions. The possibility for disasters is very real. We need to understand that tools are tools, and they are only as good as the understanding of the user.

In addition to teaching design faculty, the people I would like to educate about building science are CEOs, building owners, movers and shakers in the community, and society at large. Perhaps we should teach building science in the business and law schools. Once these future power brokers appreciate the importance of healthy, comfortable environments then the architects will scramble to meet their needs.

My argument isn't that you can't design a "good" building that incorporated sound design and environmental concerns, but that it is a mistake to attack a "beautiful" building and saying it is flawed because it fails by other criteria. Kant argues--I'm following Rothstien here--that the judgment of beauty is a detached judgment--it has nothing to do with the usefulness of the object, its monetary value or anything else. We shouldn't confuse "beauty" and "good."

Several reasons are given for this dictum, the chief one I hear being that you can't control the HVAC system if you have occupants opening and closing windows. I suspect that concerns for security, smoke control and the cost of window hardware are also important. But people like operable windows where they live and where they work. I recently reviewed design schemes for a new municipal building that included a daring entry by a well-known avant-garde firm, featuring "venturi air foils" and other high-tech strategies. I pointed out to the jury that the truly radical technology that distinguished this scheme from the others was that it alone had operable windows. While we cannot settle the debate about operable vs. inoperable windows, again, we should be clear about the basis for the arguments pro and con.

Without discussing the issue of how much ventilation is needed, what the provisions are for smoking, whether we should test all houses for radon, and how to best bring in outside air, let me say that these are all important questions that need our serious attention as designers and builders.

Studies have shown that workers like to have local control over their ventilation, lighting and temperature in their workplace. While other research has shown that workers don't want the additional hassle of having to manipulate control panels, they just want environmental conditions taken care of for them. We don't have to choose between smarter buildings or smarter people, but we should continue to look at the consequences of these actions.

Given the 20th-century legacy of cheap fuel and electricity, and people's expectations for uniform comfort conditions in all of our buildings, what opportunities are there for vernacular-based designs? Is the image of a naturally ventilated skyscraper an oxymoron?

These ideas are the results of an on-going conversation I have had over the years with friends, colleagues and students, during lunches, around drafting tables, and in elevators. I especially appreciate the comments and shared stories from Society of Building Science Educators (SBSE) colleagues and others who responded to an earlier draft of this paper. I welcome comments from readers, who can reach me at RCDiamond@LBL.GOV.

Pressman, Andy. 1995. The Fountainheadache: The politics of architect-client relations. New York: Wiley.

Received 26 March 1999

I can't say that I agree that all of the so called myths are actually myths. Myth #2 for example, contends that consultant input can only be valuable after something has been designed. This is contrary to everything that sustainability stresses with regard to the integrated design team approach. In addition, Energy 10 was developed just for the purpose of evaluating options very early in the schematic design process. Excluding consultant input early in the design process will overlook possible opportunities to be developed.