Temporary House of HomeTemporary House of Home

"When I have occasionally set myself to consider the different distractions of men, the pains and perils to which they expose themselves at court or in war, whence arise so many quarrels, passions, bold and often bad ventures, etc., I have discovered that all the unhappiness of men arises from one single fact, that they cannot stay quietly in their own chamber."

Since the outbreak of the coronavirus pandemic, this statement by philosopher, theologian and mathematician Blaise Pascal has been quoted regularly - ad nauseam, even. It comes from his book _Pensées_, a collection of loose notes published posthumously in 1670. Pascal's theory seems to have become only more topical, even a reality, during lockdown. Not least because of the sentence with which Pascal follows the above lines: "A man who has enough to live on, if he knew how to stay with pleasure at home, would not leave it to go to sea or to besiege a town."

Some 350 years later, Pascal seemed to have been proved right: hadn't we brought disaster upon ourselves with all those pleasure trips to increasingly distant destinations? In no time at all, the virus spread all over the world and we had a true pandemic. Now, we had made our global bed and had to lie in it at home, "in our chamber". And that turned out to be every bit as difficult as Pascal indicated. We had little choice but to become proficient in the art of having a good time at home. And so we did: from the start of the pandemic, everyone seemed to be gripped by an enormous penchant for home crafts and by the urge to nest. After panic buying in supermarkets came the clearing of attics and sheds - so many dumps becoming so crowded that long queues formed of cars with trailers full of boxes and bags, requiring traffic wardens to be deployed to keep everything running smoothly.

Some left it at clearing up and converted to the minimalism of Japanese tidying guru Marie Kondō. Others - most people - happily continued to revamp their homes. In the autumn of 2020, the turnover of do-it-yourself stores, interior specialists and furniture stores increased substantially. Builders and contractors were overwhelmed with work: everyone wanted a dormer window, an extension in the garden, a garden shed or a new kitchen. In the spring of 2021, due to increased demand, construction materials and raw materials saw unprecedented price rises. The urge to nest was dearly bought.

Despite the DIY, nesting and attempts to have a good time at home, dissatisfaction also grew. That was exactly the point Pascal wanted to make: as much as we try to revel in our home, we will never be completely at peace with it. It will never be good enough: we will not long endure home, whether it's the cosiest or the most spartan.

Strangely enough, to be honest, the more I thought about it, the harder it got for me to give Pascal that point. That was stranger still because a few years earlier I had published my book about the philosophy of the terrace house (Kleine filosofie van het rijtjeshuis_, AtlasContact, 2014), which was based on a comment by the 16th-century French philosopher Michel de Montaigne: "You have quite enough to do at home; don't go away." In fact, a year earlier I had published an entire book about home (Thuis_. Filosofische verkenningen van het alledaagse, AtlasContact, 2019). Surely I would have to agree with Pascal that it would be best if we just stayed quietly in our rooms and tried to have a good time there?

Perhaps it would be good to first say a little more about Pascal and what appealed to me and what annoyed me. In the quoted passage, as always in his Pensées, Pascal paints a rather gloomy picture of human nature and the human condition. According to Pascal, we are desperately looking for peace, but we cannot find it in the place where it should be found, namely at home, in our private rooms - in ourselves, in fact. We can enjoy ourselves there for a while, but eventually we will get bored. And then we go out - which ends in misery and disaster. After which we rush home again, to find some peace there, but soon get bored again& And so on. Nearly 200 years later, the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer would sum it up forcefully: human life is a constant swinging back and forth, like a pendulum, between pain and boredom.

Unlike Schopenhauer, Pascal was not a real pessimist; for Pascal, pessimism was more of a strategy. Behind his thought experiment of the room, as behind all his "thoughts", is a secret agenda. Actually, it is a huge attempt - in a more or less modern manner, for more or less modern readers - to defend the ancient belief in the God of the Bible. Pascal is a man of modern science, for example he invented a calculator and laid the foundation for hydrostatics with his Pascal's Law. Pascal is rationalist and "modern" enough to see that he can prove nothing in theological matters. He is "just" trying to convince us that it is still wisest for modern people to take the gamble, to take the leap of ancient faith. According to Pascal, we have nothing to lose and everything to gain, namely the salvation of our souls. Nowhere on Earth, inside or outside, can we find salvation, according to Pascal: all we can hope for and believe in is that salvation will come from above.

As far as I'm concerned, Pascal is convincing when he shows that we don't last long indoors and that we will always want to go out again - only to go back inside afterwards. He is also right that it is not the room or the decor, but us, our human nature. We are indeed restless, we want two opposite things: rest and adventure. It's Pascal's secret conversion agenda that disgusts me.

Moreover, that Pascal has some kind of secret theological agenda is already annoying - but even worse, in my opinion, he is a moralist. He is quite moralistic about our human restlessness. He sees it as a great weakness that we should really overcome. But why actually? You might as well argue that we should embrace this unsettled nature, as the Belgian philosopher Ignaas Devisch did a few years ago in his book in praise of restlessness (Rusteloosheid. Pleidooi voor een mateloos leven). It is restlessness that keeps us curious, creative and innovative. It is restlessness that keeps us moving forward.

You could say, as Pascal does, that we keep going out and in, going from pillar to post, without getting anywhere. But Pascal seems, in my view unjustly, to make us feel guilty: we should be ashamed that we are running around like headless chickens, from home to work, to school, to shops, to holiday resorts& and back again. As already mentioned, we commute back and forth between pain and boredom. But Pascal seems to overlook the fact that the pain and boredom are the extremes - with the best bits in between. Chin up, Pascal! As long as we keep moving, we'll be fine.

In the meantime, it remains an intriguing thought experiment: imagine a room where you have to stay forever& Does it matter how that room is furnished - luxuriously, comfortably or minimally? No matter how well equipped that room might be, no matter how good its amenities, it would become a golden cage the moment we couldn't go outside anymore. A window would already make a difference; a door would be even better.

Since the early 20th century, many architects and designers have dreamed of chairs as "sitting machines" and houses as "machines for living in". With Pascal's room in mind, it's easy to see how in reality these dreams will always turn out to be nightmares. However comfortable and "fully automatic", such a house or chair would bore us to death. Humans are simply not suited to sitting still or staying indoors for long. Meanwhile, an endless stream of books and glossy magazines keep appearing on how to furnish your home in the best, cosiest, most modern, stylish, fashionable or minimalist way. Pascal is right on this point: no matter how much we try to enjoy our home, it will never be good enough. We will not last long there, whether in the cosiest "maximalist" home, or in the most spartan "minimalist" home.

Perhaps the most important lesson that could be learned from the coronavirus pandemic and the compulsory staying at home, the "shielding", was, in my opinion, the painful lesson that a home in itself has no sense, value or even meaning.

A lockdown is an emergency measure that means that a building or area - or even an entire country - is completely closed. You freeze a situation, and everything and everyone has to stay where they are, in complete isolation. That is, as if "on an island" (the word "isolation" comes from "insula", meaning island). Somehow, the "desert island" still beckons as a sort of paradise on earth. But no matter how paradisiacal such an island is, if you are the only inhabitant there, you will not last long. Even on a "single-family island" the lack of "public life" will eventually make you restless. A desert island is an uninhabitable island.

During lockdown, in short, it is painfully clear that home means nothing if there is no way out. Inside and outside are two sides of the same coin, they only have meaning and significance together. Security is wonderful, but if you can't or aren't allowed to go outside, you're actually locked in, not to say locked up. And going out is only really pleasant and meaningful if you can go inside any time you want. Otherwise you are homeless.

During lockdown, when we were constantly advised to stay at home, I began to see that my book on the concept of home was becoming increasingly appropriate. It seemed as if I had explained in my book how you can make your home comfortable, although it was about the question of how to turn a house into a home - I hadn't written anything about (re)styling or anything like that. That wasn't my point. I was just trying to describe how a house becomes a home because you do simple, everyday domestic chores there: vacuuming, the dishes, scrubbing the floor, and so on.

I had also described how good it was to go outside regularly. Because nothing enhances the feeling of being at home like coming home, and for that you have to get out there first. In the book I was always concerned with the ambiguity of home. I had not written an unequivocal canonisation of home, quite the contrary. Living and being at home turned out to be an ambiguous, perhaps even dubious, affair. Living somewhere means being torn between two things: once you have found shelter, after a while you will feel suffocated and long for fresh air; then once outside you will eventually long for the security of your house, of home.

This ambiguity seemed to be lost during the lockdown. One side of home received all the attention - the side of security, safety and familiarity. And, to be honest, it had been getting more attention for a while, even before coronavirus.

By now I had also started looking at my other book, on the terraced house. That was certainly not an unequivocal call to stay at home. In a sense, it was even a travel book: I reported on the "journeys" I had made, even if they were trips not to faraway places, but rather in the everyday living environment - yet travel nonetheless.

It became increasingly clear to me that we should do the one thing, stay at home, and leave the opposite, namely going away, alone. And we did that. Not only were we going to stock up, clean up and renovate, but we also started taking more walks in the area.

So, this should not become a lament. I do not want to condemn the nesting urge and the obsession with home furnishings as "bad". I don't want to make light of it, much less be disdainful about it - although that's not always easy, to be honest. Actually, I would like to encourage the nesting urge, but with the critical note that it is only half an answer. It is not only home that deserves our attention: the outdoor space deserves it just as much.

Pascal's "darkened chamber" shows once again how ambiguous human nature is. We want to stay at home and go out; rest and adventure; we want to distinguish, even separate, ourselves and yet belong; we want privacy, to be left alone and also see ourselves reflected in others and a public life. We are individualists and conformists.

You can also put the spotlight on this dichotomy in an entertaining way, as Paulien Cornelisse did in one of her theatre performances. She became known for her columns about language, which were bundled in a book (Taal is zeg maar echt mijn ding), and her performances are also about language. But (fortunately) they also about what the words are about. She talks about the liger, a cross between a male lion and a female tiger. The name "liger" isn't just an amusing blend word, it's also an intriguing animal. Lions are group animals, while tigers live solitary existences. The liger, Cornelisse remarked, makes an almost torn impression. The animal does not seem really at ease anywhere, always moving restlessly to and fro, sometimes heeding the tendency to join, then again to the tendency to shut itself off&

The restlessness that Pascal sees in people is the same kind of restlessness. He sees it as a quintessential human weakness, and maybe it is, but something can be done about it. You can live with it. We might as well hold on in Pascal's chamber, as long as there's a door in it. If only we can get out. If, in addition to the private space, there is also a public space. And if we can go back and forth between them. Then our home is indeed a temporary home, but, if we can get the dream of an "eternal home", of "eternal rest" out of our heads, we can live with it. Perhaps we can even make a virtue of necessity.

Staying at home on the one hand and moving around on the other seem like opposites, as long as you think and theorise about them. They seem to be, in the words of the German philosopher Hegel, thesis and antithesis. Hegel believed that a synthesis was possible between thesis and antithesis. To me, in the case of the thesis of home and the antithesis of outside, this seems theoretically impossible. But in everyday practice, most people manage surprisingly well to create a dynamic balance between indoors and outdoors, namely by going out and then back in, and out again, and so on. And such a dynamic equilibrium is perhaps more beautiful than a synthesis.

In order to achieve such a dynamic balance, there must be a real difference between inside and outside, between home and away, between being at home and being on the road. If you feel as much at home outside as you do inside, there's hardly any point in going out. In an open, undetermined and "vacant" public space you must of course be able to feel safe and familiar, but only to a certain extent: you don't really have to feel at home there - at least, not as at home as in your own four walls.

The Danish philosopher [Kierkegaard](http://Lockdown Perhaps the most important lesson that could be learned from the coronavirus pandemic and the compulsory staying at home, the “shielding”, was, in my opinion, the painful lesson that a home in itself has no sense, value or even meaning. A lockdown is an emergency measure that means that a building or area – or even an entire country – is completely closed. You freeze a situation, and everything and everyone has to stay where they are, in complete isolation. That is, as if “on an island” (the word “isolation” comes from “insula”, meaning island). Somehow, the “desert island” still beckons as a sort of paradise on earth. But no matter how paradisiacal such an island is, if you are the only inhabitant there, you will not last long. Even on a “single-family island” the lack of “public life” will eventually make you restless. A desert island is an uninhabitable island. During lockdown, in short, it is painfully clear that home means nothing if there is no way out. Inside and outside are two sides of the same coin, they only have meaning and significance together. Security is wonderful, but if you can’t or aren’t allowed to go outside, you’re actually locked in, not to say locked up. And going out is only really pleasant and meaningful if you can go inside any time you want. Otherwise you are homeless. The Ambiguity of Home During lockdown, when we were constantly advised to stay at home, I began to see that my book on the concept of home was becoming increasingly appropriate. It seemed as if I had explained in my book how you can make your home comfortable, although it was about the question of how to turn a house into a home – I hadn’t written anything about (re)styling or anything like that. That wasn’t my point. I was just trying to describe how a house becomes a home because you do simple, everyday domestic chores there: vacuuming, the dishes, scrubbing the floor, and so on. I had also described how good it was to go outside regularly. Because nothing enhances the feeling of being at home like coming home, and for that you have to get out there first. In the book I was always concerned with the ambiguity of home. I had not written an unequivocal canonisation of home, quite the contrary. Living and being at home turned out to be an ambiguous, perhaps even dubious, affair. Living somewhere means being torn between two things: once you have found shelter, after a while you will feel suffocated and long for fresh air; then once outside you will eventually long for the security of your house, of home. This ambiguity seemed to be lost during the lockdown. One side of home received all the attention – the side of security, safety and familiarity. And, to be honest, it had been getting more attention for a while, even before coronavirus. Travelling By now I had also started looking at my other book, on the terraced house. That was certainly not an unequivocal call to stay at home. In a sense, it was even a travel book: I reported on the “journeys” I had made, even if they were trips not to faraway places, but rather in the everyday living environment – yet travel nonetheless. It became increasingly clear to me that we should do the one thing, stay at home, and leave the opposite, namely going away, alone. And we did that. Not only were we going to stock up, clean up and renovate, but we also started taking more walks in the area. So, this should not become a lament. I do not want to condemn the nesting urge and the obsession with home furnishings as “bad”. I don’t want to make light of it, much less be disdainful about it – although that’s not always easy, to be honest. Actually, I would like to encourage the nesting urge, but with the critical note that it is only half an answer. It is not only home that deserves our attention: the outdoor space deserves it just as much. The Restless Liger Pascal's “darkened chamber” shows once again how ambiguous human nature is. We want to stay at home and go out; rest and adventure; we want to distinguish, even separate, ourselves and yet belong; we want privacy, to be left alone and also see ourselves reflected in others and a public life. We are individualists and conformists. You can also put the spotlight on this dichotomy in an entertaining way, as Paulien Cornelisse did in one of her theatre performances. She became known for her columns about language, which were bundled in a book (Taal is zeg maar echt mijn ding), and her performances are also about language. But (fortunately) they also about what the words are about. She talks about the liger, a cross between a male lion and a female tiger. The name “liger” isn’t just an amusing blend word, it’s also an intriguing animal. Lions are group animals, while tigers live solitary existences. The liger, Cornelisse remarked, makes an almost torn impression. The animal does not seem really at ease anywhere, always moving restlessly to and fro, sometimes heeding the tendency to join, then again to the tendency to shut itself off… The restlessness that Pascal sees in people is the same kind of restlessness. He sees it as a quintessential human weakness, and maybe it is, but something can be done about it. You can live with it. We might as well hold on in Pascal’s chamber, as long as there’s a door in it. If only we can get out. If, in addition to the private space, there is also a public space. And if we can go back and forth between them. Then our home is indeed a temporary home, but, if we can get the dream of an “eternal home”, of “eternal rest” out of our heads, we can live with it. Perhaps we can even make a virtue of necessity. Balancing Home and Away Staying at home on the one hand and moving around on the other seem like opposites, as long as you think and theorise about them. They seem to be, in the words of the German philosopher Hegel, thesis and antithesis. Hegel believed that a synthesis was possible between thesis and antithesis. To me, in the case of the thesis of home and the antithesis of outside, this seems theoretically impossible. But in everyday practice, most people manage surprisingly well to create a dynamic balance between indoors and outdoors, namely by going out and then back in, and out again, and so on. And such a dynamic equilibrium is perhaps more beautiful than a synthesis. In order to achieve such a dynamic balance, there must be a real difference between inside and outside, between home and away, between being at home and being on the road. If you feel as much at home outside as you do inside, there’s hardly any point in going out. In an open, undetermined and “vacant” public space you must of course be able to feel safe and familiar, but only to a certain extent: you don’t really have to feel at home there – at least, not as at home as in your own four walls. People Baths and Sidewalk Ballet The Danish philosopher Kierkegaard lived as a kind of hermit in Copenhagen, but still took an extensive walk through the city every day. Kierkegaard thus left his “monastic cell” every day, as it were, to descend into the everyday world. He called his daily walk a “people bath”. Link: https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/298/298758/philosopher-of-the-heart/9780141984438.html If I have understood correctly, Kierkegaard liked the “bath” warm: he struck up conversations with anyone and everyone and kept up with all the latest gossip. That’s a bit too hot for me: as far as I’m concerned, the bath should be lukewarm. It shouldn’t be a cold shower though: it is extremely unpleasant when the every-man-for-himself mentality prevails on the street and everyone completely ignores each other. Or when you’re waiting at a bus stop with people staring at their cell phones. But it should equally not be too “warm”, too cosy. When the outside becomes an inside, as it were, when public space gets too comfortable. It just gets too hot. The point is that you are all visitors and passers-by. That, paradoxically, you are just like passers-by among each other. In short, in order to be able to live well and to really feel at home at home, it is important that the public space remains a place where we can “dance” with each other in a highly informal way and almost without even realising it. Mindful of Jane Jacobs, who in her famous 1961 book, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, wrote extensively about social interaction on the sidewalk in front of her home in New York. Jacobs described it nicely as a “ballet”. After performing in such a ballet, it is wonderful to come home, even if only temporarily. https://www.naibooksellers.nl/the-death-and-life-of-great-american-cities-jane-jacobs-paperback-edition.html) lived as a kind of hermit in Copenhagen, but still took an extensive walk through the city every day. Kierkegaard thus left his "monastic cell" every day, as it were, to descend into the everyday world. He called his daily walk a "people bath".

If I have understood correctly, Kierkegaard liked the "bath" warm: he struck up conversations with anyone and everyone and kept up with all the latest gossip. That's a bit too hot for me: as far as I'm concerned, the bath should be lukewarm.

It shouldn't be a cold shower though: it is extremely unpleasant when the every-man-for-himself mentality prevails on the street and everyone completely ignores each other. Or when you're waiting at a bus stop with people staring at their cell phones. But it should equally not be too "warm", too cosy. When the outside becomes an inside, as it were, when public space gets too comfortable. It just gets too hot. The point is that you are all visitors and passers-by. That, paradoxically, you are just like passers-by among each other.

In short, in order to be able to live well and to really feel at home at home, it is important that the public space remains a place where we can "dance" with each other in a highly informal way and almost without even realising it. Mindful of Jane Jacobs, who in her famous 1961 book, The Death and Life of Great American Cities, wrote extensively about social interaction on the sidewalk in front of her home in New York. Jacobs described it nicely as a "ballet". After performing in such a ballet, it is wonderful to come home, even if only temporarily.

Pieter Hoexum, May 2021

Pieter Hoexum is an independent publicist. He studied philosophy in Groningen and then worked as a bookseller at Athenaeum Bookshop in Amsterdam. He also started writing for among others Filosofie (Philosophy) Magazine, Boekman, the magazines 'Letter&Geest' and the website of Athenaeum bookshop. Since 2012 he has also writteh for De Groene Amsterdammer.