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"No important change in ethics was ever accomplished without an internal change in our intellectual emphasis, loyalties, affections, and convictions." – Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac

In the hills of California, a friend tells me his dream of a house "brought alive" by the sun: "It was inspired by this toy solar panel we attached to the dining room window with a suction cup. When the sun gets strong enough, curent drives a motor, which spins a hanging prism, and spots of rainbow circle the room in the late afternoon."

"One day I wondered—can't we derive more interior mechanisms from this principle? Why not put a network of such cells around a house and let them power a bunch of integrated signals and mechanisms, which could change every hour? Wood blinds close, skylight covers open, water trickles, and, who knows, air chimes or even small wind-up birds might sing—the whole house could be singing! Think of it like a giant clock marking time with the rhythm of the sun. Some of its movements would be practical—like shading—others aesthetic, channelling shadow and light, sound and water. Our ancestors designed temples so light fell in specific ways on given days, so we modern architects should be clever enough."

I liked the idea. A home enmeshed in natural flows, which give it an interior life. Like the plants around it, it adjusts its physiology throughout the day, enchanting its inhabitants and satisfying their biophilic ("life-loving") inclinations. (It reminds me a bit of Vo Trong Nghia's Wind and Water café in Vietnam, the light suffusing its open bamboo dome—but even more of the play of the skylight in his Stacking Green project, featured in this FuturArc issue.) I also appreciated the simplicity in my friend's vision. He didn't want a "smart" home, with fallible computer control, but small independent circuits. A collector, a motor, some gears and blinds—systems somewhere between passive and active. Decentralisation and reduction of hierarchical complexity may be a necessity of the post-carbon age, its newly limited supplies of energy and means of ordering itself, reducing entropy.

He was right about the past—we know of ancient astronomically aligned temples that used the sun's changing rays, from the Mjardna complex in Malta (approximately 5,000 years old) to the Temple of the Sun in Palenque, Mexico (about 1,300). Architects have harnessed elemental flows such as sunlight, wind and rain nearly from the beginning. Integrating structure with nature is back in vogue, but we must now devote much effort to relearning forgotten techniques. To apply them effectively, we must also understand why we forgot in the first place—and why reanimating design has suddenly become so urgent.

To read the complete article, get a copy of the 4Q 2011 edition at our online shop or at newsstands/major bookstores; or subscribe to FuturArc.

Jalel Sager is a writer and PhD student in the Energy and Resources Group (ERG) at the University of California, Berkeley, studying climate change and socio-ecological systems. Previously, he was the founding director of the Vietnam Green Building Council.