Why “house” is not “home”
When we were children, whenever we drew a house, there were always four walls. There was a roof, windows, doorknobs, often fences, trees, and maybe a dog. Sometimes birds, a pond, the sun, and clouds. Some kids draw people in their houses. Some are afraid to open the shutters. Some placed pots of geraniums on the windowsill, not even knowing what geraniums were back then. Swallows lived under someone’s roof.
Once humans inhabited caves — they needed a place to hide from tigers, the cold, and other people. Caves served as dwellings, burial places, and altars. The concept of a home even then, at the beginning of the described ages, was something more than just roofed walls. The first home was built without a name. Each name emerges later when what it attaches to becomes familiar to people. The earliest people in their homes stored prey, brought children into the world, and created the first rituals. People in houses made of clay did not go much further — they sewed clothes, hung icons in the corners, and dried herb bundles. Yurts, igloos, cottages, castles, apartments, houses, nests, huts, towers, log cabins, and homes.
A home is a place where a person can realize and manifest good thoughts.
Old English says that “home” is a singular space where souls gather. The Germanic language group combines the words “to gather,” “to be present,” and “to be together” in a place open only to members of a certain group. Here, a home is invariably a source of peace and pleasure. The Indo-European root of the word “home” means “to live.” Jung compared the stages of building a house to the stages of personal development, the unfolding of one’s self. The German word “heimlich” — domestic — Freud described as something familiar, pleasant, and at the same time hidden from unnecessary eyes.
We also can look separately at the parts of a home. The word “ceiling” means “to hide,” “a sky,” and “a paradise” in Latin. A window is a combination of “wind” and “eyes.” Windows and doors represent the connection between the inner and outer worlds. In every house, there is a hearth, fire, fireplace, around which the family gathers. In caves, people burnt fires; in castles made fireplaces; in cottages heated the stove, and now we have candles on the dining table. The hearth helps people feel their tribe as one large organism.
A house is a reflection of its inhabitants, an object of self-expression and creativity. We transfer responsibility for our stability and comfort onto our houses. At some point, bare walls are not enough for a person, and we start choosing the length of curtains, the thickness of the carpet pile, the sofa cover, and the color of the towels. And here, a house becomes an extension of the person.
I am going home. And for now, it’s better than what I’ve had to do.
We search for not just a ‘house,’ but a ‘home.’ It’s a state of being, and it can exist far beyond the confines of a brick structure.”
The structure of the house reveals the personality of the owner, their problems, and hidden desires. A person shapes their home from the bricks of their subconscious, selecting suitable lampshades, bed linens, or even the absence of everything, calling that “minimalism”. Show me your house, and I will tell you who you are. A house is a place of our habits, a refuge for our preferences. Our desires, needs, abilities, fears, actions, dreams, and possessions are all reflected in it. In English, there is an interesting play on words for this — “habit” and “habitation”, which signifies a dwelling. How cups are arranged, where socks are kept, what food is honored, how many guests visit, who lives there, and what purpose this space serves altogether.
In rural homes, mirrors were not hung in the past; they were feared. For the bourgeoisie, the mirror served as confirmation of abundance, an accent on excess.
Until we assign a certain function, our own function, to an object, it remains just an object. But when our chairs become kitchen, office, or balcony chairs, the concept of us and our values emerges among the chairs, as if they suddenly reveal themselves. A chair similar to yours in someone else’s eyes might serve not as a seat for a person but as a stand for a TV or even for an icon. The domestic atmosphere is a simplified and rough reflection of how a person relates to life. It is one of the most vivid experiences of life, sometimes unconsciously brought into the public eye.
In addition to its current use, each object can become an attribute of the future, carrying specific information and requiring a certain attitude. Even though a chair still remains a chair. People endow objects around them with personal or collective meanings, and these meanings tell the truth about a man, his family, and his nation.
The structure of a house reveals the secret desires of its owner, sometimes secrets even to themselves. Desires that neatly arrange themselves, like neatly laundered linens in a plump wardrobe. Within the guts of a house, one can clearly see the changes in time, the canons of culture, and the norms of morality. By comparing the placement of furniture, the presence of certain items, and the differences in what is considered furniture at various times, you can see the skeletons and illnesses of epochs. The history of a people can very well be the history of their houses. The atmosphere of a house is directly linked to the mental state of its inhabitants. Our home is our inner content. And a city, a country, represents the inner essence of a nation.
When a person builds a house, when they lay the foundation, level the brickwork, cover the structure with a roof, or simply designate a room as their own for an indefinite period, they carve out their personal space from the universal, shared space. The boundaries of a home can also be described as the borders between the external and internal worlds. The primary function of a home is protection, whether from wild animals, rain, or the uncertainty of “who am I.” By isolating ourselves at home, we free ourselves from the constant interaction with the external world, finally turning our attention to our own being. In material objects, it is easy to see a reflection of the psyche, which would otherwise be difficult to understand. A house is like clothing that, by its appearance, people can identify and attribute to a specific social group, serving as protection, decoration, social necessity, and a manifest of oneself. We don’t let others wear our clothes, just as we don’t allow strangers into our houses. Because clothing also remembers the mood of the host and can transmit it to others.
In English, there are the words “house” and “home.” “Home” is an idea, a social construct, a history that we tell ourselves about who we are and what is closest to us. “House” is a brick or wooden box. There is even an old saying: “You can buy a house, but a home you can only create.” We grow our home from the seeds we always carry in our hearts.
A home is also a physical skeleton. It’s like clothing, by which we identify and attribute to a particular social group. It serves as protection, a social necessity, and a manifestation of oneself. We don’t let others wear our clothes, just as we don’t welcome strangers into our homes. This is because clothing also holds the memories of its owner’s mood and can convey it to others. In moments of anxiety, we often have a strong desire to seal ourselves in a protective capsule, as if fearing contamination by a deadly virus, not even allowing strangers near its borders.
When a person becomes a stranger to themselves, the house, the building, as a structure, no longer satisfies them
