











































Architecture Philosophy is the journal of  the International Society for the Philosophy 
of  Architecture (ISPA). The society was founded in 2009 by Carolyn Fahey, and 
the journal was first published in 2014 by Tom Spector, Carolyn Fahey, and Stefan 
Koller.

Architecture Philosophy proudly acknowledges the financial support from the Oklahoma 
State University School of  Architecture and the College of  Engineering Architecture 
and Technology that makes free distribution of  print copies possible. The journal 
also acknowledges the support from the Oklahoma State University Library for 
making the submission management software, the journal’s online presence, and its 
indexing in academic search engines a reality. 

Architecture Philosophy (ISSN 2372-0883) is published semiannually. Two parts form a 
volume. The subscription is free for digital copies, and print copies are available to 
society members at ISPA events. Visit isparchitecture.com for digital access to the 
journal’s content. 

The graphical layout of  the journal and the cover design are by Carolyn Fahey. 

Copying
This journal is copyrighted by Oklahoma State University. For permission requests 
please contact the ISPA at isparchitecture@gmail.com.

© Oklahoma State University

Printed in the United States by Oklahoma State University.



Managing Editor
Tom Spector, Ph.D., University of  California - Berkeley

Assistant Editors
Christoph Baumberger, Ph.D., ETH Zürich
Carolyn Fahey, Ph.D., Newcastle University
Stefan Koller, Ph.D., Delft University of  Technology

Editorial Board
Philosophy
Rebecca Bensen-Cain, Ph.D., University of  California - Santa Barbara
Rafael de Clercq, Ph.D., Catholic University Leuven 
Noël Carroll, Ph.D., University of  Illinois
Paul Guyer, Ph.D., Harvard University
Christian Illies, Ph.D., University of  Oxford
Jeff  Malpas, Ph.D., Australian National University

Architecture
Andrew Ballantyne, Ph.D., University of  Sheffield
Ufuk Ersoy, Ph.D., University of  Pennsylvania
Helen Mallinson, Ph.D., London Consortium
David Leatherbarrow, Ph.D., University of  Essex 
Graham Owen, M.Des., Harvard University
Nicholas Ray, M.A., University of  Cambridge

Contact
Web isparchitecture.com
Email isparchitecture@gmail.com



CONTENTS

August Sarnitz 141Wittgenstein’s Architectural 
Idiosyncrasy

117Editorial

123Jochen SchuffContesting Wittgenstein’s 
Remarks on Architecture

169Emre DemirelUse-Value and the Question of  
Completion

207Hilde HeynenBook Review: The Aesthetics of  
Architecture by Roger Scruton

191Reidar DueSemiotic Naturalism in 
Architecture Theory

iMark Jensen, Carolyn Fahey 
& Tom Spector

Call for Papers: Building as 
Service

Carolyn Fahey





isparchitecture.com

The present issue owes its contributions 
to an international symposium held by 
the International Society for the Philosophy of  
Architecture, the society behind Architecture 
Philosophy. Hosted  over the summer of  2015 at 
the Wittgenstein House in Vienna, symposium 
speakers were able to literally demonstrate 
claims by pointing to the structure around them. 
The setting stimulated difficult conversations 
about Wittgenstein, architecture, and 
architecture’s Modernism. Entitled “Use-Value 
in Architecture: Reconceptualizing Buildings’ 
Functions,” the symposium raised a host of  
questions related to the notion of  function in 
architecture’s Modernist discourse and called 
upon Wittgenstein’s notion of  meaning as use 
to aid in its resolution:

Given the wealth of  new ways of  conceptualizing 
building, its practice, and its meanings, this call 
for papers prompts authors to reconceptualize the 
notion of  buildings’ functions in terms of  use, 
particularly as is described in Wittgenstein’s use 
theory.

By engaging one of  philosophy’s richest and 
most formidable postmodern thinkers-–Ludwig 
Wittgenstein-–the discourse surrounding function 
can move away from architecture’s Modernist 
paradigm that has largely defined how we think 
about and deal with questions relating to function. 
Wittgenstein-–who remains largely undealt with 
by the architectural discourse, but whose work 
has nevertheless had ample development from 

The discourse 
surrounding 

function can 
move away from 

the Modernist’s 
paradigm

“

”

USE-VALUE IN ARCHITECTURE: RECONCEPTUALIZING 
BUIlDINGS’ FUNCTIONS

CAROLYN FAHEY



118

Ed
it

or
ia

l

within the philosophical discourse-–provides genuine contributions to the 
understanding of  use and meaning. Specifically, the Wittgensteinian notion 
of  meaning as use moves the discussion away from mechanical or systematic 
notions grounded in scientific inquiry, and instead focuses analysis on the 
particular context or language-game within which a building partakes. 
Thus, the hope is to utilize Ludwig Wittgenstein’s theory of  meaning to 
achieve radically alternative analyses of  building’s use, thereby allowing 
for productive re-engagement with one of  architecture’s most fundamentally 
philosophical questions.1 

The symposium’s call simultaneously prompted thinkers to revisit 
questions relating to Wittgenstein’s philosophical significance within 
the architecture discourse. 

This special issue seeks to reinvigorate the discourse surrounding 
the Wittgenstein House, not so much with the interest of  canonizing 
the house, but rather as a means of  developing a working method for 
understanding the relationship between philosophy and architecture. 
The motivating factor—not coincidentally the primary purpose 
of  this journal and its society also—is a foundational question to 
understanding what architecture is, what its history is, and what it 
could, or rather, should be. 

Wittgenstein himself  participated in the design of  a mansion, 
known widely as the Wittgenstein House, making him one of  the 
few famous philosophers to have directly engaged in architectural 
design. Heidegger is also well known for having written on 
architecture, in his essay “Building, Dwelling, Thinking” but is not 
known for having engaged the design or construction processes so 
foundational to understanding architecture. In Wittgenstein’s case, 
it was not well-known that he had had any run-in with architecture 
until after Bernhard Leitner’s 1973 publication of  The Wittgenstein 
House. Previously, and to this day, Wittgenstein is best known as a 
philosopher who made substantive contributions to philosophy of  
language—ordinary language philosophy especially. When Leitner 
published his text, the architecture discipline momentarily turned its 
divided attention to the house at a time when the architecture was 
inundated with post-structuralist theories. Architects were intrigued 
by the possibility that a single person’s work could bridge between 
the disciplines of  architecture and of  philosophy and set out to 
understand how one’s person work could embody both. Yet, the 
methods these thinkers used to analyze the house were in keeping 
with post-structuralist methods, and the results were tantalizing 
acrobatic arguments at odds with Wittgenstein’s own philosophical 



119

isparchitecture.com

methods. Little traction was gained by the post-
structuralist attempts and since then few, with 
the exception of  Roger Paden’s Mysticism and 
Architecture and Nana Last’s Wittgenstein’s House, 
have attempted to re-conceive this terrain.2 

Starting off  the issue, Jochen Schuff ’s 
paper clears the field, so to speak, of  the 
existing literature. The matter-of-fact survey 
separates theoretical interpolation from what 
Wittgenstein said. To do so otherwise, I 
would argue, is to proceed in a decidedly un-
Wittgensteinian manner. His strict reading 
looks to David Macarthur’s recently published 
piece in Architecture Theory Review, as having 
repeated many of  the past attempt’s missteps.3 
As readers will see later in the issue, August 
Sarnitz’s paper draws a similar conclusion to that 
of  Schuff  albeit using original source material 
and recently translated empirical information 
on the house and the Austrian cultural context. 

Taking a staunch position, Schuff  seems to 
believe that everything written on the topic 
of  Wittgenstein’s philosophy of  architecture 
falls into the terrain of  un-Wittgensteinian 
extrapolation, and therefore should be 
discounted. It seems that much of  what has 
been produced in philosophical discourse on 
Wittgenstein’s philosophy would then also fall 
into this category, but it is unclear whether 
Schuff  would agree to such a parallel criticism 
of  philosophy. Schuff  does appear to shift 
into a moderate position with regards to what 
can be said of  Wittgenstein’s and architecture 
in the second half  of  his paper, wherein 
he does indulge in a few analyses of  the 
significance of  Wittgenstein’s remarks when 
considering architecture. The shift later in the 
paper suggests perhaps that his initial staunch 
position is more moderate. For me, although 
Wittgenstein is not himself  a philosopher 
of  architecture, that does not rule out the 

The matter 
of fact survey 

separates 
theoretical 

interpolation 
from what 

Wittgenstein said

“

”



120

Ed
it

or
ia

l

possibility that there is something of  philosophical significance on 
architecture Wittgenstein has said. 

Nevertheless, whether any kind extrapolation is permitted, 
how much and when such extrapolation maybe permitted, or 
whether Wittgenstein’s remarks hold any meaningful application to 
architecture remains contested and will remain a heated point of  
debate in any discussion of  Wittgenstein in architecture. Whatever 
one’s position on the matter, Schuff ’s paper will be an invaluable 
starting point for those entering this field as he carefully surveys 
and delineates what Wittgenstein did say and what can arguably 
meaningfully be said, without transgressing into the terrain of  
liberal interpolation. 

Perfectly juxtaposed with Schuff  is August Sarnitz who argues 
that the Wittgenstein House demonstrates some of  Wittgenstein’s 
philosophical points using a standard approach to analyzing building. 
Sarnitz is unique in existing literature for not over-attributing 
meaning to the house, for grounding his attributions of  meaning 
directly in building analysis, and for analyzing the Wittgenstein 
House in light of  Wittgenstein’s own thinking as opposed to that of  
Loos or other fin de siècle thinkers in Vienna at the time.

Sarnitz provides an analysis of  the house, contextualizing it in 
Viennese Modernism and traditional Austrian building practice. He 
provides a foundation for understanding Wittgenstein’s engagement 
with building practice, and in doing so corrects the established 
understanding, and provides the basis for an alternative reading 
of  the house. Unique other accounts of  the house is Sarnitz’s 
ability to argue for both Wittgenstein’s status as an architect and 
his originality in this position. While the standard reading of  the 
house places it within Viennese Modernism, or amongst the likes 
of  Loos and Wagner, the reading typically views Wittgenstein as 
an intellectual member of  the Viennese Modernist movement. Yet, 
Sarnitz demonstrates Wittgenstein’s intellectual opposition to many 
of  the foundational positions of  Viennese Modernism. He shows 
us that the Wittgenstein House demonstrates a different take on 
the aesthetics of  utility then many of  his Austrian contemporaries. 
As such, many existing historical attributions of  the Wittgenstein 
House are at odds with Sarnitz’s characterization. 

The next paper explores what can be said of  architecture in light 
of  Wittgenstein, particularly as pertains to Wittgenstein’s theory 
of  meaning. Emre Demirel approaches the topic from within the 



121

isparchitecture.com

discipline of  architecture and reaches toward 
a philosophical statement. Demirel discusses 
Wittgenstein’s theory of  meaning as a means 
of  questioning the notion of  tradition in 
architecture. His theoretical position is 
demonstrated by examples taken from his native 
Turkey, which serves not only to evidence the 
theoretical position taken, but further develop 
the position by working through notions of  
representation and building analysis. 

Reidar Due’s paper runs counter to 
Demirel’s in the sense that his paper 
approaches the topic from within philosophy 
and reaches toward architecture. Due discusses 
the conceptual foundations underpinning 
segments of  architectural theory. He looks to 
the Wittgensteinian concept of  meaning as 
use in order to demonstrate the limitations of  
Hegelian notions of  architecture, the limitations 
of  which are for him the basis of  contemporary 
architecture theory. He then discusses the 
role of  ideologies in collective thought about 
building, so as to show the limitations of  
essentialist notions of  architecture as well as 
the limitations certain “categories”, as the 
author calls them, have on the way we think 
about building. Due’s categories run parallel 
to Adrian Forty’s analysis of  the role of  words 
in conceptions of  architecture, yet Due argues 
further effectively saying that these categories 
or words provide the basis of  conceptual 
formations.4 Due focuses on the role of  
the historian in constructing architectural 
ideologies, leaving the reader to ask whether 
ideologies are always so construed.

Hilde Heynen’s contribution takes a turn, 
looking to the disciplinary rift that has for 
decades, perhaps centuries, divided reflective 
thinkers. Heynen reviews the discourse 
defining text Aesthetics of  Architecture by Roger 
Scruton, marking its recent new edition. The 

SArnitz 
demonstrates 
wittgenstein’s 

intellectual 

Opposition 
to ... Viennese 

modernism

“

”



122

Ed
it

or
ia

l

review serves as a short position piece describing why philosophers, 
albeit not all, so consistently fail to engage architecture. Their 
methodological errors in the approach to a subject they know little 
appears the cause, and the seemingly lack of  engagement with 
building the symptom. Heynen provides a reasoned analysis as to 
why Scruton’s thinking has not resonated, in either the original or 
recent revised edition, with those in the architecture discipline. She 
argues that while Scruton provides a competently argued account of  
architecture, the characterization is too limited to be recognizable, 
perhaps intelligible, to those intimately studied in architecture’s 
discourse and practice. 

Endnotes

1. Fahey, Carolyn, March 1, 2015, “Use-Value in Architecture:
Reconceptualizing Buildings’ Functions,” International Society for the Philosophy 
of  Architecture, http://isparchitecture.com/events/call-for-papers/
2. See my Ph.D. dissertation for a detailed survey of  literature surrounding
the house and the limitations of  each contribution: Carolyn Fahey, The
Claim of  Architecture: a new Wittgensteinian reading (Newcastle upon Tyne:
Newcastle University, 2010).

3. David Macarthur, ‘Working on Oneself  in Philosophy and Architecture:
A Perfectionist Reading of  the Wittgenstein House’, Architecture Theory
Review 19.2 (2015).
4. Adrian Forty, Words and Buildings: a vocabulary of  Modern Architecture
(London: Thames & Hudson, 2000).

AP .  vol 2 . No 2 . 2017



isparchitecture.com

CONTESTING WITTGENSTEIN”S 
REMARKS ON ARCHITECTURE

JOCHEN SCHUFF

As the general concern of  this journal issue is 
the relevance of  Wittgenstein’s thinking for the 
philosophy of  architecture, I will take the task 
quite literally. Accordingly, the aim of  my paper is 
to explore whether there is evidence for systematic 
ideas about architecture in Wittgenstein. Reading 
Culture and Value, it may well seem as if  architecture 
ranked among the subjects Wittgenstein did think 
about—at least from time to time. I will provide 
some context concerning the status of  these 
remarks—as well as that of  some others not 
included in Culture and Value—in Wittgenstein’s 
work.

All things considered, there is not much to be 
found in Wittgenstein’s writing concerning the 
arts or aesthetics in general. There are, to be sure, 
some editions of  student’s notes of  lectures on the 
subject of  aesthetics [1], and numerous opinions 
reported in correspondences and biographies, 
but only a few remarks devoted to art both in 
the single book Wittgenstein published in his 
lifetime, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, and among the 
20,000 pages of  text he left in his Nachlass. Most 
of  these remarks contain reflections about music, 
especially musical meaning and understanding. In 
relation, there is even less Wittgenstein specifically 
wrote on the subject of  architecture. The fact 
may be striking, since Wittgenstein, while having 
temporarily abandoned philosophy, famously took 
part in designing and building the city mansion for 
his sister Margarethe Stonborough-Wittgenstein in 
Kundmanngasse, Vienna, between 1926 and 1928. 
He even considered himself  an architect by trade 

All things 
considered, 

there is not 
much to 

be found in 
Wittgenstein’s 

writing 
concerning 

the arts or 
aesthetics in 

general.

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

124

SC
HU

FF

during this period.

There is much to be said, and in fact much has been said about 
Wittgenstein’s architectural practice, but I do not intend to contribute to 
that discussion [2]. Nor will I make reference to the frequent metaphors 
from the realm of  building that Wittgenstein makes use of, for instance 
in the Philosophical Investigations or in On Certainty. In my mind, the parallels 
between Wittgenstein’s activity as an architect and his being a philosopher, 
or between his architecture and his philosophy, are often overstated. 
Compared to Nana Last’s reading of  the Kundmanngasse house as a 
bridging between different spatialities in Wittgenstein’s thought or Roger 
Paden’s interpretation of  the house as a manifestation of  mysticism, 
there are more modest proposals. In a recent reevaluation of  the links 
between the house and Wittgenstein’s philosophy, for instance, David 
Macarthur nonetheless refers to Wittgenstein’s “ideas” or “reflections” 
on architecture, drawing on Culture and Value [3]. On closer inspection, 
though, most of  the ideas are actually Adolf  Loos’, serving Macarthur 
as a matrix of  interpretation for Wittgenstein’s own remarks. My aim, 
instead, is to focus exclusively on what Wittgenstein actually wrote about 
the subject of  architecture, and to determine the philosophical status of  
these remarks in their own right.

In the first section of  my paper, I will present a survey of  more or 
less everything Wittgenstein specifically (in the strict sense) wrote about 
architecture. Most of  these remarks, it will turn out, are no more than 
sketches or rough ideas. Some of  them belong to the context of  art or 
aesthetics as Wittgenstein conceived of  it. This connection will be discussed 
in the second section. In other cases, Wittgenstein uses architecture as an 
object of  analogy, or comparison. In the third section, a commentary on 
one remark comparing architectural to philosophical practice is provided. 
Section IV will conclude that the value of  Wittgenstein’s remarks 
read as contributions to a philosophy of  architecture is limited; while 
Wittgenstein’s broader reflections on aesthetics are significant in terms of  
content and method, if  often neglected, the same cannot be said of  the 
scattered paragraphs on architecture [4].

I

In his early writings, Wittgenstein virtually does not mention architecture 
at all. As far as we can tell, it is only after having finished the house in 
Kundmanngasse that he starts to write down thoughts about architecture, 
but there are usually long stretches of  time in between. In 1930, he notes: 
“Today the difference between a good & a poor architect consists in the 



125

isparchitecture.com

fact that the poor architect succumbs to every 
temptation while the good one resists it” [5]. In 
this aphoristic remark, we are given no hint as to 
what kind of  temptation Wittgenstein could have 
in mind, or what the difference between a good 
and a poor architect could have been before today. 
We can only guess whether Wittgenstein is thinking 
of  someone or something particular here. Shortly 
after, there is some criticism of  contemporary 
architecture (as an expression of  a culture and 
civilization alien to the author) in the “Sketch for 
a Foreword” dating from the same year, probably 
written for the Big Typescript [6]. Both comments 
can be read as fragments of  criticism, rather than 
theory. In contrast, a recurrent aesthetic concept is 
introduced in 1933; Wittgenstein notes: “Remember 
the impression made by good architecture, that it 
expresses a thought. One would like to respond to 
it too with a gesture” [7]. Consequently, in 1938, 
in a rather sketchy remark, Wittgenstein tentatively 
thinks about, “Phenomena akin to language in 
music or architecture” [8]. Then, in 1942, the motive 
of  gesture becomes explicit again: “Architecture 
is a gesture. Not every purposive movement of  
the human body is a gesture. Just as little as every 
functional building is architecture” [9]. Here, the 
link between architecture and gestures seems even 
closer. Moreover, Wittgenstein seems to draw a 
distinction between mere building and architecture, 
the distinction being that architecture is a gesture, 
while mere building is not. In a remark existing in 
several variations, he writes in 1947: “Architecture 
glorifies something (because it endures). Hence 
there can be no architecture where there is nothing 
to glorify” [10]. One alternative version mentions 
gestures, too; it reads: “Architecture glorifies 
something because it is a gesture which endures. It 
glorifies its purpose” [11]. Taking up, perhaps, the 
thought that architecture is some kind of  petrified 
gesture designed with the purpose of  glorification, 
Wittgenstein writes in 1948: “A great architect in a 

We can only 
guess whether 

Wittgenstein 
is thinking of 

someone or 
something 

particular

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

126

SC
HU

FF

bad period (van der Nüll) has a quite different task from that of  a great 
architect in a good period. You must again not let yourself  be deceived 
by the generic term. Don’t take comparability, but rather incomparability, 
as a matter of  course” [12]. The bottom line in this case, however, is not 
so much aesthetic as linguistic, since Wittgenstein claims that one and the 
same allgemeine Begriffswort (“generic term”) can have two different meanings 
relative to context, so that the term great architect can attribute different 
qualities to a person depending on the cultural context she is working in. 
It is not easy to see, though, why Wittgenstein is talking about generic 
terms here; it seems rather trivial that being called a great architect can 
rest on different accomplishments, or tasks, for it evidently depends on 
aesthetic judgments. Without any context, the remark is rather mysterious; 
it would have been interesting to know what Wittgenstein takes the task of  
the great architect in a good or in a bad period to be, respectively. All we 
can assume is that Wittgenstein seems to have appreciated van der Nüll’s 
architecture (the most prominent example of  which is the Vienna State 
Opera) [13].

Almost all of  these remarks can be found in the collection Culture 
and Value. In German, the volume has been published under the more 
appropriate title Vermischte Bemerkungen, calling its content what it is: 
miscellaneous or mixed remarks, mixed not by Wittgenstein, but by his 
editors, Georg Henrik von Wright in this case. This is what they (or 
he) found worthy of  being published after almost everything remotely 
resembling a book, say, abandoned publication projects or typescripts and 
even more or less coherent manuscripts like those that have come to be 
known as On Certainty, had already been published. This is not to say that 
the remarks thus collected, including those on architecture, are not worthy 
of  attention, but that we should keep in mind that they do not constitute 
something like a book or coherent body of  text that Wittgenstein devoted 
to questions of  “culture” and “value,” let alone architecture.

Some of  the remarks on aesthetics and music included, in contrast, 
can be traced back to comparatively rich sequences of  reflections on art 
in Wittgenstein’s later manuscripts. There are good reasons for taking 
these series of  remarks to be serious, if  condensed, contributions to 
philosophical aesthetics. Joachim Schulte and Graham McFee argue 
convincingly to this effect [14]. Additionally, the published lectures can 
provide an impression of  Wittgenstein’s position in aesthetics. This holds 
even if  we leave aside the importance for aesthetics of  Wittgenstein’s 
remarks on aspect-perception in what has come to be known as the 
second part of  the Philosophical Investigations. Nothing of  this sort can 



127

isparchitecture.com

be said about Wittgenstein’s more or less isolated 
remarks on architecture.

Apart from quantity and context, another 
criterion for the importance of  a thought is the 
further use Wittgenstein is providing for it within 
his characteristic working method of  writing 
down remarks, clipping manuscripts, reassembling 
remarks, clipping again and so forth [15]. Now, 
only in a few cases did Wittgenstein copy pertinent 
remarks about architecture into typescripts. It is 
apparent that most of  these deal with the subject 
rather indirectly. The following remark from a 
1930 manuscript will reappear in the so-called 
Big Typescript: “Work on philosophy—like work in 
architecture in many respects—is really more work 
on oneself. On one’s own conception. On how one 
sees things. (And what one expects of  them)” [16]. 
I will come back to these lines in the third section. 
The aforementioned remark saying architecture 
expressed a thought to which one would like to 
respond with a gesture reappears in TS 219 (which 
is part of  the process of  reworking manuscripts 
and typescripts leading from the Big Typescript to 
Philosophical Investigations) [17]. In TS 229, published 
under the title Remarks on the Philosophy of  Psychology 
I, Wittgenstein takes up the following manuscript 
note: “One employment of  the concept ‘looking in 
this direction’ is, e.g., as follows: One says, perhaps 
to an architect: ‘This distribution of  the windows 
makes the façade look in that direction.’ Similarly 
one uses the expression ‘This arm interrupts the 
movement of  the sculpture’ or ‘The movement 
should go like this’ (here one makes a gesture)” 
[18]. And, in the same typescript:

His name seems to fit his works. —How does it seem 
to fit? Well, I express myself  in some such way. —But is 
that all? —It is as if  the name together with these works, 
formed a solid whole. If  we see the name, the works come 
to mind, and if  we think of  the works, so does the name. 
We utter the name with reverence. The name turns into a 

 [the remarks] 
do not 

constitute 
something like 

a book or a 
coherent body 

of text that 
Wittgenstein 

devoted to 
questions of 

culture 
and value, 
let alone 

architecture

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

128

SC
HU

FF

gesture; into an architectonic form [19].

While both of  these remarks seem to be concerned with questions from 
the domain of  aesthetics, if  in a specifically conceptual way, architecture 
surely is not their main focus. Note that both remarks mention gestures 
(one way or the other) in the same breath as architecture.

With all of  this source material in place, first, the idea (or ideas) that 
architecture is a gesture, or demands a gesture, is related to Wittgenstein’s 
general, if  only adumbrated, corresponding ideas about art and 
especially music. Second, Wittgenstein’s comparison between the work 
of  the architect and the work of  the philosopher will be revisited when 
considering the context of  this analogy in the Big Typescript.

II

The motive of  gesture obviously is the one prominent thread in 
the remarks quoted, so there is reason to suppose Wittgenstein took it 
seriously—at least to a certain extent. In the remarks taken from the later 
typescripts, he almost seems to take the motive for granted—while being 
occupied with different subjects. The second of  the quotes from TS 229 
seems to equate gesture and architectonic form; both serve to illustrate 
the relation between name and works. This is the light we should see the 
notion of  gesture in. Wittgenstein is mentioning architecture in passages 
where he is thinking about expressiveness in various contexts, not only 
in the context of  architecture itself. If  we consider the remarks taken 
together, we can discern two reoccurring claims that Wittgenstein is putting 
forth. First, that architecture is a gesture. As a gesture, its relationship to 
building simpliciter can be compared to the contrast between corporeal 
gestures and purposive bodily movements. Yet, second, architecture also 
provokes, or demands, gestures. Good architecture seems to express a 
thought, Wittgenstein feels—he does not claim that it actually does 
express thoughts—in a way that one feels compelled to respond to it—the 
thought? the architecture?—with a gesture.

A gesture, understood minimally, is a kind of  expressive behavior. It is, 
characteristically, not only an intentional bodily movement, but a movement 
that will at least accompany and emphasize, sometimes contradict, a 
particular utterance, sometimes even replace it [20]. In the latter case, a 
gesture may appear as the appropriate mode of  communication, the right 
expression for what we want to convey. In this sense, a gesture can be an 
alternative to verbal language. It may be tempting to think that architecture, 
or art in general, is to be understood as a gesture in exactly this sense.



129

isparchitecture.com

Initially, Wittgenstein’s intuition seems to be 
something like that—that works of  art express 
something ineffable in spoken language, beyond its 
limits—thus the aesthetic quietism in the Tractatus 
Logico-Philosophicus and continuing in the transitional 
Lectures on Ethics [21]. In the Philosophical Investigations, 
and even more extensively in his Remarks on the 
Philosophy of  Psychology, he acknowledges different 
forms of  expressiveness in language, in expressive 
behavior, and still even more in art. He begins 
to conceive of  the relationship between art and 
language in a more nuanced way: it is the differences 
as well as the similarities we have to take into 
account. His later thought about aesthetics tackles 
the question of  the expressiveness of  art not in 
competition with language, but in comparison. The 
notion of  gesture is of  importance in this respect 
[22]. The following provides a closer look at the 
two directions of  Wittgenstein’s claims:

(1) If  architecture is a gesture, while a mere
functional building is not, we can suppose that they 
can be told apart by their expressive potential. Both 
are functional or serve a purpose. But Wittgenstein 
seems to use the concept of  architecture as a term 
of  praise. Obviously, he is drawing a line between 
mere building and building as an art, restricting the 
concept of  architecture to the second form. This, by 
the way, stands in stark contrast to Loos’ view that 
architecture is not an art [23]. In its expressiveness, 
architecture, as Wittgenstein indicates, can be 
compared to music, and both can be compared to 
language.

In a certain sense, people can and certainly do 
speak of  languages of  architecture [24]. But in what 
sense? There seems to be an obvious difference 
between their respective communicative potentials. 
A linguistic utterance can express a proposition, 
definite content, one might think, while it is far 
from clear whether music or architecture can do 
so. Yet, we should look at it exactly the other way 

Architecture 
is a gesture [...] 

architecture 
also provokes, 

or demands, 
gestures.

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

130

SC
HU

FF

around, in Wittgenstein’s view. One kind of  remark Wittgenstein keeps 
reiterating points to a change of  direction necessary to understand the 
analogy between music and language in the right way. Take this passage 
from the Brown Book:

What we call ‘understanding a sentence’ has, in many cases, a much greater 
similarity to understanding a musical theme than we might be inclined to think. 
But I don’t mean that understanding a musical theme is more like the picture 
which one tends to make oneself  of  understanding a sentence; but rather that this 
picture is wrong, and that understanding a sentence is much more like what really 
happens when we understand a tune than at first sight appears. For understanding 
a sentence, we say, points to a reality outside the sentence. Whereas one might say 
‘Understanding a sentence means getting hold of  its content; and the content of  the 
sentence is in the sentence’ [25].

The problem lies in the model of  transfer. It is this model that is 
misleading—and it is misleading in language as well as in the arts. From 
the Philosophical Investigations on, and more specifically in his Remarks on the 
Philosophy of  Psychology, Wittgenstein discards the idea that expressiveness 
can be explained by reference to an inner something, connecting thought 
and external world, and existing before and independently of  its actual 
expression. This is why Wittgenstein, as regards the arts, prefers referring 
to the non-verbal, bodily mode of  communication of  gestures. Instead of  
overestimating the role of  contents, he thus highlights the understanding 
of  expressiveness in a specific context or situation, as Stephen Mulhall 
emphasizes: “In such contexts [of  aesthetic judgment] he emphasizes 
two features of  the concept’s grammar: the inseparability of  a gesture’s 
meaning from the gesture itself, and the importance of  the context of  the 
gesture in accounting for its impact on us” [26].

(2) This is why understanding a work of  art, in Wittgenstein’s view,
starts with our own immediate reactions or responses to it [27]. The way 
we understand art as expressive is precisely by reacting to it, with one 
or the other verbal utterance, emotional response, movement, or, for 
that matter, gesture. Interestingly, the notion of  an aesthetic reaction, in 
Wittgenstein’s Lectures on Aesthetics, is introduced by an example from the 
domain of  architecture (or rather building in general). Here, Wittgenstein 
imagines an architect at work, in the process of  meticulously judging and 
altering the dimensions of  doors and windows. We can imagine that it 
is exactly the expressed “thought” or “gesture” of  a building, its artistic 
expression, that is thus altered and improved [28]. The dimensions and 
placement of  doors and windows of  a house will, again, evoke particular 
reactions. These can be put or circumscribed or refined in words if  we 



131

isparchitecture.com

are competent critics, but in many cases they will 
remain what they are: immediate, bodily responses.

Music, in the Brown Book and beyond, is the 
paradigm case for this kind of  connection [29]. We 
are often inclined to think that a musical phrase says 
something, that it is meaningful [30]. But, although 
there are certain rules governing composition, 
meaning is not determined by them. Nor is it fixed 
by the transfer of  an emotion or other content from 
the artist to the listener. Instead, musical meaning lies 
in the structures of  the phrase or piece themselves 
[31]. Drawing on a distinction Wittgenstein 
introduces in the Brown Book, it has been argued 
that he conceives of  aesthetic expression as well as 
understanding in an “intransitive” sense [32]. This 
is to say that expression in these cases, although 
meaningful, cannot be unraveled by some kind of  
translation, but only pointed to by calling attention 
to details or by interpretative comments. Grasping 
the meaning of  a work, along these lines, will often 
find its basic outward expression in appropriate 
gestures. But these are reactions informed by our 
understanding of  music (as well as other arts) in 
general; their context is the whole culture we share. 
Understanding music means both appreciating its 
structure and perceiving it according to the cultural 
context it is part of, the history and practice of  
music as well as the other arts [33].

Gestures figure on both sides of  the equation, 
so to speak. Understanding a work of  art builds 
on ways of  retracing or following its respective 
design. If  a work of  art is a gesture, its meaning is 
determined by the context of  its being made, while 
simultaneously the expression is present in the 
work. This is why the appropriate guide to artistic 
meaning is our own responses to it, in our being 
immediately involved with an object (or event).

But this, to be sure, is nothing specific to 
architecture. Or, to put it another way, when it 
comes to architecture, Wittgenstein generally seems 

Understanding 
a work of art 

builds on ways 
of retracing 
or following 

its respective 
design.

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

132

SC
HU

FF

to model its meaning and its understanding on the case of  music. The 
understanding of  architecture he is thinking about is an understanding 
of  architecture as art. The basic understanding of  artworks, to him, is an 
understanding of  meaningful configurations in their respective contexts, 
and it starts as a kind of  (somatic) resonance with the features of  their 
design and organization [34].

III

This section returns to the remark quoted in the first section, 
comparing the work of  the philosopher to the work of  the architect. In 
the Big Typescript, the remark reappears. It is given pride of  place there, 
right at the beginning of  the chapter called “Philosophy” (which is an 
obvious precursor of  the famous remarks on philosophy in Philosophical 
Investigations, § 89-133). The remark is singled out as more than a casual or 
preliminary thought, but is put to service as an opening of  reflections on 
what philosophy is, or should be. (Note that this remark was not included 
in the “Philosophy” chapter of  the Philosophical Investigations, while there 
are a number of  other remarks from the Big Typescript that were.) The title 
of  this first subsection of  the Big Typescript’s chapter on philosophy is: 
“Difficulty of  Philosophy not the Intellectual Difficulty of  the Sciences, 
but the Difficulty of  a Change of  Attitude. Resistance of  the Will Must 
Be Overcome.” Philosophy, for Wittgenstein, is serious work, but not 
solely because of  the intellectual challenges it may provide, but because 
of  obstacles concerning one’s attitude. The heading thus opens up two 
topics: a contrast between philosophy and “the sciences” and the topic of  
a necessary change of  attitude. In a Tolstoyan tone, it is this change that is 
presented as meeting resistance of  the will. Following this heading, there 
is the remark about architecture again, in its new context:

As is frequently the case with work in architecture, work on philosophy is actually 
closer to working on oneself. On one’s own understanding. On the way one sees 
things. (And on what one demands of  them.) Roughly speaking, according to the 
old conception – for instance that of  the (great) western philosophers – there have 
been two kinds of  intellectual problems: the essential, great, universal ones, and the 
non-essential, quasi-accidental problems. We, on the other hand, hold that there is no 
such thing as a great, essential problem in the intellectual sense [35].

For one thing, the second part of  the remarks distances philosophy from 
the (presumably natural) sciences, which is a common thread running all 
the way through Wittgenstein’s thinking [36]. Rather than solving, or even 
conceiving of, problems the way the sciences do, Wittgenstein’s conception 
of  philosophy aims—as he puts it here—at a change of  perspective, 



133

isparchitecture.com

at a different attitude towards the puzzles we are 
confronted with. This different attitude clearly 
involves the rejection of  essentialist intuitions. All 
philosophical problems, Wittgenstein seems to 
imply, are equally important. Now the problems 
of  aesthetics, Wittgenstein keeps on stressing (see 
Lectures on Aesthetics), are not like scientific problems 
either. They are not to be solved empirically, by 
research on causes of  reactions, for instance [37]. 
When we deal with art, in Wittgenstein’s words: 
when we are faced with aesthetic puzzles or 
conduct aesthetic investigations, we are looking for 
a different perspective, that is for alternative reasons 
a work is designed as it is we did not think of  before. 
In this respect, as recently explicated by Simo 
Säätelä, aesthetics, in Wittgenstein, can be seen as 
a kind of  paradigm of  philosophy: “[A]n aesthetic 
investigation, in Wittgenstein’s sense, bears a close 
similarity to a philosophical investigation (also in 
Wittgenstein’s sense): both aim at putting things 
‘side by side’ and change one’s way of  perceiving” [38].

This, to be sure, is rather what an art critic 
will do, not necessarily the work of  the artist. Yet 
Wittgenstein does not sharply distinguish between 
performance and reception, nor between artistic 
creation and criticism. What a competent art 
critic can do is to persuade us of  such a different 
perspective, to give us reasons for seeing something 
in a new way. She can help us change our attitude, 
so to speak. Being involved in the creation of  a 
work of  art includes such critical processes—in this 
sense, the artist is her own critic. The architect in 
Wittgenstein’s analogy has to train her perception, 
her way of  seeing things—especially in relation 
to detail: there is nothing inessential, accidental. 
This is the sense in which her work is a work on 
herself, on enhancing her capacities of  judging and 
responding to the features of  her work. We can see 
this as a model of  how, for Wittgenstein, work on 
philosophy also contains both aspects, procedures 
of  (self)criticism as a part of  finding the right 

Philosophy, for 
wittgenstein, is 

serious work, 
but not solely 
because of the 

intellectual 
challenges it 

may provide, 
but because of 
the obstacles 

concerning 
one’s attitude.

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

134

SC
HU

FF

expression.

Why is Wittgenstein comparing the practice of  philosophy explicitly to 
the work of  an architect, and not, say, to that of  a composer or a painter? 
Perhaps because the attention to detail here not only concerns artistic 
expressiveness as an end in itself, but can simultaneously be a matter of  
the functional value of  a building. In this sense, the comparison could 
be meant to bring out an existential dimension of  philosophizing. If  so, 
this could resonate in Wittgenstein’s approval of  the stanza from Henry 
Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem “The Builders,” which he considered using 
“as a motto” (whether for one of  his books or for himself  as philosopher 
we are not told): “In the elder days of  art, / Builders wrought with greatest 
care / Each minute and unseen part; / For the gods see everywhere” [39].

IV

Having started with a list of  Wittgenstein’s scattered manuscript 
remarks about architecture, this analysis ends with a particular analogy 
between art and philosophy. It is not a coincidence, given the argument 
of  the paper. In his typescripts and book projects, Wittgenstein mentions 
architecture directly only in the context of  other subjects he is investigating. 
In the case of  the remark quoted from the Big Typescript, for instance, he 
is concerned with the methods of  philosophy. The allusion to the work 
of  the architect put to use there has to build on an understanding of  
the subject either working on general intuitions or developed in detail 
elsewhere. So, the question remains whether the remarks on architecture 
noted in manuscripts over the years, as presented here, can be viewed as a 
serious contribution to a philosophy of  architecture. Frankly, it does not 
appear so. In itself, the fact that the remarks are too sparse to constitute 
a coherent body of  thought need not compromise their philosophical 
potential. Yet additionally, they remain far too vague to illuminate the 
practice of  architecture. There is, to be sure, the recurrent motive of  
architecture being a gesture. Although this motive only makes sense in 
the context of  Wittgenstein’s general ideas about art and aesthetics, and 
especially about music, in which the notion of  gestures is elaborated much 
further. These ideas, in turn, should be read in the light of  the discussions 
about rules and linguistic meaning in Philosophical Investigations and about 
talk of  inner states in Philosophy of  Psychology. In a sense, then, granting 
Wittgenstein’s own, rather idiosyncratic understanding of  aesthetics, 
the practice of  philosophy can be better understood by comparing it to 
the practice of  art, especially art criticism [40]. It would be exaggerating 
to claim any special role for architecture in this regard—music is, for 



135

isparchitecture.com

Wittgenstein, the much more interesting case. His 
remarks on architecture hardly scratch the surface 
of  whatever one could think of  as subject matters 
of  a philosophy of  architecture, say, problems of  
the ontology, function, experience, or appreciation 
of  architectural objects, or questions not only of  the 
aesthetic, but also of  the ethical, social, or political 
character of  architecture. This is not to say that 
aspects of  Wittgenstein’s philosophy in general and 
his perspective on aesthetics in particular cannot 
fruitfully be used for elucidating the practice and 
understanding of  architecture—but Wittgenstein 
himself, as read here, is not a philosopher of  
architecture [41].

ENDNOTES

[1] See Ludwig Wittgenstein, Lectures and Conversations 
on Aesthetics, Psychology and Religious Belief, ed. Cyril 
Barrett (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1966). See also G. 
E. Moore, “Wittgenstein’s Lectures in 1930-33,” 
Mind 64, no. 253 (1955) and Ludwig Wittgenstein, 
Wittgenstein’s Lectures: Cambridge, 1932-1935, ed. Alice 
Ambrose (Amherst: Prometheus Books, 2001).

[2] Monographs on the architecture (and, 
sometimes, “philosophy”) of  the Stonborough-
Wittgenstein house include: Bernhard Leitner, The 
Architecture of  Ludwig Wittgenstein: A Documentation 
(London: Studio International Publications, 1973); 
Jan Turnovský, The Poetics of  a Wall Projection 
(London: Architectural Association Publications, 
2009); Paul Wijdeveld, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Architect 
(London: Thames and Hudson, 1994); Bernhard 
Leitner, The Wittgenstein House (Princeton: Princeton 
Architectural Press, 2000); Roger Paden, Mysticism 
and Architecture: The Meanings of  the Palais Stonborough 
(Lanham: Lexington Books, 2007); Nana Last, 
Wittgenstein’s House: Language, Space and Architecture 
(New York: Fordham University Press, 2008); 
Daniele Pisani, L’architettura è un gesto: Ludwig 
Wittgenstein architetto (Macerata: Quodlibet Studio, 

Wittgenstein 
himself, as read 

here, is not a 
philosopher of 
architecture.

“
”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

136

SC
HU

FF

2011); August Sarnitz, Die Architektur Wittgensteins: Rekonstruktion einer 
gebauten Idee (Vienna: Böhlau, 2011).

[3] See David Macarthur, “Working on Oneself  in Philosophy and 
Architecture: A Perfectionist Reading of  the Wittgenstein House,” 
Architectural Theory Review 19, no. 2 (2014).

[4] For the contrast between Wittgenstein’s own aesthetic perspective 
and what became known as “Wittgensteinianism” in aesthetics see, for 
instance, Noël Carroll, “Art in an Expanded Field: Wittgenstein and 
Aesthetics,” The Nordic Journal of  Aesthetics 23, no. 42 (2012); Paul Guyer, 
A History of  Modern Aesthetics, Volume 3: The Twentieth Century (New York: 
Cambridge University Press, 2014), pp. 432-450.

[5] Ludwig Wittgenstein, Ms 107 230, Culture and Value, ed. G. H. von 
Wright, trans. Peter Winch (Oxford: Blackwell, 1998), 5. My quotations 
from Wittgenstein’s manuscripts and typescripts are taken from The Bergen 
Electronic Edition of  Wittgenstein’s Nachlass (Oxford: Oxford University 
Press, 1998). Translations are Peter Winch’s from the 1998 revised edition 
of  Culture and Value, unless otherwise indicated.

[6] Wittgenstein, Ms 109 205, Culture and Value, 8. 

[7] Wittgenstein, Ms 156a 25r, Culture and Value, 26.

[8] Wittgenstein, Ms 121 26v, Culture and Value, 40.

[9] Wittgenstein, Ms 126 29, Culture and Value, 49.

[10] Wittgenstein, Ms 167 11r, Culture and Value, 74. 

[11] Wittgenstein, Ms 167 10v, my translation.

[12] Wittgenstein, Ms 137 76a, Culture and Value, 84.

[13] For a more extensive interpretation of  the remark, see Joseph 
Masheck, Adolf  Loos: The Art of  Architecture (London: I. B. Tauris, 2013), 
213-215. 

[14] See Joachim Schulte, Experience and Expression: Wittgenstein’s Philosophy 
of  Psychology (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), 37-45; Graham McFee, 
“Wittgenstein and the Arts: Understanding and Performing,” in Wittgenstein, 
Aesthetics and Philosophy, ed. Peter B. Lewis (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004).

[15] On Wittgenstein’s working process, see Joachim Schulte, “What is a 
Work by Wittgenstein?,” in Wittgenstein: The Philosopher and his Works, ed. 
Alois Pichler and Simo Säätelä (Heusenstamm: Ontos, 2006), 400-401. 

[16] Wittgenstein, Ms 112 24r; Culture and Value, 24.

[17] Ludwig Wittgenstein, TS 219 22. 

[18] Ludwig Wittgenstein, TS 229 192, Remarks on the Philosophy of  Psychology 



137

isparchitecture.com

I, ed. G. E. M. Anscombe and G. H. von Wright (Oxford: Blackwell, 
1980), 5. Translations are Anscombe’s.

[19] Wittgenstein, Ts 229 269; Remarks on the Philosophy of  Psychology I, 68. 

[20] For a substantial account of  gestures and their meaning, see David 
McNeill, Gesture and Thought (Chicago: University of  Chicago Press, 2005), 
especially the second chapter. 

[21] See Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (London: 
Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1961), sections 6.421, 6.522; TS 207.

[22] See Karlheinz Lüdeking, “Pictures and Gestures,” British Journal of  
Aesthetics 30, no. 3 (1990); Fabian Goppelsröder, “Über die Gestensprache 
zur Sprachgeste. Wittgenstein und die Konsequenzen seines alternativen 
Kommunikationsmodells,” Paragrana 19, no. 1 (2010).

[23] See Masheck, Adolf  Loos, 230; David Macarthur, “Remarks on 
‘Architecture is a Gesture’ (Wittgenstein),” Paragrana 23, no. 1 (2014).

[24] For a quick overview, see Edward Winters, “Architecture,” in The 
Routledge Companion to Aesthetics, ed. Berys Gaut and Dominic McIver 
Lopes (London: Routledge, 2013).

[25] Ludwig Wittgenstein, The Blue and Brown Books (Oxford: Blackwell, 
1958), 167; compare Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, ed. G. 
E. M. Anscombe and Rush Rhees (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1963), § 527.

[26] Stephen Mulhall, Inheritance and Originality: Wittgenstein, Heidegger, 
Kierkegaard (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2001), 169

[27] See Simo Säätelä, “‘Perhaps the most important thing in connection 
with aesthetics’ Wittgenstein on ‘Aesthetic Reactions,’” Revue internationale 
de philosophie, no. 219 (2002).

[28] See Wittgenstein, Lectures and Conversations, 13-14. 

[29] See Lüdeking, “Pictures and Gestures;” Roger Scruton, “Wittgenstein 
and the Understanding of  Music,” British Journal of  Aesthetics 44, no. 
1 (2004); Yves Bossart, Ästhetik nach Wittgenstein. Eine systematische 
Rekonstruktion (Heusenstamm: Ontos, 2013), 213-226. 

[30] See Wittgenstein, The Blue and Brown Books, 166. 

[31] See ibid.

[32] See Richard Wollheim, Art and its Objects, (Cambridge: Cambridge 
University Press, 1980), 73-76; David Bell, “The Art of  Judgment,” 
Mind 96, no. 382 (1987), 239-244; Kjell S. Johannessen, “Philosophy, Art 
and Intransitive Understanding,” in Wittgenstein and Norway, ed. Kjell S. 
Johannessen (Oslo: Solum, 1994); Bossart, Ästhetik nach Wittgenstein, 
195-204.



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

138

SC
HU

FF

[33] For an excellent reading of  the way Wittgenstein comments on two
musical examples, see Katrin Eggers, “‘Diese musikalische Phrase ist für
mich eine Gebärde. Sie schleicht sich in mein Leben ein.’ Musik als Geste
und musikalische Gesten bei Wittgenstein,” Wittgenstein-Studien 6, no. 1
(2015).

[34] For detailed analyses of  the way Wittgenstein criticizes and preserves
both formalist and expressivist intuitions, especially with respect to musical
meaning, see Béla Szabados, Wittgenstein as Philosophical Tone-Poet: Philosophy
and Music in Dialogue (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2014), especially 87-97; Katrin
Eggers, Ludwig Wittgenstein als Musikphilosoph (Freiburg: Karl Alber, 2011),
203-227.

[35] Wittgenstein, The Big Typescript: TS 213, ed. and trans. C. Grant
Luckhardt and Maximilian A. E. Aue (Oxford: Blackwell, 2005), 300-
301. While Winch’s translation of  the remark differs substantially from
Luckhardt and Aue’s, Wittgenstein did not change the wording from the
manuscript to the typescript version. The German original reads (in both
cases): “Die Arbeit an der Philosophie ist – wie vielfach die Arbeit in der
Architektur – eigentlich mehr eine Arbeit an Einem selbst. An der eignen
Auffassung. Daran, wie man die Dinge sieht. (Und was man von ihnen
verlangt.)”

[36] See for prominent instances Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus,
section 4.111; Wittgenstein, The Blue and Brown Books, 18; Wittgenstein,
Philosophical Investigations, § 109.

[37] See Wittgenstein, Lectures and Conversations, 19-23. Repercussions of
Wittgenstein’s view are clearly visible in Alva Noë’s recent Strange Tools, not
only in the repudiation of  scientific approaches in aesthetics, be they of
an evolutionary or neuroscientific variety, but also in the proposed model
of  philosophy as providing “perspicuous representations.” See Alva Noë,
Strange Tools: Art and Human Nature (New York: Hill and Wang, 2015),
especially 17, 49-71, 120-133.

[38] Simo Säätelä, “Aesthetics – Wittgenstein’s Paradigm of  Philosophy?,”
Aisthesis 6, no. 1 (2014), 40.

[39] Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Builders,” Henry Wadsworth
Longfellow, Maine Historical Society, accessed November 18, 2015,
http://www.hwlongfellow.org/poems_poem.php?pid=118. Wittgenstein
misquotes the last line of  the stanza as “For the gods are everywhere.”
I can see no indication of  this alteration being intentional. (Of  course, I
cannot rule that out, either.) Compare Wittgenstein, Ms 120 144v; Culture
and Value, 39.



139

isparchitecture.com

[40] See Kjell S. Johannessen, “Wittgenstein and the Aesthetic Domain,” 
in Wittgenstein, Aesthetics and Philosophy, ed. Peter B. Lewis (Aldershot: 
Ashgate, 2004). 

[41] I wish to thank Eva Backhaus, Stefan Koller, and Martin Seel, as 
well as two anonymous reviewers for Architecture Philosophy, for helpful 
comments on earlier drafts of  this paper.



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017



isparchitecture.com

Wittgenstein’s architectural 
idiosyncraSy
august sarnitz

Ludwig Wittgenstein was deeply embedded 
in Viennese architectural Modernism, culturally 
as well as personally. His assimilation in recent 
historiography to existing trends within the local 
architectural movement—namely Loos—are based 
on aesthetic and intellectual simplifications. The 
simplifications eclipse the distinctive contribution 
Wittgenstein’s Palais Stonborough makes to 
architecture, to Viennese Modernism, and perhaps 
to philosophy. The present paper seeks to rectify 
this constellation by re-situating Wittgenstein as an 
architect in his own right by re-sensitizing us to the 
idiosyncrasy of  Wittgenstein’s architecture [1].

The paper begins by looking at the wider 
biographical background setting the foundation 
Wittgenstein’s involvement with architecture 
in Vienna. It scrutinizes his own as well as the 
family’s wider personal connections to key figures 
in Viennese Modernism, with special focus on 
Josef  Hoffmann and Adolf  Loos. As will be 
shown, Wittgenstein’s relation to these architects 
is, in Stanford Anderson’s terms, one of  critical 
conventionalism [2]. Wittgenstein builds on the 
conventions of  pre-modern and Modern Viennese 
architecture, but re-interprets and re-appropriates 
each in a highly transformative and critical manner. 
The house’s design draws from the local design 
tradition of  Vienna and wider Austria, making it 
historical without being historicist. The historical 
qualities of  his architectural engagement are 
highlighted throughout the paper, particularly in part 
two, where a critical discourse on the architectural 
and interior qualities embodied in the Wittgenstein 



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

142

SA
R

N
IT

Z

house is proffered. The significance of  doing so is to demonstrate that 
Wittgenstein rejects not only ornament and opulence, as comes to define 
the Modern movement, but that he stands apart both aesthetically and 
intellectually from other Modernist architects practising in Vienna at the 
time. This paper will explore the lineage of  aesthetic meaning as evidenced 
by architectural details in the house, with the assumption that these details 
reveal something of  Wittgenstein’s underlying rationale.

Wittgenstein’s relation to Loos

On Monday, July 27th, 1914, one day prior to the outbreak of  World 
War I, Wittgenstein and Adolf  Loos met in the elegant and ornately 
designed Café Hotel Imperial [3]. Loos was already well-known in Vienna 
as an avant-garde architect, had gained prominence through his writings 
(such as the 1908 essay “Ornament and Crime”), and for his controversial 
work, such as the 1909-1911 House on the Michaelerplatz. The house 
implemented many of  the ideas published in “Ornament and Crime,” and 
serves as amongst the first haute buildings rejecting opulence. Initially the 
building was poorly received, and among the critics was Wittgenstein’s 
sister and future client, Margaret Stonbrough. The house was described as 
having naked façades and as having material opulence, with marble, mirrors 
and wood paneling interiors. Importantly, it still lacked ornamentation, in 
the sense defined and decried by Loos. The lack of  such ornamentation 
dissociated Loos and other Modernists from questions of  use. Thus, Loos 
stood out in Vienna for his radical thinking and his work, leading him to 
recognition across Europe and the modernizing world.

Loos’ difference from others in the Viennese context must have made 
an impression on Wittgenstein, who until this meeting with Loos had 
engaged only mechanical engineering and logic as fields of  inquiry. The 
impact of  meeting Loos’ distinction is apparent as after meeting Loos, 
Wittgenstein returned home—a five-minute walk—to his parent’s house. 
His family’s city palace had interiors much like those of  the Hotel Imperial 
—and like that hotel, would have likely been rejected by Loos’ ideals of  
simplicity and austerity. The juxtaposition between the contemporary and 
opulence of  empire and monarchy—even for the business elite—was 
stark and evidently present in Wittgenstein’s everyday reality.

The next day, Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia. Eleven days 
later Wittgenstein volunteered to serve. During the war, Wittgenstein met 
and befriended Paul Engelmann to whom he was introduced by Adolf  
Loos, and who he would later work with on the Wittgenstein House. 



143

isparchitecture.com

Also in the war period, Wittgenstein worked on his 
Tractatus, the only work published in his lifetime. 
He completed the text during the summer of  1918, 
between July and September during a break from 
the front. In November 1919, after the end of  
the war and his release from captivity in August, 
Wittgenstein returned to Vienna.

Within just two weeks, Wittgenstein left for 
a meeting with his friend Adolf  Loos full of  
expectation, but he was appalled by Loos and his 
ideas about a Kunstamt (a state office or ministry for 
art). Wittgenstein writes: 

a few days ago I looked up Loos. I was horrified and 
nauseated. He has become infected with the most virulent 
bogus intellectualism! He gave me a pamphlet about a 
proposed ‘fine arts office’, in which he speaks about a sin 
against the Holy Ghost. That surely is the limit! I was 
already a bit depressed when I went to Loos but that was 
the last straw […] [4].

The episode suggests the end of  Wittgenstein’s 
friendship with Loos as a person. True to his word, 
Wittgenstein would never meet Loos again. 

His relationship to Loos’ aesthetic and 
architectural ideas, however, is more complicated. 
While living in the remote reaches of  Norway 
between 1912 and 1914, Wittgenstein went to 
great troubles to receive subscription copies of  
Die Fackel. The Viennese cultural newspaper edited 
by Karl Kraus regularly reported on Loos and 
other mainstays of  Viennese intelligentsia. While 
rejecting the radical changes in  Loos’ thinking after 
World War I, Wittgenstein’s attempts to develop 
a nuanced response to Loos’ earlier work, both 
written and built, continued to interest him. The 
lingering interest in the development of  Viennese 
architectural Modernism is manifest in the house 
as Wittgenstein’s entrance hall in the Palais 
Stonborough resembles Loos’ design decisions at 
the Michaelerplatz. The hall of  the Wittgenstein 

[wittgenstein] 
was appalled 

by loos and his 
ideas about a 

kunstamt

“
”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

144

SA
R

N
IT

Z

House has four prominently placed columns and overall meticulous regard 
for precise dimensions, which demonstrates both resemblance departure 
from Loos’ surface detailing in other regards. 

Looking to Kraus’ 1930 summary of  Loos appearing in Die Fackel, 
parallels between Wittgenstein’s later writing and the contemporary 
thought of  Viennese designers are found:

Adolf  Loos and I […] have done nothing more than to show that there is a 
difference between a urn and a chamberpot. It is in this difference that culture is 
given a space to play itself  out. The others, those with positive knowledge, however, 
divide themselves between those who would use the urn as a chamberpot and those 
who would use the chamberpot as an urn [5].

Similar remarks are found in Wittgenstein’s student recorded lectures on 
aesthetics a year or two later in Cambridge. He observed a deterioration (a 
Verfall in Loos’ terms) in the culture and craft of  architecture [6]. In doing 
so, Wittgenstein targets the increasing failure of  architects and patrons 
to differentiate a room and its furnishings, which he believed should be 
differentiated according to their proper use and place [7]. We now, he said, 
live in an age where dining-room chairs are put up in drawing-rooms and 
vice versa, with no understanding of  what is inappropriate or incorrect 
about that practice—correctness being, for Wittgenstein, a central term 
of  aesthetic commendation, rather than a descriptor of  appearance such 
as beautiful [8]. Wittgenstein states:

A picture of  what happens in Architecture […] when thousands of  people are 
interested in the minutest details [, as opposed to a] picture of  what happens when a 
dining-room table is chosen more or less at random, when no one [any longer] knows 
where it came from. ([…] A period in which everything is fixed and extraordinary 
care is lavished on certain details […]. A great number of  people are highly interested 
in a detail of  a dining-room chair. And then there is a period when a dining-room 
chair is in the drawing-room and no one knows where this came from or that people 
had once given enormous thought in order to know how to design it.) [9].

The parallels the above lines to Kraus’ and Loos’ reflections on urns and 
chamber pots are rather pronounced and the intellectual genealogy clear. 
Moreover, Wittgenstein’s use of  the term ‘detail’ may relate to its use in 
craftsmanship. In craftsmanship the term is used to denote precision 
and adequacy to resolve design problems, specifically of  an architectural 
character. 

In light of  detail’s meaning for Wittgenstein, the term certainly plays a 
role in Wittgenstein’s own architecture. For at the built level, Wittgenstein’s 
own architectural decisions at Palais Stonborough fully reflect the 



145

isparchitecture.com

distinctions of  spatial use, dictated by a refined 
understanding and appreciation of  propriety, both 
social and aesthetic, his later lectures on aesthetics 
reflect upon. The alleged austerity of  Wittgenstein’s 
interiors, for instance, is the result of  historians’ 
interpretations of  photos of  the house pre- or post-
use as Wittgenstein’s architecture in its intended 
state [10]. When furbished by his sister Margaret, the 
house’s furnished interior fully reflected the dictates 
of  good taste and propriety Wittgenstein eminently 
desired and demanded for his architecture, as he 
expressly wrote to his sister later on:

Only yesterday I had to think of  the house in the 
Kundmanngasse—I don’t know why—and of  how 
pleasingly and pleasantly you have furbished it. In these 
matters we’re on the same wave length [11].

In contrast to Loos, who regarded the wall and 
the finishes the prerogative of  the architect, 
Wittgenstein left such matters at the discretion of  
the client. Margaret, the client in this case, furnishes 
the house in a manner that is both independent from 
Ludwig’s design intentions and which is in contrast 
to the Loosian standard in Vienna at the time. She 
is particularly expressive with her furnishments on 
the upper floors where she has her private spaces, 
and which she adorns with tapestries and furniture 
that are textured and warm. Thus, the standard 
historical characterizations of  the house’s apparent 
austerity as an aesthetic preference—or preference 
for the naked wall—appears misconstrued. 

Margaret breaks, Ludwig follows: from Loos and 
Hoffmann to Wagner and Perco 

Between 1914 and 1919, a great deal transpired 
in the Wittgenstein family. Shortly before the First 
World War, Ludwig’s closest sister Margaret bought 
the Villa Toskana in Gmunden on Lake Traunsee in 
Austria’s unofficial lake district, the Salzkammergut. 
Over nearly two decades, Margaret dedicated her 

The standard 
historical 

characterizations 
of the house’s 

apparent 
austerity as 
an aesthetic 

preference 
[...] appears 

misconstrued

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

146

SA
R

N
IT

Z

energies to the renovation and modernization of  the historic building. 
The process concludes in 1925 and is immediately followed by her next 
architectural project: the Palais Stonbrough (1926-1928) [12]. With the 
exception of  his time during the war, Ludwig would spend every summer 
in the increasingly modernized Villa Toscana, and would follow the 
building’s transformation closely down to the minutest of  details. To get 
the renovation under way, Margaret contracted a relatively little known 
young architect, Rudolf  Perco—and not, as is often suspected, Hoffmann 
[13]. Margaret’s choice of  Perco over the family architect Hoffmann 
(see below) indicates an emancipatory act on her part, and certainly 
foreshadows her analogous decision to contract Paul Engelmann over the 
established radicals like Loos. Perco’s significance as an architect resides in 
part in his discipleship with Otto Wagner, and Wagner’s ground-breaking 
efforts in modernizing Viennese architecture. As head of  the architecture 
school at the Vienna Fine Arts Academy, Wagner in fact founded a 
school. Perco became a star pupil, and Perco’s own architectural output 
at Gmunden and beyond demonstrates his Wagnerian tutelage [14]. In its 
orientation, Wagner’s program pursued a new orientation in the training 
and practice of  architectural design, one we could dub constructive 
Jugendstil. That is, while Wagner’s aesthetics was partly informed by Art 
Noveau sensitivities, he sought to anchor his visual design choices in the 
rationale of  construction and function. In his famous Postal Savings 
Bank (1905), for instance, Wagner aesthetically elevates the duct work 
responsible for the building’s ventilation and heating to aesthetic details. 
The duct work is designed to look like stelaes, stylized columns and do 
not recall their function directly, as standard artifacts like radiators do 
(see Figures 1 & 2). Here, the building systems hold aesthetic significance 
and meaning. Whereas in Hoffmann’s work, it is carefully hidden away 
under, or under what may be interpreted as surface ornamentation. Perco 
followed Wagner’s example in the Villa Toscana and turned the radiators 
into aesthetic elements of  the architectural interior. As would, in turn, 
Wittgenstein in the Palais Stonborough’s use of  radiators (see Figures 1 
and 2). So there is a clear lineage, not simply of  an aesthetic decision or a 
built detail as such but also its underlying rationalization. 

If  Ludwig’s future engagement with architecture is prefigured by the 
Villa Toscana, so is Margaret’s. In contrasting Perco, Margaret acted in favor 
of  a decidedly Modernist architect. She takes a difficult step forward in 
that she contracts out the work to a relatively untried-and-tested architect. 
She invests her money, free time, and potentially her own reputation on 
their promises. Margaret sets the building agenda as the primary client 



147

isparchitecture.com

Where there is a 
set of knowns or 

facts there is a 
basis for clarity

“
”

FIGUREs 1 & 2: (top to bottom). 



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

148

SA
R

N
IT

Z

which determines the (re)programming and aesthetics of  the informal 
spaces in both building projects. Just as importantly, she departs from 
Hoffmann’s influence. The departure is significant as Hoffman was the 
architect of  her fully furnished Berlin flat, a wedding gift from her father. 
Hoffmann never worked with, but only for, Margaret. Margaret in turn 
would later emancipate herself  aesthetically after her father’s death, by 
nearly entirely leaving behind the wedding gift of  a house. Except for 
two pieces of  furniture, one of  them designed by Hoffmann, Margaret 
left everything behind in Berlin when re-locating to Vienna to the Palais 
Schönborn [15, 16].

The Viennese architects Hoffman and Wagner are as important to our 
understanding of  Margaret’s future choices (as a patron) as they are to 
our understanding of  Wittgenstein’s architectonic idiosyncrasy. Let us first 
discuss Wittgenstein’s relation to Josef  Hoffmann’s work. Returning to the 
biographical narrative at Wittgenstein’s 1914 horrific and nauseating break 
from Loos, Wittgenstein spends ten days at his parents’ lavish country 
home. The building was partially remodeled by Hoffmann, founding 
member of  the Wiener Werkstätte and member of  the Secession. 
Hoffmann presented, in many senses, an antithesis to Loos both artistically 
and intellectually. Hoffmann realized numerous architectural projects for 
the Wittgenstein family in close cooperation with Ludwig’s father and was 
responsible for his sister Margaret’s first apartment in Berlin in 1905. 

Hoffman was a major proponent of  the Gesamtkunstwerk (total work of  
art) where the artist delivers the complete package deal for the client. A 
building, interior furnishes, cutlery, crockery, and even jewelry are tailor-
made to perfectly cohere in the total ensemble. The pieces are assembled 
by the architect, having solicited nothing from the client’s own aesthetic 
inclinations. The client willingly signed up for the total treatment, wherein 
the architect designs their entire domestic realm.

Wittgenstein would later reject the Gesamtkunstwerk position—leaving 
all furnishing and other household objects to the discretion of  the house’s 
patron and tenant. He was morally open to a collaged or unplanned 
mingling of  objects in his house, provided they bespoke a certain 
quality and contextual propriety. In this rejection of  Gesamtkunstwerk, 
he is in keeping with Loos’ idea and remaining critical of  Hoffman 
that architecture would be confined to what was necessary from a use 
perspective. The confinement of  aesthetics and design to use was not 
just critical of  Hoffman, but restricted aesthetic universalism and excess. 
So much so that aesthetic universalism and excess is banished from the 
architect’s scope of  work. 



149

isparchitecture.com

Wittgenstein viewed Loos’ aesthetic confinement 
not simply as the boundaries of  architectural 
aesthetics, but further as the limits of  an architect’s 
role in building. The limits of  the architect’s role 
is the design of  the house, leaving the inhabitants 
to  develop its interior aesthetic as they choose. 
The demarcating the architect’s scope of  work 
runs parallel to Wittgenstein’s position in his earlier 
writings in the Tractatus. Wittgenstein views the 
factual or what is the case, that which one can speak 
about clearly. His valuing of  the factual translates 
directly into the way he approaches building and 
the design questions associated with it, such that 
one might argue that the Wittgenstein House has a 
certain clarity of  expression itself.

For him, where there is a set of  knowns or facts 
there is the basis for clarity. Transitioning beyond 
the knowns, or the basis for clarity, is otherwise a 
transition into the mystical. Wittgenstein famously 
critiques attempts to express the mystical, arguing 
that one must remain silent, at least if  one is to 
speak philosophically. 

For Wagner, some facts manifest from a design 
brief  that the architect cannot merely design around 
but rather has to expressively accommodate —he 
called this Sachzwang. Though Wagner had introduced 
the notion of  Sachzwang to Viennese architecture 
at the close of  the century, Wittgenstein’s practice 
in architecture is complimentary to Wagner’s 
position to a certain extent [17]. Indeed, there are 
architectural echoes to Wagner in Wittgenstein’s 
house. Looking to Wagner’s 1912-1913 Lupus 
Sanatorium, there is a precision in the placement of  
the main columns and cross-beams hitherto absent 
in Viennese architecture, and taken up only again 
later in Wittgenstein’s. 

Regarding both Wagner and Hoffmann, there 
is a nuanced taking over of  pre-existing Viennese 
ideas that Wittgenstein adapted to meet his own 
situation and goals. At the same time and in contrast 

Wittgenstein 
apparently 

saw no reason 
to copy any 
other of the 

renovated 
villa’s detailing

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

150

SA
R

N
IT

Z

to Loos, Wittgenstein had no personal or biographical confrontation 
with Hoffmann or Wagner. While Wagner’s early death in 1918 may 
explain this, regarding Hoffmann this is all the more extraordinary since 
Wittgenstein would spend many a summer in the visually opulent interior 
of  a Hoffmann design during his summers, at the family’s hunting lodge. 
Nor do we have records of  written commentary on Hoffmann’s design 
stance. Arguably, Wittgenstein was not compelled to articulate his reaction 
to Hoffman’s work in that it did not provoke as Loos’ later musings would 
[18].

At the built level, however, traces of  commentary and reaction to both 
architects exist. Without sharing Hoffmann’s predilection for Jugendstil 
ornamentalism, Wittgenstein carefully observed and copied architectural 
details of  interest to him. Traveling to another family-owned building, 
the Villa Toscana in Gmunden Rudolf  Perco had renovated, Wittgenstein 
recorded a couple of  technical details. The details would then re-appear in 
his own house, especially regarding heating elements, including the famous 
radiators and window mechanisms. Perco’s pioneering contribution was to 
introduce the so-called French or Parisian windows into Austria. Parisian 
windows are more generously dimensioned than typical parapet Viennese 
windows, in that they extend from the floor level upwards. Vienna’s 
harsh winter climate and lack of  proper interior heating technology 
had previously disinclined Vienna’s architects to use Parisian windows. 
Wittgenstein, observing Perco’s introduction of  Parisian windows at 
Villa Toscana, would now bring them to his Vienna project, and employ 
Parisian windows on all levels (which not even Loos had done). Finally, 
Perco had deliberately used a fitting that connected each window’s two 
metal panes, which was an odd choice of  materials at the time (see Figures 
3 and 4). Wittgenstein took over Perco’s distinctive fitting design and 
his choice of  materials, deviating from Loos’ approach which included 
wooden window fixture. At the same time, Wittgenstein apparently saw 
no reason to copy any other of  the renovated villa’s detailing—confirming 
once more his eclecticism towards the reservoir of  Viennese Modernism 
and traditionalism.

Or again, in the Palais Schönborn-Batthyány Wittgenstein’s sister 
previously lived in, Wittgenstein observed a built detail then common in 
Viennese architecture of  the period—that the first interior door would rest, 
not on the floor, but on the first step of  the short set of  stairs leading up 
to the second interior hall (see Figure 5 and 6). (The same was true of  the 
family’s Vienna palais at Alleegasse 16, now known as Palais Wittgenstein.) 
Again, this was not purely an aesthetic choice but served utilitarian 



151

isparchitecture.com

FIGURE 4: view of Perco’s window stop fitting.

FIGURE 3: interior view of perco’s windows from a distance.



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

152

SA
R

N
IT

Z

ends—here, to ensure that any residual muck or moisture accrued from 
rain or storm water would not tarnish the door or seep into the interior. 
Wittgenstein takes over that detail, stripped of  all period ornamentation of  
the pre- or Jugendstil era, in his own house—in a manner, and like so much 
else of  the house, an historical ostension without being historicist. For, 
as he says in his 1938 lectures on aesthetics, deterioration in architecture 
occurs “when you get imitations,” that is, wholesale copying of  details 
with no understanding of  “where this came from” i.e. what original use 
or purpose was behind the design detail [19, 20]. In this sense, and with 
regard to other built details already discussed (and to be discussed below), 
Wittgenstein builds levels of  meaning into his architecture, and operates 
on indirect ostension rather than explicit copying, in line with his later 
discussions of  ostensive explanation in the Philosophical Investigations [21]. 
These ‘levels of  meaning’ operate on, and their discernment accordingly 
relies on, an understated familiarity with local Viennese architecture, 
elements of  which Wittgenstein used with great ease as they were part of  
the everyday life he was immersed in. To later art-historical interpreters, 
especially those visiting the house (and indeed town) for a brief  period 
only, Wittgenstein’s points of  reference will seem elusive, as they must, 
for anybody not sharing his form of  life and cultural frame of  reference 
[22]. Finally, points of  contact to his (later) philosophical reflections, 
such as ostensive explanation, need not indicate causal relations of  
influence—where an idea in architecture ‘leads Wittgenstein to’ having 
an idea in philosophy [23]. Rather, Wittgenstein exercised a similar stance 
or orientation in both domains, leading to similar though not necessarily 
overlapping (let alone, identical) outputs in architecture and philosophy. 
Before investigating the results of  Wittgenstein’s engagement with 
architecture, his path toward that engagement will be briefly examined.

Wittgenstein’s Path to Architecture

With the Villa Toscana completed in 1925, Margaret decided to build 
a city mansion in a Viennese suburb. She approached Paul Engelmann, 
a project architect who had frequently worked with Loos, but he had a 
limited oeuvre on his own. Around the same time, Wittgenstein returns 
to Vienna after an unsuccessful and badly concluded attempt at becoming 
an elementary school teacher [24]. He writes to a trusted friend and future 
colleague at Cambridge University—none other than John Maynard 
Keynes—in late 1925:

I have decided to remain [a] teacher, as long as I feel that the troubles into which I get 



153

isparchitecture.com

FIGUREs 5 & 6: View of the palais Wittgenstein (above) in contrast to the 
Wittgenstein house (below).



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

154

SA
R

N
IT

Z

that way, may do me any good. […] If  I leave teaching off  I will probably come to 
England and look for a job there, because I am convinced that I cannot find anything 
at all possible in this country. In this case I will want your help [sc. to secure a job 
in teaching] [25].

Seven months later, a major incident with a student forces Wittgenstein 
to resign as a teacher and exposes him to federal court hearings, which 
solidifies his grim prediction as to his future employability in Austria—
certainly where the public sector educational institutions were concerned. 

In these circumstances, his sister’s offer that same year to act, not just as 
architectural patron but, as de facto employer for her compromised brother 
must have appeared as the only reprieve short of  exile. Margaret’s offer 
of  employment further coincided with the family’s alleged attempts at the 
time to hush up Wittgenstein’s humiliating court case [26]. These are the 
circumstances in which Wittgenstein finds himself  architect of  a house.

Wittgenstein’s foray into architecture, in that light, cannot simply be 
attributed to a purely vocational decision on Wittgenstein’s part, but was 
forced on him by external circumstances. The circumstances shed new 
light on Wittgenstein’s remark that he regarded work on architecture as 
work on oneself  [27]. He may have argued that working on architecture is 
working oneself, because in his own case, he worked on himself  through 
his engagement with architecture [28].

In 1926 Ludwig becomes involved in Margaret’s project to build a 
city mansion at the express invitation of  both his sister and Engelmann. 
From this point on, Wittgenstein described himself  as an architect, and 
no longer as a teacher, as documented by his paperwork re-establishing 
his residency in Vienna. Rather than merely supporting the project at a 
distance, Ludwig gradually takes over the entire design process his friend 
Paul Engelmann had already begun. By May 1926, Wittgenstein was living 
in Vienna again and had started his new two-year long stint as an architect. 

Wittgenstein’s involvement in the design process at this relatively late 
stage can be seen as a reaction of  sorts to the project’s earlier stages. The 
sister, having rejected Loos and Hoffmann alike (the first two ways to 
approach the project), and then having contracted Perco (the third way), 
now finds a fourth way to approach the building project. Ludwig helps to 
furnish an architectural mantle on which to pin her own ideas. Margaret 
Wittgenstein, well embedded in the highly cultured Viennese upper class, 
knew what she would have received from Loos and Hoffmann. It was 
chic at the time to contract one of  the two architects. Collectors of  Klimt 
paintings leaned toward Hoffmann, who frequently worked with Klimt, and 



155

isparchitecture.com

collectors of  Schiele leaned toward Loos. Though 
well-versed in the aesthetic trends championed 
by the liberal Viennese upper class, Margaret 
Wittgenstein deliberately side-stepped them as a 
patron—and made her brother to understand that 
she expected likewise of  him as her architect. That 
is, Margaret was not just Wittgenstein’s immediate 
reason for engaging architectural design, but served 
as an ally in a departure from the established 
norms of  Viennese Modernism. The finished 
house was to overcome both the architectural and 
cultural conventions of  its time while additionally 
reflecting the growing emancipation of  its owner. 
The remaining paper inquires as to whether and 
how the building itself  achieves the siblings’ rogue 
ambitions.

Architectural Analysis, 1: Floor Plan

The building’s floor plan, particularly the 
ground floor, is complex and dense. Wittgenstein 
faced the problem of  creating a flexible world to 
accommodate the public and private lives of  his 
sister. It was necessary the plan allowed for ready 
re-interpretation and re-appropriation while also  
allowing for the following of  strict social and 
cultural expectations. Above all, the spatial program 
reflects Margaret’s family and social life. There is 
social gathering space for her absentee husband, two 
sons, two foster sons, as well as domestic staff. The 
plan’s resulting modernity and unconventionality, 
particularly in the Viennese context, emerges as 
follows. 

The main floor combines public and private 
areas. One of  the doors in the large semi-public hall 
opens directly into Margaret’s living and sleeping 
area labeled living room on Wittgenstein’s floor plan. 
An alcove opposite the window contains a niche 
for her bed, which also served as a couch during 
the day. The adjacent dressing area, misleadingly 

[ludwig] served 
as an ally in a 

departure from 
the established 

norm of viennese 
modernism.

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

156

SA
R

N
IT

Z

labeled bedroom on Wittgenstein’s plan, is hidden behind a screen.

The main floor served as a stage on which Margaret lived her life. It was 
the focal point of  her activities, private and public, within the house. The 
other floors were reserved for her husband, children, and domestic staff.

The building is viewed as consisting of  two houses: a spatially 
organized object and a use-object. Wittgenstein himself  insisted that, 
for all the plan’s strictness, the house would allow for multiple uses and 
furnishings, as long as overall strictures on quality and correctness were 
observed [29]. In terms of  spatial organization, the building is understood 
as an elementary and structural envelope, as a sequence of  spaces—
of  autonomous spaces with defined proportions. The use of  concrete 
furnishes a strikingly abstract background, a basic spatial envelope which 
draws its characteristics from the precise use of  proportion, light, rhythm 
and tactility. (The characteristics of  material use receives special focus in 
details with an overt relation to mechanical engineering, Wittgenstein’s 
original subject at university: metal doors, metal windows, radiators, sliding 
elements and elevators.) The distinguishing features between Wittgenstein 
and Loos’ approach to building design is perhaps most apparent in the 
spatial sequence. There is neither a spatial plan nor a central living hall as 
favored by Loos, nor an open plan with free spatial transitions. Rather, 
there is a ceremonial progression of  sorts created by a variety of  doors 
and thresholds. Wittgenstein designed, with great precision, a sequence of  
door types that vary subtly at the level of  transparency and opacity. There 
are doors with clear glass, opaque glass, and without glass altogether (see 
Figures 7-9).

Further, the ground floor living room of  Wittgenstein’s plan is visually 
separated from the staircase and thus differs markedly from the type of  
grand living hall that Loos placed prominently in his domestic architecture 
for Vienna’s upper class. Finally, Wittgenstein’s internal spaces are 
completely devoid of  material padding where Loos’ celebrated the sensual 
and haptic use of  materials such as natural stone, colored marble and 
granite, timber-paneling, leather and other wall coverings (cut and faceted 
glass and, later, color as a consciously-used spatial finish). 

Architectural Analysis, 2: Building volume and façade

Looking at the house, one is primarily struck by the strong plastic 
appearance of  the building, which has a cubist-like form unusual for 
Vienna in 1928. The sculptural effect of  the house is comparable only to 
the contemporary building by Adolf  Loos, the Moller House, but which 



157

isparchitecture.com

FIGURE 7: ground floor plan of the wittgenstein house.



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

158

SA
R

N
IT

Z

is markedly more reserved. Viewed in perspective, the projections and 
recesses of  the building volume result in an apparently random window 
arrangement. The orthogonal drawings of  the façades, on the other 
hand, reveal axially arranged windows, which enjoy a particularly complex 
relationship with the interior spaces. The fenestration as a result offers 
no clues about the sort of  room located behind each window. Unlike in 
the work of  Adolf  Loos, bathrooms and small ancillary spaces are not 
represented on the façade by small windows. Wittgenstein’s façade is not a 
functional illustration of  the various spaces but rather a composed whole 
which works with axes and rhythms.

On the main floor, there is an unwavering use of  virtually identical 
glazed metal doors on the façade and throughout the internal spaces. The 
door’s use clearly demonstrates a design decision that cannot be reduced 
to functionalism and that does not feature in the architecture of  Adolf  
Loos. The metal and glass double doors are arranged like Viennese 
casement windows. In one instance, the fenestrations are arranged in the 
form of  French doors to the terrace and another as French doors to the 
hall. The hall is transformed into the external element of  the internal 
space, a sensitively interpretation of  the spatial hierarchy and the public 
and private characters of  the rooms. Internally, the large living room or 
library and Margaret Stonborough-Wittgenstein’s living room are the only 
two spaces whose internal double doors have no glass and consist entirely 
of  metal. By controlling the amount of  light passing through the glass 
doors, Wittgenstein directs movement through the house. Upon entering 
the house, the visitor’s attention is drawn to the light to the left of  the 
entry (the glass wall to the terrace) and eventually toward the dining 
room and the small breakfast room. To the right, the large living room or 
library can also be entered via glass doors. The programmatic sequencing 
of  the entrance doors and terrace doors continues in the same manner 
throughout the house. It generates highly deliberate diagonal lines of  sight 
that would have, for instance, allowed Margaret to discretely view visitors 
in the hall from her sleeping area in the curious alcove. The particular 
line of  sight is permitted only when the doors were left open, providing 
a vantage point from which Margaret could oversee the central activities 
of  the house.

The sequence of  spaces creates an almost cinematic spatial and temporal 
chronology of  uses which is expressed in the diagonal nature of  the visual 
axes: the glass doors establish visual axes from the dining-room, through 
the hall and into the large living room (library) and from the small living 
room (Margaret Stonborough’s salon), through the music room and into 



159

isparchitecture.com

FIGURE 8: Ground floor plan of the Wittgenstein house, drawn by emila bruck and 
doris scheicher.



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

160

SA
R

N
IT

Z

the hall. As a result we have many intersecting and parallel visual axes, axes 
that are both linear and diagonal, axes that are both real and (in a sense) 
virtual. When the doors are open in certain arrangements, the building 
prevents its viewers to take in the unfolding scene all in a single glance. 
Instead, one has to take in the happenings in discrete visual moments and 
perspectives, and arrange one’s experience of  the house sequentially—as 
one would, for instance, view a film, one scene at a time, without being 
able to take in everything at once. 

Architectural Analysis, 3: Interiors

The interpretation of  Wittgenstein’s interior design is separate from 
the building’s volume and envelope. The interiors have a fundamental and 
elementary quality virtually untouched by the furniture. The simplicity 
of  the interiors embodies the greatest difference between Wittgenstein 
and his architectural contemporaries who opposed the separation of  
architecture and internal finishes. Each of  their positions were represented 
on the Vienna architecture scene. 

For Josef  Hoffmann, architecture—the dwelling in particular—
should be determined by the artistic predilection of  the architect. The 
predilection could go as far as determining everyday objects such as 
kitchen utensils, appliances, and textiles. In contrast, Loos argued that the 
walls belonged to the architect, but not such moveable elements as chairs, 
dining chairs and armchairs. His approach yielded the design of  in-built 
furniture, wall cladding and chimney-nooks. By consciously choosing such 
objects, Loos developed his own closed aesthetic. He had no difficulty 
incorporating inherited items of  furniture or oriental carpets into a new 
architectural design. His interiors were sometimes characterized by the use 
of  ornamental oriental carpets because the objects were effective status 
symbols of  the bourgeois.

Wittgenstein gave instructions and guidelines to his sister Margaret 
regarding the furnishing of  her own house. The guidelines and restrictions 
were severe. She was to use neither carpets, curtains, nor chandeliers. His 
position stands in distinct contrast to Loos’ pupil Paul Engelmann, who 
would have wanted a Loosian interior for Margaret but was complicit 
with Ludwig who preferred an autonomous one. Wittgenstein’s absolute 
position regarding carpets and curtains is, however, easy to explain. His 
architecture had already addressed the functional issue of  the curtain—the 
ground floor windows incorporated vertical black-out elements that were 
parked at basement level during the day. The anthracite-black artificial 



161

isparchitecture.com

m: 1:50
Viktoria Schandl

FIGURE 9: axometric of the ground floor of the wittgenstein house. Drawing 
hightlights the column placement in the main hallway.



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

162

SA
R

N
IT

Z

stone floor with the detailed joint pattern was part of  the design in which 
the reflection of  the black stone de-emphasizes the material qualities of  
the perfectly polished floor, in turn creating the sensation that the floor 
itself  dematerializes. Laying a carpet on the floor would have interfered 
with the dematerialization effect. The laying of  carpets on the floor in 
this example would have would have been inconsistent with the floor’s 
design, which does something to explain why Wittgenstein was strict in his 
instructions and guidelines for the house.

Wittgenstein’s approach to the issue of  artificial light was similar. The 
qualities and characteristics of  a space are heavily determined by how much 
and by which route light comes into a room. A room appears differently 
with light from just one window on one wall, and differently with a floor 
to ceiling window wall. Wittgenstein’s austere decision to have a single 
unadorned 200 watt bulb at ceiling level allowed for an evenly distributed 
light in all directions at even intensity; unlike the uneven distribution of  
shaded lamp shades. Wittgenstein’s lighting design, one could argue, is 
objective, given its neutrality and impartiality to an observer’s relative 
position in the house. In contrast, all further lighting sources would be 
induced by candles or standing lamps, were thus highly situational and 
subjective, and could be adjusted by the owner and guests to suit specific 
occasions.  

Architectural Analysis, 4: Level of Use

Furniture itself  was not a matter for Wittgenstein the architect. Here, he 
allowed his sister—the user of  the house—complete freedom. Wittgenstein 
was familiar with his sister’s furniture and art collection because he had 
often been her guest in her belétage in the Palais Schönborn-Batthyany. 
He knew how his sister’s house operated at the social level. One cannot 
escape the feeling and suspicion that Wittgenstein saw furniture, users and 
visitors as merely temporary, and in relative terms, less significant events 
in an absolute space, which served as a stage. His sister and the furniture 
changed continuously and yet this elementary space remained unchanged. 
During a social event the house functioned differently from times when 
only the family was present. His architecture was to be equally appropriate 
for both situations: hence the dark, almost black floor, which levels out the 
objects placed upon it—enveloping them in a world of  continuity. 

Margaret Stonborough’s visitors, furniture and works of  art inhabit 
the Wittgensteinian space almost as if  they are egalitarian guests of  
the building. The approach reveals the radicalism of  a modernism, 



163

isparchitecture.com

which simultaneously takes up elementary and 
autonomous qualities of  the building itself. Here, 
Wittgenstein’s artistic intention reveals itself  as an 
abstract creative will triggered by the architectural 
debate about the Viennese modus vivendi. 

Conclusion

Wittgenstein’s late philosophy urged against 
understanding our interpersonal communication 
in language in too fragmented a manner. Only 
by contextualizing our verbal exchanges against a 
shared and highly specific forms of  life can their 
full meaning or significance be brought to the fore. 
Urging a contextualist position of  sorts may hold 
validity in our engagement with and communication 
across material culture as well as architecture. This 
contextualism can fruitfully inform our reception 
of  Wittgenstein’s own architecture. Informed by 
a deep affinity to the material culture surrounding 
him since his earliest childhood, as Wittgenstein’s 
own engagement with architecture undoubtedly 
was, engaging Wittgenstein the architect is not 
primarily a lesson for us so much as a challenge—a 
challenge to contemporary historiography [30]. 
Our own understanding of  the full genesis and 
denouement of  Viennese modernism is still too 
fragmented for us to understand Wittgenstein’s 
own place in it, and frequently deters us to allocate 
him such a place at all. Wittgenstein’s being at home 
and ease with a specific culture and its manifold 
reference points concomitantly accounts for the 
work’s inaccessibility to those not sharing in the 
form of  life that informed the house’s gestation. 
In a sense, Wittgenstein’s own house may explain 
why the canonization of  buildings in disregard to 
their highly specific forms of  life frequently make 
for awkward histories and reluctant exclusions. 
The resilience toward canonizing the house may be 
rooted in the house’s stubborn refusal to explain 
itself  or render itself  into a code easily deciphered 

Wittgenstein’s 
own house 

may explain 
why the 

canonization of 
architectural 

works [...] 
frequently 
makes for 

awkard 
histories and 

reluctant 
exclusions.

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

164

SA
R

N
IT

Z

by those outside its immediate context. This refusal may account for the 
continued relevance of  not only Wittgenstein’s own architecture but of  
our ongoing attempts to come to terms with it as a site of  cultural transfer 
and transformation.  

Acknowledgments

I thank Carolyn Fahey for probing questions and edits that greatly 
improved this paper and led me to expand my existing research in new 
directions, and Stefan Koller for help with the philosophical content. 

Endnotes 
[1] The present work builds on my earlier publications: August
Sarnitz, Die Architektur Wittgensteins: Rekonstruktion einer gebauten Idee
(Vienna: Böhlau, 2011); August Sarnitz, “Reconstructing Wittgenstein
as an Architect: Ludwig Wittgenstein and Margaret Stonborough-
Wittgenstein—Defining and Designing a New Interior,” in Private
Utopias, ed. August Sarnitz (Berline and Boston: de Gruyter, 2015),
106-123.
[2] Stanford Anderson, “Architecture in a Cultural Field,” Princeton
University, 5 March 1988), Stanford Anderson archives, disk Princeton/
Zürich, rev. 20 April 1988. The intended meaning of  critical
conventionalism is well conveyed by a quote from Loos provided by
Anderson: “Tradition is no more the enemy of  development than the
mother is an enemy of  the child. Tradition is a reservoir of  strength
from countless generations, and the firm foundation for a healthy future”
(22 n. 15). A comparable dialectic between tradition and transformation
in Wittgenstein’s philosophical work is discussed by Stephen Mulhall,
Inheritance and Originality: Wittgenstein, Heidegger, Kierkegaard (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2002), 27 ff.
[3] The encounter is referenced in a letter of  Wittgenstein’s to Ludwig
von Ficker, as discussed by Burkhardt Rukschcio and Roland Schachel,
Adolf  Loos: Leben und Werk (Wien: Residenz Verlag, 1982), 195. See
further Brian McGuiness, Young Ludwig: Wittgenstein’s Life, 1889-1921
(London: Penguin, 1988), 209; and Sarnitz, Die Architektur Wittgensteins,
145-146.
[4] Ludwig Wittgenstein to Paul Engelmann, 2 September 1919. (Cf.
Sarnitz, Die Architektur Wittgensteins, p. 148). The English translation
provided here is owed to Marjorie Perloff, Wittgenstein’s Ladder: Poetic



165

isparchitecture.com

Language and the Strangeness of  the Ordinary (Chicago: University of  
Chicago, 1996), 224.
[5] Karl Kraus, “Festschrift zum 60. Geburtstag,” for Adolf  Loos
(Vienna: Loecker Verlag, 1930), 27.
[6] Ludwig Wittgenstein, Lectures and Conversations on Aesthetics, Psychology,
and Religious Belief, ed. Cyril Barrett (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University
of  California Press, 1967), 9-10. The lectures on aesthetics date to 1938.
The similarities between Wittgenstein’s writings and (some of) Loos’s
are well documented in John Hyman, “The Urn and the Chamber Pot,”
in Wittgenstein, Theory, and the Arts, eds. Richard Allen and Malcolm
Turvey (London: Routledge, 2011), 137-153. Hyman’s architectural
assessment seems overstated, however: “the design of  the house in the
Kundmanngasse would have been inconceivable without the example of
Loos’s work, and the influence of  his ideas” (137).
[7] Ibid., 7, n. 2.
[8] Ibid., 8. Cf. Hyman, “The Urn and the Chamber Pot,” 137. Hyman
states: “the emphasis Wittgenstein places on technical correctness
in design and his readiness to talk about clothing, hairdressing and
architecture in the same breath are surely due, at least in part, to Loos’
influence.” On Loos’ own ideas on daily (fashion) objects of  use, see in
particular the essay collection on Loos, Adolf  Loos, Spoken Into the Void:
Collected Essays, 1897-1900, trans. J. O. Newman and J. H. Smith (Boston:
MIT Press, 1987), with an introduction by Aldo Rossi.
[9] Ibid., 7, n. 2.
[10] Thus Hyman writes: “if  we compare the Stonborough house with
Loos’ domestic architecture, its austerity and refinement appear a little
overwrought.” From Hyman, “The Urn and the Chamber Pot,”146.
Similarly, David Macarthur, “Working on Oneself  in Philosophy and
Architecture: A Perfectionist Reading of  the Wittgenstein House,”
Architecture Theory Review 19, no. 2 (2015): “With regard to the matter
of  ornament, Wittgenstein applies Loos’ ideas more systematically and
scrupulously than Loos himself. Wittgenstein’s interiors are, in sharp
contrast to those of  Loos, characterised by an overwhelming impression
of  austerity, simplicity, and stillness.”
[11] Ludwig Wittgenstein to Margaret Stonborough, letter dated to circa
September 1949, in Wittgenstein. Familienbriefe, eds. Brian McGuiness, M.
C. Ascher, and O. Pfersmann (Vienna: Hölder-Pichler-Tempsky, 1996),
200. Cf. Sarnitz, Die Architektur Wittgensteins, 82.
[12] For details and documentation (including floor plans and building
permits) of  the Villa Toscana, see Sarnitz, Die Architektur Wittgensteins,



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

166

SA
R

N
IT

Z

43-44; for a photo of  Wittgenstein in the building, see Sarnitz, Die 
Architektur Wittgensteins, 71.
[13] E. Prokopp, Magarethe Stonborough-Wittgenstein, Böhlau, Wien, 
Chapter on the villa Toscana: the drawings of  Rudolf  Perco are very 
similar to those of  Josef  Hoffmann of  the same period. The author 
holds the same opinion. Perco’s drawings look “Hoffmanesque.”
[14] Perco’s architectonic contributions were (and, to this day, remain 
largely) overlooked by architecture historians. Within Austria, Perco 
regained recognition with the publication of  Otto Antonia Graf, Die 
Vergessene Wagnerschule (Vienna: Jugend und Volk, 1969). See also Ursula 
Prokop, Rudolf  Perco 1884–1942. Von der Architektur des Roten Wien zur 
NS-Megalomanie (Vienna: Böhlau, 2001).
[15] The two items of  furniture include a post-Art Deco table by 
Dagobert Peche. Peche, at the time relatively little known, later became 
a highly sought-after designer: testimony to Margaret’s own impeccable 
taste Wittgenstein would later speak so highly of  (see letter, quoted 
above). For photos of  the furniture, and traces thereof  in Margaret’s 
own drawings, see Sarnitz, Die Architektur Wittgensteins 62, 130.
[16] For photos of  Palais Schönborn, see Sarnitz, Die Architektur 
Wittgensteins. To confuse the building with Palace Schönbrunn, as Monk 
does, is tantamount to confusing Windsor with Buckingham Palace; had 
Margaret already lived in anything like the latter, transitioning into the 
later Palais Stonborough would have conveyed an immense loss in socio-
economic status.
[17] See Stanford Anderson, “Sachlichkeit and Modernity, or Realist 
Architecture,” in Otto Wagner: Reflections on the Raiment of  Modernity, ed. 
Harry Francis Mallgrave (Los Angeles: The Getty Center, 1993), 323-
361 as well as August Sarnitz, “Realism versus Verniedlichung: The 
Design of  the Great City,” in Otto Wagner: Reflections on the Raiment of  
Modernity, ed. Harry Francis Mallgrave (Los Angeles: The Getty Center, 
1993), 85-113. On a related note, Loos critiqued imagination as a 
source of  architectural ideas, since imagination (for Loos) is dissociated 
from cognition of  the realities of  fact and use. See Adolf  Loos, “Der 
Sattlermeister,” Der Sturm 1, no. 3 (1910).
[18] As an author, Wittgenstein was keen to record disagreements, 
especially when they were egregious (such as on the subject of  
Weininger’s misogynism), and less keen to record agreements or mild 
disagreements. Cf. Ludwig Wittgenstein, preface to Tractatus-Logico-
Philosophicus (London: Kegan Paul, 1922), 23. Wittgenstein states: “what 
I have here written makes no claim to novelty in points of  detail; and 



167

isparchitecture.com

therefore I give no sources, because it is indifferent to me whether what I 
have thought has already been thought before me by another.”
[19] Wittgenstein, Lectures, 7.
[20] Ibid., 7. n. 2.
[21] Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, ed. and trans. 
Elizabeth Anscombe (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001), §7.
[22] What complicates the issue is that the historiography of  Austrian 
modern architecture has been shaped by the necessarily selective nature 
of  synoptic studies, frequently composed from an outsider’s perspective, 
such as Carl E. Schorske, Fin-De-Siecle Vienna: Politics and Culture (New 
York: Alfred E. Knopf, 1981); or Allan Janik and Stephen Edelston 
Toulmin, Wittgenstein’s Vienna (Chicago : Ivan R. Dee, 1973). These works 
arguably create too limited a frame of  reference for us to understand the 
diversity and nuance in architectural modernism that Wittgenstein and 
others before him (cf. Otto Antonia Graf, Die Vergessene Wagnerschule) 
responded to. See further the conclusion below.
[23] The causal reading is critiqued by Christopher Long, “[Review of] 
Nana Last. Wittgenstein’s House,” review of  Wittgenstein’s House: Language, 
Space, and Architecture, by Nana Last in Estetika: The Central European 
Journal of  Aesthetics XLVI, II (2009): 230-233.
[24] Cf. Alexander Waugh, The House of  Wittgenstein: A Family at War 
(Toronto: Random House of  Canada, 2010), 148-149.
[25] Ludwig Wittgenstein to J. M. Keynes, 18 October 1925, in 
Wittgenstein in Cambridge: Letters and Documents 1911 – 1951, ed. Brian 
McGuiness (Oxford: Blackwell, 2012), 157. Italics added.
[26] Waugh, The House of  Wittgenstein, 162.
[27] Ludwig Wittgenstein, MS 112, dated to 14 October 1931, 
posthumously published in Vermischte Bemerkungen, eds. Georg Henrik 
van Wright, Heiki Nyman, and Alois Pichler (Stuttgart: Suhrkamp, 1994), 
52.
[28] While many details surrounding Wittgenstein’s transition into 
architecture are beyond historical verification, Wittgenstein’s oldest sister, 
Hermine, later confirmed that, in her own assessment, Margaret seemed 
‘psychologically compelled’ to help out her younger brother with the 
architecture commission, which seems to corroborate the impressions 
from Wittgenstein’s own correspondence. These unpublished family 
memoirs are preserved in the Brenner archives in Innsbruck, Austria (cf. 
Sarnitz, Die Architektur Wittgensteins, 230). Hermine Wittgenstein’s relation 
to the house is of  further importance: we owe to her surviving pastel 



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

168

SA
R

N
IT

Z

drawings the only documentation of  Margaret’s original furbishing of  
the house in the 1920s and 1930s (Sarnitz, Die Architektur Wittgensteins, 
129). During World War II, the house had been used as a military 
hospital and it would never be re-instated to its pre-war interior state.
[29] See the earlier discussion on the place of  ‘quality’ and ‘correctness’ 
in Wittgenstein’s aesthetics.
[30] See accounts on Wittgenstein’s place in Viennese Modernism and 
the fin de siecle Vienna, such as that of  Allan Janik, Roger Paden, and Paul 
Engelmann.



isparchitecture.com

USE-VALUE VALUE AND THE QUESTION OF 
COMPLETION

EMRE DEMIREL

The post-modernist approach to architecture 
often presents tradition as a problem  of  image 
[2]. Postmodernism prioritizes the display of  
stylized images of  historic buildings in order 
to prompt one to deal primarily with the visual 
appeal of  the historic forms rather than the (bodily 
and emotional) experience of  the buildings [3]. 
Tradition is polarized against modernity when it is 
treated as a reconstruction of  past images or styles, 
which is to say that the appearance of  traditional 
buildings or their object-like material presences are 
treated as always complete and fixed to a particular 
point in time when they were built. When tradition 
is understood in purely visual terms, it loses its 
relevance in our modern world, becoming instead 
a static image of  the past. The rigidity of  historical 
images creates a sense that tradition has nothing to 
do with future imaginations, and history’s appeal 
operates by virtue of  its fictive attributes [4].

Past images or styles cannot be re-created in the 
present time. When they are re-constructed today 
they permanently demarcate the moment to which 
they belong. On the other hand, the bodily and 
emotional experiences of  such buildings are free 
of  time. Such experiences could be re-embodied 
through new building materials and techniques 

Tradition is 
polarized against 

modernity when 
it is treated as a 

reconstruction 

“
”

You say to me: ‘You understand this expression, don’t 
you? Well then – I am using it in the sense you are 

familiar with’. – As if  the sense were an atmosphere 
accompanying the word, which is carried into every kind 

of  application.

Ludwig Wittgenstein [1]



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

170

DE
M

IR
EL

which are specific to the present time. The possibility of  the re-embodiment 
of  our emotional experiences from a traditional environment opens a door 
to new architectural configurations and the invention of  an alternative 
modernity which is connected to our past. Looking from a non-visual 
but tactile view point, tradition can be considered as incomplete and 
enduringly open to new completions by offering a negotiable dialogue 
between the past and future.

In order to explore how tradition can be understood in terms of  the 
building’s physical qualities so as to open tradition to future inventive 
possibilities, Wittgenstein’s philosophical proposition of  meaning as use is 
herein used as the basis of  argument. Wittgenstein’s proposition suggests 
meaning cannot be predetermined or contain absolute definitions limiting 
our understanding to fixed mental images or other forms of  representation. 
Meaning is provisional, open-ended, and continuously re-configures itself  
as it is used [5]. The flexibility and fluidity of  Wittgenstein’s definition of  
meaning suggests that our understanding of  things can be viewed in both 
complete and incomplete aspects. What is completed is associated with 
an object-like presence or, in Edmund Husserl’s terms, with the object of  
thought, whereas what is not yet complete refers to use, the experience of  
things, or the act of  thought, all of  which require active bodily engagement 
in the environment [6].

Before going into further detail, it might be useful to explain briefly 
what is meant by the word completion. The word complete is defined 
as “lacking nothing, whole, entire, full, or having all the required or 
complementary parts included; something undivided, uncompromised 
or unmodified” [7]. Such a definition indicates any kind of  situation or 
process that has already ended. Therefore, complete suggests any case that 
has been fully established in itself  or reached an ideal form which has no 
flexibility or tolerance for further interference. On this basis, Paul Ricoeur 
distinguishes between two types of  meaning: ideal (complete or absolute) 
and circumstantial (or situational). According to the first type, the grasp of  
language occurs in reference to the absolute presence of  objects, materials 
or actions. The absolute is similar to the way a dictionary introduces a 
term’s meaning within purely objectified and pictoral norms. The second 
type, on the other hand, suggests a grasp of  language based on our 
experiences of  the lived world. Accordingly, Ricoeur draws attention to the 
differences between names (words) and sentences. While any single name 
or word individually refers to the purified object-like presence of  the thing 
as defined in the dictionary, a sentence refers to our lived experiences, our 
circumstantial engagements with the environment [8].



171

isparchitecture.com

Regarding our lived experiences, Ricoeur 
underlines the second concept: the process of  
completion or fulfillment. He argues that whatever 
we have experienced in the past remains in our 
minds or memories and in turn all these experiences 
cause us to re-embody these through new actions, 
events, or structures. It is like referring to past 
experiences for our future actions. What is meant by 
the term completion is simply the re-embodiment 
of  our lived (emotional) experiences, and this 
embodiment renews itself  continuously [9]. As 
Hannah Arendt notes, our lived experiences are 
like an invisible energy which enduringly holds 
a potential to be converted into a new concrete 
entity [10]. Applying this approach to tradition, 
it can be said that stylistic engagements present 
tradition as a picture: like reality, they develop a 
kind of  normative understanding of  tradition. 
However, our sentimental engagements with 
traditional environments structure our emotional 
experiences of  them. These experiences are always 
open to renewals or new completions as they could 
be re-embodied through new modes of  building 
materials and building techniques.

Taking Wittgenstein’s position as a framework 
for this analysis, tradition is generally completed 
as an image or picture reality when it is engaged 
with its object-like qualities. When tradition is 
introduced as a display commodity, our encounter 
with tradition is reduced to a visual understanding. 
Within the terms of  visual understanding’s 
reduction, tradition can only be contemplated 
retroactively in picturesque re-productions but not 
in new beginnings. Wittgenstein’s approach draws 
attention to the experiential and participatory 
qualities of  traditional environments [11]. Such 
qualities can never be concretized by specifically 
defined stylistic orders; they are formless but at the 
same time formative; our emotional experiences 
and participation within spaces act like an invisible 
power that continuously initiates a person into 

Meaning is 
provisional, 

open-ended, and 
continuously re-
configures itself 

as it is used.

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

172

DE
M

IR
EL

re-embodying it as new architectural reality. 

The question of  completion in tradition will be demonstrated with 
three examples. The first is a miniature painting by the Persian artist 
Kamal al-din Bihzad (1450-1535), the second is a series of  Le Corbusier’s 
sketches of  Istanbul and the Green Mosque—which were done during 
his trip to Turkey in 1910—and the final example is the 1994 B2 House 
designed by the Turkish architect Han Tümertekin. At first glance these 
examples might appear completely different and irrelevant to one another. 
However, when the sketches are closely analyzed they reveal distinctly 
similar positions regarding the concept of  tradition. The common point 
between Kamal al-din Bihzad, Le Corbusier, and Han Tümertekin is that 
they propose an alternative way of  understanding tradition which suggests 
that one considers tradition not as a fixed object-like reality—or what is 
typically rendered as stylistic images or the outer appearance of  building 
facades—but rather as an experiential reality, which is to say, a reality that 
is fluid, unfixed, and open to new configurations. From this perspective, 
Kamal al-din Bihzad, Le Corbusier, and Han Tümertekin share similar 
grounds in that each envisions architecture not as an object to be seen 
but rather as an articulation of  an emotive terrain [12]. The emotive 
terrain does not prioritize the optical but rather a full bodily and sensuous 
contact with the physical built environment. Such an approach leads to 
a perception that traditional architecture is not primarily a physical but 
rather an existential entity.

Viewing MINIATURES Through THE EYES OF WITTGENSTEIN

The fifteenth century miniature painting by the Persian artist Kamal 
al-din Bihzad (1450-1535) depicts a famous religious event: the escape of  
the Prophet Joseph from his lover Zulaykha. Zulaykha, the wife of  the 
respected Egyptian officer Potiphar, falls in love with Joseph and seduces 
him in her house. Joseph attempts to flee, but the house is structured in 
such a way as to make escape difficult (Figure 1).

Although Bihzad was a talented painter and well aware of  perspective, 
he opts to depict the cosmos in a distorted manner [13]. The distortion 
goes beyond the compositional technique typical of  miniature paintings. 
It also relates to his way of  conceptualizing architecture.

The representation of  architecture reveals something of  Bihzad’s 
idea about what architecture itself  means to the human mind. On closer 
inspection, Bihzad avoids illustrating a literal or realistic representation 
of  the building. He was apparently not interested in how the building 
could be seen from the outside. Rather, his interest lies in what could be 



173

isparchitecture.com

FIGURE 1: THE PALACE OF POTIPHAR AND THE ESCAPE OF JOSEPH. ILLUSTRATED BY 
KAMAL AL-DIN BIHZAD  (1450 – 1535).



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

174

DE
M

IR
EL

emotionally experienced moving from one space to another throughout 
the building [14].

As seen in the painting, the overall composition is established in the 
patterning of  oblique lines. The movement—or the escape of  Joseph 
from one space to another—is sensed through the change of  door color, 
each located on the oblique lines. Each oblique wall draws attention to the 
movement from one closed door to another. The attention to each door 
creates a feeling as if  someone is running from one corner to another 
in a labyrinth but cannot find a way out. There are many oblique walls 
and lines that suddenly change colors, creating a chaotic and confined 
atmosphere. As it is seen in the miniature, the building is not presented as 
an enclosed space; rather it looks like an unfolded box or an unwrapped 
three-dimensional shape. It seems that Bihzad did not envision the 
building in the sense of  an object, which is apparent in Bihzad’s treatment 
of  shape and profile as a topoi or a cartographic map. In Paul Rodaway’s 
terms, a topoi is the collection of  emotional experiences and sentimental 
contacts that all draw an unfixed, re-imaginative, shapeless world [15]. 
According to Sufi philosophy, the case of  shapelessness always presents 
the challenges of  re-embodiment or finding new form, but perhaps such 
a challenge is unattainable for any sustained period [16]. The concept of  
shapelessness is similar to the idea that whatever meaning we attribute 
to the environment renews itself  as we use it, or, in other words, as we 
sentimentally experience it each time.

Bihzad’s approach runs parallel to Wittgenstein’s idea of  meaning as 
use. Looking at this miniature painting from Wittgenstein’s point of  view, 
Bihzad tries to create a perception of  the cosmos which renders itself  
in an account of  use rather than in picturing reality. As explained above, 
use refers to our bodily involvement with things and activities; it is highly 
connected to what we experience sentimentally through our environment 
[17]. As Wittgenstein asserted, any temptation to concretize meaning 
reduces our understanding of  it to mental representations [18]. Presenting 
architectural reality as a fixed physical presence is avoided by Bihzad. His 
interest lies in the shapeless presence of  the building, as if  he wants us 
to think about the paradox which is, in Wittgenstein’s terms, between the 
non-existence of  the intended object and the fullness of  the seen object 
[19].

The way Bizhad conceptualizes architecture constructs a kind of  vision 
that recommends how to look at tradition and traditional architecture. 
In the miniature, what we see is an example of  traditional architecture, 
but it is presented in a way that is dramatically different from the way 



175

isparchitecture.com

FIGURE 2: LE CORBUSIER, MajesticSilhouettes of themosques on the”hugehumpedback

toStamboul”, 1911.



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

176

DE
M

IR
EL

the postmodern has conditioned us to see tradition. The building is 
presented not in a completed shape; rather, it looks shapeless. The reason 
for presenting reality in such a way is closely linked to how Bihzad wants 
us to give meaning to (traditional) architecture. It seems Bihzad brought 
architecture into consideration not as a question of  the object, which is 
how postmodernity intends to shape our perception of  the traditional 
environment, but as a question of  completion. The question of  completion 
is not concerned with the reproduction of  reality (representing as fully 
as possible the appearance of  things and thus repeating past forms and 
styles) which is already completed; instead, it is primarily concerned with 
the re-activation of  what is sensually experienced, which leads the way 
toward the configuration of  new realities.

MINIATURES AND LE CORBUSIER’S DRAWINGS: RE-CONCEPTUALIZING TRADITION 

The analysis of  one of  Bihzad’s miniatures has shown that the building 
is not presented with a photorealistic impression. It was argued that lack of  
photorealistic impression is closely linked with how Bihzad conceptualizes 
architecture. He constructs a vision about the built premises that suggests 
the viewer consider traditional architecture not in the sense of  its material 
reality but in the sense of  what we emotionally experience through it. 
Thus, Bihzad’s engagement with the traditionally built environment is in 
this regard parallel to how Le Corbusier considers tradition. Le Corbusier’s 
approach is clearly demonstrated by his sketches of  Istanbul and the 
Green Mosque in Bursa during his trip to Turkey in 1910 [20]. Although 
the sketches were made using different painting techniques and materials, 
like Bihzad, Le Corbusier did not picture the buildings in the way they 
realistically appear. Le Corbusier’s concern was not the outer appearance of  
the buildings or their stylistic images, but what he emotionally experienced 
through his immersion in the historic environment.

Looking at Le Corbusier’s sketches more closely, it can be seen that 
they lack any photorealistic depiction or clearly rendered detail; his record 
of  the existing built environment was always intentionally left incomplete 
(Figure 2). As in Bihzad’s miniature, the manner of  incompleteness releases 
the architectural object from its physical existence and converts it into an 
experience of  its emotional ambiance. In doing so, the sketches refresh 
our engagement with the architectural object in keeping the prospect of  
wonder alive and arousing different emotional states in each and every 
moment viewed. Thereby, our perception of  the architectural figure is not 
confined to the aesthetic definition of  its absolute object-like appearance, 
and is instead left open-ended to new emotional encounters. 



177

isparchitecture.com

FIGURE 5: THE SULTAN’S PRAYER ROOM is NOTED IN LE CORBUSIER’S DRAWING AS THE DARKEST 
PLACE. EMOTIONAL EFFECT CREATED BY THE TRANSITION FROM DARKER TO LIGHTER SPACES THET 
PRIMARILY INDICATED IN LE CORBUSIER’S PLAN DRAWING.

FIGUREs 3 & 4: Floor plan of the green mosque in bursa by leon parville (LEFT); Plan sketch 
of The Green Mosque in bursa by le corbusier (RIGHT).



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

178

DE
M

IR
EL

The aforementioned attitude of  Le Corbusier can also be attributed 
to his drawing of  the Green Mosque. Le Corbusier’s notation on the 
plan of  the Green Mosque demonstrates that he is imprecise about the 
exact position of  the walls, the location of  the outer windows and the 
doors, and does not elaborate the ornamental details that emphasize 
the material-like presence of  the building. Instead, he keenly illustrates 
the emotional reactions created in the transition from the darker to the 
brighter and from the brighter to the darker spaces. Le Corbusier does 
not intend the drawing to re-construct the object-like presence of  this 
traditional building but rather reconfigure its  emotional cartography [21]. 
For example, the darkest hatch is the sultan’s prayer room, which was clad 
with dark blue tiles and was located opposite to the large prayer hall clad 
with white marble (Figures 3-5). Moving from the lower darker space to 
a higher and brighter space creates an emotional experience that affects 
how the building renders itself  in our mind. Le Corbusier’s concern is not 
what exists as a literal built reality but as a sensed reality. Again, the aim of  
analyzing Le Corbusier’s drawing of  the Green Mosque is not to show the 
material Le Corbusier engaged. Instead, it is to reveal his working methods 
insofar as tradition is concerned. His visual notations demonstrate that 
his approach to tradition is not architectural but topical [22]. This non-
architectural but topical vision is in keeping with how Bihzad and the 
Turkish architect Han Tümertekin engage with tradition.

Overall the point of  significance is not Le Corbusier’s sketching or 
painting methods. Instead, his alternative method of  engaging traditional 
architecture is the point of  interest. As elaborated above, Le Corbusier 
offers a model for understanding tradition [23]. For Le Corbusier, 
tradition is not the fixation of  things in representations inherited from 
the past, such consideration that inevitably causes the development of  a 
standardized position toward tradition highly conditioned by pre-defined 
patterns. Instead, tradition suggests new beginnings for Le Corbusier. 
He exemplifies the alternative notion of  tradition in his paintings as he 
does not limit reality to pre-defined norms and patterns or to picturesque 
definitions. Instead, he intended to evoke different emotional reactions 
each time his paintings were viewed. Therefore, his painting is alive and 
dynamic as it produces new feelings and thus new meanings at each 
viewing of  it. Le Corbusier’s attempt to re-approach tradition is similar to 
a Wittgensteinian philosophical approach in that both suggest discovery is 
what makes meaning renewable.

Putting things into rigid preconceived patterns of  what they ought to 
mean makes our perception of  meaning past-oriented because meaning 



179

isparchitecture.com

refers to the moment when things first appeared 
to us. Like the outer appearance of  the building, 
the patterns are already constructed and mark the 
moment of  the time completed. However, what 
makes meanings persist through time is perhaps 
their shapelessness that puts actions in the first 
place as opposed to meanings. Within the context 
of  this issue, how tradition could be future-oriented 

is the main question of  this paper [24].

B2 HOUSE

The B2 House was built in a small traditional 
Mediterranean enclave, Büyükhüsun, in north-
western Anatolia. This small settlement is 
established on a mountain slope, which descends 
steeply southward towards the Aegean Sea below. 
It is a couple of  miles away from the ancient Greek 
city of  Assos located on the coast. Büyükhüsun is 
a traditional town and in keeping with the town’s 
look and feel, the intention of  Han Tümertekin was 
to create a traditional house [25]. When the award-
winning house was built, the building’s front facade 
(Figure 8) drew the attention of  respected local 
and international journals. However, Tümertekin’s 
approach to tradition was different. On the one 
hand, the architect controversially reveals the 
ways in which modernity has conditioned us to 
see traditional architecture. On the other hand, his 

FIGURES 6-8: VIEW OF B2 HOUSE OVERLOOKING AEGEAN SEA AND 
LESVOS ISLAND; DISTANT VIEW OF B2 HOUSE subtly emerging from 
landscape; AND VIEW OF FRONT FACADE (left to right).



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

180

DE
M

IR
EL

FIGURE 9: Sketch of b2 house depicting 
tensions BETWEEN DEFINED AND 
UNDEFINED BOUNDARIES.

FIGURE 10: view of RETAINING WALL AND 
BUILDING suggesting a kind SPATIAL 
DIALOGUE  BETWEEN the two.

FIGURE 11: VIEW OF HoUSE AND REAR 
RETAINING WALL.

FIGURE 12: VIEW OF HoUSE AND REAR 
RETAINING WALL.



181

isparchitecture.com

approach strongly parallels the way both miniaturist 
Bihzad and Le Corbusier consider traditional 
Turkish architecture, particularly when looking to a 
Wittgensteinian inspired reading of  tradition.

Approaching the enclave, the settlement’s houses 
have a landscaped look, as they are camouflaged 
to blend into the slope’s surface. Among them 
is the B2 House, which stands with a back-like 
front, aligning with its context. It is not visually 
insistent and therefore does not dominate over the 
other buildings. On the front facade, Tümertekin 
refrained from a picturesque definition. The large 
binding panels made by reed strips create a plain 
front surface unrelated to any picturesque display 
of  existing traditional dwellings.

In the overall simplicity, only the bindings’ colors 
permit the building to be seen from a distance. 
Before gaining a clear idea of  the appearance of  the 
building, the dark-brown color strikes the eye and 
evokes curiosity. The experience of  the building 
piques interest before one even arrives at it (Figures 
6 & 7).

The starting point for Tümertekin is the 
retaining wall at the back rather than the building 
itself. However, Tümertekin’s intention is more 
than constructing a simple wall to hold the earth 
behind. His intention, rather, is to continue the 
angled pattern of  the already existing traditional 
street. Following the street pattern, the building 
was not designed as an absolutely individual object. 
It emerges as a seemingly natural outcome of  the 
continuing wall (Figure 8). The retaining wall begins 
before a person arrives at the boundary of  the 
building and in doing so, it prolongs the path that 
one normally expects to complete at the building’s 
main entrance. However, when a person arrives at 
the entrance door, the retaining wall immediately 
directs attentions to another distant point. The 
purpose of  the retaining wall is not defining a 
physical boundary but rather topographically 

The Confinment 
to appearance 
practiced in  an 
architectural 

context can be 
interpreted as 

the idealization 
of meanings.

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

182

DE
M

IR
EL

narrating the building as evoking a bodily and emotional experience. In 
fact Tümertekin does not want the visitor to face the building immediately. 
As Gill explained by referring to Wittgenstein, immediacy is limitation 
[26]. When we grasp things immediately, our understanding of  the things 
are reduced to the visual level [27]. Such understanding is like the way a 
dictionary presents things as a momental event that allows no freedom 
to consider them habitually [28]. Here delaying the arrival enables bodily 
involvement with the building, which happens before the visual one. The 
delay in turn gives time to construct the architecture mentally in the mind 
before physically experiencing it.

The other intention of  Tümertekin’s retaining wall is to create a street-
like settlement. He addresses the experience of  the Turkish street. For 
Tümertekin, the street is not a collection of  the building facades set side-
by-side. Rather, he considers it a journey already-begun in order to enact 
it bodily. Neither the retaining wall on the left nor the blind wall of  the 
building on the right is directly related to any appearance of  the traditional 
Turkish houses specific to the region. His attempt is not to re-picture 
them but rather to allow traditional architecture to re-establish meaning as 
the re-embodiment of  what we have bodily and sentimentally experienced 
through the setting.

Therefore, the building reveals its meaning not so much when someone 
looks at its front and other façades individually, as when one actively 
participates in the journey which starts from the enclave and continues 
throughout the building.

The irregular relationship between the retaining wall and the north face 
of  the building is manipulated in such a way as to create a spatial dialogue 
that encourages bodily experience. Arriving at this point, one faces a lower 
retaining wall, which is positioned in such a way as to create a passageway 
to the other side of  the building. On first viewing, the convergence of  the 
retaining wall and the building itself  gives the impression that the journey 
to the building site is complete. However, this is not actually so.

Surprisingly, on approach, the upper wooden deck immediately frames 
the view far beyond the building, and, together with the lower retaining 
wall (in the middle), takes the attention away from the building to the sea 
and to the infinite horizon in the rear (Figures 9-12).

Tümertekin’s intention is not to create a destination that is completed 
by physical boundaries, but rather to create the sense of  an incomplete 
journey. Here the temptation is always to draw attention toward the back 
of  the building. In contrast to a building’s front, David Leatherbarrow 
argues that “the back is hardly an identifiable figure, neither a picture-like 



183

isparchitecture.com

FIGURE 13: MAIN FLOOR PLAN OF THE B2 HOUSE.

FIGUREs 14  & 15: Floor plan of traditional turkish house juxtaposed with 
photograph of traditional turkish house (left to right).



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

184

DE
M

IR
EL

display of  representational shapes” [29]. Yet, for Tümertekin, the building 
does not consist simply of  its outer appearance. Its appearance constitutes 
an emotional experience engendered by bodily movement, responding 
through personal interaction with all aspects of  the building [30]. In doing 
so, more emphasis is given to invisible presence, which is re-configurable 
ad infinitum over time.

For Tümertekin architecture does not start when we physically enter 
the building but rather occurs at the moment we sentimentally begin to 
experience things related to the building before and after arriving within its 
physical boundaries. Architecture begins when the building begins to alert 
one’s feelings and evoke some anticipation. In this regard, Tümertekin 
addresses the traditional Turkish Mediterranean houses in Bodrum. 
The B2 House’s design was based on the same traditional experience, as 
described by the architect here:

I am gradually thinking that architecture lies in the differences between the 
physical boundary and the perceived boundary. […] First I formulized this a 
little with the Bodrum House; here the boundary of  the house physically exists, 
but these are the boundaries that are set up when only the doors are closed. 
Outdoor and Indoor are deliberately interlaced with each other. During day-time 
the sliding doors of  the house around the courtyard remain open and the garden 
continues into the inside and the inside continues into the garden. This obscurity 
is so advanced that when all these sliding doors are closing at night-time, the 
small kid says that his grandmother is setting up a house […]. There are two 
boundaries; one is physically what you own and the other is what you can see 
beyond or what you can perceive a location which is yours and not yours [31].

Accordingly, architecture has two boundaries. In the first case one can 
physically see it, and in the other, one can sense it, but cannot show or 
empirically demonstrate it. Mentally, architecture first occurs at the moment 
of  tension between these defined and undefined albeit boundaries. The 
tension is the same that Wittgenstein described as the emptiness of  the 
intended sign and the fullness of  presence [32]. Accordingly, architecture 
may not be limited by its physical boundaries. Its sentimental boundaries 
are not stabilized as exactly as the physical ones, and therefore they are 
incomplete. The experience of  boundary continues both before and after. 
The continuation is what Tümertekin sought to achieve using the uniquely 
placed retaining wall.

In fact, buildings are constructed on the definition of  physical boundaries 
which separate inside from outside. However, when too much focus is 
given to boundaries, architecture reduces itself  to a frontal articulation, 
or an outward appearance. Addressing Wittgenstein, the confinement 



185

isparchitecture.com

to appearance practiced in an architectural context can be interpreted 
as the idealization of  meanings. In other words, reducing circumstantial 
meanings to ideal ones occurs when things are decontextualized from the 
intended audience and environment [33].

The crucial point for Tümertekin is creating a journey before creating 
the object itself. Creating a journey means taking off  any façade-like 
frontal barrier and by doing so initiating a person to move. In one sense, 
Tümertekin’s manner addresses how the miniature artist Bihzad perceives 
architecture, which is façade-less and boundless so that it is presented in a 
picturesquely less defined and more ambiguous form. It comes into being 
as an unfolded box or a topoi, a sentimental narration of  landscape that 
contains a collection of  emotional moments.

In the B2 House, the utility spaces appear withdrawn and are located 
in the back. As a result, there is large empty living space generated for the 
daily use. The living space is not divided into smaller rooms, going so far 
as to have no interior wall or partition separating the terrace. The space is 
like a large room, except for a wardrobe compulsorily used to separate two 
bedrooms on the upper floor. In contrast, it is completely left open and 
tolerant of  future arrangements and other incremental adaptations that 
occur as someone inhabits the space. In that sense, the way Tümertekin 
arranged the house’s layout is attributed to the re-embodiment of  the 
traditional Mediterranean Turkish house experience (Figures 13-15). In 
those dwellings, all functional places and storage units are placed to the 
sides allowing for the creation of  a large open space in the middle perfect 
for a variety of  social activities [34]. As Turkish scholar and architect 
Cengiz Bektaş has noted, traditional Turkish architecture is so often 
tempted to eliminate frontal barriers and characterizes itself  as an open 
venue [35]. Even furniture is constructed as earth-bounded element; any 
object used for sitting is not much heightened or separated from wherever 
it is located. Such objects are introduced as part of  their ground. Less 
heightened furniture does not sharply separate one space allocated for a 
specific activity from others arranged in a single living room. So the entire 
floor is a piece of  furniture, not confined to a predetermined activity.

More openness increases the opportunities for possible bodily 
interactions with the space. Taking traditional Turkish architecture as 
reference, the intention of  Tümertekin is not to create architecture in the 
sense of  building, because building to him means to verticalize things 
or construct spatial elements in a vertical sense. Verticalization physically 
gives space a boundary or physical definition. Instead the tendency in 
experiencing the B2 House is to eliminate a definitive account or sense of  



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

186

DE
M

IR
EL

total completion as much as possible. The B2 House interior comes into 
being in the sense of  topology [36], an open venue that continually takes 
shape as someone interacts with it.

Perhaps there are other factors, beyond the way of  interpreting 
tradition, contributing to the B2 House’s success. However, when looking 
at the region where the B2 House was built—Büyüksun—many buildings 
imitate local traditional buildings by using local materials. Many originally 
concrete buildings are clad with traditional facades consisting of  stylistic 
figures and ornaments. The superficial use of  material strengthens the 
stylistic consciousness of  tradition created by post-modernist tendencies. 
That the B2 House exemplifies a model of  encountering tradition in 
building, not in an imitative manner but in an inventive one, remains 
worthy of  exploration.

CONCLUSION

The philosophical approach of  Wittgenstein’s meaning as use is a 
model for an alternative way of  considering tradition in architecture. A 
miniature painting by Bihzad, sketches of  Istanbul and the Green Mosque 
by Le Corbusier, and the B2 House design by Han Tümertekin were 
the examples of  how Wittgenstein’s notion of  tradition transpires in 
architecture. Although it seems that these examples appear quite different 
in material and method, or that they are seemingly irrelevant to one 
another, they share the same concern and propose a similar approach to 
tradition. How each handles tradition, as demonstrated here, serves as a 
model for contemporary practice, which maintains a propensity toward 
an incessant vacillation between the imitation of  the past and the ultra-
technocratic conception of  the future. The alternative is consistent albeit 
constantly in flux. It is not limited to an encounter with the historic image 
of  buildings, but is rather concerned with what is emotionally experienced 
or communicated through them. The emotional reading of  buildings 
could explain why Bihzad avoided photorealistic, object-like depiction of  
the buildings in his miniatures and likewise why Le Corbusier’s sketches 
lack any precise depiction. The main interest of  these thinkers was not 
representing a picture of  reality but rather the emotional contact between 
a sensuous body and the built environment. In a similar way, the B2 House 
comes into being not as a re-figuration of  the traditional motifs but as 
a re-embodiment of  the emotional experiences of  traditional building. 
Their conceptualization of  tradition addresses Wittgenstein’s criticism 
that the fixation of  a meaning is a kind of  idealization that converts things 
into frozen mental images. Yet, as Husserl suggested, anything more ideal 



187

isparchitecture.com

means more remote and independent from its audiences; idealization is subject 
to mere objectification. The concern then is not the object-like presence 
of  the traditionally built environment, but the sentimental contact with it 
however so conceived. As Merleau-Ponty suggested, our direct bodily (and 
sentimental) involvement with things is always provisional, indeterminate, and 
open-ended [37]. Merleau-Ponty’s idea could be interpreted to mean that the 
appearances of  traditional forms are fixed to a particular time when they are 
constructed. However, the sentimental connections are renewable; they can 
be re-collected and re-embodied through new materials and forms specific to 
the present time. In doing so, they hold out the promise of  new architectural 
configurations derived from traditional architecture. As such, the B2 House 
can be taken as an example of  how tradition can play an inventive role in an 
alternative modernity.

endnotes

[1] Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, trans. P. M. S. Hacker and J.
Schulte (West Sussex: Blackwell Publishing Ltd, 2009), §117.

[2] Joseph Rykwert, The Necessity of  Artifice (New York: Rizzoli, 1982). See
also David Leatherbarrow, The Roots of  Architectural Invention: Site, Enclosure,
Materials (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993) and Nathaniel
Coleman, Utopias and Architecture (London and New York: Routledge, 2005).

[3] Hannah Arendt, Between Past and Future: Eight Exercises in Political Thought
(New York: Viking Press, 1968).

[4] Ibid.

[5] Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, §43.

[6] Edmund Husserl, Logical Investigations, Vol. 1 (International Library of
Philosophy, trans. J. N. Findlay (Oxon: Routledge, 2001).

[7] July 16, 2015, “Complete,” Dictionary.com, http://www.dictionary.com/
browse/complete?s=t

[8] Paul Ricoeur, “The Later Wittgenstein and the Later Husserl on Language,”
Ricoeur Studies 5, no. 1 (2014).

[9] Ibid.

[10] Arendt, Between Past and Future.

[11] Máire Eithne O’Neill, “Corporeal Experience: A Haptic Way of
Knowing,” Journal of  Architectural Education 55, no. 1 (2001): 3-12. See also
David Seamon, “Body-Subject, Time-Space Routines, and Place Ballets,” in
The Human Experience of  Space and Place, ed. Anne Buttimer and David Seamon
(London: Croom Helm, 1980), 157-158.



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

188

DE
M

IR
EL

[12] Giuliana Bruno, Atlas of  Emotion: Journeys in Art, Architecture, and Film 
(New York: Verso, 2002).

[13] Michael Barry, Figurative Art in Medieval Islam: And the Riddle of  Bihzad of  
Herat (1465-1535) (Spain: JCG, 2005).

[14] Robert Hillenbrand, “The Uses of  Space in Timurid Painting,” in Timurid 
Art and Culture: Iran and Central Asia in the Fifteenth Century, ed. Lisa Golombek 
and Maria Subtelny (Netherlands: E. J. Brill, 1992), 76-102.

[15] Paul Rodaway, Sensuous Geographies: Body, Sense and Place (London: 
Routledge, 1994).

[16] William C. Chittick, The Sufi Path of  Knowledge: Ibn al-Arabi’s Metaphysics of  
Imagination (Albany: State University of  New York Press, 1989).

[17] Walter Benjamin, “The Work of  Art in the Age of  Mechanical 
Reproduction,” in Illuminations, ed. Hannah Arendt (New York: Schocken 
Book, 1968), pp. 217-51.

[18] Ludwig Wittgenstein, The Blue and Brown Books: Preliminary Studies for the 
Philosophical Investigations (New York: Harper and Row, 1965).

[19] Ricoeur, “The Later Wittgenstein and the Later Husserl on Language,” 
28-48. 

[20] Le Corbusier, Journey to the East, trans. Ivan Zaknic (Cambridge: The 
MIT Press, 2007). See also Le Corbusier, Towards a New Architecture, trans. F. 
Etchells (New York: Dover Publications Inc, 1986).

[21] Bruno,  Atlas of  Emotion.

[22] David Leatherbarrow, Topographical Stories: Studies in Landscape and 
Architecture (Philadelphia: University of  Pennsylvania Press, 2004).

[23] Alois Riegl, Problems of  Style: Foundations for a History of  Ornament, trans. 

Evelyn Kain (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). 

[24] Benjamin R. Tilghman, Wittgenstein, Ethics, and Aesthetics: The View from 
Eternity (London: Macmillan, 1991).

[25] Tansel Korkmaz, “B2 House: Both Strange and Familiar,” Domus, 
last modified February 24, 2005, http://www.domusweb.it/en/
architecture/2005/02/24/b2-house.html.

[26] Jerry H. Gill, “Language and Reality: Whitehead, Wittgenstein, and the 
Analytic,” Process Studies 43, no. 1 (2004): 59-67.

[27] David Trotter, “Sterescopy: Modernism and the Haptic,” Critical Quarterly 
46, no. 4 (2004): 38-58.

[28] Riegl, Problems of  Style.

[29] David Leatherbarrow, Uncommon Ground: Architecture, Technology and 



189

isparchitecture.com

Topography (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2000), 173.

[30] O’Neill, “Corporeal Experience,” 157-158.

[31] “Han Tumertekin Söyleşi,” Arkitera, accessed May 1, 2009,

http://www.arkitera.com/v1/diyalog/hantumertekin/soylesi/html.

[32] Ricoeur, “The Later Wittgenstein and the Later Husserl on Language,” 
28-48.

[33] Nicholas F. Gier, Wittgenstein and Phenomenology: A Comparative Study of  the 
Later Wittgenstein, Husserl, Heidegger, and Merleau-Ponty (Albany: State University 
of  New York Press, 1981).

[34] Önder Küçükerman, Turkish House: In Search of  Spatial Identity (Istanbul: 
Touring and Automobile Association of  Turkey, 1996).

[35] Cengiz Bektaş, Türk Evi (Istanbul: Yem Yayın, 2016).

[36] Leatherbarrow, Topographical Stories.

[37] Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of  Perception (London and New 
York: Routledge, 2000).



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017



SEMIOTIC NATURALISM IN 
ARCHITECTURE THEORY

REIDAR DUE

This paper seeks to present a kind of  skeptical, 
and, in an indirect way, Wittgensteinian perspective 
upon purpose and meaning in architecture. The 
argument presented here revolves around the two 
notions that, first, there are different categories, 
which we have available for making architecture seem 
intelligible to us, and, second, that there are distinct 
historical discourses in which architecture has been 
made intelligible in specific ways. The implication 
of  this discourse argument will be a skepticism 
regarding the prospect of  an encompassing theory 
of  architecture, or a theory that would fully and 
adequately capture the purpose and significance of  
individual buildings. This skeptical argument will 
build around a distinction I will make between what 
a rational subject can perceive and what can be said 
about it—a distinction based on Gilles Deleuze’s 
distinction between the visible and the sayable.

It is argued that there are four categories of  things 
that can be said about architecture: construction, 
style, use, and ideology, and that a difficulty of  
architecture theory is the possible unification of  
these categories. The problem of  unity, it is argued, 
has been obscured by the tradition of  architecture 
interpretation originating in Hegel, and which 
implies that there is an unproblematic semiotic 
relationship between construction, style, and 
meaning such that construction serves the purpose 
of  style and style serves the purpose of  embodying 
the collective aspirations of  a community. Thinking 
through this problem in terms of  Wittgenstein’s 
philosophy of  language will allow us to defamilarize 

The problem 
of unity ... has 

been obscured 
by the tradition 
of architecture 

interpretation 
originating in 

hegel

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

192

DU
E

ourselves from the notions that there could be a natural relation between 
style and meaning in architecture and that there could be an encompassing 
discourse on architecture such that all the categories of  what can be said 
about buildings would be articulated within a unifying concept. The 
following paper thus presents the reasons one might have for being skeptical 
about a theoretical discourse concerning architecture that would do justice 
to its totality of  significance. This discourse skepticism is, it must be said, 
at one remove from descriptive or prescriptive statements about particular 
buildings or building styles. Thus, unlike, Tafuri for instance, philosophy 
is not claimed (or a theoretical argument grounded in philosophy) is 
not claimed as assuming the normative power of  grading the merits of  
individual buildings according to general criteria. The relevance of  the 
skeptical program for architectural practice and architectural practitioners 
is thus indirect. That is not to say, this skepticism about meaning is without 
consequence for architectural practice. To say it more bluntly, it is believed 
that modernism and its avatars—functionalism, deconstruction, and the 
‘iconic’ style of  building—have overstated the power of  theory within 
building practice. The modernist program of  the early twentieth century 
and its continuation in architecture theory of  our time can be defined as 
the effort to provide an aesthetic rationale for an industrial process of  
production and then to amplify this aesthetic program within a fitting social 
ideology: concrete is an industrial construction tool. Concrete produces 
an anti-ornamental aesthetic. The anti-ornamental aesthetic is egalitarian. 
This would be the basic pattern of  argument. This theoretical assertiveness 
and this trajectory from construction—through style to ideology—relies 
on a conception of  the unity between style and meaning, which is herein 
called semiotic naturalism and which, it is argued, is problematic.

MEANING SKEPTICISM IN WITTGENSTEIN

Wittgenstein exhorts us to be skeptical about the notion that there is, 
or that there must be, some such entity as meaning in order for language 
to be meaningful [1]. For language to make sense, does not in turn mean 
that there is a sense which language makes and which we, the linguists 
or philosophers, could subsequently isolate and study as if  it were a self-
contained mental object. It is not clear from Wittgenstein’s texts, or from 
the scholarly interpretations of  his texts, what the implication would be of  
holding this skepticism about meaning. The pragmatic and anti-theoretical 
stance pervading the Philosophical Investigations sits uncomfortably with the 
extraordinary ingenuity of  Wittgenstein’s thought experiments and search 
for candidates that purportedly should satisfy justificatory or foundational 



193

isparchitecture.com

criteria, but which under his skeptical scrutiny 
always collapse [2]. This painstaking search reveals 
something other than mere opposition to particular 
theoretical positions, conceptions of  meaning, 
or conceptions of  consciousness. It reveals an 
attitude of  puzzlement or bewilderment regarding 
that which seems natural. It is true, of  course, that 
Wittgenstein’s puritanical sensibility would lead him 
to search for a higher, simpler, or more essential 
naturalness in which our thoughts about language 
would contain nothing superfluous [3]. This 
sensibility is evident in different ways in both the 
Tractatus and the Investigations, but in the latter text, 
his own method of  skeptical scrutiny runs counter 
to the ideal of  simplicity.

The significance and purpose of  a building is 
similar to meaning in Wittgenstein’s sense in that 
within a natural, non-skeptical attitude we may 
think that there is a purpose or a significance that 
we can isolate intellectually and think about. It is 
argued that just as Wittgenstein encourages us to be 
skeptical about meaning as an isolated ideal entity, 
we should also problematize the notion of  purpose 
as a unifying meta-category within the architecture 
discourse. This problem is addressed in terms of  
distinct categories and with reference to distinct 
discourses in which architecture has been made 
intelligible, or in which one has sought to make 
architecture intelligible. The semiotic principles 
at work in these efforts at making architecture 
intelligible are questioned and problematized.

HEGEL AND THE SEMIOTICS OF ARCHITECTURE

In studying modern architecture theory, one 
cannot fail to notice that particular assumptions 
are made again and again regarding the purpose of  
architecture. These assumptions are semiotic. The 
philosophical origin of  the semiotic assumptions 
appears to be Hegel’s theory of  architecture in 
his lectures on aesthetics as embodying collective 

modernism and 
its avatars 

... have 
overstated 

the power 
of theory 

within building 
practice

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

194

DU
E

beliefs [4]. The legacy of  Hegel is rooted in the thought that buildings 
are meaningful because they are bearers of  shared, historically specific 
aspirations, which make up their purpose and their meaning. Within the 
Hegelian perspective, purpose and meaning appear identical, or at least 
convergent.

The Hegelian legacy is referred to as ‘semiotic naturalism’ because it 
consists in taking for granted that buildings convey meaning and that 
these meanings can be clearly and univocally determined. For instance, 
in historical research the following is a common thought formation: 
there is here a natural, that is, non-problematic relationship between a 
presupposed cultural signified and the concept of  the building as signifier. 
This way of  thinking leads us to a view in which style choices such as 
choices of  ornamentation, referring to the three orders of  antiquity, or 
choices concerning internal spatial disposition between rooms, or choices 
of  materials, or even the relation of  a building to its surroundings, can 
be reconstructed as having been made for reasons that are culturally 
transparent. The building may not be a sign in the sense of  a message or a 
tool of  communication, but it appears as a depository of  cultural meanings. 
The cultural meanings can be of  various kinds: religious, political, social, 
etc. The argument for a distrust in this semiotic principle will be given 
in the last section of  this article, where the ideological positions taken 
in Alberti’s theory of  architecture are discussed. If  the assumption of  
cultural continuity between construction, style, and ideological meaning 
is broken, so is also the idea of  a building’s cultural intelligibility and 
transparent readability. One may also say that this skeptical approach to 
ideology is directly opposed to the Marxist social and contextual reading 
proposed for instance by Tafuri.

When Hegel writes about religious medieval architecture he is inspired 
by Winckelmann’s idealization of  Greek civilization on the one hand, and 
guided, on the other, by his own notion that the European Middle Ages 
was a spiritually saturated period [5]. His idea of  churches summing up 
the spirit of  a community subsequently became influential in architecture 
theory as a basic semiotic premise. The premise was taken to mean 
that buildings are constructs made within, for, and in some cases, by a 
community. That buildings are successful to the extent that they express 
the beliefs of  that community.

One follower of  this Hegelian perspective is the twentieth century 
architecture historian Christian Norberg-Shulz. In his synthesis, Meaning 
in Western Architecture, he presents architecture as a cultural response to a 
given environment. According to this model, the succession of  civilizations 



195

isparchitecture.com

presents different solutions to the question of  how 
to create, and articulate a meaningful space. He 
describes how, in other words, to appropriate the 
natural environment and integrate it into forms of  
construction, that are not merely monumental and 
not entirely aloof  from their surroundings.

A less idealistic, more empirically historicist, 
but also implicitly Marxist, account of  meaning in 
architecture is Tafuri’s analysis of  post-war Italian 
architecture [6]. The analysis is committed to a 
normative idea of  social progress, which is used as 
a benchmark and tool of  distinction for evaluating 
and comparing social building projects. Some 
buildings are good because they have a style, which 
implies a commitment to modernity, while other 
buildings imply a more muted position. Tafuri also 
evaluates projects in the context of  a wider historical 
narrative. In Tafuri’s account of  Italian architects’ 
ideological responses to urbanization, he envisaged 
architectural and urban design as embodying rival 
propositions around the notion of  progress.

In Hegel, Norberg-Shulz, and Tafuri we arrive at 
the position that buildings are made for ideological 
purposes and that, in this, they carry meaning. For 
Hegel, buildings are meaningful when they embody 
religious beliefs. For Norberg-Shulz, buildings are 
meaningful when they articulate and appropriate a 
space. For Tafuri, buildings, or design projects, are 
like actions according to Jean-Paul Sartre: buildings 
take sides in an ideological battle between progress 
and reaction [7].

The different approaches to architecture 
from a historicist, phenomenological, and 
Marxist perspective shares the assumption that 
the relationship between architectural style 
and architectural construction—as well as the 
relationship between these two and whatever can 
be said about the meaning or significance of  a 
building—is obvious. It is obvious, according to 
Hegel, that aesthetic form expresses a moral ideal. 

within the 
hegelian 

perspective, 
purpose and 

meaning appear 
identical, 

or at least 
convergent

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

196

DU
E

It is obvious, for Tafuri, that design choice expresses a stance with regard 
to the opposition between modernity and reaction. It is this obviousness 
or naturalness of  meaning that is problematic and which Wittgenstein 
helps us to think of  as problematic. The assumption that buildings and 
building design must have a cultural meaning is not self-evident. At least, 
this is what this paper goes on to argue—but in doing so it will be helpful 
to return to Wittgenstein.

WITTGENSTEINIAN DIALECTIC

To approach the assumptions and the semiotic naturalism of  certain 
kinds of  architecture theory, it is useful to return to Wittgenstein to draw 
from another more specific trait of  his thinking in the Investigations. The 
trait of  interest is a methodological trait. Rather than putting forward 
views directly and systematically, his thought moves dialectically in relation 
to a number of  putative theories presented in rudimentary form—the 
most famous of  which is the so-called private language argument. The 
movement through, or via, alternative and rival theoretical scenarios has 
the obvious advantage over a straightforwardly systematic discourse in 
that it avoids, or at least postpones, the petition of  principle inherent 
in any dogmatic statement of  a systematic set of  propositions: as soon 
as there is a starting-point, something must have been assumed which 
is not quite explicit in the self-justification of  the system. At the outset, 
the position will not be argued from the plane of  a specific conception 
of  architectural meaning. In itself, the argument from potential scenarios 
has the advantage of  bringing into play, simultaneously, different 
theoretical possibilities and thus to highlighting the element of  choice in 
the formulation of  a theory. In this paper on semiotic naturalism, and 
an alternative to semiotic naturalism, a non-natural and less obvious, less 
straightforward understanding of  the meaning relation in architecture is 
unfolded, one that is manifest in a certain kind of  architecture history. 
Next, semiotic naturalism as consisting of  a set of  potential scenarios, or 
theoretical propositions, indirectly addressing a certain semiotic question 
of  intelligibility is considered.

CATEGORIES OF ARCHITECTURE DISCOURSE

We can now think of  the Hegelian tradition of  semiotic naturalism as 
consisting of  alternative theoretical propositions. These are all predicated 
on the assumption that the problem of  how to articulate intellectual and 
visible space has already been solved, or that it need not emerge. In order to 
analyze these assumptions closely, we need to consider the categories within 



197

isparchitecture.com

which we speak about architecture. For architecture 
is only, and can only become, intelligible in terms 
of  the things which we can say about it. Anything 
we may predicate belongs to some kind of  category. 
The question would be, therefore, what are the 
discourse categories relevant to architecture? Does 
architectural discourse, that is, the kind of  language 
which seeks to make architecture intelligible, 
possess its own distinct categories or does it employ 
categories that are common to architecture and art, 
architecture and the city, architecture and society, 
and so on? 

Before suggesting an answer to this question, one 
can take as an example of  a category problem, the 
concept of  modernity. Now, we may think of  many 
different sorts of  things as modern, for instance, 
in no apparent order: the modern state, modern 
lifestyle, modern painting, modern technology. It 
is clear that within a general historical narrative, 
all these different phenomena could somehow 
be related. It is further clear that by doing so the 
historian will have to make certain fundamental 
methodological choices regarding the relationship, 
for instance, between society and politics, between 
science and society, or between the social and the 
aesthetic. These are precisely category questions. 

All of  the examples above further present a 
relevance to the question of  architecture discourse 
in that architecture could be said to have something 
in common with all of  them. One could write 
monographs on the relationship between the 
modern state and modern architecture or on 
the relationship between modern lifestyle and 
modern architecture. The issue of  modernity and 
the category questions it immediately raises are 
thus apt at bringing out the precarious ontological 
status of  the phenomenon of  architecture as it 
exists somewhere between art and society. The 
ontological precariousness is another problem for 
the naturalist semiotician, for it gives rise to semiotic 

the assumption 
that buildings 

and building 
design must 

have cultural 
meaning is not 

self-evident

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

198

DU
E

problems of  classification. If  architecture is like painting, if  Le Corbusier 
is like Picasso, one set of  questions concerning meaning will arise. If  on 
the other hand architecture is technology, if  Mies van der Rohe is the 
apogee of  the historical development that produced high speed trains and 
motorways, another, entirely different set of  meaning questions will ensue. 

The precarious ontological status has to do with the relationship 
between the primary categories within which we can talk about buildings: 
construction, style, ideology, and use. It is difficult to conceive of  anything 
that can be said about buildings that does not belong within any of  these 
four categories. It is also difficult to think of  a principle according to 
which we could identify their unity. If  we think of  the development of  
architecture theory since the Renaissance we find a gradual shift in the 
relationship between these categories and their relative importance. We 
also find different efforts at identifying a unity between them. Alberti’s 
work is often considered as marking the beginning of  modern architecture 
theory and his primary focus is construction—but he also introduces the 
notion of  the importance of  architecture for human life. The notion is 
referred to as ideology so in order to distance this analysis from Tafuri’s 
more prescriptive notion of  ideology, which is based on a normative battle 
between socially modern ideas and socially reactionary ideas.

At the end of  the 16th century, Palladio writes about construction in 
terms of  a prescriptive notion of  style. In the course of  the eighteenth 
century and in response to the need for domestic houses for a bourgeoisie 
oriented toward comfort rather than ostentation, architecture theory 
becomes concerned with pragmatic questions of  what is pleasant and 
practical. Issues of  style will thus be interpreted in terms of  ideological 
questions concerning use. In twentieth century architectural modernism 
there is the effort to integrate construction, style, and an ideology of  
use. Le Corbusier is famously prescriptive in his ideas of  use, and the 
functionalist school equally presents a formidable unity of  construction 
principles, aesthetic norms, and norms of  social life: functions are finite 
and simple and correspond to a clarity of  design, and it is inconceivable 
that the purpose of  a building could be to enhance a messy overlap 
between many kinds of  activities in the manner, say, of  a medieval city.

The latest modernists, the so-called deconstructionist Bernard Tschumi 
and post-modern Koolhaas, seek to explore the relationship between 
construction, style, and ideology while arguing—against functionalism—
neither in terms of  style nor in terms of  use but in terms of  a direct 
relationship between construction and ideology. The ideological principle 
is in both cases one of  freedom of  creation. Tschumi’s notion that the 



199

isparchitecture.com

basic grammar of  buildings, such as walls and roof, 
is open to question or his embrace of  the principle 
of  the grid in his Parc de la Villette project implies 
that construction dictates style and use. Koolhaas’ 
surreal conception of  New York as a place 
designed by the settlers for a future invention and 
use challenges the functionalist principle that we 
already know what use is, or should be. This brief  
sketch of  the history of  architecture theory and the 
shifting relations between categories is meant to 
indicate the motivation behind semiotic naturalism.

Norberg-Shulz AND HEIDEGGER

The grand synthesis of  Norberg-Shulz is based 
on the idea that the categories of  construction 
and style are inseparable and that both find a 
common expression in the context of  a natural 
environment, which architecture has the mission 
to order, manage, structure, in short, articulate. 
The environmental aesthetic synthesis does indeed 
make the architecture of  different epochs appear 
purposeful, and in a sense meaningful, as each 
epoch with its characteristic and distinct style 
and construction method, appears to offer fresh 
solutions to the environmental, or one might say 
anthropological, problem of  man’s relation to, 
and management of, his physical surroundings. 
Norberg-Shulz’s theoretical position is referred 
to here in some detail because it constitutes a 
particularly explicit and ambitious formulation of  
semiotic naturalism. With his aesthetic and spatial 
understanding of  Heidegger’s phenomenology, 
Norberg-Shulz presents a theoretical position that 
is much more sophisticated and detailed than the 
vague philosophical reflections on building and 
living put forward by Heidegger himself  in his 
famous article “Bauen Wohnen Denken” from 
1951 [8].

In the article, Heidegger develops a rhetorical 
context in which the phenomenon of  architecture 

The precarious 
ontological 

status has to 
do with the 

relationship 
between 

the primary 
categories 

within which we 
can talk about 

buildings

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

200

DU
E

appears anonymous and traditional, as something objectively manifest—in 
the way of  having already been made—rather than as something planned 
or invented on the basis of  style and construction choices. Norberg-Shulz, 
on the other hand, keeps the door open to the perspective of  the practicing 
architect and is attuned, with his flexible concept of  articulation, to the 
element of  choice in architectural creation. At the same time, choices 
appear in retrospect to be culturally coterminous with other contemporary 
choices: this does not imply that the individual choice is determined by 
collective beliefs, perhaps, but it at least means that we cannot make sense 
of  the individual choice outside of  the context of  the culture with which 
it is contemporary. Formulated thus blandly, architecture historians might 
agree with this principle, but it implies the attribution of  a degree of  
internal coherence to architecture, which is perhaps excessive and which 
does not do justice to the multiple contingencies of  architectural creation.

The naturalist assumption Norberg-Shulz makes is that architecture is 
successful always or that architecture is identical with successful architecture. 
There is no reflection upon the relationship between vernacular or folk 
architecture and stand-alone, deliberately conceived constructions. There 
is scant reflection on the relation between public and domestic space, since 
his focus is religious and political architecture: building on a grand scale. 
In this identification between the general concept of  architecture and the 
narrower, normatively charged notion of  successful architecture, Norberg-
Shulz turns out to be close to Heidegger. For in Heidegger we see that the 
position of  normative discrimination between different buildings in terms 
of  their aesthetic merit is problematic. For such a normative aesthetic 
authority implies that the power of  viewing and thinking of  an individual 
subject is somehow higher than the weight of  tradition. Yet, Heidegger 
would exhort us to think of  architecture as a kind of  prolongation of  the 
natural environment. Buildings and bridges are there in our midst. They 
impose themselves upon us and create a coherent space and landscape, 
but they do not offer themselves to judgment. In other words, judgment is 
not the most relevant attitude that we can have towards them.

Thus, the aesthetic perspective which privileges style and, on the other 
hand, the construction perspective, which evaluates craft and technique, 
are both rendered irrelevant to a large extent within the rhetorical space 
that Heidegger creates for architecture. What Heidegger and Norberg-
Shulz share is thus a kind of  transcendental perspective where the activity 
of  making buildings, on the one hand, and the activity of  perceiving 
and judging them, on the other, are set aside. The phenomenological 
method consists in part in the transcendental. By putting aside certain 



201

isparchitecture.com

questions—such as empirical causality—other 
questions, concerning meaning or the essential 
properties of  phenomena can come into view. In the 
field of  architecture theory, this phenomenological 
essentialism has the authoritarian implication that 
aesthetic and ideological discussion will appear 
irrelevant. Architecture appears in its history as 
a kind of  general anthropological phenomenon. 
It manifests itself  outside of  the distinctions 
and disagreements which individuals can make, 
and which would form the topic of  theoretical 
discussions among architects.

CULTURAL INTENTIONALITY

Normative or evaluative discussions and 
reflections appear in the history of  architecture 
in two distinct forms. On the one hand is the 
discipline of  architecture history, which develops 
as a part of  art history, largely in the course of  the 
twentieth century. On the other hand is the kind of  
architecture theory that is produced by architects. 
The analysis herein will attend to the former first 
and come back to the latter at the end of  this 
article. Architecture history has been practiced in 
different rhetorical and methodological modes in 
different countries, with Italian architecture history 
often being attentive to craft, whereas the German 
tradition has been predominantly style, and the 
Anglo-American tradition of  recent years being 
positivist and contextualist. 

The analysis is now primarily focused on the 
naturalist semiotic assumptions of  contextual 
architecture history. A prominent example of  the 
naturalist semiotic method is Ákos Moravánszky’s 
Competing Visions text devoted to the themes of  
eclecticism and modernism in large cities of  
Central Europe during the early twentieth century 
[9]. In this work, he reconstructs a complex cultural 
intentionality underlying the making of  individual 
buildings by the preeminent architects of  the time. 

A normative 
aesthetic 

authority implies 
that the power 

of viewing and 
thinking of an 

individual subject 
is somehow higher 

than the weight 
of tradition

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

202

DU
E

Moravánszky’s account keeps alive both the notion of  individual creation 
and the notion of  collective belief, a balance which was not achieved in 
the synthesis of  Norberg-Shulz. He is able to correlate specific choices of  
ornament or construction with general aesthetic and ideological currents 
prevalent at the time the building was conceived so as to demonstrate 
how general trends are taken up and inflected by the personality of  
individual architects. The architects, Moravánszky argues, impose their 
own personality and idiosyncrasies upon the ideas made available to them 
in the surrounding culture.

The subtle, multifactorial historical approach cannot properly be named 
simply contextual or positivist, since it is carried by a phenomenological 
idea, similar to that of  Norberg-Shulz. The complexity of  the notion is 
captured in the title of  the book, Competing Visions. At the horizon of  the 
study is principally the philosophical idea that architecture embodies a 
vision. The vision is both aesthetic and moral. It is embedded in style and 
construction. It involves an open question as to what constitutes modernity. 
It concerns the historical development of  large cities and brings into view 
questions of  how one should live in modern society. Moravánszky is 
some senses similar to Norberg-Shulz in thinking of  architecture as a sort 
of  synthesis, but differs from Norberg-Shulz in that the arena of  such 
a synthesis is neither the appropriation of  space nor the articulation of  
space through choices of  construction and style. The arena of  synthesis 
is instead the relationship, that the historian reconstructs, between style 
and ideology. The relationship, once it is painstakingly reconstructed, can 
be retrospectively attributed to the agents—the architects and theorists of  
architecture—so that it appears as the backbone or structure of  a complex, 
cultural intentionality. This ideologically rich intentionality appears as the 
ground of  architectural creation.

Thus, by placing the focus on ideology rather than construction, while 
retaining style as a central category, Moravánszky is both in continuity with 
Norberg-Shulz and decisively different. Both start from the assumption 
that architecture is predominantly a phenomenon of  style. Yet, Norberg-
Shulz interprets style in terms of  anthropological needs and Moravánszky 
interprets style in terms of  specific ideological commitments. We can 
elaborate on the divergences between to two thinkers in terms of  the four 
primary categories and the relation between them. In Norberg-Shulz we 
find with his concept of  articulation a claim that the satisfaction of  spatial 
anthropological needs is simultaneously a feat of  style, of  construction, 
and of  ideology. For articulation corresponds to anthropological needs 
and is expressed through style features and construction choices. With 



203

isparchitecture.com

this anthropological focus on the task of  creating 
spatial articulation, Norberg-Shulz interestingly 
downgrades the normative importance of  those 
features of  style that are purely ornamental. Style 
is so intimately related to construction through the 
articulation of  space that any style choice would 
become significant within the context of  molding 
that space. Moravánszky’s method, on the other 
hand, is symbolic rather than anthropological. 
For him the specific ornamental choices on the 
façade of  a building are ideological signifiers 
independently of  the building’s functionality. Thus, 
with architectural historians such as Moravánszky, 
we find the concrete elaboration of  the ontological 
assumption that buildings are primarily visible, 
which is to say, buildings are something akin to 
three dimensional paintings amenable to aesthetic 
analysis.

In a less nuanced version of  this type of  intellectual 
history of  architecture, such as Pelkonen’s book on 
nationalism and internationalism in Alvar Aalto, 
the ideological strand in the argument becomes 
so dominant that other considerations are clearly 
subordinate [10]. In Moravánszky’s study ideological 
commitments do not command the analysis [9]. 
Moravánszky’s text deftly and incessantly moves 
between different types of  consideration. It is, 
however, in the balance and subtlety that the 
method betrays its semiotic assumptions. For the 
seamless transition between different categories 
and apparently effortless integration of  different 
sorts of  material is only possible if  it is assumed 
at the outset that style, construction, and ideology 
cohere and form a necessary unity. The assumption 
may of  course turn out to be the case, but how 
do we justify such a general, idealistic, semiotic 
conception of  architectural unity? It is this sort of  
unity that was referred to as a naturalist conception 
of  purpose earlier, that is, an idea of  what a building 
is for.

ideologically 
rich 

intentionality 
appears as 

the ground of 
architectural 

creation

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

204

DU
E

ARCHITECTURE IDEOLOGY 

The different kinds of  theoretical synthesis discussed involve  not 
questioning the possibility of  coherence between different categories. 
These are the categories within which, or at the aid of  which, architecture 
purportedly becomes intelligible in its purpose and significance within 
the discourse of  architecture historians. It is suggested that the synthesis 
of  different categories, which justifies claims for intelligibility within 
architecture history (and which are referred to as semiotic naturalism) rest 
upon a denial. Or as psychoanalysts might say, foreclosure, of  a possible 
scenario in which the visible and the intelligible might drift apart. Such 
a drifting apart takes place in discourse and is perceivable as a skeptical 
scenario occurring within the discourse. If  that which drifts apart are 
intelligibility and visibility, there must be also a scenario of  something, 
which is presented to visual perception but which does not immediately 
fall within the realm of  discourse. That being said, the relationship 
between the primal categories varies greatly both within the history of  the 
discipline of  architecture history and in the history of  theories produced 
by architects—which is in some cases distinct from the discipline of  
architecture history (though not always, as Tafuri and Norberg-Shulz are 
both examples of).

This is the sort of  theory now considered in order to argue that it 
highlights a specific problem of  ideology. In its implications, this problem 
of  ideology poses, I will argue, a challenge to semiotic naturalism. As 
I said, the term “ideology” is used here not in the Marxist sense, for 
instance by Tafuri in his discussion of  competing stances taken towards 
urban or social modernity. Tafuri attributes definite ideological positions 
to individual architects and deftly correlates these positions with style 
and construction choices. My view of  architecture is less concerned with 
positions and choices; it is Platonic, rather, in its focus on rival conceptions 
of  the good life or the sort of  life that architecture is for or that it should 
enhance and promote. There may well be many different conceptions of  
the good life, depending on geographical and historical circumstances. The 
concept of  ideology thus does not come with a theoretical—in Tafuri’s 
case, modernist and social historicist—script, which would provide the 
ground for identifying individual positions contrastively and contrasting 
them with others as on a structural grid. Ideology, in this context is a 
conception of  life, of  what life should consist of, and of  how architecture 
can enhance this good or appropriate life. The ideological conception of  
life has to be both related to style and construction choices and separate 



205

isparchitecture.com

from them.

ALBERTI’S IDEA OF THE GOOD LIFE

Alberti’s On the art Art of  Building in Ten Books, 
which appeared around 1450, pursues a painstaking 
and detailed reconstruction of  everything that the 
craft of  architecture entails as a material process of  
construction [11]. Yet, in doing so, in presenting 
the meticulous inventory of  principles, problems, 
and prescriptions, Alberti also introduces his own 
presuppositions concerning what matters in life. 
In short, in the margins of  the text we find his 
ideology. His ideology coheres with his construction 
principles, but significantly, is not correlated with 
style, a topic about which he has little to say—and 
what he says is theoretically bland.

Alberti’s starting points are climatic and 
geographical. He shares with Machiavelli the notion 
that place is a category defined by geographical 
security questions. In Alberti’s case, however, 
it is not only the advent of  potential enemies 
that buildings and towns must be prepared for 
but also natural disasters, and, more generally, 
contingencies. In book 3, chapter 7 book 3/7 
he thus says, programmatically, about weather 
conditions: “Moreover, it is self-evident, without 
looking for any less obvious reasons, that the 
assault of  the weather will be responsible for 
loosening and breaking the bond of  anything that 
has grown or been forced together” [12]. We could 
of  course gloss this statement pragmatically, seeing 
it in continuity with Vitruvian norms of  adapting 
to the environment, but the emphasis here is very 
different. Against the happy common sense of  
Vitruvius, we find here an anxious memento mori, 
an acute and poignant awareness of  the fragility 
of  all things made by humans. There is a kind of  
existential dimension to Alberti’s architectural 
thinking in which contingency is not far from 
his mind. The adequate response to contingency 

in the margins 
of the text we 
find [alberti’s] 

ideology

“
”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

206

DU
E

according to Alberti appears to be control—and control is according 
to him based on knowledge. The required knowledge is by no means 
limited narrowly to the architect’s craft but includes detailed and specific 
geographical information. It is a kind of  highly specific knowledge which 
ideally should inform choices of  material and hence construction. In 
Book 3, Chapter 12 he thus talks about controlling natural conditions 
when it comes to choosing wood: “The beams should be related if  at 
all possible: that is, they should be of  the same type of  timber, from the 
same forest, raised under the same climatic conditions, and felled on the 
same day, so that by having the same natural strength they will perform 
their function equally” [13]. There is an elegant slide in this passage from 
reflections upon conditions to a prescription concerning structure. In fact 
the arc of  Alberti’s argument is formed by this integration of  control 
and structure. For construction is for Alberti essentially a control of  
structure. The purpose of  this kind of  control is a wider sense of  control 
of  contingency. Hence, in Book 3, Chapter 14 he develops an analogy 
between biological organisms and architectural construction with the aim 
of  articulating a concept of  structure: “In short, with every type of  vault 
we should imitate Nature throughout, that is, bind together the bones and 
interweave flesh with nerves running along any possible section: in length, 
breath and depth, and also obliquely across” [14].

His reflections on use and usefulness are similarly climatological and 
informed by a sense of  insecurity and need of  protection. In book 5, 
chapter 2, for instance, he discusses the internal division of  private houses: 
“Inside, the dining rooms, storerooms, and so on should be appropriately 
located where their contents will keep well. Where the air is right and they 
will receive the correct amount of  sun and ventilation, and where they can 
serve their intended uses” [15]. We find a similar climatological idea of  
usefulness in a reflection on urban planning. In Book 5, Chapter 7 Alberti 
discusses the location of  monasteries in towns: “But I would have any 
cloister within the city, be it for women or for men, sited in the healthiest 
possible place, lest emaciation of  the body and sleeplessness prevent the 
inmates from attending fully to their minds, and lest illness make their lives 
harder than usual” [16].

The running thread of  geography and contingency forms the ideological 
basis of  Alberti’s thinking. The purpose of  architecture is safety. It aims 
to protect us against decay, illness, natural disaster, weather conditions, 
and enemies. The ideological conception that he projects and presupposes 
is that life is precarious, in need of  support and security. The good life 
is essentially one in which one survives. This may be a bleak vision of  



207

isparchitecture.com

the good life, but it is explicit, articulate, and clear. 
Through his reflections on structure, Alberti 
integrates his ideas of  protection and solidity 
within his precepts on construction. Alberti’s aim 
is to integrate construction and ideology. He thus 
indirectly problematizes the later programs of  
categorical synthesis in which style is central, either 
in relation to construction as in Norberg-Shulz or 
in relation to ideology as in Moravánszky.

Returning to Wittgenstein, the skeptical 
conclusion of  this comparison between different 
styles of  architectural reflection is that the 
relationship between the four suggested categories 
of  architecture—construction, style, ideology, and 
use—is more contested and more controversial than 
one might think if  one starts from the assumptions 
of  semiotic naturalism and the presupposition of  
coherence.

ENDNOTES

[1] Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophische Untersuchungen 
(Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1982).

[2] Reidar A. Due, “At the Margins of  Sense: The 
Function of  Paradox in Deleuze and Wittgenstein,” 
Paragraph 34, no. 3 (2011): 358-370.

[3] Norman Malcolm, Wittgenstein: Nothing is Hidden 
(Oxford: Blackwell, 1988).

[4] G. W. F. Hegel, Ästhetik (Berlin: Aufbau Verlag, 
1965).

[5] Johann Joachim Winckelmann, Gedanken über die 
Nachahmung der griechischen Werke in der Malerei und 
Bildhauerkunst (Stuttgart: Reclam, 2007).

[6] Manfredo Tafuri, Storia dell’architettura italiana 
1944-1985 (Torino: Einaudi, 1986).

[7] Michael Scriven, Sartre and the Media (Basingstoke: 
Macmillan, 1993).

[8] Martin Heidegger, Vorträge und Aufsätze 
(Frankfurt am Main: Vittorio Klostermann, 2000).



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

208

DU
E

[9] Ákos Moravánszky, Competing Visions: Aesthetic Invention and Social 
Imagination in Central European Architecture, 1867-1918 (Cambridge: The 
MIT Press, 1998).

[10] Eeva-Liisa Pelkonen, Alvar Aalto: Architecture, Modernity, and Geopolitics 
(New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009).

[11] Leon Battista Alberti, On the Art of  Building in Ten Books, trans. Joseph 
Rykwert, Neil Leach, and Robert Tavernor (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 
1991).

[12] Ibid., 71.

[13] Ibid., 80.

[14] Ibid., 86.

[15] Ibid., 119.

[16] Ibid., 127.



207

isparchitecture.com

Book review
The Aesthetics of Architecture. 

Roger Scruton. 

Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2013 (1st 
Edition 1979).

Reviewed by Hilde Heynen

Roger Scruton is a well-known and well-
respected philosopher whose work has been 
extensively studied and commented upon, especially 
in the field of  aesthetics [1]. In this field, Scruton’s 
recently reissued book on architecture is generally 
appreciated. It is even considered a “classic in 
architectural philosophy” [2]. Scruton’s standing 
within the field of  architectural history and theory, 
on the other hand, is a point of  contention. In this 
regard, the book is far less extensively studied and 
certainly not seen as indispensable. In the recent 
Sage Handbook of  Architectural Theory, the sixty page 
section on “Aesthetics/Pleasure/Excess,” for 
example, only mentions the book in passing, as an 
example of  normative discourse “pitched against the 
theoretical developments published in progressive 
architectural journals” [3]. How does one attempt 
to explain this discrepancy? How is it that a book 
that clearly impresses many philosophers fails to 
register broadly in architectural culture? There is 
of  course the possibility that aesthetics as a field 
matters to architects or artists only like ‘ornithology 
to birds’  [4]. It seems, however, that the reasons 
for the discrepancy are more complicated than that. 
Architectural culture supports, after all, a flourishing 
critical and theoretical discourse with a multitude of  
journals, books, and series all devoted to discussing 
the merits and values of  particular trends, architects, 
works, and ideas. This discourse engages quite 
intensively with a host of  philosophical references, 
and many prominent architects are actively involved 



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

208

he
y

n
en

in the exchange. How is it then that the parameters of  the discourse 
are so clearly different in philosophical aesthetics and in architectural 
theory? Would one not expect that these fields would be involved in an 
intensive transdisciplinary dialogue? Both try, after all, to make sense 
of  what it is that drives architecture and what makes up its specific 
qualities. This review will try to delve into this problem after briefly 
discussing Scruton’s position and summarizing the book’s content and 
merits.

When The Aesthetics of  Architecture was first published in 1979 the 
book was understood as part of  a series of  publications that all focused 
on questions regarding the meaning of  architecture. Semiotics was, 
at that moment, a central concern in architectural culture, and many 
authors sought to develop an approach to architecture that could go 
beyond the functionalism and rationalism of  the modern movement. 
Such publications provided the intellectual ground for what became 
known as postmodernism, and Scruton’s book might be seen as part 
of  that endeavor. Scruton, however, was different from the other 
authors in this field (such as Norberg-Schulz, Eco, Jencks, Bonta, and 
others) in that he considerably narrowed the type of  architecture that 
he saw as ‘right.’ His book may be simplified as an argument in favor of  
some form of  classicism in architecture, and there are thus only a few 
contemporary architects whom he would sympathize with. As such, his 
position is out of  sync with the architectural culture of  the last decades. 
Classical-minded architects and theorists, just like new urbanists and 
neo-historicists, belong to a subculture which sometimes manages 
to evoke popular appeal, but which has not penetrated the academic 
sphere or the higher echelons of  the professional field.

The new introduction Scruton wrote for the 2013 edition confirms 
the impression of  desynchronization with mainstream culture. Here 
the author is more outspoken in his criticism of  modernism and in 
his alignment with particular architects and theorists than he was in 
the 1979 version of  the book. He mentions such architectural figures 
as Christopher Alexander, Nikos Salingaros, and Leon Krier as people 
who share his convictions. These are authors who indeed do not 
figure among the most prominent individuals in current architectural 
culture. Alexander and Krier briefly occupied a position of  influence 
in the 1980s and 1990s—the heydays of  postmodernism—but their 
intellectual impact has largely withered away due to the renewed 
prominence of  modernism and modernity, in all their complexities, 
as the main point of  reference. Salingaros is a mathematician and 
younger collaborator of  Alexander, who has written several works 



209

isparchitecture.com

on architecture and urbanism. He calls for a built 
environment catering to human emotions and 
providing agreeable and pleasant places to live, and 
thus fights ‘stararchitects’ as well as all forms of  
deconstructivism and poststructuralism. Again, 
Salingaros’s work seems to have some popular 
appeal, but it is not widely known or highly 
regarded within the architectural field as a whole, 
which rather engages with questions of  technology, 
sustainability, infrastructure, urbanism, or justice [5]. 
Many architects are weary of  easy argumentations 
like Saringaros’s because they understand how the 
call for ‘pleasant places’ can hide utter conservatism 
as well as resistance against any form of  innovation.

Let us now turn to Scruton’s book itself  and 
its arguments. The author helpfully provides a 
summary in the third part of  the book, which 
rehearses its line of  reasoning. I will draw upon 
that summary to give an overview of  his argument. 
Scruton posits in the first chapter that architecture 
does not derive its nature from being a form of  
art but rather from an everyday occupation with 
getting things right—which is basically an aesthetic 
concern. He thus wishes to start from the aesthetics 
of  everyday life as the basis for his discussions. 
In the next chapters, he deals with theories 
that, according to him, detach aesthetics from 
architecture or that erroneously perceive some 
concept as central or essential to architecture. He 
thus dismisses functionalism, rationalism, theories 
of  space and proportion, as well as discourses 
based upon the art historical concepts of  Riegl 
(Kunstwollen) and Wölflinn (Zeitgeist). All of  these 
approaches are ‘vacuous’ because they all fail to 
adequately describe the experience of  architecture. 
In order to give a positive account of  the experience 
of  architecture, Scruton reverts to the concept of  
imagination, which he deems absolutely crucial for 
his aesthetics. Moreover, he claims that it “is because 
the experience of  architecture is imaginative that 
architecture can be judged right or wrong” [6]. For 

[Scruton’s] 
position is 

out of sync 
with the 

architectural 
culture of the 
last decades.

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

210

he
y

n
en

aesthetic judgment is based upon imagination, informed by perception, 
and modified by reasoned reflection. It aims at an ideal of  objectivity 
and at a continuity with moral life—hence its normative quality.

With all this, the basis is put together for further dismissals of  other 
competing discourses. Freudian and Marxist analyses are seen as largely 
irrelevant to the understanding of  architecture because they either 
generalize beyond aesthetics or devote themselves to a falsification of  
architectural experience, thus missing the point. The efforts of  semiotics 
to understand architecture as a language likewise turn out to be ‘vacuous’ 
because they lack a theoretical basis or a critical application. Concepts 
such as ‘representation’ or ‘expression’ are faulted for not adequately 
connecting aesthetic judgment with the practice of  the builder. Finally, 
the concluding chapters argue the importance of  detail and the role 
of  style as an indispensable adjunct to architectural knowledge. They 
culminate in a defense of  classicism, which is seen as the only approach 
to architecture that allows it to connect with a true understanding of  the 
self  and with objectivity.

This quick summary of  course does not properly acknowledge 
the depth of  the author’s knowledge or the fine-tuned details of  his 
specific discussions. Scruton is well read in the history of  architectural 
theory, and he is an expert in the tradition of  aesthetic philosophy up 
to Kant and Hegel. He clearly makes an effort to familiarize himself  
with architectural discourses such as those of  Giedion or Tafuri. Many 
of  his architectural examples are also quite illuminative and help to 
clarify his arguments. These qualities, however, cannot detract from the 
book’s weak point: its set-up as a take-it-or-leave-it argument, almost 
like a mathematical proof  that sets out to validate the correctness of  a 
formula by deriving it from previously proven formulas or from axioms. 
If, as a reader, one disagrees with only one step in the reasoning, that is 
enough to render the whole argument—and especially its conclusions—
unconvincing (or ‘vacuous,’ to use Scruton’s own term). This, of  course, 
happened to this particular reader early on in the text. I disagreed with 
Scruton’s analysis of  functionalism and the theories of  space in chapters 
2 and 3. Whereas I was still following him in chapter 1—agreeing 
with his approach to architecture as being based on utility, location, 
public character, and continuity with decorative arts, which he later 
sums up as ‘aesthetics of  the everyday’—his analysis of  functionalism 
struck the wrong chord. Scruton understands ‘theory’ as prescriptive: 
“architectural theory consists in the attempt to formulate the maxims, 
rules and precepts which govern, or ought to govern, the practice of  
the builder” [7]. That means that he is reading texts by architects as if  



211

isparchitecture.com

they are fully explanatory of  the architecture they 
produce, which is rarely the case. If  Hannes Meyer 
wrote manifests of  functionalism—which he 
did—this does not in turn mean that all his design 
projects can be explained as if  he just applied his 
own rules—he did not. It also means, however, that 
a mere philosophical disputation of  the correctness 
of  the theory is not enough to deny the buildings 
associated with it any aesthetical significance. It 
is not because modernist theory does not hold 
that modernist buildings therefore lack any value. 
This however seems to be an important subtext in 
Scruton’s book.

The author also takes issue with Giedion’s and 
Zevi’s theory of  space, which considers space and 
spatial articulations as the essence of  architecture. 
“Taken literally,” he states, “the theory that the 
experience of  architecture is an experience of  space 
is obviously indefensible” [8]. The reasons for 
this indefensibility however do not convince me. 
According to Scruton, as soon as one can point to 
an architectural feature that does not relate to space 
or spatial experience, the theory is invalidated. 
He thinks he found such features by referring to 
materials or by referring to the differences between 
carved and molded forms. However, for people 
thinking as architects (I count myself  among 
them), both materials and carved versus molded 
forms are fine examples of  how some details can 
articulate space in different ways, causing different 
experiences of  space. Hence for me the theory of  
space continues to be a contender for adequately 
conceiving what the ‘essence’ of  architecture might 
be. Because I thus repeatedly found unaddressed 
objections to parts of  Scruton’s argument, the 
whole book seemed to become one large fallacy, 
constructed to prove the inescapability of  what 
Scruton calls ‘classical vernacular’ as the only valid 
form of  architecture. The more I read, the more 
the text came across as a potentially interesting but 
largely irrelevant elaboration of  an argument, many 

Its set-up 
as a take 

it or leave 
argument

“
”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

212

he
y

n
en

parts of  which I found too poorly developed to sustain scrutiny.
There are other small mistakes and larger misunderstandings in this 

book that might irritate people familiar with architectural culture. (They 
are competently summed up by Juan Pablo Bonta in his review from 
1981 [9].) Rather than further repeating the flaws, however, I would like 
to point out two major issues that are responsible for the wide gap that 
separates Scruton from much contemporary reflection in architectural 
theory. The first has to do with the import of  modernity, the second 
with his claim to objectivity.

From the turn of  the twentieth century onwards, architects and 
architectural theorists have been talking about modernity. Around 1900, 
Berlage, Muthesius, Loos, Van de Velde, and many others agreed that 
industrialization and urbanization gave rise to societies with a wholly 
different way of  life, which hence necessitated a wholly different kind of  
architecture. There was a widespread consensus that modernity implied 
a rupture with tradition, and that this discontinuity somehow had to 
be reflected in architecture. The intensity of  the conviction provoked 
an aesthetics that no longer took classicism to be the ultimate point of  
reference. The new aesthetic sensibility has since been elaborated in 
many different ways—avant-garde, modernism, art deco, regionalism, 
critical regionalism, high tech, postmodernism, deconstructivism, neo-
modernism, etc.—but across the board the idea that architecture needs 
to relate—somehow—to modernity has remained paramount. This 
means that ‘getting things right,’ as Scruton says, is only part of  the 
equation for contemporary architects. Since dissonance, struggle, and 
contradictions are so much a part of  that modern condition, a new 
aesthetic register seems to be more adequate, one that can show, in a 
right way, that things are not all right. Such an aesthetic register is more 
consistent with the philosophical musings of  Walter Benjamin, Theodor 
Adorno, Jean-François Lyotard, Jacques Derrida, or Gilles Deleuze—
names indeed prominently present in contemporary architectural 
culture.

Secondly there is the issue of  objectivity. Whereas I agree with 
Scruton that aesthetic judgment assumes in the act of  judging a claim to 
universal validity, I would be much more reluctant than he is to translate 
the claim into something actually true and objective. As an architectural 
theorist who has taken to heart the criticisms of  rational discourse 
coming from Marxism, feminism, and postcolonial theories, I have a 
hard time accepting Scruton’s writing as possibly universally valid. It 
rather strikes me as an excellent example of  how an intellectual of  a 
specific (hegemonic) class, gender, and culture produces a discourse 



213

isparchitecture.com

that serves the continuation of  the dominance of  
that class, gender, and culture. I do not believe, in 
other words, that there really is a general consensus 
possible about how buildings would ‘feel right.’ I do 
not believe that the aesthetics of  the everyday can 
be anything else than confusing, contradictory, and 
hybrid (which, by the way, I see more as an asset 
than as a problem).

All in all, I think Scruton’s The Aesthetics of  
Architecture narrows architecture to something 
which most of  its practitioners today would not 
recognize as such—as if  architecture essentially 
deals with only questions of  style and detail, 
regardless of  everything else. Most architects and 
theorists would agree that architecture necessarily 
engages with the real world—that it is crucial 
therefore to consider political and social issues 
(such as, Who is the client? Who is excluded? Who 
is included?), technological and material questions, 
ecological constraints, contextual considerations, 
and so on, as part and parcel of  what architecture is 
all about. An aesthetic theory valid for today needs 
to adequately address these issues, not putting them 
aside as ‘marginal’ to the ‘essence’ of  architecture. 
I am afraid that Scruton’s book does not live up to 
these expectations, not in 1979 and not now.

ENDNOTES
[1] Andy Hamilton and Nick Zangwill (eds.), 
Scruton’s Aesthetics (New York: Pallgrave Macmillan, 
2012).
[2] Rafael De Clercq, “Scruton on Rightness of  
Proportion in Architecture,” British Journal of  
Aesthetics 49, no. 4 (2009): 405.
[3] John Macarthur and Naomi Stead, 
“Introduction: Architecture and Aesthetics,” in 
The SAGE Handbook of  Architectural Theory, eds. 
Greig Crysler, Stephen Cairns, and Hilde Heynen 
(London: Sage, 2012), 126.
[4] Barnett Newman, “Untitled” (presentation, 4th 
Annual Woodstock Art Conference, Woodstock, 

I would be 
much more 
reluctant 

than he is to 
translate 

a claim into 
something 

actually true 
and objective.

“

”



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

214

he
y

n
en

NY, August 22-23, 1952).
[5] The SAGE Handbook of  Architectural Theory doesn’t even mention 
Salingaros.
[6] Roger Scruton, The Aesthetics of  Architecture (Princeton: Princeton 
University Press, 2013), 240.
[7] Ibid., 3.
[8] Ibid., 39.
[9] Juan Pablo Bonta, review of  The Aesthetics of  Architecture, by Roger 
Scruton, Journal of  Aesthetics and Art Criticism 39, no. 3 (1981): 328-330.



The fact that buildings are so strongly associated with various power 
holding empires, nation-states and other forms of  civilization is widely 
recognized in the study of  both the history of  people and their buildings. 
From Pericles’s Acropolis to Niemeyer’s Brasilia, architecture has long 
been associated with political figures and institutions. Buildings such as 
the British Parliament, the Russian Kremlin, and the U.S. Capitol stand out 
not just as iconic architecture, but also as representative of  the politics, 
institutions, and culture of  their nations. Architecture and politics are 
intimately connected, yet precisely how are political concepts captured in 
the form and function of  buildings? 

Certainly utility plays a strong role here. We know that buildings serve 
the establishment and maintenance of  a governing body. But in serving 
that function, do they also necessarily contribute to maintaining a 
particular ideological belief  system? If  we acknowledge that buildings 
hold both deterministic effect and autonomous disassociation, how do 
architects and politicians act? To what extent should architects design 
public structures intended to capture the social and political ethos of  the 
people? Do architects have an obligation to address the socio-political in 
their work, or is this kind of  moral obligation misplaced? Is it rather that 
the work of  architects is already tacitly, inextricably part of  the political 

isparchitecture.com

CALL FOR PAPERS: 
Biennial Society Conference



AP . vol 2 . No 2 . 2017

process? And to what end? Is the ‘autonomous turn’ in architecture of  the 
1980s well and truly dead? 

Beyond considerations of  functionality, how do rulers utilize building to 
achieve their political goals and ideals? Is building fundamental to realizing 
ideological goals or a mere part of  the process? One might also worry that we 
read too much into the social and political power of  architects and buildings. 
While power routinely uses architecture to further its agenda, how reliably 
can we read buildings as instances of  specific intentions? Architecture can 
be a highly political art form, but what can be said about the relationship 
between political intentions and aesthetic merit? Are there styles or 
typologies particularly conducive to establishing and maintaining power? Is 
the association of  contemporary democracy with classical Greek and Roman 
architecture appropriate or warranted? And is the style’s reverence intrinsic or 
learned? Could the Romanesque not equally as well serve the same purpose? 

Assuming that buildings are already intrinsically enmeshed within the 
governing body’s authority, can a single building work against that same 
authority? Can a building undermine a regime more readily than it can 
legitimize it? Some may argue that the Berlin Wall marked the end of  the 
Communist rule over Eastern Germany, but how much weight can we 
ascribe to a building’s maintenance of  a governing body? Does time sanitize 
architecture that came into existence in the service of  repugnant regimes?  

How effective, for instance, are efforts to rebuild Iraq? Do contractors 
design buildings that are consistent with the social and political climate of  
the people? Can the people interpret these buildings independently of  their 
feelings about the builders? Could it be that the very act of  building in Iraq 
may be taken as an offense by some in the Iraqi nation-state? Although not 
all instances of  international exchange are as contentious as this one, can 
architecture be incompatible with particular political concepts or systems? 

Finally, what of  the relation between architecture, power and capital? 
Does the globalization of  capital and in its wake, of  architecture, render 
architecture’s connection to any individual state obsolete? Or to put it another 
way, is everything becoming an expression of  the values of  global capital? 

The intent of  this interdisciplinary conference is to gather philosophers, 
architects, urban planners, and critics to consider these questions regarding 
building’s service to political ideologies, governing authorities, and socio-
political contexts. 

The event will be held in one of  the most iconic and representative projects 
of  the International Style of  20th century modern public architecture: Walter 
Netsch Jr.’s United States Air Force Academy—a premier education facility—
in Colorado Springs, Colorado. The conference itself  will be held in the latest 
addition to the Academy: the new Polaris Hall—a 45 million dollar addition 



isparchitecture.com

designed by SOM that remains true to Netsch’s 
original vision. The stunning new addition breathes 
new life into a pristinely preserved Modernist 
campus, a detailed analysis of  which is featured in 
the Journal of  the American Institute of  Architects. 

In addition to the conference, presenters and 
participants will have the rare opportunity to tour 
the Academy, including the well-known Academy 
Chapel with its four distinct worship spaces. 

Full consideration will be given to all proposals 
(500-700 words) received by 15 January 2018; 
acceptances announced no later than 12 February 
2018. Send your proposal as an attachment prepared 
for blind review to isparchitecture[at]gmail.com. 

A selection of  papers will be published in a special 
issue of  Architecture Philosophy, edited by Prof. Tom 
Spector, Dr. Mark Jensen, and Dr. Carolyn Fahey.. 



isparchitecture.com

About the Authors

Jochen Schuff is a Research Associate in the Philosophy Department at the Goethe 
University in Frankfurt am Main.

August Sarnitz is Professor of  Architecture at the Academy of  Fine Arts at the 
University of  Vienna. 

Emre Demirel is Assistant Professor of  Architecture at Hacettepe University.

Reidar Due is Lecturer of  Film Aesthetics in the Department of  Medieval and 
Modern Languages in Magdalen College at Oxford University.

Hilde Heynen is Professor of  Architecture at the Catholic University of  Leuven.

Image Credits

Cover photo & design: Carolyn Fahey

From “Wittgenstein’s Architectural Idiosyncrasy”
Figures 1, 2, 4, 6, 8 & 9: August Sarnitz
Figure 7: City of  Vienna, MA 37
Figures 3 & 5: Stonborough Family

From “Use-Value and the Question of  Completion”
Figure 1: National Egyptian Library, Cairo
Figure 2 & 4: Société des Auteurs dans les Arts graphiques et plastiques
Figure 3: Ve A. Morel et Cie
Figure 5: Turkish Ministry of  Culture and Tourism
Figures 6-12: Han Tümertekin
Figure 14: Kemal Aran
Figure 15: Cemil Güven



Architecture Philosophy conducts double-blind reviews of  all papers submitted. Each 
paper is reviewed by one philosophy expert and one architecture expert. Reviewers 
are members of  the editorial board and are asked to evaluate submissions according 
to the following criteria:

Appropriateness to the field of architecture philosophy
Does the paper acknowledge and/or build on existing scholarship in both 
architecture and philosophy?
Does the paper acknowledge existing scholarship in philosophy and architecture 
respectively?

Philosophical analysis
Is philosophy engaged directly?
Is there an argument?
Is there analysis of  the claims made?
Is the logic of  the argument presented explicitly?
Are the paper’s arguments valid and sound?

Architectural analysis
Is architecture engaged directly?
Is architecture’s relevant history/contemporary situation acknowledged?
Is architecture’s history/contemporary situation dealt with accurately?

Originality
Is this paper a contribution to knowledge?
Does the paper present new ways of  solving philosophical problems 
in architecture (philosophy) or does it engage architecture to illustrate 
philosophical problems?
Does the paper present new ways of  engaging architecture and the built 
environment?

Presentation
Is the paper written in English to general academic writing standards for the 
humanities?
Does the paper follow the journal’s submission guidelines?

review criteria

AP .  vol 2 . No 2 . 2017



isparchitecture.com

Please direct all submissions and general inquiries to isparchitecture@gmail.com. 
There are no deadlines for submissions, unless otherwise announced (e.g. special 
issue, conference proceedings, etc.).

submission Types
Authors are invited to submit full papers, response pieces, and book reviews. Full 
papers should be between 4,000 and 5,000 words with a 200-300 word abstract, 
response pieces should be between 500 and 1,500 words, and book reviews between 
1,000 to 2,000 words.

General Formatting
All submissions should be presented in accordance with the University of  Chicago 
Style. Papers should be RTF documents, 12 point font, Times New Roman, double-
spaced, and with no additional or otherwise unique formatting. References should 
be manually placed in brackets (e.g. [1], [2], and so on) with full citation information 
placed in the references section at the end of  the document.

Photo Guidelines and Image Permissions
Images should be at least 300 dpi and read well in greyscale prints. The images should 
be submitted as individual files (TIFF or JPEG), in combination with proof  of  
copyright permission. Authors are responsible for obtaining image permissions, and 
are asked to have done so prior to submitting their papers for review. The Oklahoma 
State University image archive is also available for use. Please send inquiries about the 
OSU image holdings to Prof. Tom Spector at tom.spector@okstate.edu.

The papers published by Architecture Philosophy are protected by copyright. The 
content must not have been previously published and cannot be republished without 
the permission of  the journal’s copyright holder. The copyright holder is Oklahoma 
State University.

Authors are responsible for obtaining copyright permission for the use of  images 
in their papers. Original images created by the author are acceptable, and copyright 
access to the Oklahoma State University image archive is available to the journal and 
its authors. In most cases, authors will be seeking image permissions and are asked 
secure image permissions on their own before submitting their paper for review.

submission guidelines



THE JOURNAL OF THE INTERNATIONAL 

'.::>OCIETY FOR THE F'HILO'.::>OF'HY OF 

ARCHITECTURE 

\X/ittgenstein on Architecture 
Jochw S dJ11ff 

\X/ittgenstein's Architectural Idiosyncracies 
A11gNst Sar11itz 

Use-Value and the Question of Completion 
Ev1t·e Demirel 

Semiotic Naturalism in Architecture Theory 
Reidar Om 

Book Review 
Hilde H,y11n1 

VOLUME 2 

NUMBER 2 




