Some people are lifelong optimists, some are pessimists, some are eternal seekers, and others prefer to just sit by the stove and complain. Johny and I belong to the third group—we like to look forward. Over a beer, we can spend hours dissecting various scenarios: from nuclear catastrophe to globalization and climate change, all the way to topics we understand a bit less. For instance, the exact impact of a four-leaf clover on the milk yield of cows. So, we decided to get moving and visit Futurium Berlin.
It is neither a museum nor a gallery in the standard sense of the word. It is something far more inspiring.
What Makes Futurium So Unique?
Most museums look backward. They showcase artifacts of the past and describe life often before Homo sapiens even discovered the kick-scooter (or the footbike). Futurium is different. It looks exclusively forward—but not in the way Hollywood sci-fi movies do. It doesn’t lecture, it doesn’t moralize, and it doesn’t terrify you with the apocalypse. It poses just one big question: “How do we want to live in the future?”—and it stubbornly refuses to answer it for you. That is its greatest charm.
Not Answers, But Choice
The central theme of the entire exhibition is not a prediction, but our own choice. Across two floors and in the basement laboratories, different possible versions of the future coexist side by side—not one single “correct” one.
Humanoid robots, green vertical skyscrapers, or a shared economy without personal ownership. Everything is presented as a legitimate direction, not as an unattainable utopia or a terrifying dystopia.
Three “Thought Spaces”
The permanent exhibition is divided into three large worlds dedicated to three core dimensions of our existence:
- Human and Technology
- Human and Nature
- Human and Oneself
However, do not expect sterile tech gadgets or the superficial green activism so common today. The exhibition highlights their mutual tension, compromises, and dependencies. Futurium shows you the cards, but the decision of how to play them is left entirely up to you.
Futurium Lab: A Subterranean Cave of Experiments
In the basement, in a six-meter-deep underground space below the surface of the River Spree, lies the Futurium Lab. It is a pure laboratory of experiences. Here, visitors can experiment first-hand with concepts of the future: from 3D printing and biodesign to interactive installations. Best of all, most of the workshops—just like admission to Futurium itself—are completely free.
Skywalk Over Berlin
The building itself is an architectural manifesto. It is nearly energy-sustainable, its roof is covered in photovoltaics, and it collects rainwater for cooling.
The best part? The publicly accessible Skywalk on the roof. It offers a panoramic view stretching from the glass dome of the Reichstag to the iconic TV Tower. Standing up there, I felt for a moment as if I were on the famous garden terraces above the Athens Opera House.
How Does Curiosity Taste?
Inspiration and curiosity are perhaps more important nourishment for the human brain than olives, good cheese, and fine wine are for the stomach.
Much like contemporary art, Futurium Berlin is powerful not because of what it shows you, but because of what it triggers in your mind. Most people go to museums to passively consume history. Here, you are expected to take a stand—on urban planning, AI, diet, or the future of work.
It won’t tell you exactly what the world will look like, but it forces you to think about what you actually want from that future—and why. And that is no small thing.
Epilogue
We spent just over an hour inside Futurium. It was desperately short. You could easily lose four hours there and still have things to discover.
We reflected the most at the Human and Oneself section. Naturally, we want to be better, sharper, younger, healthier, wealthier, and wiser. We want girls to turn their heads when we pass by, but… Then you look in the mirror, tell yourself, “Oh well, at least nothing hurts,” hop back on the footbike, and once again we are (at least mentally) active and curious kids. The future doesn’t give a damn about our aching old lower backs.
When I return to Berlin next time, I will visit this place again. But not with Johny—I’ll take my granddaughter. Because if anyone needs to start shaping the answers to questions about the future, it is her generation.
Written in ketchup on a currywurst paper plate—Johny & I, Berlin.
