Vienna’s Ringstrasse: A Spatial Manifestation of Sociopolitical Values

Revisiting Liberalism’s Inherent Tensions

Liberalism, like other sociopolitical ideologies, is best understood as a complex collection of ideas and values that respond to situated contexts. But, and arguably, liberalism is more self-contradictory and ambiguous than most other sociopolitical constructs. ²² Its point of departure espouses concerns for “allowing every man [sic] to pursue his own interests.” ²³ Yet, for the smooth running of society as a whole—or for society to exist in the first place—certain individual liberties need to be relinquished since the pursuit of self-interests alone places individuals in conflict with others. “Planning,” in the broadest sense, is then deemed necessary since it resembles society’s attempts at intervening on behalf of “the greater good,” while becoming a means by which societal rights, duties, and controls are established. ²⁴ Under the liberal rule, societal rights and duties exist alongside individual liberties. Locke, Hume, Kant, Montesquieu, Rousseau, de Tocqueville, J. S. Mill, and others devoted much energy to theorizing the relationship between individuals and the state, and what “a good society” might entail. So while classical liberalism emerged in the seventeenth century, it flourished during nineteenth-century Europe as a countermovement to both absolutism and political conservatism. In the wake of the continent-wide Revolution of 1848, it called for greater secular reforms, an independent judiciary, and for principles of constitutional liberty. ²⁵ In sum, nineteenth-century liberalism sought to enable “a society in which every individual, with a minimum dependence on authority, would enjoy the privileges and responsibility of determining his [her or their] own conduct within an established framework of rights and duties.” ²⁶ And it is within this intellectual framework—which encompassed ideas of intervening upon human experiences spatially ²⁷ —that “the Viennese liberals began to reshape the city in their own image from the moment of their accession to power” in the 1860s. ²⁸ The spatial object of their transformation (and their desire for contingency) was the Ringstrasse.

Still, it is important to note that liberalism acquired “a different flavor in each of the different national cultures in which it had a persistent life.” ²⁹ English liberalism was different from the strand of liberalism found in France, while American liberalism, though indebted to English and French thought, developed its own expression. Liberalism in Germany, by contrast, was steeped in a romanticized notion of “a united German nation” that arose from desires to unify the different German-speaking territories that—until the late nineteenth century—were separated by political boundaries. The birth of liberalism in Austria drew extensively from this German variant, which was especially popular among Austria’s German-speaking liberals and which was galvanized into action during the Revolution of 1848.

Despite its rich contextual diversity, it would be a mistake to suppose that “liberalism cannot be understood on a small set of common values.” ³⁰ John Gray, accordingly, identifies at least four common values. First, liberalism is founded on a philosophy of individualism that favors individual freedoms over collective actions or state interventions. Next, it promotes values of egalitarianism as it confers upon all persons the same moral status regardless of self-identified differences. Yet, instead of celebrating different individuals’ multiple and intersectional identities and subjectivities, liberalism’s third value is its uncritical subscription to universalism, which includes the idea of the existence of, and desire for, universal morals that are shared by all. Finally, liberalism is grounded in the idea of meliorism, which entails a belief that “the world” can be improved through human interventions. I propose that the faith placed in melioristic actions is liberalism’s most overt link to urban planning since planning, as an interventionist activity, involves the deliberate organization of society and space for the purpose of “envisaging better actions, which will deliver better outcomes in the future.” ³¹

But within these four values, we also find liberalism’s inherent tensions. It is a philosophy that aims to secure individual liberties, but at the same time, it subscribes to a universal understanding of morals, thereby nullifying the existence of subjective ethics and values. Furthermore, it advocates for minimal interventions on the one hand, and on the other hand, its melioristic tenets encompass ideas of planning for a peaceful coexistence. In order to protect individual freedoms while supporting ideas of planning for a better future, liberalism necessitates the establishment of restraint and control. Herein lies “an inherent tension between freedom and control in the liberal rule” ³² since individuals operating within the liberal rule are simultaneously perceived as “citizens who exercise freedoms and rights within legal and political structures” and as “living beings whose welfare must be integrated within complex forms of social solidarity” for the purpose of safeguarding the collective public good. ³³ Liberalism’s inherent tensions thus lie in its pursuit of both freedom and restraint, individuality and coexistence, equality and universality, and nonintervention and intervention. Before turning to the material outcomes of such philosophical tensions, some understanding of the dominant structural conditions that enabled the Ringstrasse reconstruction project is needed.

The Sociopolitical Context that Shaped the Ringstrasse

The period between 1849 and 1860 is often referred to as Austria’s neo-absolutist era because growing threats to the entrenched establishment sparked ruthless defenses by the aristocracy to safeguard their power. These threats came from multiple groupings throughout the Habsburg Empire—including radicalized students, artisans and shopkeepers fighting for the franchise, nationalists from the provinces, and the politically liberal elite—who all sought an end to absolutist rule through constitutional reform. But it would be incorrect to imply that principles of constitutional liberty suddenly emerged in 1848. Rather, these principles evolved gradually during the “age of revolution” in the late 1700s and early 1800s: an age in Europe that coincided with the Napoleonic wars, food insecurity, higher taxes for public infrastructure, and rampant inflation. ³⁴ Ideas of regime change based on liberal, republican, and even democratic values were, however, suppressed with Napoleon’s defeat in 1815. In place of these ideas, the Concert of Europe was established for the purpose of reinstating absolutist rule, and one of the chief orchestrators of the Concert was the Austrian Chancellor, Klemens von Metternich. So when a continent-wide wave of uprising was triggered in 1848 with the surprising ease of Louis Philippe’s overthrow in France, various sectors of Vienna’s population already held liberal values (thus resembling aspects of continuity in the face of contingency). And after Louis Philippe’s downfall, they finally felt confident to act on their values. But unlike their French counterparts who pursued the installation of another republic, most of Vienna’s protestors were fighting for a constitutional monarchy. (Ironically, Vienna’s protestors “wanted to institute precisely the regime type that the French had just toppled,” as they feared a type of mob rule that occurred after the French Revolution of 1789. ³⁵ ) News of Louis Philippe’s overthrow in February 1848 took a month to reach the Habsburg capital, and when it did, the streets of Vienna were plastered with placards that read “Prince Metternich will be overthrown! Long live constitutional Austria.” ³⁶ Violent public protests ensued. In an attempt to quell the crowds, Metternich was forced to resign, while Emperor Ferdinand hastily issued a constitution. The protestors’ presumed victory was, however, short-lived, for they had misjudged the aristocracy’s stealth in regaining power by taking advantage of the political divisions among Vienna’s diverse revolutionary groupings. So while Emperor Ferdinand abdicated in December 1848, his young successor, Franz Joseph, began the process of rescinding most of the concessions made to the protestors during the yearlong struggle, including Ferdinand’s constitution. ³⁷

Nevertheless, unresolved sociopolitical tensions necessitated some appeasement if Franz Joseph hoped to maintain political and economic stability. To this end, the politically liberal Baron Karl von Bruck was appointed by the crown in 1850 to establish a new municipal statute for Vienna, which included liberal reform programs. ³⁸ Bruck was the Minister of Commerce and Public Works until 1855 when he became the Minister of Finance. Appeasement also came in the form of Franz Joseph’s “Christmas gift” announcement in 1857:

It is My Will that the expansion of the inner city of Vienna be undertaken at the earliest possible moment. Thought should be given to the regulation and beautification of My Residence [the Hofburg] and Imperial Capital. I, therefore, approve the dismantling of the surrounding walls and dry moats of the inner city. ³⁹

Still, ten years of neo-absolutist rule needed to pass before Vienna’s statute was eventually implemented in 1860. During this ten-year period, Franz Joseph, in collaboration with the Imperial Army, hoped to thwart further insurgencies by adopting a similar plan of grand boulevards for Vienna as the one conceptualized for Paris by Baron von Haussmann. Grand boulevards, it was believed, would simultaneously enable swift military maneuvers during times of insurgency while addressing the Emperor’s vision of spatial order via “regulation and beautification.” Yet, and somewhat paradoxically, the Austrian Army’s support for a grand boulevard converged with the Ministry of Finance’s support for a long tree-lined avenue, as such an avenue would serve as a catalyst for development. It was this convergence of diametrically opposed ideologies—as argued by Carl Schorske—that gave the Ringstrasse its circular form and monumental scale since it was the military’s insistence on a sixty-foot-wide thoroughfare that resulted in a circular urban footprint. ⁴⁰ And it was the liberal administration’s development agenda that gave rise to its monumental form. Discursive power struggles ensued between the military and the Ministry of Finance over the appropriate use of the former defense zone because the Army sought to exclude civilian access to this zone. But by the end of the 1850s, economic interests surpassed revolutionary fears. Not only did Franz Joseph finally proclaim his intentions to open the space for civilian use (via his Christmas gift announcement), he also established a City Expansion Commission to spearhead the Ringstrasse development. ⁴¹

During the first two years of its development—between 1858 and 1860—planning processes and outcomes remained firmly entrenched in neo-absolutist values. In fact, the first building constructed within the Ringstrasse complex (the Votivkirche) was an imposing twin-spired neo-Gothic church. Financed by the royal family and the wealthy Roman Catholic Church, it explicitly served to symbolize a dual function: the Emperor’s gratitude for narrowly escaping an assassination attempt and the unbreakable unity between the crown and the church. ⁴² Furthermore, and regardless of the military’s capitulation over the use of the former defense zone, the largest cubic volume of space planned for the Ringstrasse was earmarked for an arsenal, two barracks, and a series of protective parade grounds. ⁴³ In the end, only one of the two barracks was constructed along the Ring, the Crown Prince Rudolf Barracks (which was later renamed the Rossauer Barracks), while the site for the arsenal was moved to the Gürtel in the third district. The earmarked protective parade grounds, in turn, became sites for private-sector development. Mounting political pressure from a growing liberal constituency within the Reichsrat (the advisory state council), coupled with a succession of military defeats, swung the political pendulum in favor of the liberals who rejected military land-use activities along the Ring. They also persuaded Franz Joseph to turn his attentions to constitutional matters. In March 1860, he instructed the Reichsrat to craft a constitution that would retain forms of monarchal control via the establishment of both a communal assembly (a House of Representatives) and an imperial council (a House of Lords). And since Franz Joseph remained distracted by ongoing peace negotiations with Hungary, an opportunity was created for the predominantly liberal House of Representatives to seize control over Vienna’s administration and the financing of the Ringstrasse project. Accordingly, they established a City Expansion Fund that encompassed the selling off of subdivided lots to private owners. Two-thirds of these proceeds were used to finance the construction of grand public buildings, manicured parks, and urban infrastructure. ⁴⁴

The Ringstrasse: Liberalism as a Spatial Manifestation

Once the liberals took control over Vienna, the sociopolitical meaning of the Ringstrasse changed. For the most part, they hoped to reject all material expressions that celebrated the conservative union between the crown, the military, and the church and sought instead a ‘better” (in terms of their understanding of meliorism) vision for the city by appointing Ludwig von Förster, in 1860, as the chief “planner.” However, Förster’s appointment was, in itself, both prudent and dewy-eyed, conservative and progressive, thereby signaling the first of many intellectual tensions navigated by the liberals.

Prudent conservatism emerged from the fact that Förster had already conceptualized eight different proposals for Vienna’s reconstruction before the launch of the international design competition in 1858, and design elements from his original proposals had been included in the official Master Plan. ⁴⁵ The cost of appointing a new consultant was thus reduced by commissioning someone who had already devoted much time to this project. ⁴⁶ Yet, and unbeknown to the liberals, Förster’s new, 1860, proposal would retain Franz Joseph’s goal of beautifying the Hofburg (the Emperor’s residence) by making it—along with an identified precinct for the construction of two colossal museums—the dominant node of the overall spatial framework. To this end, the north orientation of Förster’s 1860 plan was deliberately rotated, so that the Hofburg would become the central element of his proposal. And in order to heighten the “persistence of monarchical primacy,” ⁴⁷ Förster drew from Baroque era design principles by creating an axis between the Hofburg and the imperial stables that was to bisect an oversized public square (the Heldenplatz) with flanking buildings. This solid-void configuration was mirrored across the Ringstrasse by an equally large square (the Maria Theresiaplatz) and flanking museums (cf. Figure 2), for the purpose of creating a deliberate link to the old inner city while conforming to Baroque era sensitivities for symmetry. ⁴⁸ For Förster, the “pell-mell mix of bits and parts of other plans” found in the official Master Plan “failed to contain a single correct line of character.” ⁴⁹

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Figure 2.

Förster’s spatial development framework, 1860. Source: Carl Schorske, Fin-de-siècle Vienna: Politics and Culture (New York: Vintage Books, 1981), 32, 33.

Dewy-eyed progressivism, on the other hand, emerged from Förster’s use of iconographic female figures alongside his framework to graphically convey liberal values of “strength through law and peace” and “embellishment through art” (cf. Figure 2). ⁵⁰ Explicitly absent from these symbolic representations were references to “strength through military might.” ⁵¹ And since the new ruling class hoped to generate public support for a reconstruction project, Förster’s proposed framework with its flanking iconographic female figures was published as a flyer and in various media outlets in 1860.

In the end, Förster’s framework would prove to be too “imperio-centric” for the liberals who sponsored the Ringstrasse project and for whom a celebration of constitutional law, secular education, the liberal arts, and free-market principles remained paramount. ⁵² So while the two museums of Art and Natural History were constructed in accordance with Förster’s vision—in that they faced each other and opened up onto the Ring to create a visual line of sight through a gateway (the Burgtor) to the Hofburg—Förster’s proposed buildings that enclosed the Heldenplatz were not. Förster’s gigantic parade ground was also rejected. The positioning of the Rathaus (the City Hall) and Parliament would ultimately serve as counterweights to the Hofburg in the hope of decentering its prominence (cf. Figure 3). Förster’s desire for symmetry and “the correct line” of placemaking were ignored by the city administrators and so too were his other design attempts to deliberately link the old inner city to the Ring (via axes between the site earmarked for the Crown Prince Rudolf Barracks and Rudofsplatz in the inner city and between the Karlskirche precinct and the site earmarked for the State Opera along the Ring).

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Figure 3.

The spatial outcome of liberalism’s lasting materiality. Source: Tanja Winkler’s drawing of the Ringstrasse as constructed.

Instead of these proposed lines of integration, the city administrators sought to promote a series of freestanding, monolithic civic buildings that were oriented toward the circular flow of the Ringstrasse and that refrained from making overt connections to the inner city. For the liberals in power, the old inner city needed to be reduced to a bygone era from which they hoped to escape. The already constructed Votivkirche was thus purposefully segregated from the Ringstrasse by a block of “no-man’s land.” And this same isolation principle applied to the baroque era Karlskirche precinct that never received an integrating line of sight to the Ring. ⁵³ In contrast then to the inner city that was dominated by architectural symbols from the past, the Ringstrasse complex was to become a materialized outcome of liberalism’s triumph of over monarchical, military, and sectarian power via the construction of a series of Prachtbauten (buildings of splendor). ⁵⁴ And instead of using Baroque era urban design principles (which was a radical departure from the past), the spatial organization of these Prachtbauten was to desist ideas of a functional hierarchy. Rather, and in accordance with the liberals’ concerns for spatial egalitarianism, each civic building was to be expressed as being equal to all the other civic buildings along the Ring. And these symbolically equal, yet grand, buildings were to be experienced sequentially as one moved along the contiguous flow of the Ringstrasse. Above all else, the use of these civic building would be secular in nature, thereby revealing the liberal’s assumed universal appreciation for secularity (cf. Figure 3).

The urban blocks between these civic buildings were, in turn, earmarked for upmarket, but less dominant, apartments that were equally oriented toward the Ring. ⁵⁵ Proceeds obtained from selling upmarket apartments, as previously mentioned, were used to create Vienna’s “capital web” of public buildings, squares, and parks that were spatially and symbolically linked to each other along the tree-lined boulevard for the purpose of promoting “a skeletal continuity upon which individual [developers] could build freely and with a sense of lasting investment.” ⁵⁶ From a spatial analysis standpoint, these design decisions represent the paradoxical nature of liberalism’s desire for both individuality and coexistence: the idea of an independent civic life that was to be un-subordinated by any other spatial entity and the idea of a skeletal continuity that was to be achieved through the Ringstrasse’s role as the only spatial structuring element of the reconstruction project. Furthermore, since the city administrators chose to assign the design and construction of individual civic precincts and upmarket apartment blocks to different architects and developers, opportunities to create a “complete and convincing whole” were lost. ⁵⁷ Instead, the streets that entered the Ring from either the inner city (that remained the domain of the aristocracy) or the surrounding working-class neighborhoods had little or no prominence, thereby creating both a physical and an ideological barrier between the new elites and the nobility, and between the new elites and the working-class districts. Thus, as Carl Schorske argues, “what had been a military isolation belt, became a sociological isolation belt.” ⁵⁸ Here too we see inklings of liberalism’s inherent tensions between pursuits for freedom and equality alongside pursuits for restraint and control, as this isolation belt was to become both a space of freedom for all and a space of restriction by virtue of its economic inaccessibility to the working class. Free-market values surpassed egalitarian concerns for affordable housing since, presumably, the provision of affordable housing would fail to generate sufficient funds for the envisaged capital web. ⁵⁹ This materiality of an ideology led Patrick Abercrombie to conclude his assessment of Vienna’s urban form by asking:

What would have been the result if the Ringstrasse had been formed during the Baroque period? The result might have been theatric. Instead of isolated public buildings and the “revival” feeling—the tentative shots at different styles from the past—we should have one complete and convincing whole. ⁶⁰

Abercrombie’s reference to the use of disconnected “revival” architecture for the freestanding civic buildings might, at first, seem paradoxical if we consider the city administrators’ purposeful aim to distance themselves from the past. ⁶¹ Yet, what the liberals rejected was not the past per se, but rather all symbols of absolutism and military might. In response, each individual building was deliberately intended to represent a part of the overall story of the ascent of liberalism, which, in turn, was expressed in architecture by celebrating Athenian democracy, medieval self-governance, renaissance humanism, and baroque egalitarianism. ⁶² Traces of continuity persisted. The first building constructed within the Recht und Kultur (justice and culture) precinct was the Rathaus (the City Hall) (cf. Figures 3 and 4). Gothic Revivalism was chosen for this sanctuary of autonomous municipal governance, as it evoked—according to Friedrich von Schmidt, the architect—parallels with melioristic interpretations of the “free” medieval commune. Greek Revivalism, in turn, was used by the Danish architect, Theophil Hansen, for the construction of the Parliament, as this form of revivalism best captured Athenian virtues of wisdom and justice (cf. Figures 3 and 5). ⁶³ It is, however, worth noting that Hansen’s original concepts entailed the construction of two separate buildings that were to be executed in two distinct architectural styles in order to differentiate the House of Lords from the House of Representatives. The more “noble” Greek revival style was chosen for the House of Lords, whereas elements from the Renaissance era were proposed for the House of Representatives. But the city administrators’ visions for equality and universality nullified symbolic suggestions of a power differential. Instead, they insisted on constructing “a single monumental edifice of splendor.” ⁶⁴ And Greek Revivalism was identified as an appropriate expression of the hoped-for integration between the two Houses of Parliament.

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Figure 4.

The construction of neo-Gothic Rathaus began in 1872 and was completed in 1883. Source: Tanja Winkler, September 2014.

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Figure 5.

The foundation stone of the Greek Revival Parliament was laid in 1874, and the building was completed in 1883. Source: Tanja Winkler, September 2014.

The third building conceptualized for the Recht und Kultur precinct was the University (cf. Figures 3 and 6). As the unequivocal symbol of liberal culture, it, however, had long to wait before it could claim a prominent site along the Ringstrasse. But once it did, Heinrich von Ferstel, the architect, deliberately sought to symbolize the University’s “rebirth” from its former monastic and clerical roots through the use of Renaissance Revivalism. One of the few lasting successes of the 1848 revolution was the reform of Austrian universities that prioritized the natural and social sciences (Wissenschaft) over the training of priests and civil servants, and for the city administrators and Ferstel alike, symbols from the renaissance era would best represent their concerns for science and secular humanism. ⁶⁵ In the interim, Vienna’s Stock Exchange—the other unequivocal symbol of liberal values—was relocated to the Ring. It too was supposed to symbolize a rebirth of secularism via the use of Renaissance Revivalism. Finally, the Burgtheater was relocated from its original premises adjacent to the Imperial Palace to the Ringstrasse in 1888. Its architectural style was inspired by the early Baroque period because this period, according to the theatre’s architects, represented a moment in history when courtiers, bureaucrats, and commoners shared an enthusiasm for the performing arts (cf. Figures 3 and 7). The Burgtheater was thus to become an egalitarian space where class and political differences could be suspended, even if only temporarily, while a belief in spatial determinism would serve not only to edify commoners but also to encourage them to adopt a presumed universal appreciation for the liberal arts. ⁶⁶ The Ringstrasse’s other six civic buildings that were explicitly dedicated to art, culture, and edification but that were sited beyond the Recht und Kultur precinct—namely, the State Opera, the two colossal Museums of Art and Natural History, the Museum of Art and Industry, the Hall of the Music Society, and the Academy of Fine Arts (cf. Figure 3)—were also conceptualized with these same egalitarian, universal, and spatial determinism values in mind.

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Figure 6.

The construction of the Renaissance Revival University of Vienna began in 1877 and was completed in 1884. Source: Tanja Winkler, September 2014.

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Figure 7.

The Baroque Revival Burgtheater, designed by Gottfried Semper and Karl Freiherr von Hasenauer, was relocated to its current premises on the Ringstrasse on October 14, 1888. Source: Tanja Winkler, September 2014.

The extraordinary array of monumental buildings along the Ringstrasse can, however, obscure the fact that the bulk of its development was devoted to grand apartment blocks and commercial land uses. This bulk was enabled as a result of liberalism’s grounding in unrestrained property market speculation. Consequently, a specific urban form of real estate development and grand civic design was created that encompassed yet another intellectual tension between freedom/nonintervention (market speculation) and restraint/intervention (cost efficiency, building controls, land-use regulations, public-sector spending for civic projects). But in the administration’s pursuit of freedom and restraint, and nonintervention and intervention, they completely ignored the ongoing crisis of inadequate access to affordable housing. ⁶⁷ Instead, private-sector developers were granted the freedom to build and finance new apartment blocks and commercial sites, while regulations were imposed only with regard to building heights, property subdivisions, and land-use rights. ⁶⁸ For the rest, the market determined the desired outcome which comprised, in the case of apartment blocks, six-story buildings that ironically mimicked the Adelspalais (the nobles’ palaces) of the Baroque era found in the inner city. ⁶⁹ And since the bourgeoisie could not afford to construct “palaces” for individual families, apartment blocks contained multiple dwelling units for multiple families. The best architects were engaged to devote their skills to the most efficient use of space, as grandeur needed to be achieved as cost-effectively as possible. Building façades included the use of columns, blind arches, and relief sculpture around grand, but shared, entrances, while stylistic harmony in sill- and floor lines between neighboring buildings was sought in pursuit of grandeur. Moreover, and of utmost relevance, the municipality waived property taxes for thirty years for the purpose of incentivizing private-sector investors. ⁷⁰

By the late 1880s, the first decisive criticisms of the Ringstrasse development came not from the conservative wing of the Empire’s councils, but from within the “planning” fraternity itself—namely, from Camillo Sitte and Otto Wagner, whose disapproval was launched from opposing epistemological standpoints. Sitte, who was inspired by the urban form of the medieval city, lambasted the Ringstrasse builders for betraying traditional urban design principles since the isolated, freestanding civic buildings dotted along the Ring failed to create intimate public squares through architectonic containment and principles of enclosure. ⁷¹ Wagner, in contrast, launched his attack from the standpoint of an emerging modernist. He denounced the use of revivalism that refrained from establishing a functional and unembellished expression of the new fin de siècle era. Wagner valued, above all else, “change over continuity, and progress over tradition.” ⁷² And for him, the Ringstrasse resembled little more than “the yammering of the historicists.” ⁷³ So while Sitte’s archaism and Wagner’s futurism ushered in different modes of spatial planning, the demise of Vienna’s liberals was not a result of their critiques. Rather, the excluded sociopolitical and economic values that the Ringstrasse symbolized became, as argued by David Ley, “rallying points for new rights of inclusion.” ⁷⁴ Liberal economic reforms had concentrated power, profit, and the authority of private-sector speculators in the hands of a few, while the working class failed to benefit from these reforms. Furthermore, rampant speculative investments and an overvaluation of subprime mortgages triggered a liquidity crisis. The stock market collapsed, and the ensuing economic depression necessitated state interventions and alternative monetary policies. ⁷⁵ “Liberalism’s underlying philosophy [thus] became stationary [at the very moment] when it was most influential.” ⁷⁶ In 1882, electoral reforms reduced the voting tax requirement from ten to five florins, thereby enfranchising the more prosperous working class while weakening the political stronghold of the liberal bourgeoisie. ⁷⁷ And on October 10, 1893, a suffrage bill was introduced that gave the vote to every adult male in the Empire. Austria’s era of liberal governance officially came to an end two years later when the Christian socialists were voted into power by a popular male majority. Their political rhetoric was dominated by abhorrent anti-Semitism and an outright rejection of the free-market principles adopted for the Ringstrasse project. ⁷⁸

Discussions and Conclusions

The conceptualization and implementation of the Ringstrasse during the late nineteenth century represents a pivotal case example in planning history of how the philosophical tensions found in liberalism were materialized. On the one hand, the array of isolated, but monumental, civic buildings constructed along a tree-lined boulevard are material expressions of individualism and egalitarianism. On the other hand, for the Ringstrasse development to be realized in the first place, some form of melioristic intervention was necessary despite liberalism’s grounding in noninterventionism. Spatial frameworks and detailed precinct plans were drafted, and diverse architectural styles were sought to commemorate the new elite’s victory over absolutism by celebrating municipal autonomy, higher learning, and liberal culture. The idea that a “beautiful” and “edifying” spatial realm could and would enhance an individual’s character and that this idea was universal in nature and desired by all, became a taken-for-granted assumption, while an unfettered faith in free-market values ultimately led to the undoing of Vienna’s short-lived Gründerjahre.

In sum, the Ringstrasse embodies aspects of the simultaneous pursuit of freedom and restraint, individuality and coexistence, equality and universality, and nonintervention and intervention. And yet, its story is also one of contingency (radical urban experiments and transformation) and continuity (inspirations from the past and conservative aspirations) and of diverse sociopolitical forces, ideas, and agencies that weave together to shape enduring material legacies, thereby confirming Oren Yieftachel’s assertion that “while approaches to planning decision-making may change or be long forgotten, the material legacy of these decisions remains for generations.” ⁷⁹ Yieftachel’s assertion allows us then to ask the final question of this article: What might we learn from material legacies for future interventions?

Arguably, many of our contemporary settings might be understood as moments of hyperliberalism ⁸⁰ where capital accumulation under competitive globalization is resulting in the commodification of the built environment and where spatial outcomes tend to be concerned with the creation of private goods via flagship regeneration projects, iconic buildings, spectacular events, or gated communities. ⁸¹ Spatial determinism, as an idea, also seems to be resurfacing, thereby corroborating Ananya Roy’s claim that planning’s intellectual roots can be traced to the nineteenth century. As a consequence of the faith placed in spatial determinism, local authorities across various world regions are rushing to endorse public–private partnerships in the hope of not only attracting private-sector investors but also in the hope of creating competitive world-class cities. ⁸² Capital accumulation from reckless land speculation and the anesthetization of commodities remain as prevalent in the contemporary era as they did during Vienna’s Gründerjahre. So too do we find the use of international design competitions, media communication, and tax incentives as a means to stimulate development. This is not to suggest that hyperliberalism is good or bad but rather to draw our attention to some of the contemporary realities found in various urban settings.

We might then conceptualize hyperliberalism as encompassing hyperindividualism that finds its spatial expression in hyperfragmentation since design teams tend, more often than not, to focus only on individual sites of intervention at the expense of conceptualizing and integrating “the whole.” hyperliberalism also encompasses an assumed universal subscription to global capital accumulation at the expense of labor markets, the environment, and the needs of poor and vulnerable urban residents, while melioristic values are tolerated only when they are used to justify the commodification of the built environment. Yet, when melioristic values are expressed as planning regulations and development control mechanisms, they are often criticized or circumvented by developers. Egalitarianism, however, seems to be the main casualty of hyperliberalism (remembered only in the slogans of the 1848 revolutionaries).

Exploring how ideologies have material existence through the use of case examples from planning history serves as a platform to question and challenge contemporary ways of knowing and acting, even if planning cultures across different world regions are shaped by situated complexities. By means of this article, I hope to propose that knowledge gained by revisiting past wisdom is knowledge for “the long haul.” ⁸³