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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 



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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. 



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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

“
”



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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 



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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

“

”



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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 



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Where there is a 
set of knowns or 

facts there is a 
basis for clarity

“
”

FIGUREs 1 & 2: (top to bottom). 



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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. 



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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

“

”



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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 



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

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



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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 



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



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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 



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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.

“

”



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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 



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FIGURE 7: ground floor plan of the wittgenstein house.



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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 



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



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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 



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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.



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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, 



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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.

“

”



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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



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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,



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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 



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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 



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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.




